The Husky and His White Cat Shizun

Chapter 211: Master, Enter Dragon Mountain

Abandoning their horses, the first day passed uneventfully. However, on the second night, while everyone was meditating and resting, an accident occurred.

A cultivator, in the middle of the night, went into the dense forest to relieve himself. After finishing, he felt an itch on his leg. Looking down, he saw a gigantic venomous mosquito feasting on his blood. The cultivator slapped the insect dead and, out of habit, grumbled, "Damn it, dare to bite your grandpa?"

As soon as he finished speaking, strange noises echoed from the surrounding woods. Startled, the cultivator remembered Nan Gongsi's warning before they entered the mountain. Too frightened to even pull up his pants, he bolted, crying for help, "Help! Master! Help!"

Turned out this disciple belonged to Jiangdong Sect and was always by Huang Xiaoyue's side. His loud cries were like a boulder plunging into a tranquil pond, stirring up a thousand ripples. Everyone who had been quietly meditating rose to their feet, witnessing a Jiangdong Sect disciple frantically running towards them, drenched in sweat and urine.

The disciple was naked, his private parts swinging as he cried and ran. A hundred or more black snakes, with their sleek skin, followed closely behind him, some already coiling around his legs.

Huang Xiaoyue exclaimed, "Disciple?"

Nan Gongsi warned, "No one goes near!"

The disciple, weeping, dashed forward, but the snakes kept multiplying. He eventually stumbled and fell, wailing, "Master! Save me, Master!"

Huang Xiaoyue was about to lend a hand when Nan Gongsi said, "These snakes are transformed from the evil dragon's whiskers. If you kill one, two more will appear. The more you kill, the more there'll be, and they bear a fierce grudge. If Daoist Priest Huang isn't afraid, go ahead and confront them."

Upon hearing this, Huang Xiaoyue immediately cowered, yet he muttered, "The greater good must come first, the greater good." He helplessly watched his disciple being engulfed by the tidal wave of black snakes. The person writhed and twisted in agony amidst the serpent swarm, which soon completely concealed him, forming a black hill. This hill shrunk visibly before their eyes until, when the snake tide dispersed, all that remained was a pool of blood—no bones were left behind…

With this incident, not a single unnecessary word was spoken for the remainder of the final day's journey.

"Speech, when excessive, leads to loss," a principle that holds true for all.

Xue Zhengyong went so far as to cast silencing spells upon himself and Xue Meng, not out of any particular concern, but because the two were known for their sharp tongues. One slip—a casual "damn thing" uttered—could mean instant death by serpents before they even realized their mistake.

With utmost caution and reverence, the group finally, in the depths of the third night, traversed the treacherous Pánlóng Mountains to arrive beneath Jiaoshan – the Hero's Tomb of the Confucian Wind Sect.

The barrier of Dragon Mountain was distinct from that of Phoenix Mountain; the dragon despised deception, thus the barrier was transparent, with no illusionary enchantments in place. From the outside, one could clearly see the landscape at the foot of the mountain.

Jiang Xi gazed at the scene before him and asked, "Is this where the heroes of the Confucian Wind Sect have been laid to rest through generations?"

Moonlight illuminated Nan Gongsi's face as he fell silent for a moment, then replied, "Indeed."

Dragon Mountain, once transformed from a malevolent dragon, was subdued by the founding master of the Confucian Wind Sect. A blood pact was forged, compelling the dragon to transmute into a towering peak, safeguarding the spirits and treasures of the sect's heroes across generations, as well as its temples and shrines.

Since Nan Gongsi could remember, every winter solstice, he would accompany his father here to pay respects at the graves. In the past, when he came, he could see the endless grandeur of the marble steps stretching into the distance, with the shadowy city guards already standing watch on either side of the mountain path, clad in their green robes adorned with crane emblems, their garments fluttering gently in the breeze.

"Welcome, Young Master."

