Shrouding the Heavens

Chapter 604: Chapter 608: Qilin-like Hidden in the Fields

Jin Chixiao was initially stunned, then his anger erupted, his entire body tense with fury, nearly cursing out loud. When had he ever been so despised?

Even if he didn’t understand Ancient Divine Text, such scolding seemed unnecessary. Yet, he dared not act out. He was currently hoisted mid-air by the Golden Battle Spear, his life clutched in Ye Fan’s hand; he scarcely dared to breathe.

“You have the blood of Ancient Kings flowing through you. As their descendant, have you not learned those writings?” Ye Fan was quite dissatisfied.

“Continual intermarriage with the human race has nearly transformed us into half-humans. The Ancient Blood thins day by day, and the Ancestor King’s mark has long since faded,” Jin Chixiao explained.

He felt exceedingly uncomfortable. The dignified heir of the Golden King, being called illiterate! There was nothing more disdainful and ridiculous than this, and he desperately wanted to swallow this vile enemy whole.

Ye Fan was thoroughly disappointed, his face showing no kindness. He had finally captured an ancient being, expecting him to translate the Immortal Tears Green Gold Book, yet the creature couldn’t recognize a single word.

“And the Nine Heavens Green Falling Bell King?”

“Sent to the Northern Plains.”

“Nonsense! Hand it over immediately!” Ye Fan’s eyes widened.

Jin Chixiao’s heart raced with fear. He cautiously explained, “The Green Falling Bell was once the weapon of an invincible King, but it was tainted. I had it sent back to the family for cleansing…”

“Does the Golden Family possess Earth Divine Milk?” Ye Fan was surprised.

“There is some. It should be able to restore the treasure’s former glory,” Jin Chixiao cautiously responded.

“When will they send it to you?” Ye Fan pondered. With such a rare treasure as Earth Divine Milk, it could definitely cleanse the Green Falling Bell.

“I don’t know either…”

“Then what use are you?” Ye Fan shouted in frustration. He had encountered an ancient creature who couldn’t decipher Ancient Texts, and even the Bell King had been sent away. The more he looked, the more of an eyesore Jin Chixiao became.

“As long as you spare my life, I am willing to pay any price,” Jin Chixiao begged for mercy, sensing Ye Fan’s murderous intent.

“You attempted to ambush me three times, and you still wish to live?” Ye Fan didn’t want to say more. He shook the Golden Battle Spear, reducing Jin Chixiao to a bloody pulp, utterly destroying both his form and spirit.

“No…”

In the distance, three Grand Elders hurried over and witnessed this scene. Their hearts nearly burst with grief. This was their Young Master, yet he had died just like this; it would be hard to explain.

Ye Fan departed without looking back, leaving only a faint afterimage as he vanished into the vast sky.

“Life is but a dream, how much longer?

With life come more worries.

No one to teach me the Longevity Technique;

Yet in the mountain spring, I’ll sing a long song…”

The woods were lush, with slender vines entwining old trees. A path of green stone led deeper into the mountains, where a woodcutter sang loudly, evoking a profound mood.

Ye Fan had traveled west, choosing this mountain range, which was over a thousand miles from West Dam City. He intended to enter seclusion here, aiming to break through to the fourth stage of Dragon Transformation.

This place wasn’t exceedingly beautiful, yet it was where mountains embraced water, adorned with lakes below and an old Daoist Temple within the mountains. It was not an immortal land, but it exuded a sense of returning to fundamental simplicity.

From afar, Ye Fan saw a woodcutter descending along the green stone path, carrying a bundle of firewood. His body was robust, and his face was full of whiskers.

“Brother,” Ye Fan called out, “hearing your song, could it be you’re a cultivator?”

“Young brother, you’ve misunderstood,” the woodcutter replied. “I am merely a commoner, not a cultivator. I just memorized what an old Daoist sang.”

Ye Fan was surprised. “May I ask where that master resides?”

