Chapter 38: The Reasonable Scholar
The Master found himself in a mysterious space, a faint smile on his face.
Just as he’d suspected—Song Yue, like him, was one of the chosen!
He’d already had an inkling after Meng Xudong mentioned Song Yue had entered a subterranean palace and remained there for days before emerging. Without the Celestial Stele, no one could have survived inside for such a length of time.
And as soon as he’d posed that question just now, the space around him had transformed, as if a barrage of messages was cascading across a public chat screen—countless words formed from spiritual energy, densely packed, illuminating the entire realm with a resplendent golden glow.
“Who is Song Yue?”
“Who’s speaking publicly?”
“Is Song Yue a newly promoted warrior?”
“Why are you looking for someone publicly? Did something happen?”
The Master paid no attention to these golden messages. He simply told Song Yue, calmly and gently, to do nothing and stay put—just wait.
As long as the boy was unharmed, all else could be resolved.
Now, it was time to reason with the people of the Kunlun Sect. He intended to ask them why they’d bullied a youth not yet twenty. Did they truly believe that, having established a mediocre power in the secret realm, they were superior to others simply by being its denizens?
With the Master’s latest words to Song Yue, the golden messages in the space multiplied again—
“So lonely! It’s been years since anyone spoke in public like this!”
“I remember, back then, how lively it was here! Everyone chatted merrily, but now it’s a dead group!”
“Exactly, everyone lurking in silence, spying from the shadows!”
“Who’s speaking? The voice is unfamiliar—why not introduce yourself? Let this lady get acquainted, won’t you?”
“Is someone bullying our new warriors? Come, tell me which world, who’s so bold? Let this humble monk go and educate them a little!”
“Monk, shut up. That elopement with the noble’s daughter is still unresolved. Your father-in-law is searching the world for you!”
“Amitabha, please don’t discuss such wanton topics with a monk. I was rescuing her, not abducting!”
The Master glanced at the barrage, then withdrew expressionlessly. He had reasoning to do.
Within the space of the Jade Void Celestial Stele, Song Yue and his companions, Qian Qianxue and Miao Qiang, were all left dumbfounded by the sudden onslaught of “messages.” They barely dared to breathe, let alone speak.
They exchanged bewildered glances. What was happening?
The golden words, condensed from spiritual energy, materialized throughout the space—everywhere they looked!
Even more astonishing, many familiar names appeared in the chat.
The so-called monk seemed infamous; as soon as he spoke, swarms of people leapt out to mock him for eloping with a noble lady. The monk, unruffled, defended himself in a slow, measured tone, which only incited the others further.
It was a long while before the golden text faded and peace returned.
Qian Qianxue drew out a piece of paper and scribbled: “Can we speak now?”
Song Yue: “…”
He didn’t know either, so he took up pen and paper too: “Why does this feel like a giant chat group?”
Qian Qianxue wrote: “Does this mean many people have these steles? Did you see the monk’s question—he asked, ‘Which world?’”
Song Yue nodded. He’d seen it too.
Recalling the nine portals, he speculated they probably led to nine entirely different worlds.
Could it be that the steles connected… to myriad worlds across the heavens?
All three were perplexed—and dared not speak further.
Outside.
A group from the Kunlun Sect had encamped, surrounding the Jade Void Celestial Stele.
The news had already reached their sect; the sect leader had instructed the vice leader to guard the stele closely and never leave. It seemed the sect leader knew something but refused to elaborate, and the vice leader dared not ask further—left only to stand guard, crestfallen and dispirited.
Kunlun Sect.
Nestled deep in the secret realm, in a land considered blessed, so called because an ancient subterranean palace lay beneath, opened thousands of years ago.
Most of the original founders had long since passed into legend, but a few “living fossils” remained—beings who’d lived for millennia, regarded as true immortals.
Though their numbers were few, the Kunlun Sect’s foundation was deep; they kept to themselves, rarely interacting with others in the secret realm—especially not the newly ascended. They had little interest in them.
