Chapter 111: Qingqing and the Wild Ox

Beneath the starry sky, a hazy, multicolored moon hung suspended in the void. Directly below floated a solitary mound of yellow earth, resembling a lone grave. A three-foot-long sword with a verdant scabbard was slanted into the mound, its murderous aura piercing the heavens.

“Is this the method of severing a mountain’s spiritual vein? Quite an ingenious approach. If we can break this momentum, the Southern Descent will never rise to cause trouble again. But how exactly can we sever the mountain’s spiritual vein?” The Golden Light Taoist’s mystical prowess resided entirely in the golden scabbard sword on his back; he was utterly ignorant of the ways of formations and arrays. In this, he was remarkably similar to Southern Descent, who had never studied or even come into contact with such arts.

Green Essence-Zi was equally at a loss. Though the idea had originated from him, that did not mean he understood the formation that could sever the mountain’s spiritual veins.

The eagle king, who had remained silent until now, suddenly spoke: “I do possess a method to sever the spiritual veins of these mountains, but the three of us alone cannot accomplish it.”

“Oh? I didn’t expect Brother Eagle to be not only deeply versed in magic but also skilled in formations. Why not tell us what kind of formation it is? We can all think it over together and perhaps find a solution...” The Golden Light Patriarch smiled, a wisp of yellow beard fluttering in the breeze.

The eagle king gazed at the mound of yellow earth floating in the void, resembling a grave, and after a moment of silence, he said, “This formation is something I stumbled upon by chance. It’s called the Eight-Direction Vein Severing Array. All you need to do is set up an altar in each of the eight directions around the mountain whose spiritual vein you wish to sever—aligning with the stars above and the terrain below—then lay down spells to temporarily sever the spiritual vein of the mountain within. However, this severing is not permanent; it only temporarily cuts off the connection. After forty-nine days, the formation will lose its effect.”

“Heh, eight altars set in eight directions—I admit, the three of us cannot manage that. The others do not possess enough mystical power. Still, I think we could collaborate with those hidden figures. I believe they would agree; after all, no one wishes to confront a being whose magical prowess transcends the Dao realm head-on.” The Golden Light Patriarch chuckled softly, his tone calm as ever.

Before the eagle king could respond, Green Essence-Zi quickly interjected, “Patriarch, are you suggesting we work together with those hidden individuals? Then how do we divide the spiritual treasures? Southern Descent only has two such treasures!”

“Heh, naturally, the greater the mastery of magical skill, the more rightful the claim...” The Golden Light Patriarch replied without turning around, his voice gentle but causing an oppressive weight to settle in Green Essence-Zi’s heart.

Suddenly, Green Essence-Zi realized the situation had completely slipped beyond his expectations. Though he had initiated this matter, he had become the weakest voice in the room, utterly marginalized. Only now did he awaken to the truth: when matters did not directly concern one’s own interests, others would show him some face out of respect for the Purple Haze King, but such respect vanished in the face of real battle. Everything depended on one’s own strength. Only with power could one gain status and speak with authority.

The mound of yellow earth drifted in the void, the verdant scabbard sword silently challenging them all. No one knew what Southern Descent was thinking at that moment, nor why he had made such a move. It was clearly a posture of defiance against everyone, and the two innate spiritual treasures laid out were a deadly temptation to most in the primordial world.

If someone familiar with Southern Descent’s past were here, they would hardly believe such a thing came from him. This display was filled with boundless confidence, tinged with a faint domineering aura and a silent arrogance.

“Three thousand li south of Mount Buzhou lies a mountain called Luo Ling Mountain, where your master resides...”

This was what Qingqing had heard from that bizarre, malevolent woman. Qingqing did not know her name, but when the woman uttered those words, Qingqing was certain their relationship with her master was extraordinary.

So Qingqing left Kunlun Mountain and headed southward three thousand li beyond Mount Buzhou. But south of Mount Buzhou was a vast area; finding Luo Ling Mountain was no easy task, especially since she had no idea what the mountain looked like.

In her hand, she held a small, jade-green fan. Without this little fan, she likely would have perished countless times. Yet even now, her clothes were tattered, her hair disheveled, with many scorched patches. One of her twin braids had unraveled and was singed short, no longer able to be braided.

She was not alone. Beside her walked a burly man with thick eyebrows and large eyes, carrying a black iron staff. His clothes were also ragged, his exposed skin bearing fresh wounds that bled faintly, yet he seemed unfazed.

This burly man, with his black iron staff, was named Niu Liang. Qingqing had met him when passing beneath Mount Buzhou. He said he had studied under the demon master Kunpeng for several years. When Qingqing asked why he was leaving and heading to some place called Fubo Mountain, he only smiled without answering.

Qingqing had no idea where Fubo Mountain was. This was her first time venturing out, and with every step, she asked Niu Liang why he was following her. He always replied that they were traveling the same road, just coincidentally together. After a while, she stopped asking.

Together, the two had traveled more than three thousand li. Whenever danger arose, Niu Liang charged ahead, regardless of whether he could match his opponent. Several times he was quickly beaten back, and if not for Qingqing’s timely use of the jade-green fan to sweep foes away, Niu Liang might have been severely injured.

Niu Liang once asked Qingqing why she was going to Luo Ling Mountain. She said she was seeking her master and, after a moment, added that it was also to deliver a message. He did not ask what message, only remarking, “Your master must be formidable; otherwise, he wouldn’t have such powerful treasures as yours.”

Qingqing looked at the jade-green fan in her hand and said, “My master left before I had even taken form. I found this fan one day on the blue stone where he once transmitted the Dao to me.”

Niu Liang immediately said, “It must have been left behind by your master.”

Qingqing shook her head but thought of the Taiji Palace, where her master had knelt for three days and nights without reappearing.

“Let’s go find someone to inquire about the location of Luo Ling Mountain. Your master must be a mighty figure; his mountain should be well-known around here,” Niu Liang said, glancing around and muttering.

No sooner had he finished speaking than a rat demon appeared from around the mountain’s corner, wielding a steel hairpin. Seeing Niu Liang and Qingqing, the demon shouted, “Hey, wild ox! Crossing the mountain without paying respects to our great king—is that a death wish? Hand over your weapons at once, and you may yet spare your lives!”