Chapter Eighty-six: The Tale of Raising the Grandfather Who Accompanies Me (Third Update)

The rising sun cast its gentle warmth. It was the time of day when spiritual energy was at its peak, and many novice cultivators sat in meditation to gather their qi. Sunlight spilled over the mountaintop, illuminating a six-pointed star formation traced upon the ground, interspersed with various runes. The sunlight did little other than highlight the roughness of the drawn formation; nothing else changed.

Wu Yue sighed. He had spent half the night in vain. By all accounts, this half-finished summoning array should already be able to channel a trickle of starlight. Yet, after more than half a month of relentless rain, there was hardly a star to be seen in the sky, let alone any starlight to draw upon.

Helpless, yet curious, Wu Yue had come up with this idea. Glancing at the sun, he found he was not entirely without gain. At the very least, he had proven a theory: in this world, starlight and sunlight had nothing to do with each other. Otherwise, the array would have shown some reaction.

“Boy, have you reached the late stage of Qi Condensation yet?” a sudden voice rang out.

Wu Yue was not startled. First, he carefully erased all traces of the formation. Though it was useless without the final incantation, it was best to be cautious. Only then did he reply, “Elder Qing Yuzhi, it’s only been half a month—how could it be so quick? I’m still in the mid-stage of Qi Condensation, having only condensed four streams of qi. Don’t call me slow; in the cultivation world, that’s about average, wouldn’t you say?”

A cold chuckle echoed from a fist-sized black palace on the ground, followed by Qing Yuzhi’s voice, “The Innate Purple Qi Technique relies on innate qi. If you only cultivate this method, your efforts will yield half the results. With this approach, when will you ever reach the Spirit-Consolidation stage? And when will you finally release me?”

Wu Yue understood Qing Yuzhi’s point, but compared to other cultivation methods, the Innate Purple Qi Technique offered its own advantages—its ability to refine spiritual energy and its various special spells. Wu Yue might not possess these spells now, but that could change in the future.

Besides, after passing through Qi Condensation, Spirit Perception, and Foundation Establishment, Wu Yue’s Dao Foundation had already been shattered once. Better safe than sorry. Perhaps it was time to try a new path; who knew what unexpected results might come of it? More importantly, Wu Yue was in no hurry. On the path of cultivation, impatience and a restless heart were the greatest pitfalls.

As for the Mount Tai Hall, Wu Yue vaguely surmised that only upon reaching the Spirit-Consolidation stage would he be able to summon it freely again.

Having lived for so long, Qing Yuzhi had already moved beyond his initial anger, disbelief, existential doubt, and tears of despair. Now, calmness had settled in. Determined to change his fate, he began guiding Wu Yue’s cultivation, however begrudgingly.

“Boy, this treasure of yours is extraordinary. Where did you get it?” Qing Yuzhi began probing casually.

“It was a gift from my sect,” Wu Yue replied, not entirely untruthful. Mount Tai Hall had been given to him by Chang’an, who served under Da Lie. By any reckoning, both he and Da Lie hailed from the Earth, or from the Lineage of Lishan.

“Your sect? And which noble sect would that be?” Qing Yuzhi asked, startled. Any sect possessing such a treasure could not be ordinary.

“Lishan,” Wu Yue answered.

“Lishan?” Qing Yuzhi fell into deep thought, trying to recall the origins of this great sect.

Wu Yue only smiled and began to meditate. Spiritual energy slowly gathered around him, as fine as threads. Wisps of white vapor rose from his mouth and nose.

The morning is the best time to begin one’s work; such precious hours.

Black Curtain City. In the year since that great battle, the city’s fame had grown by several degrees, though little else had changed. If anything, the storytellers in the taverns and teahouses had gained a few more tales—stories of Wu Yue summoning endless heavenly thunder, of Qing Yuzhi calling forth earth-shaking flames. These accounts made for entertaining chapters in their ongoing tales of magical duels; no one took them too seriously, so long as the stories pleased the crowd.

What did cause a stir was the quiet restoration of the damaged city walls and land, a task the Fierce Tiger Gang undertook alone and without complaint. This drew the wary attention of other sects, adding a further spark of excitement to the city.

But all this was of little concern to a certain group of idlers. They were, nominally, peripheral members of the Fierce Tiger Gang, but in truth, if trouble arose, the gang would not bother with them—not out of fear, but out of indifference. Their lives were worth less than grass; not only did others not care, they themselves cared little.

Black Dog was one such man. His real name had been Black Tiger, but after a cultivator overheard it and soundly beat him, he’d survived by a stroke of luck and became known as Black Dog thereafter. Every place had its hierarchy; Black Dog was slightly better off than most, with a dozen men under his command. Usually, they loitered near the city gates, offering pleasantries to passersby. With luck, they received a reward; with less luck, they were beaten to death. With the weak, they bullied as much as they could.

Of course, sometimes they met a hidden master and died for their trouble. Black Dog had been luckier—he was still alive, even after encountering Wu Yue. And when Black Dog recounted the tale, no one believed him. After all, everyone knew Wu Yue was infamous for bloodshed and violence, his temper explosive, murdering several in a failed robbery.

As the sun rose, it was not yet time to begin the day’s work. Black Dog was too lazy to get up. Men like him had no right to live inside the city.

Black Dog had just managed to sink back into a sleepy haze when he heard the cawing of crows outside.

“Bah! Crows at this hour,” he grumbled, pulling on his jacket and opening the door with a scowl.

Leaning against the wall was a hulking, ragged fool, mimicking the caw of crows at the sun with uncanny accuracy. Furious, Black Dog strode over, but the fool ignored him, continuing his loud performance. Incensed that even a simpleton dared provoke him, Black Dog snatched up a stone and hurled it with force.

A sharp, crow-like screech burst from the fool as the stone struck him. He collapsed to the ground, silent at last. Black Dog sneered, not even bothering to check on him. Dead or alive, what difference did it make? In Black Curtain City, there were no laws.

Yawning, Black Dog turned to go back inside, never noticing that the fool, lying with a deep gash on his head, shed not a drop of blood. Instead, wisps of black mist drifted from the wound.

After some time, the fool stirred, slowly raising his scarred face.

“Wu Yue,” he spat through clenched teeth, hatred burning in his eyes.