Chapter Seventy-Three: Great Pine

This Taoist temple had been passed down for more than three hundred years.

According to the innkeeper, every abbot in its history was a renowned living immortal, versed in all things from geomancy to astrology, from divination to fortune-telling—there was nothing they did not comprehend.

The current abbot was one hundred and three years old, with the Daoist name Hong Song. The people of the surrounding Luoyue Commandery all referred to him as Elder Master Hong Song, and naturally, some even called him the Old Immortal.

“Master?” Qingyuan did not actually believe that this Elder Master Hong Song had truly transcended the Six Heavens and become a real immortal. The world was filled with such honorifics; it was not uncommon for even wandering magicians to be called sages descended to the mortal realm.

He arrived at the entrance of the temple, knocked, and waited for a time.

A Daoist acolyte opened the door, saw a stranger, and asked, “Who might you be, sir?”

Qingyuan chuckled and replied, “I have come in search of immortals and the Way. I have heard your abbot, Elder Master Hong Song, is a sage of many years standing, and so I have come to pay my respects.”

Hearing this, the acolyte’s brows revealed a hint of pride. Suddenly recalling something, his demeanor turned haughty and, with a flick of his sleeve, he declared, “The Master is entertaining a distinguished guest and will not see outsiders.”

Qingyuan smiled and asked, “What distinguished guest is this?”

At once, the acolyte became displeased. “What business is it of yours?”

Qingyuan did not take offense. He withdrew a silver ingot from his breast and handed it over.

The acolyte’s eyes lit up. He accepted it and, resuming a serious air, said, “That would be the famous martial artist Xu Xiao of Luoyue Commandery.”

“And this Xu Xiao, how profound is his martial skill?” Qingyuan inquired. “To be received by Master Hong Song, he must be no ordinary man.”

The acolyte nodded. “Of course. He is a master who has cultivated inner strength.”

Qingyuan’s expression did not change. “Achieving inner strength is enough to be considered a distinguished guest?”

“You don’t even understand that?” the acolyte scoffed. “To touch upon inner strength in martial arts is to become a figure of some renown. Even our Master treats him with great respect.”

Qingyuan laughed softly. “By that standard, can I not be counted such a personage as well?”

“With you—” The acolyte began, then stopped short, startled. “What do you mean by that?”

Surely this young man before him couldn’t also be someone who had cultivated inner strength?

Qingyuan clasped his hands behind his back and stamped his foot.

There was a thunderous boom.

The stone slabs beneath them shattered.

Cracks spread outwards, web-like, for half a yard in every direction.

The acolyte gaped, stumbling back two steps and falling at the threshold.

Qingyuan smiled. “Does that make me a distinguished guest as well?”

This was not martial inner strength, but merely the result of his advanced Daoist cultivation. His physical power had increased accordingly, and with the raw vigor and force of his body, he was no weaker than an adept of inner strength.

The acolyte was left speechless, still shaken.

Even if Xu Xiao himself struck, could he do better than this?

“Zhengben!”

From within came a voice, full and resonant: “What foolishness have you gotten into now?”

Clearly, the commotion had drawn the attention of those inside.

Before the acolyte could answer, Qingyuan called out, “This junior, Qingyuan, greets Elder Master Hong Song!”

He stepped across the threshold into the temple, stopping beside the acolyte.

The acolyte swallowed hard.

Qingyuan glanced down at him and said with a smile, “Forgive me, I was in haste and could not wait. Consider that silver as payment for repairing the stones outside.”

He strode forward and saw two men emerge from within.

The first, with hair as white as a crane’s but the face of a youth, complexion ruddy, wore Daoist robes and carried a horsetail whisk.

The other appeared a burly man in his prime, standing with a martial steadiness.

“Young man, you are most discourteous!” the burly man, presumably Xu Xiao, intoned deeply. “You interrupted my discussion with Master Hong Song and forced your way into the temple. I may have to teach you a lesson.”

With that, he sprang forward, fist swinging, the wind howling with his blow.

It was said that martial men were quick to anger, but Xu Xiao’s rage was swifter than Qingyuan had expected.

The fist came straight for his face.

Had he been struck, it would not have ended prettily—an ordinary person might have lost their life.

With a thud, Qingyuan raised his palm and caught the blow.

But he had not anticipated the force behind it—it was truly formidable, imbued with inner strength.

There was a cracking sound—stone slabs under Qingyuan’s feet split apart.

A faint pain lanced through his hand.

Yet, Qingyuan’s own strength was greater, and his vital energy could be projected beyond his body. He was superior to Xu Xiao by a margin and stood his ground unshaken.

“We bear no grudges, so a lesson I can accept, but was it not a bit excessive?” Qingyuan’s voice grew cold.

Xu Xiao, surprised by Qingyuan’s ability, threw another punch.

Qingyuan leapt back to avoid him.

He was a cultivator, not as skilled in close combat as a martial artist, but Daoist arts were not limited to such contests.

He reached into his robe, drew out a talisman, and tossed it forward.

The talisman burst instantly into flames.

“Daoist magic?” cried Hong Song in alarm.

Xu Xiao, flustered, could only dodge aside.

But the flames erupted, engulfing him.

When the fire dissipated, Xu Xiao had staggered back several steps, his hair singed and face scorched. He pointed at Qingyuan, then collapsed.

“I did not take his life,” Qingyuan said as he stepped forward, cupping his hands. “He simply struck too hard, so I returned the courtesy.”

He could see at a glance that this Elder Master Hong Song was not so profound in his cultivation as rumors suggested. As he had surmised, Hong Song’s attainment was shallow, only at the first heaven.

A thread of true energy resided within Hong Song, but it was neither deep nor sufficient to break through to the second heaven. Yet, this breath of true energy, cultivated over decades, allowed him to maintain calm, repel external evils, relax muscles, invigorate blood, and regulate the organs. It was for this reason that he had reached such an advanced age.

Hong Song, discerning that this visitor’s Daoist attainment surpassed his own, grew grave and asked, “For what purpose have you come, fellow Daoist?”

Qingyuan smiled. “I have some questions and hope you will enlighten me.”

Hong Song was silent for a moment, then replied, “If I were to say I know nothing, would you believe me?”

Qingyuan smiled and shook his head.

“Zhengben, take Xu Xiao inside and tend to his wounds,” Hong Song instructed, then said, “Please, come with me.”

Qingyuan nodded, still smiling, and followed.

If it were not necessary, he truly did not wish to use such forceful means.

But the matter of Mount Fuzhong could not be delayed.

Though Hong Song’s cultivation was shallow, he had spent many years in Luoyue Commandery. He might not know of the most profound matters, but he would surely be aware of local happenings.

“Judging by your bearing, you must be a cultivator of the second heaven,” Hong Song sighed. “I have spent sixty years on the Way, and only by luck have I achieved true energy. After several more decades, it is still only three inches high. The tradition of this temple is shallow, and I doubt it holds what you seek.”

Qingyuan said, “I wish to inquire about recent events concerning Mount Fuzhong.”

At this, Hong Song was surprised. “With your cultivation at the second heaven, how have you not heard any news in Luoyue Commandery?”