Chapter Thirty-Three: Master Chengshan

The introductory chapter on the Path of Arrays was exceedingly difficult.

Still, no matter how hard it seemed, as long as one possessed talent in the Path of Arrays, it was not impossible to achieve entry by sheer persistence and time. As the days slipped by, He Song’s tireless study of the introductory chapter brought him ever closer to true entry into the discipline. Though he had not yet crossed the threshold and could not set up even the simplest Spirit Gathering Array, He Song was not discouraged. His continual research had already led him to practice inscribing array patterns onto stones, hoping that, when the time came to engrave them onto spirit stones, his hand would be surer and more adept.

After several days of secluded cultivation, He Song released a message-carrying paper crane. Once he had sent off the crane, he returned to his daily regimen of arduous cultivation.

Beyond the outer perimeter of the Immortal Market, next door to He Song’s family home, a flash of spiritual light descended swiftly, landing before a burly figure. “Hmm? Messaging technique?” The familiar voice belonged to Lin Cong—if He Song were present, he would immediately recognize his neighbor. Lin Cong, who had just broken through to the mid-stage of Qi Refining, had been consolidating his cultivation when the sudden arrival of the spiritual light snapped him out of his meditative state.

He released a trace of his own aura. The paper crane before him instantly transformed into a sheet of paper. Picking it up, Lin Cong’s expression quickly became grave.

“Brother Lin, I departed without notice—please do not blame me, for circumstances compelled my hand.” “While we spoke at Osmanthus Tower about the Crimson Spirit Gold Mine, I have since investigated the matter repeatedly and discovered that the mine may soon face calamity. Hence, I write this letter.” “Should disaster strike the mine, Bamboo Mountain Immortal Market will be the first to suffer. The market will be thrown into turmoil, and with our limited cultivation, we risk catastrophe.” “I have already found a safe place to await the changing times.” “Brother Lin, prepare yourself and speak of this to no one.” “He Song.”

Lin Cong’s gaze lingered on the letter. A ripple of spiritual energy flickered in his hand, then faded, and the paper drifted away on the breeze. When it had vanished entirely, Lin Cong sat upright upon his meditation mat, his expression shifting through several emotions, lost in thought.

A long time passed.

“Sigh, then I must leave for now!” After wrestling with his conscience, Lin Cong let out a heavy sigh, finally making his decision. He also etched He Song’s warning deeply into his memory.

Once again, He Song had saved his life.

Lin Cong departed.

Just an hour after receiving He Song’s paper crane, Lin Cong packed his belongings and stood for a long time before He Song’s door, as if determined to imprint the place upon his memory. Much later, he slung his pack over his shoulder and strode decisively out of the market.

...

Time passed as He Song immersed himself in cultivation, his strength steadily growing, and his comprehension of the introductory chapter of the Path of Arrays deepening. His days followed a strict routine: he either cultivated or pondered the mysteries of arrays, occasionally sharing tea and conversation with Wei Fan to relax his mind. He did nothing else—he simply lost himself in training and study, as though the world’s affairs were entirely unrelated to him.

In truth, for He Song, the outside world mattered little. The spirit fields? There were others to tend them. Mining? Only a fool would risk their life for that. Visiting friends? Was he not already living with his closest companion?

Three months passed in this way. Each day, He Song maintained his routine, advancing rapidly in cultivation and gaining ever deeper insights into the Path of Arrays.

One day, at dusk, at Wei Fan’s invitation, He Song left his quiet chamber and joined him in the attic of the courtyard house. The attic was not fully enclosed; open to the breeze on all sides, it offered splendid views. Here, Wei Fan had set a round table and a tea set. In moments of leisure, the two would sit together, sipping tea and chatting, their eyes surveying the surroundings and taking in all that transpired.

“I wonder how Old Meng fares at the Crimson Spirit Gold Mine. We’ve heard nothing from him these three months.” Wei Fan sighed as he gazed at the breathtaking sunset.

In three months, Meng Guan had sent them only one paper crane during his first month at the mine; since then, there had been no word. Wei Fan was troubled, and He Song likewise. Yet both knew well that their worrying was useless. They resided within the market, while Meng Guan was at the mine—separated by distance, unable to help even if they wished. Besides, He Song’s cultivation was so modest that even leaving the market would be perilous.

“I’ve sent him several paper cranes, but whether he received them, I cannot say.” He Song’s face betrayed his concern, and his gaze gradually shifted aside.

At the very center of Wei Fan’s residential area stood a refined courtyard, perched higher than the surrounding houses—distinguished and imposing at a glance.

That was the place where spiritual energy gathered most densely in the market, and where the only Foundation Establishment cultivator resided—a man known as Master Chengshan. Over the past three months, He Song had glimpsed Master Chengshan from afar. Like most cultivators, he appeared as a young man, dressed in exquisite robes. As for magical tools, He Song had not seen any, but from a single glance, he felt the overwhelming spiritual pressure emanating from the man—so intense that he knew the other could crush him in an instant.

This was no exaggeration. He Song believed that even if he broke through to the late stage of Qi Refining, facing Master Chengshan would still mean instant death, without the slightest chance to resist.

Master Chengshan was the only Foundation Establishment cultivator in the market—the market’s stabilizing force. As long as he remained, chaos would not take root.

But just as He Song spoke, his gaze unconsciously drifted toward the refined courtyard. Suddenly, a streak of earth-yellow light flashed across his vision, carrying a powerful spiritual pressure as it sped off into the distance. The light seemed to have emerged from that very courtyard, and its familiar spiritual pressure struck He Song with recognition.

As the earth-yellow light streaked across the sky, He Song and Wei Fan, who had been chatting over tea, fell instantly into a deathly silence.

They remained quiet.

Long after, He Song exchanged a glance with Wei Fan; each saw shock and terror in the other’s eyes.

“The market… is about to descend into chaos!” Only now did Wei Fan manage to utter a single, strained sentence. Looking toward the direction in which the light had vanished, a hint of relief quickly surfaced in his gaze.