Faint echoes of resounding commands still lingered in his ears as the crowd knelt below. Ascending the mountain path, he made his way towards the peak where the clan's ancestral temple, the celestial palace, stood. There, he would find his father, already engrossed in the preparations for the sacrificial rites.

"Lord Nan Gong, let's forego the melancholy for now; with a great battle imminent, we cannot afford delay. You would do well to open the barrier promptly and allow us entry, that we may vanquish demons and defend the righteous path."

Nan Gongsi turned his head, and the speaker was none other than Huang Xiaoyue.

During the height of the Confucian Wind Sect's prosperity, such a person wouldn't dare to retaliate even if Nan Gongsi, on a whim and without cause, were to slap him a dozen times.

Today, he could boast and glare at his very ancestor's grave, displaying his might triumphantly.

Nan Gongsi endured, compelled to bear it.

Teeth clenched with a grinding pain, yet he must endure with utmost restraint.

"Step back, all of you," he said, and proceeded alone to the mountain gate.

On either side stood two divine tomb guardians, sculpted from spirit stones with warding properties. Their toes alone were as large as a five- or six-year-old child. Each statue had three faces, displaying either compassion or wrath, holding mystical artifacts in their hands while adorned with bangles around their arms. Strangely, such deities typically had glaring leopard eyes, yet these two had their eyes tightly shut, with furrowed brows, giving off an eerie vibe.

Nan Gongsi didn't blink as he pierced his fingertip with the hidden dart, drawing a rune on the warding spirit stone. Then, he said, "Nan Gongsi, the seventh-generation source blood relative of the Confucian Wind Sect, pays respects."

Rumble!

The earth shook.

A person, amazed by the unusual sight, exclaimed, "It's open! The statue's eyes!"

Mo Ran stood in the crowd, looking up too. If not for the tense situation, he would have told that person, "It's not just one statue, but two."

Both left and right tomb guardians had opened their eyes, revealing amber irises with narrow pupils, akin to those of a snake.

The statue on the left spoke slowly, its voice resonating like a mighty bell, "Nan Gongsi, do you recall the seven prohibitions of the Confucian Wind Sect?"

Nan Gongsi replied, "Greed, resentment, deceit, murder, lust, theft, and plunder—these are the seven things a Confucian gentleman must not do."

Huang Xiaoyue sneered from behind, "Sounds better than it is sung."

Not just Huang Xiaoyue, many people silently echoed in their hearts that these Seven Taboos were indeed the greatest irony to the current Confucian Wind Sect.

The statue on the right followed suit, its voice echoing with an ancient and distant quality, as if it had traveled through time: "Nan Gongsi, above you hangs a clear mirror, and below lies the vast Yellow Springs. As you walk this world, do you have no guilt in your heart?"

"Guiltless in my heart."

These two questions and answers were ingrained in Nan Gongsi's memory since childhood. Regardless of who from the Nan Gong family entered the Heroes' Tomb, they had to pass through these two inquiries and provide these two replies.

The first ancestor of the Confucian Wind Sect had set up these questions with the hope that future generations, when ascending the mountain for worship, would remember their ancestors' teachings and reflect upon themselves.

At this moment, Nan Gongsi couldn't help but wonder if his father, when he came here every winter solstice to pay respects and answered these questions, ever felt the slightest hint of emotion or guilt?

Or did he truly view these questions and answers merely as a mechanical key, a passcode to unlock the barrier of Dragon Mountain, nothing more?

The barrier opened.

The two standing stone statues suddenly trembled gently, altering their posture until they knelt, one on each side, with a knee on the ground.

"Please, allow the master to enter the mountain."

Nan Gongsi stood with his back to the group for a moment, his expression unseen by all, including Ye Wangxi.

Only Naobaijin, nestled in his quiver, whimpered, its snow-white claws extending to grasp at the edges, "Meow, meow-oo-oo."

"Enter," Nan Gongsi finally spoke, concise and firm, then took the lead, stepping into the territory of Dragon Mountain.