“There’s a Daoist Temple in the mountain where an old Daoist used to live. It’s fallen into ruin over the years. The old Daoist was very old and passed away several years ago.”

Ye Fan felt stirred. He bade farewell to the woodcutter and followed the green stone path into the mountains. After crossing nine peaks and looking across from one to another, he finally saw a dilapidated Daoist Temple perched upon a Short Mountain.

The Short Mountain had no green bamboo or cypress trees, nor did it have spiritual medicines or immortal herbs. It was simple, with only a small vegetable patch, now desolate and overgrown with weeds.

“The method of Dharma is no method;

Emptiness itself is not truly empty.

Stillness and clamor, speech and silence,

Are inherently one.

In a dream, who can speak of the dream?

Within function lies futility;

Within non-action, true action is found.

Like fruit, it ripens and reddens naturally.

Ask not how to cultivate or sow…”

Two hunters emerged from the mountains, clothed in beast skins and striding powerfully. They carried bows and arrows and a wild deer, showing no signs of sweat, their physiques strong.

“You two brothers, what are you chanting?” Ye Fan stepped forward to inquire.

“Oh, this?” one hunter replied. “We frequently heard an old Daoist sing it and memorized it unwittingly. Every time we return from hunting and pass by here, we remember him and can’t help but chant it.”

This was indeed a master, Ye Fan ascertained. That old Daoist atop the Short Mountain was extraordinary, far from ordinary.

“But alas, he was too old and passed away two or three years ago,” the other one said.

Ye Fan asked a few more questions, learning that the old Daoist had also taught them some simple Breathing Techniques. These techniques, while basic, could strengthen muscles and bones and were most suited for ordinary mortals.

“Young brother, are you seeking Immortals and the Dao? Unfortunately, you’re too late…”

Clearly, the two hunters held a fondness for the old Daoist; stopping briefly, they shared a few more words.

The old Daoist was exceptionally old. Even their grandfathers remembered him from their childhood. No one knew how many years he had lived alone on the mountain.

“Thank you both very much.” Ye Fan departed, this time ascending the mountain path to finally reach the Short Mountain.

The small Daoist temple was dilapidated and low, resembling a thatched cottage. It had been abandoned for several years, devoid of visitors, appearing cold and deserted.

In front of the small Daoist temple stood an ancient pine with a hollow trunk so wide it would take many people to encircle it. Its branches were rugged, but its leaves were sparse; the old tree was nearly dead.

There was no medicinal herb field, only a patch of vegetable garden that had become desolate. Additionally, there was a grapevine with withered tendrils, from which hung only two or three clusters of purple grapes.

This Daoist temple and the ancient tree must have existed for at least four thousand years… Ye Fan’s heart trembled as he sensed the immense passage of time.

Did the old Daoist build this temple himself? Did he plant this ancient tree with his own hands? If so, he was surely a terrifyingly powerful master.

Ye Fan entered the dilapidated Daoist temple, searching carefully, hoping to discover some clues. However, dust had accumulated thickly inside, and there were no ancient books or stone carvings.

It was very ordinary, no different from any other Daoist temple. There was a torn praying mat, a few ragged Daoist robes, and a horsetail whisk chewed by insects; not a single unusual object was present.

Ye Fan walked out and went behind the Daoist temple, where there was a small mound. It had no gravestone or inscriptions, just a simple pile of yellow earth.

This is his grave. He died without leaving a word. No one knows who he was, and even his cultivation methods were not passed on…

He stood before the yellow earthen mound and activated his Source Heaven Divine Eye, gazing into the ground, wanting to see what kind of person’s bones lay there.

Hmm… He was startled. It was an empty grave, with no remains.

No, there’s a tattered Daoist robe, a hairpin, and shoes and socks… His heart skipped a beat. Could this be a cenotaph?

Transformation! He was greatly surprised. He finally confirmed that there should have been a corpse, but shortly before death, the person had undergone Transformation. This was certainly a master.

