Chapter Eight: The Great Mountain Demon
The various schools of Heaven and Earth—Confucian, Buddhist, Daoist, and others—each follow their own paths of cultivation, and thus their ranks and realms differ as well. Even within the Daoist schools, the methods of practice diverge, and each stage of attainment carries its own distinctions. Despite these differences, the journey of cultivation is broadly divided into nine steps; only beyond these nine steps does one reach the Immortal Realm.
Though each tradition names and divides these stages differently, in summary, they are collectively called the Ninefold Heaven. The Ninefold Jade Tower corresponds to these nine realms of cultivation, illuminating the path ahead. Yet while the path is revealed, one must still walk it step by step, grounded and perseverant.
With each level ascended, one must still learn to nourish essence, refine qi, preserve spirit, harmonize the dragon and tiger, capture Kan and fill Li; one must still shift furnaces and change cauldrons, reverse the Eight Trigrams; one must still cultivate immortality and practice the Way. None of this is easy.
He gazed up at the sky and sighed with regret.
“For others, the path of cultivation is shrouded in mist, every step uncertain, each mystery to be unraveled.
“But I have no immortal root. The road lies clear before my eyes, yet it is as if I was born without legs and cannot walk this broad avenue.
“There are no shortcuts in cultivation, but even if there were, what use would they be to me?
“To be without an immortal root is like being without arms or legs.
“Let alone walking, even to crawl upon this immortal path is hopeless…”
Yet despite this, he did not slacken; each day, he practiced without fail.
He imagined moonlight shining upon his head, then dividing into six rays, illuminating all filth and leaving his mind pure and lucid.
Within his mind, a Ninefold Jade Tower appeared.
The Ninefold Jade Tower stood in the moonlight, shrouded in mist, mysterious and distant.
Qingyuan changed to the energy circulation route described in the Scripture of the Yellow Court, his will transformed into a phantasmal force, charging at the first tier of the Jade Tower.
But the doors of the Jade Tower remained closed.
Simply because he lacked the immortal root and the bones of the Way.
…
Under the state of observing impurity in June, his mind was clear, every sensation sharpened beyond the ordinary.
Suddenly, a chill seized him, a coldness rising from his spine to the back of his skull.
In an instant, cold sweat drenched his palms.
Qingyuan suddenly looked up and saw that the moonlight had vanished, replaced by another illumination.
But it was not light—it was a gaze.
Above, an eye watched, its pupil tinged with blue.
Though he could not see the entirety, Qingyuan knew it was an eye—an enormous one.
Abruptly, the eye withdrew.
Moonlight, no longer blocked, spilled down once more, gentle as water yet tinged with a chill.
The cold within Qingyuan’s heart deepened, down to his very bones.
“Go!”
He did not hesitate, shouting aloud as he leapt up, scooping Xiaoyu into his arms.
The mountain fiend, too, sensed something amiss as soon as Qingyuan noticed. Having grown up in the wild, where life is a constant struggle between hunter and hunted, it was naturally swift and alert.
As Qingyuan lifted Xiaoyu, the mountain fiend reached the door, pushing it aside with a single motion.
But it did not flee immediately. It turned, its voice hoarse: “Quick…”
Qingyuan followed behind, exiting the hut.
Boom!
No sooner had they left and taken only a few steps than a thunderous crash erupted behind them.
A gust of fierce wind, carrying countless splinters, slammed into their backs.
Qingyuan was struck by intense pain, hurled forward to tumble across the ground. Rising unsteadily, he knew without looking that his back was soaked in blood.
Splinters, driven by the storm, had pierced his clothes and flesh.
“What happened…”
He shot a hurried glance backward—where once the thatched hut stood, now there was nothing. Atop the summit, in its place, was an enormous head.
That head was over sixty feet across, covered in thick, crimson hair, its face blue and wild, eyes emerald green and terrifying.
Its fangs were sharp, jaws tightly shut, mouth full of splinters and dry grass.
It had bitten the entire hut to pieces in a single bite.
“Run…”
The mountain fiend seemed to recognize it, terror-stricken, caring nothing now for the fire talisman or the long blade that Qingyuan carried, grabbing his arm and fleeing down the mountain.
Qingyuan’s heart pounded, cold sweat soaking him.
Clutching Xiaoyu, he raced after the fiend.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the great head lift.
It was a giant, as towering as a mountain.
Its head was enormous, blue-faced and fanged, yet its body was humanlike, muscles knotted and powerful—like a god-demon of ancient legend. Standing upright, it was over three hundred feet tall.
The mountain’s peak barely reached its knees.
Then it lifted its foot and took a step forward.
The peak lay before it, and so it kicked the mountain aside as easily as a child crushing a sandpile.
But this was no sandpile, it was a mountain, covered in grasses and trees, home to countless creatures, birds and beasts, its core forged of stone and standing here through untold ages, solidified by time.
Yet before the giant, it was still reduced to rubble.
Boulders flew in all directions.
Some were the size of houses, others no bigger than grains of sand.
One massive rock, house-sized, sailed tens of miles away to smash into another mountain, shattering it as well.
Dust and smoke billowed, blotting out the moonlight.
The mountain crumbled, the earth split.
…
Qingyuan felt the ground dissolve beneath his feet, and then he was falling.
He spun through the air with the stones, plummeting downward.
A massive boulder hurtled toward him from the side.
“Damn!”
Qingyuan could do nothing but clutch Xiaoyu to his chest with his left arm, thrusting his iron staff out with his right.
The staff struck the boulder.
A tremendous force surged through its tip.
It was like the power of rivers and mountains—irresistible.
Qingyuan was shaken violently, coughed up a mouthful of blood, and fell into darkness.
All was black before him.
Within darkness, within nothingness.
Only deathly silence and desolation remained.
…
“You… are…”
In the midst of darkness and deathly silence, a rough, low voice tore open a corner of the void.
Wounded and nearly suffocated, Qingyuan suddenly found himself able to breathe again.
He opened his eyes to see the mountain fiend heaving aside a slab of rock.
By fortune, he had been buried in a crevice, the surrounding stones shielding him from the crushing weight above. Had it not been for the fiend clearing away the smaller rocks, he would have been trapped and left to die.
Qingyuan pushed Xiaoyu upward, barely managing, “Take the child up first.”
The fiend took the child, then reached out its hairy, powerful hand to pull Qingyuan up.
The hand was rough and strong, yet no longer menacing—instead, it brought a sense of reassurance.
…
Dust still shrouded the sky above, thick as clouds.
But here, all was ruin.
“What in the world was that?”
Qingyuan, his own heart still pounding, looked at the terror in the fiend’s eyes and asked, “What was it?”
“They say… that… is… the Mountain God.”
The fiend’s speech was halting, but clear enough.
“The Mountain God?”
Qingyuan’s gaze grew sharp.
It was said that creatures like mountain fiends, if they gained sufficient power, would often claim dominion and call themselves Mountain Gods, stirring up storms and ruling their domain.
But the being just now was clearly not a mountain fiend.
The fiend hesitated, then added, “It is… the king. In the mountains… all call it… the Great Mountain Demon.”
Qingyuan murmured, “The Great Mountain Demon?”
He looked southward.
Far on the horizon, a silhouette lay across the sky.
Even at such distance, one could see it was a human form.
An ordinary person, viewed from here, would be but a speck of dust.
Yet this figure, even from afar, was still unmistakable.
For it was too vast to ignore.