The sect leader appeared to be a man past fifty, his long hair bound in a Daoist knot secured by a jade hairpin. This hairpin was a treasure, found in the subterranean palace: not only a sizable storage space, but also wielded as a flying sword by spiritual force. After years of refinement, it had become his life-bound artifact.
Now, the sect leader’s face was grave.
It had been many years since the Kunlun Sect had suffered such losses—seven men killed in mere days! In the secret realm, where people were more precious than resources, such loss was unbearable.
When he first heard, he was furious, wishing he could hack the killer into a thousand pieces and roast the soul with Dao fire for a hundred days before annihilating it.
But when he learned the murderer had vanished near a “World Stele,” disappearing without a trace, his mind buzzed—he suddenly became alert.
The foe… might be a warrior!
The vice leader, in his report, described a very young man, a martial cultivator who could control artifacts—formidable, perhaps already near grandmaster level.
The deaths of the initial four remained a mystery, but the subsequent events had witnesses: two Foundation Establishment and four high-ranking cultivators, unable to subdue him, instead lost three, severely injured another, and the two Foundation Establishments fled in panic.
This… was just like the legendary “warriors”!
After long contemplation, the sect leader’s face turned icy.
So what if he was a warrior? He’d slain so many Kunlun disciples—no matter who he was, he had to pay!
At that moment, someone burst in: “Sect Leader, someone is breaking through our mountain-guarding array—they’re almost—”
Before he could finish, a thunderous crash shook the sect, as if an earthquake had struck—buildings trembled, tiles fell. People poured from their houses in terror.
The sect leader flashed outside in an instant.
There, beyond the shattered array, stood a man in his forties, dressed in… athletic wear, hair not overly long, handsome, refined, and energetic—a jarring sight in the sacred halls of Kunlun.
Everyone in the sect was both enraged and terrified.
Who was this man? Why had he, without a word, smashed their defenses?
The sect leader soared forward, seemingly flying, and appeared before the stranger in a blink.
“Who are you?” His voice was cold as water.
To attack a sect’s defensive array was the greatest provocation—akin to crossing a border and tearing down defenses in broad daylight. It was an open challenge to war.
But the Master ignored him, looking up at the spiritual sky, then around at the lush, verdant forests. His tone was gentle: “Such a land of beauty and spirit, yet it nurtures only snakes and rats like you. What a waste.”
The sect leader: ?
Swish!
The jade hairpin shot forth.
This was no longer provocation—it was an outright insult!
What else was there to say?
The hairpin streaked so fast it twisted the very air, the sonic boom trailing behind its passage, as if a supersonic jet were roaring aloft.
A flash of light appeared before the Master; the impossibly swift hairpin was swatted aside with a crisp snap—it shattered.
The sect leader, controlling the hairpin with powerful spiritual force, was immediately struck as if mortally wounded, vomiting blood.
The destruction of his life-bound artifact dealt a grievous blow.
“So weak, yet you indulge your disciples in murder?” The Master’s voice remained gentle: “I came today to reason with you.”
The sect flew into a fury, hurling spells and arts at the Master. Who ever heard of someone coming to reason by first smashing defenses and crippling the sect leader?
The Master barely moved, yet runes of every color erupted around him—golden, radiating lethal intent; silver, cold and fearsome; black, writhing and uncanny. They shot toward his attackers.
Some were immediately stripped of their cultivation, collapsing in agony.
“Stop! Stop! Cease!” the sect leader screamed, terrified. This middle-aged man, so clearly of the mortal world, was a force beyond comprehension—perhaps the equal of their own ancient “living fossils.”
He’d once witnessed such a being battle a demon lord—magic of such terror it still made his heart quake to recall it. He never imagined he’d witness such power again.
With a mere gesture, a dozen disciples were crippled; yet the Master had shown mercy, robbing them only of their cultivation, not their lives.
The sect was pale and trembling. They didn’t know why such a being had come, but with his power, killing them would be as easy as crushing ants.
“Can we reason now?” the Master asked, ever gentle.
