Corpse Recovery Diver

The ceremony ended.

The young Taoist had many questions he wanted to ask. He turned his head to look at his master, only to find a strange flush appearing on his master's face.

This master of his was literally both a teacher and a father to him.

All along, his master had been indifferent and carefree in front of him, like the portraits of the ancestors hanging on the wall.

For the first time, he felt such a clear sense of the mundane in his master.

"Master, which Dragon King is he?"

The young Taoist, still young, wasn't fond of flipping through the scriptures in his family's Taoist temple's Scripture Pavilion, preferring to read the more story-driven accounts.

In many stories, "Dragon King" is mentioned, and he once marveled at how this "Dragon King" lived so long, with records of him suppressing strong evils in every dynasty and era.

Later, he learned from his master that Dragon King is a title, not self-assigned, but recognized by the Heavenly Dao.

Each generation's Dragon King was an outstanding figure of their era, leaving behind their own legends in the Jianghu.

However, his master did not answer the question but instead took out the cushion he carried, placed it on the ground, and sat cross-legged on it.

"Disciple, come here."

The young Taoist nodded, took the cushion off his back, and placed it slightly behind his master's side, sitting down on it.

"Disciple, calm your mind and listen to the teachings."

With that, his master closed his eyes.

The young Taoist also closed his eyes.

At first, he felt nothing, and due to the special environment here, he couldn't even enter meditation.

But gradually, the young Taoist sensed that something in his mind had changed.

Yet, for a moment, he wasn't sure what specifically it was.

This feeling was somewhat excruciating, causing him great insecurity.

He forced himself to open his eyes, leaned forward, and looked at his master, finding his master smiling with his eyes closed, completely immersed, which was definitely not meditation in the Taoist style.

The sense of unease grew stronger, and the young Taoist held his head in his hands, feeling as if someone was reaching into his mind to manipulate it.

Finally, he discovered the change, stemming from a distortion of certain known realities.

He recalled when his master first took him in, teaching him the martial arts of their school.

Although the school was small and had been passed down for several generations, it was still quite ancient on Qingcheng Mountain, with ancestors who were orthodox Taoists.

Thus, the initial martial instruction emphasized establishing a foundation, strengthening muscles and bones, and nurturing righteous energy, essentially preparing the body for better comprehension and learning of Taoist classics.

Yet now, when revisiting this memory, his master's demonstrations became extraordinarily forceful, and the formulas described were completely different.

The aura was more grand, the incantations more profound, and the young Taoist could distinctly feel that this set surpassed their familial teachings by leaps and bounds.

The young Taoist agreed that if someone taught him in person, he would express gratitude and respect.

He could also accept receiving a secret manual to ponder over, even if it meant racking his brains.

He couldn't fully accept this method of forcibly altering his own memories as a form of instruction.

He had always cherished his experiences since entering the path, especially since his mother died giving birth to him, and he lived with his grandparents, knowing only that his father occasionally visited quietly at night, leaving money and food.

Until his grandparents grew older and frail, unable to care for him any longer, they mentioned preparing for his father to take him away.

He didn't want to leave his grandparents but also yearned to meet his father, a very normal feeling for a child.

His father came, dressed in a Daoist robe, and it was the first time he met him.

But when he called him father, his father insisted he call him master instead.

His father said it was the rule.

In any case, he cherished the memories with his father and couldn't allow such memories to be altered.

The young Taoist stood up, wanting to reach out and shake his master awake, but as he got close, his master turned his face, slightly lifting his eyelids, revealing an eerie glint in his eyes.

This was definitely not his master, nor his father.

"Ah!!!"

The young Taoist screamed and fled outside, disregarding everything.

The master drew back his gaze, resuming the same serene, intoxicated expression as before.

A long time passed before the master seemed to finish, standing up to bow once more toward the frozen black pool.

"Thank you, Dragon King."

Then, he began tidying up the items on the ground, letting out a sigh as he picked up the small cushion:

"This child truly has shallow fortune."

Although their school was of orthodox Taoist lineage, it had long declined. Even with some classics remaining, without enough people to study and pass them on, they're just a pile of dead books collecting dust.

Besides, no matter how glorious the records of the school's peak days were, how could they compare to direct teachings from the Dragon King himself?

"Crack..."

This time the sound was more pronounced, and a stone tablet broke through the icy surface, revealing a small portion.

The master looked at the first character on the stone tablet, his eyes filled with excitement, as it was a surname he had heard before.

In the Jianghu, there have been Dragon Kings arising from humble beginnings, some vanishing rapidly after achieving their status.

However, some lineages are powerful enough to continually produce Dragon Kings, if not this generation, then the next, quietly persisting through time.