Xue Zhengyong dispelled his silencing spell and asked, "Do we still need to be cautious with our words here?"

"No," Nan Gongsi replied. "The need for caution was in the Pánlong Mountains, mainly to deter those with ill intentions towards the Confucian Wind Sect from entering. Here, the dragons have deemed us not enemies, so there's no need to worry about our choice of words."

Despite his assurance, many remained uneasy, refraining from speaking as they silently followed Nan Gongsi up the mountain. Every three hundred meters, two stone carvings of the twelve zodiac animals stood on either side, starting with a male and female pair of rats, then oxen, tigers, rabbits... From halfway up the mountain, the burial grounds of the Confucian Wind Sect's heroes through the ages began.

These heroes were laid to rest in order of their contributions, from low to high, along the slopes of Dragon Mountain.

Their first stop was the lowest level of the burial grounds.

An eight-foot-tall white jade monument stood upright, shimmering with brilliance. Carved upon it were individual names, topped by the handwritten inscription "Souls of Loyalty."

"I've heard that this is where the loyal servants of the Nangong family who have passed away are buried," Xue Meng whispered to Mo Ran. "There must be a thousand or so."

He was right. The mountain area was dotted with graves, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Shi Mo sounded worried. "What if all these thousands of servants and slaves rise up? The Nangong family's servants were quite skilled. They might hold out for a while."

Xue Meng hurriedly covered his mouth. "Shh, you're crazy. Quick, spit three times to ward off bad luck—don't jinx it—"

Mo Ran spoke grimly from the side. "It seems like it wasn't just a case of a cursed tongue."

"Hey, you dog, where are you going?"

Mo Ran ignored Xue Meng and left the main group, walking up to a cemetery for loyal souls. He knelt down and examined it closely.

The Confucian Wind Sect's heroes' graveyard was different from a regular burial ground; there were no tombs or earth mounds. Instead, they used translucent jade coffins, similar to thick ice, with half of each coffin buried underground while the other half was exposed. Thus, the mass graves looked like a series of interconnected jade ribbons, shimmering with an ethereal glow under the moonlight.

This kind of jade was similar to the preservation coffins in Shuangtian Temple on the Summit of Life and Death, capable of keeping corpses from decaying and preserving them as if they were still alive. Mo Ran looked down at the coffin before him. Mass graves weren't maintained too meticulously, so a thick layer of dust had accumulated on the jade coffin. All he could make out was the outline of the deceased beneath, unable to discern their facial features. From the body shape, it seemed to be a woman.

He stared at the woman for a moment before scanning the coffin again.

He felt that something was amiss with the coffin.

But he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.

Looking around, he took the opportunity while no one was paying attention to press his hand against the coffin's surface, closing his eyes to sense it carefully...

Suddenly, his palm trembled.

Mo Ran snapped open his eyes, his expression extremely grim.

There was indeed an evil aura within the coffin, but it was no longer concentrated. The Precious Chess Piece wasn't inside... Could it be that he had been mistaken?

"Mo Ran!" Xue Meng and the others were already moving away, calling out to him from a distance.

Mo Ran muttered softly, "Just a moment."

His slender fingers traced the coffin's surface inch by inch, wiping away the thick layer of dust to try and see the woman's face more clearly without opening the coffin.

As he wiped, he suddenly caught sight of a detail out of the corner of his eye, causing him to come to an abrupt halt.

He knew what was off now.

Dust.

The dust on this coffin was wrong!

Aside from the area he had just wiped, Mo Ran suddenly noticed another spot without any dust – there were four marks of varying lengths on the side of the coffin. After hesitating for a moment, he reached out to compare them and realized that they precisely matched the spots where a person would place their fingers while climbing out, excluding the thumb!

Mo Ran's face paled in alarm. Just as he was about to call for everyone to stop climbing the mountain, he felt a chill dampness in front of him.

He jerked his head up and inadvertently met a corpse-white face.

A woman dressed in burial clothes was crouching behind the tombstone, staring at him with an eerie gaze.