“Yes, yes—every fault is mine alone. Please, Elder, be magnanimous—do not lower yourself to our level!” The sect leader bowed deeply, nearly falling to his knees.
Kunlun had living fossils, but they’d long since withdrawn from the world, seeking only a few more years of life. To rouse them would invite calamity upon himself.
“You bullied a young man of passion and ambition—this, you know, don’t you?” the Master asked, still mild.
The sect leader seethed inside—young man, yes, but must he add so many flattering words? From what he’d heard, the youth was cunning as a fox, savage as a wolf, daring to turn and ambush when chased by six men, ruthless to the core. How was he the passionate youth described?
Clearly, he was a cold-blooded killer!
But these thoughts he dared not voice—not even to deny.
“Yes… Recently, indeed, a young man had an unpleasant encounter with us, costing us four Foundation Establishment and three high-level cultivators…” He could barely contain his humiliation and rage.
This “passionate youth” had killed seven of their own in a few days! Even if they were at fault, was such viciousness necessary?
“Judging by your look, you still don’t know your mistake?” the Master asked.
Suddenly, the sect leader understood—he realized: That young man… truly was a “warrior.” And this man before him… was also a warrior!
Only warriors could traverse the secret realm’s rules at will.
Yes, it had to be so.
They’d touched the warrior’s child; now the elder had come to defend him.
The sect leader’s heart ached, cursing the dead—why did they have to provoke the wrong person? Even if they’d offended the greatest powers of China, the West, or the aliens, it wouldn’t have been so disastrous!
“Elder, I understand my error.” He lowered his head, shame and resentment forgotten.
No one could have foreseen events spiraling so.
“And then?” the Master pressed.
To guide and activate the thunder energy within Song Yue, he needed many rare medicines—many monopolized by sects like Kunlun. Buying them was near impossible. Robbing? He wasn’t that sort—he preferred reasoning.
“We’re willing to make amends,” the sect leader choked out, swallowing his pride.
A sheet of A4 paper drifted down before him.
The sect leader snatched it, nearly splitting with rage.
The other had prepared a list, filled with all manner of precious elixirs—just reading it made his blood boil.
Outrageous! This was blatant extortion!
“Elder… this is too much, we can’t possibly give all this!”
His vision darkened. The sect vault held these treasures, but each was a cornerstone of their foundation! Even one would pain him for days.
“Then let’s reason properly,” the Master replied gently.
Reason? Reason his foot!
The sect leader nearly leapt up to fight, but reason told him that was exactly what the other wanted.
At this point, the elders gathered. Seeing the mundane paper in the sect leader’s hand, they trembled with fury.
One elder glared at the Master: “That youth killed seven of us in days! Seven lives lost forever! Since you’re so reasonable, what do you have to say?”
“Too few,” the Master replied.
“What did you say?” the elder snapped, unaware of the “warrior” situation.
“Too few. If he’d killed more, perhaps you’d have realized sooner your error, and I needn’t have come all this way to reason with you,” the Master sighed.
The sect was nearly torn apart.
They’d never met such a “reasonable” man.
The Master looked at the sect leader: “The secret realm opens once every sixty years. Every great faction gives young people a chance to enter, seek their fortunes, and grow. Even if you no longer think of yourselves as mortals, your ancestors came from the mortal world. If you feel no kinship, fine—but to seize the fortunes of these young men? You’re all cultivators; you know how hard the path is. Because of your greed, a youth might be stranded here for sixty years—or die at your hand. How can you bear it?”
“So you think seven deaths are too few? That it’s not enough to awaken you?”
“You…” The hot-tempered elder could barely respond.
“You should be grateful you met someone willing to reason. But if not—then draw your path and tell me, what do you want to do?”
The Master’s voice was ever placid: “I hear the sects here have ancient living fossils. You can discuss—should I wake two of them?”
“No need!” the sect leader cut him off, handing the paper to the vault elder. “Fetch the items!”
The elder looked at the long list and nearly fainted from low blood sugar.