Typically, only figures at or above the level of an unparalleled King can undergo Transformation, merging themselves back into Heaven and Earth, into nature. This is true Transformation, not mere self-destruction of the body.

Indeed, hidden tigers and leopards lie in deep mountains, and qilin-like beings reside in the fields. Such a small place actually harbored an ancient King, possibly even a Saint who underwent seated Transformation!

Ye Fan was tremendously shocked. This person’s name was not passed down, and no one knew him; he just died quietly.

The world is not without masters; they are simply unknown. Here lay a peerless master, likely no less powerful than the Divine King Jiang Taixu, or even… a Saint.

Yet, this person had passed away without leaving anything behind, not even his name known to the world.

Ye Fan searched the place meticulously, exploring the praying mat, horsetail whisk, and Daoist robes with his divine sense, but found no treasures.

Too thorough. He truly left nothing for posterity. For such an unimaginable existence, his legacy ending like this is an immeasurable loss.

Ye Fan settled here. The place was tranquil, suitable for him to meditate and seek Enlightenment, undisturbed.

The Short Mountain and its dilapidated Daoist temple possessed an ineffable Dao rhyme, perfect for quiet cultivation, exuding a sense of returning to fundamental simplicity.

Surely, his place of seclusion couldn’t be ordinary earth. Having undergone Transformation here, this place is bound to become a Divine Land for cultivation in the future.

Ye Fan had acquired Dragon Marrow. However, consuming it didn’t guarantee entry into the fourth stage of Dragon Transformation; everything still depended on his own Enlightenment.

Dragon Marrow contained fragments of Dao Laws, which could offer assistance, but they were not the fundamental key to breaking through. The primary factor lay within the cultivator’s own heart and mind.

In the deep of night, all sounds ceased and stars dotted the sky. Ye Fan sat cross-legged before the Daoist temple, his five centers facing heaven. A Great Dragon rose from his spine, finally taking form and coiling around him.

“Coming by chance beneath the pine,

I rest my head on stone and sleep.

In these mountains, there’s no calendar;

When the cold ends, I know not the year…”

Suddenly, a soft voice startled Ye Fan awake. He snapped his eyes open.

At that moment, a dark cloud drifted by, blocking the stars and moon. The land was shrouded in darkness, and the mountain was engulfed in such blackness that one could not see one’s hand in front of one’s face.

Just then, before the Daoist temple, beside the ancient tree too large for many to encircle, a person appeared out of nowhere. The voice was his.

Ye Fan’s heart trembled. Who is this person? To be able to evade my spiritual perception and appear so close… this is too terrifying!

He activated his Divine Sense, observing carefully. In an instant, a chill ran down his spine. An ancient Daoist robe fluttered, and a wizened, short old Daoist appeared under the withered tree.

The worn Daoist robe was very familiar, identical to the ones in the Daoist temple, and no different from the one buried in the earthen mound.

A chill ran up Ye Fan’s spine. His gaze settled on the man’s hair, where an old wooden hairpin was just as familiar, indistinguishable from the one in the grave.

I’ve seen a ghost!

Ye Fan shot to his feet and retreated many steps. How could someone who had long ago undergone Transformation possibly reappear?

“The mortal world has often changed, like mulberry fields turned to sea;

Though fields transform, the art, the records, still remain for all to see.

But who, by gazing on this art, can merge with it and immortality decree?”

The slender, short old Daoist walked under the ancient tree, murmuring to himself, seeming to merge with the pitch-black night.

“You…” Ye Fan retreated further.

A gentle breeze blew past, carrying the fresh scent of grass and wood. The dark cloud in the sky drifted away. Before the Daoist temple, the cool breeze persisted, but the old Daoist was nowhere to be seen.

Ye Fan felt his scalp tingle. His eyes had not moved even slightly, fixedly staring ahead, yet the old Daoist seemed to have evaporated, leaving no trace.