After hearing this, Chen Changsheng understood. Then he said, “Let’s go to Yizhen Dao Mountain first. If that doesn’t work, we’ll try Xuanyin Mountain.”
“Now?”
“Hmm.”
Patriarch Yun paused, then said, “Won’t you eat first, Sir? I’ve already had servants prepare food.”
Chen Changsheng paused briefly before answering, “I’m afraid that’s not possible this time. It’s not that I’m refusing your kindness, but I simply can’t spare a moment these days.”
Patriarch Yun thought it over and nodded. “Very well. Please wait a moment, Sir. I’ll ask servants to prepare a Sky Skiff.”
Chen Changsheng waved his hand. “No need. Sword Flight is faster.”
Patriarch Yun hesitated. “Mr. Chen, Yizhen Dao Mountain is very far from here. Sword Flight would require so much Magical Power—”
“Set your mind at ease, Patriarch Yun.”
Chen Changsheng summoned the Yuqing Sword. He gestured for Patriarch Yun to step onto the Immortal Sword.
“Stand firmly, Patriarch Yun.”
In a flash, the Immortal Sword shot forward. The Yun Manor’s entrance vanished from sight instantly.
Patriarch Yun was stunned. He never expected such speed.
“Could Patriarch Yun please point the way?”
“Ah, left— no, right! Go right!”
Patriarch Yun still hadn’t recovered. He clutched Mr. Chen’s robes, terrified of falling. Having traveled the Cultivation World for years, he’d never seen Sword Flight so fast.
Even he was frightened now.
He’d once doubted how quick Sword Flight could be. Truly, he’d been narrow-minded.
No wonder everyone respected Mr. Chen.
They flew southwest, passing Immortal Mountains one after another. They saw many other Cultivators gliding on swords or through air, but Chen Changsheng moved like a streak of light—unimaginably faster.
A Sky Skiff would take two days from Qingyuan to Yizhen Dao Mountain. Yet Chen Changsheng’s Sword Flight arrived in half a day.
Over four times quicker than a Sky Skiff.
Patriarch Yun’s heart raced the whole trip. After landing, his legs still felt weak.
Even as an Immortal, he felt fear.
“W-We’re here,” he finally said with a relieved sigh.
Chen Changsheng surveyed the scene. Before them stood a low Immortal Mountain, its plants patchy mixes of green and yellow. Wild grass covered the stone steps to its peak. The sight made him doubt anyone still lived here.
Patriarch Yun gaped. “Why would it fall into such ruin?”
“Could it be abandoned?” Chen Changsheng wondered.
Patriarch Yun shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Let’s go up and see.”
Chen Changsheng began ascending the mountain.
The peak felt short, utterly dwarfed by most Immortal Mountains.
As they climbed, he occasionally sliced through overgrown weeds with a finger.
After some time, they spotted an old building that resembled a Taoist Temple.
But even the Flowing Cloud Temple looked grander than this.
Chen Changsheng stepped forward and knocked.
Thump, thump, thump…
No answer came from inside.
Patriarch Yun sighed. “It must be deserted…”
“Give it another moment.” Chen Changsheng murmured.
Before he could finish, footsteps suddenly echoed in the courtyard.
Patriarch Yun froze. “Someone’s here?!”
With a creak, the temple door swung inward.
They saw an ancient man with sunken eyes, deeply wrinkled skin, and sparse hair draped messily over his scalp.
Chen Changsheng spoke first: “Is the venerable one of Yizhen Dao Mountain here?”
The man shook his head hastily. “Wrong place. Everyone’s gone. I’m just some lonely man here.”
Without waiting for another word, he moved to shut the door.
“Daoist Friend—?”
Bang.
The door slammed shut. Chen Changsheng and Patriarch Yun exchanged puzzled looks.
Patriarch Yun stammered, “This…”
Chen Changsheng shook his head. He knew—the man was almost certainly Yizhen Dao Mountain’s inheritor. Why he’d lied about it remained a mystery.
“What now, Mr. Chen?” Patriarch Yun asked.
“Once more.”
Chen Changsheng knocked again.
Bang, bang, bang—the sound echoed through the temple.
The messy-looking old man yanked the door open, annoyed.
“Stop the knocking! Didn’t I say you’ve got the wrong place?”
Chen Changsheng’s gaze fell on the man’s waist. “Daoist Friend’s Waist Token shines quite clearly, however.”
The man blinked, looked down, and saw the token engraved with “Formation” and “Yi.” He quickly hid it with his sleeve. “I found it on the ground!”
He tried closing the door again.
Chen Changsheng stretched out a hand and blocked it firmly.
“What now?! Forcing your way in?” the man cried nervously.
Chen Changsheng kept calm. “Hold, Daoist Friend. I understand your caution, but we seek only your wisdom on Formation Arrays and Talismans—nothing more. Please, don’t be alarmed.”
The man studied both guests. After scowling slightly, he croaked, “Where are you from?”
Patriarch Yun spoke: “Qingyuan. I’m Patriarch Yun Ze of Qingyuan Yun Manor. Greetings, Daoist Friend.”
“Oh… Qingyuan?”
The man gave a raspy chuckle. Then he peered at Chen Changsheng. “And you?”
“I’m a Rogue Cultivator from the mortal world.”
The man squinted at the Blue Robe Cultivator. A flicker of memory crossed his face—something half-remembered or overheard, maybe.
“Hmm, your name feels faintly familiar…”
Whether they’d truly met? He recalled that clearly—no, not at all. But rumors could tangle in any Immortal’s mind.
“If Daoist Friend requires it, I can explain my background,” Chen Changsheng offered politely.
The man dismissed this with a wave. “No matter. I believe you. Come inside.”
He swung the door fully open. Chen Changsheng and Patriarch Yun stepped through.
Inside, the Taoist Temple was the opposite of what the outside suggested. Neatness ruled everywhere. Beyond the courtyard sprouted a tidy herb garden. A Formation Diagram lay spread on a table, and Talismans adorned the doorframe of each room. Every corner gleamed spotlessly clean.
Such perfection felt startlingly mismatched with the slovenly man who called it home.
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