“Go!” the sect leader sighed. Today, Kunlun could not escape this blade. To wake the living fossils would be courting death. Better to pay the price—painful though it was.
But the vault elder, paper in hand, did not immediately go to the vault. He was unwilling. He knew all too well the value of those medicines. Even a once-in-a-millennium genius wouldn’t be given so much!
This was pure extortion!
Why should they, after losing so many, suffer such humiliation and pay?
The sect leader had always seemed strong, but now—he was gutless, lacking backbone! If he wouldn’t take responsibility, the elder would!
He took the paper to the rear mountain, activated the formation, and was transported deep underground.
A thousand meters down, an ancient stone gate blocked his way. Outside, a string of battered bells hung.
He gritted his teeth and rang the bells.
The clear chime echoed in the depths.
An ancient voice sounded from within: “What is it?”
He’d gotten a response!
Nervous, he explained everything to the unseen ancestor, omitting nothing, not daring to embellish.
At the end, he read out the list of medicines.
There was silence for a long time.
Just as he began to lose hope, a thunderous shout rang out from behind the stone door—
“Intolerable!”
The door opened.
A figure emerged, reeking of decay—yet looking like a youth of seventeen or eighteen! The face was so young, almost childish, though the voice was ancient. The effect was uncanny—the elder’s heart pounded in terror.
“Lead the way,” the youthful ancestor said, face dark.
As it happened, this ancestor had always been hot-tempered, infamous in his day for battling the elders of the great sects.
He followed the vault elder back, and the sect leader nearly fainted at the sight—glaring murderously at the vault elder for daring such a reckless act.
The ancestor glanced at the sect leader: “You are a cowardly sect leader!”
He said no more, assuming the sect leader had called him, not knowing it was the vault elder’s doing.
He turned to the Master, eyes icy, regarding him with disdain—and struck without warning, no words, no questions. A tiny flying sword appeared from nowhere, darting straight at the Master’s brow.
A blaze of runes flared before the Master, blocking the three-inch blade. His face grew grave—not from the opponent’s strength, but because he himself was injured. Before coming, his wife had warned him not to fight, fearing it would aggravate his wounds.
Still, he showed no fear before this ancient master in a youthful guise.
He spoke: “Decayed wretch, your life nears its end. Return whence you came.”
As he finished, blood welled at his lips.
But the ancient ancestor’s eyes widened; his youthful face aged visibly, the decay deepening.
“You… you… you’re Confucian—”
Before he could finish, his black hair turned white, then fell out, his face sagged and shriveled, wrinkles etching deep.
He spat blood.
His eyes grew cloudy, frantically circulating his cultivation to resist the rapid aging. Useless.
The Master, blood at his lips, watched in silence, a trace of pity in his gaze—compassion for the dying.
The ancestor took a step forward—crack!—a leg broke. So aged, his bones were brittle beyond endurance.
In the end, he collapsed before the Master, lifeless.
From emergence to death—less than three minutes.
The tiny sword, losing its master, clattered to the ground and split. Artifacts with a trace of their master’s soul perish upon their owner’s death—this flying sword was now mere scrap.
The entire sect was silent as death.
A living fossil had died—killed by a word!
This man, who broke their defenses and shattered their leader’s artifact with ease, was a rare Confucian cultivator!
They’d thought they’d angered a tiger—now they saw they’d provoked a tyrannosaurus rex.
The sect leader, voice nearly murderous, shouted at the stunned vault elder, “Go fetch the goods!”
There would be a reckoning—not with that god of plague extorting them, but with the vault elder. He swore, when this was over, he’d never let him go—he would be held accountable.
Kunlun had lost an ancient master—no amount of pain from losing rare medicines could match that loss.
Half an hour later, the vault elder, grief-stricken, brought all the requested medicines. He dared pull no tricks—not even poison the herbs. He feared being spoken to death.
At that moment, the Master, face impassive, produced another blank sheet of paper.
The Kunlun Sect was driven mad.