Chapter 79 Falling Asleep, Waking Again

Ji Ming landed in the earthen village, caring nothing for concealing his monstrous form. His antennae quivered as he caught the scents of Golden Nemean Ape and Aunt Qiao, and he hurriedly followed the trail.

At this hour, the sun was high, and the villagers—men, women, and children—were all frightened by his appearance, their faces full of terror.

From one of the stilted huts emerged a handsome Daoist priest. Shaking out his wide sleeves, he pointed at Ji Ming and called out, “Good centipede spirit, do not frighten the villagers.”

Seeing that the Daoist’s manner revealed no hostility, Ji Ming’s mind shifted, and he asked, “Are you Aunt Qiao’s husband?”

The Daoist pressed his palms together in greeting. “Thanks to your care for Qiao in the mountains, she returned safely. I am much obliged to you both.”

Ji Ming estimated that relocating Aunt Qiao could not avoid involving this man, so he spoke of the matter concerning the Cold Rhinoceros’ Reflecting Mirror.

“The River Lord has already spoken to me about the matter of Sorrowful Cloud Temple.”

As the villagers’ fear grew ever more apparent, the Daoist beckoned Ji Ming into a stilted hut.

“Never did I imagine that the prophecy of the ‘Great Heresy of Thirty-Six’ would come to rest upon my child. Who knows whether this will be fortune or disaster.”

Observing the Daoist’s calm composure, Ji Ming felt reassured. He asked, “Do you have any plans? I reckon that that Suluozi will arrive here any day now.”

“Haha! That is easily handled,” the Daoist laughed, pointing to himself. “Here in the northern reaches, I have long cultivated many friendships, some among the cultivators of the Three Realms. And besides, Elder Feihuzi from Crane View has already arrived. You needn’t worry; he and Suluozi are both high adepts of Dragon and Tiger. Both are nearly at the end of their years, which is a pity…”

Seeing the Daoist’s words were genuine, Ji Ming felt his tension melt away and collapsed, exhausted, inside the hut.

“The Centipede Immortal and River Lord are both paragons of virtue. In my life, I have met only a few who could match you.” The Daoist sincerely praised him, then produced three pearl beads, which he offered to Ji Ming without a trace of prejudice towards his monstrous nature.

These pearls, taken from ancient river clams, were rich in spiritual essence, their monstrous energies harmonized, harmless to the flesh—a natural elixir, so to speak.

“My brother Golden Nemean…”

Ji Ming was about to ask, when the Daoist drew close and whispered, “Soon, there is a fateful opportunity waiting for you—listen well and don’t be alarmed.”

At these words, Ji Ming’s antennae twitched, detecting a faint, well-masked fragrance. Such a scent could only belong to one who spent years burning incense in ritual, the aroma permeating the very skin, impossible to fully conceal.

From the inner chamber emerged an old Daoist in a black robe, his head crowned with a round cap, a topknot visible. As he walked, his steps made a “clack clack” sound.

Looking down, Ji Ming saw that beneath the hem of the old Daoist’s robe protruded a pair of three-toed claws.

With a flick of his horsetail whisk, the old Daoist shook his head. “Those who follow the Way gather much aid, those who lose it, little. Yet I never expected you, a young Daoist, would commit such misguided deeds.”

“When my child is born, their whereabouts must remain unknown to outsiders, and all connections must be severed. Eliminating the irrelevant is but necessary in such circumstances.”

The Daoist’s face was cold, speaking as if such measures were perfectly justified.

Ji Ming glanced at the handsome Daoist, uncertain what calculations Aunt Qiao’s husband was truly making.

Still, he found himself unafraid—instead, more at ease. Only such inscrutable cultivators could truly safeguard the celestial being.

“Have you any last words?”

Ji Ming thought for a moment, then cooperated, saying, “If you kill me now, my brother Golden Nemean will surely avenge me one day.”

The Daoist did not refute him, but seemed to consider it seriously, finally nodding in agreement.

“You are right. Those who gather out of righteousness will indeed stop at nothing for vengeance. So be it; at most, it means killing another River Lord, which is only a slight inconvenience.”

His words were not finished before his sleeves swept out, and the sound of surging water filled the air—a hidden killing move about to be unleashed—when the old Daoist intervened just in time.

“This centipede immortal is fated to cross paths with me. I will keep him in Crane View’s blessed ground, ensuring no news of the celestial leaks out.”

The Daoist’s expression fell, withdrawing his sleeves with a complaint. “Elder Feihuzi, why not say so earlier? Now I look the villain, returning grace with enmity.”

The old Daoist’s face twitched at the junior’s shamelessness.

Ji Ming studied the Daoist, wondering if he had purposely provoked the old man to take him in, or if he had truly intended to kill him.

