Chapter 48: The Master of Qianyang Mountain
“We’re from the Divine Continent? Not natives?”
Chen Shi stared blankly at the petrified treasure ship before him. Were his ancestors truly passengers on such a vessel, wandering the dark seas for 17 years before reaching this land? They had cleared forests, dug canals, built towns, fought beasts, and kindled civilization on this dark continent.
But why had Xiniu New Continent lost contact with Ming China? When the Ming soldiers first arrived, was the True God beyond the heavens already watching?
Chen Shi’s thoughts drifted. “Why can my Three Radiance Righteous Qi Method absorb starlight but not sunlight or moonlight? Only at the Mountain Lord’s Temple can it draw in both. Could it be that the sunlight and moonlight there come from the Divine Continent? And why have those temples fallen into ruin, buried underground?”
Tianqing, still brimming with excitement, reached out to touch the ship. Before his fingertips could graze its surface, the ground beneath them trembled violently. A sound like rushing water filled the air as the scenery around them transformed.
A massive river surged toward them, its waves crashing with deafening force. What had been a dry riverbed littered with fossilized fish bones was now a roaring current. Giant fish surfaced, their backs as large as green islets. The once-dead gun fish appeared alive again, leaping in the tumultuous waters.
“Ghosts-and-Gods Domain!”
Chen Shi reacted instantly, grabbing Tianqing and retreating at full speed. The ground quaked beneath them as lush grass sprouted where stones had once lain. Reed beds covered the banks, and the barren landscape came alive.
Chen Shi’s reflexes were astonishing. The spreading grass failed to catch up with him as he sprinted away with Tianqing in tow. His steps crushed stones underfoot, each stride spanning fifteen feet. “This speed!” Tianqing thought, astonished. “It’s even faster than a war talisman-enhanced sprint!”
In seconds, Chen Shi had carried them a hundred feet away, far from the ship. As they passed a dazed deer, it turned to look at them before being engulfed by the creeping grass. The deer froze mid-turn, transforming into a lifelike stone statue.
The grass pursued them relentlessly, but as it neared their heels, its advance slowed, then faded entirely. Chen Shi finally stopped, setting Tianqing down.
A seagull flying toward them vanished into thin air, leaving no trace behind.
“In the mountains, never let curiosity get the better of you,” Chen Shi said solemnly. “That’s how most people lose their lives.”
Tianqing nodded vigorously but then grinned. “Still, finding this stone ship means my grandfather and I can return to Quanzhou with something to show for our efforts.”
“Does the Li family have a way to dispel the domain around the ship?” Chen Shi asked.
“Maybe not,” Tianqing admitted, “but whether they do or don’t, my grandfather, my mother, and I will be able to live comfortably now.”
Chen Shi smiled, happy for his friend.
Meanwhile, far outside Xinxing Province, along the provincial road, a peculiar drama unfolded.
A young Xinxing rat foraged in the roadside grass. These massive creatures, native to Xiniu New Continent, often grew to over a hundred pounds and were infamous pests. Yet in times of famine, they became a valuable source of food.
Suddenly, the rat spotted three tiny porcelain dolls staggering out of the brush. Injured and exhausted, they carried miniature weapons. The rat lunged at them, only to be met with a volley of attacks. One doll even unleashed a golden core, which the rat promptly swallowed, killing the doll instantly.
Another porcelain doll tried to fight back but was quickly bitten in half. Only one managed to escape, fleeing onto the provincial road and latching onto the axle of a speeding carriage bound for the provincial capital.
Upon reaching the city, the doll slipped off the carriage, cracking its left foot in the process. Limping into a shadowed alley, it finally revealed its identity by holding up a small wooden sign:
“I am Zhao Minrou, Second Miss of the Zhao Family’s Xuanying Manor. Notify my father, Zhao Yanlong, for a reward!”
At Xuanying Manor, Zhao Yanlong and his wife listened as the porcelain Zhao Minrou recounted her ordeal.
“Minrou,” Zhao Yanlong said, his eyes gleaming as he read her description of the kiln factory. “This must be the site where burial ceramics for the True King’s Tomb were crafted. The kiln workers repairing the eight-armed, four-faced statue must have been working to restore the domain’s essence.”
He laughed. “The True King’s Tomb will soon be ours! Rest assured, Minrou, I’ll see to your revenge.”
Later, Zhao Yanlong approached an elderly man painting intricate talismans in a pavilion. The elder’s mastery of symbols, scripts, and inscriptions was unparalleled.
“Second Uncle, I need your help,” Zhao Yanlong said.
The elder, Zhao Cunyi, looked up, his aura radiating an overwhelming presence. “Who’s the target?”
“Chen Shi and Chen Yindu of Huangpo Village.”
Zhao Cunyi rose with a faint smile. “I’ll be back by dinner.”
By evening, Zhao Cunyi arrived at the Chen residence. Despite walking over 300 miles, he appeared relaxed, as though strolling in his own garden. Entering the courtyard, he noted the simple yet tasteful surroundings.
In the main hall, he found a tall figure in funeral garb standing before a spirit tablet. The figure’s back was turned, its aura heavy with death.
“Chen Yindu,” Zhao Cunyi called out. “Your grandson has offended my master, and I’ve come to settle the matter. Let’s have a duel worthy of two master talisman practitioners.”
The figure paused before speaking. “Talisman Anthology? Are they still teaching that outdated text?”
Startled, Zhao Cunyi demanded, “Who are you?”
The figure turned, its expression calm. “I compiled that text when I was in my forties. It’s far from relevant now.”
Realization dawned on Zhao Cunyi. “You’re the Master of Qianyang Mountain?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s just my origin. Using one’s true name in this field is a swift path to death.”
Before Zhao Cunyi could respond, flames erupted around him, consuming him entirely. His final, anguished cry echoed briefly before the courtyard fell silent.
Chen Yindu swept the ashes into a dustpan. “Careless fool,” he muttered.
In the west wing, Li Jindou, still battling his porcelain transformation, stared in shock.
“He’s the one who wrote Talisman Anthology? The founder of the Heavenly Heart Righteous Qi Method?”
Thus ended the day in Huangpo Village, where past legacies and present ambitions clashed.