“Well?” the Daoist said lightly, as if seeking praise.

Just then, an immense force fell without warning upon Ji Ming, smashing him down into the suspended chicken coop beneath the stilted hut.

The Daoist, too, was struck down, his arm twisted backward at the joint, making him shudder in pain.

Only the old Daoist remained in the hut, enduring the force, surrounded by the roars of dragons and tigers.

“Cluck-cluck!” The startled roosters beneath the hut crowed frantically, until a moment later, the force exploded them in a shower.

“This is Suluozi’s Demon-Subduing Hand Seal!” the Daoist gasped, bones groaning beneath the pressure, yet still managing to warn Ji Ming.

From the old Daoist’s body, phantoms leapt forth, each making a gesture of supporting the heavens, instantly halting the demon-subduing power—much like those of Monk Huijin.

“The Feathered Power forged by the ‘Sitting Mountain Giant Scripture’ is as wondrous as ever,” the Daoist praised, his face half-buried in chicken droppings.

Ji Ming saw a monk enter the room—tall and lean, in black wide-sleeved robes, draped in a brocaded kasaya, two pairs of arms folded in reverse prayer.

Unlike the old Daoist, the monk appeared youthful, his body exuding a vigorous energy, as radiant as the morning sun.

“Feihuzi!” The dual-cultivated Suluozi, or rather, Chan Master Suluo, saluted the old Daoist. “Senior brother, it has been too long. How have you been?”

“Enough, just call me by my Daoist name.”

“Why such distance, senior brother? Though we do not share the same altar or temple, we are both of this Mount Taiping. We ought to call each other brothers.”

“You manipulate both earth and mountain gods, searching every inch of land. Quite the grand display—aren’t you afraid the main hall will hold you to account?”

“The branch halls are within their rights to manage their own affairs; you know this better than I. I have not overstepped in the slightest.”

“Is Lan Yin Fang yours as well?”

“In time.” Chan Master Suluo did not wish to discuss further. “You may shelter him for a while, but not for life. Why go to such trouble? Even if you keep him here, he must one day go to Mount Taiping to be tested as a Daoist. Will you protect him then?”

“That’s not your concern.”

Chan Master Suluo chanted a Buddha’s name, finally turning his gaze to Ji Ming and the Daoist. “What a loyal monster spirit—despite all my arrangements, you managed to break through.”

Meeting his gaze, Ji Ming replied calmly, “It is Heaven’s will.”

“Well said.” The monk’s eyes fell on Ji Ming’s mouth, where the White Bone Heart-Pearl was hidden. “Buddhist consecration—so fate links us yet.”

As he spoke, a mantis-like bone arm formed a great hand seal and struck a treasure-forging mantra into Ji Ming’s heart.

“This is the Twenty-Fourth Lunar Transformation. If fortune favors you, you may refine that pearl into a true lunar treasure.”

Receiving this treasure-forging mantra, Ji Ming felt no joy—only the monk’s deep confidence, as though the celestial’s death was certain.

“Can you keep the celestial safe?” Ji Ming could not help but ask Feihuzi.

“Rest assured,” the old Daoist stroked his beard, his whisk flicking. “I have a flawless plan to conceal him. Suluozi will never find the celestial.”

He looked to the Daoist. “The celestial descends to fulfill calamity, hindering Suluozi’s path. I wish to take him into the mountain, sheltering him in the blessed ground to ensure his safety. What say you?”

“I defer to your arrangements. Until his mission is complete, neither I nor Qiao will seek him out.”

Ji Ming was speechless. The Daoist seemed only too eager to rid himself of a burden.

“Very well,” the old Daoist nodded. With a sweep of his whisk, phantoms with feathered wings appeared—only then did Ji Ming see they were human-shaped beings with wings sprouting from their backs.

“Let’s go,” the old Daoist commanded. One feathered giant picked Ji Ming up and flew him straight to Crane View’s small blessed ground.

Once inside, the old Daoist paid him no further heed, restricting his movements as if leaving him to his own fate.

Clearly, prejudice against monsters did not vanish simply because one sheltered them.

Within the blessed ground, Ji Ming had no chance to prepare, contact outsiders, or even explore. For in two or three days, Aunt Qiao was already about to give birth.

In the core of Ji Ming’s mind, the “Eye of Wet Egg Rebirth” sensed the moment; the time of reincarnation had come—there could be no delay.

He hid the White Bone Heart-Pearl deep within the blessed ground, concealed it as best he could, and then coiled beneath an ancient tree’s roots, slipping into a deep and muddled sleep, ending his fourth life—until he would awaken in Aunt Qiao’s womb.

“Alas, I could not see Golden Nemean Ape one last time in this life; when next we meet, will we still be brothers?”