Chapter 97: Tao Fengming

“Could it be… that this is an otherworldly realm?”

In a secluded courtyard of the Qiu residence, Song Mu stood somewhat shaken, looking up at the clear night sky dotted with sparse stars. He scanned his surroundings in disbelief and spoke softly.

Beside him, the disheveled man he had just struck now sat on the steps, chewing absentmindedly on a piece of dried meat that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Occasionally, a flicker of pain crossed his face—after all, Song Mu’s vivid red palm print was still imprinted on it.

Seeing Song Mu murmuring to himself, Tao Fengming finally spoke.

“Yes, it was originally just a small test to see how you would handle the situation.”

Hearing this, Song Mu turned back, recalling the recent events, and involuntarily pressed his lips together. The shocking scene—considering the other party called it a mere test—if he hadn’t accidentally landed a punch, he would have brushed it off and left long ago.

Such a trivial spectacle was almost a disgrace to a scholar’s dignity.

Yet Song Mu maintained a composed expression and asked,

“You did this just to make me climb over the wall?”

Tao Fengming shook his head but glanced at him before replying.

“Actually, if you had run away then, we would have had no further involvement. If you had fought those water demons, I would have opened the door and willingly taken over this otherworldly realm.”

“And if I climbed over the wall to enter?”

Song Mu asked, surprised. Tao Fengming hesitated, then shook his head.

“I hadn’t thought about that.”

Song Mu felt a sting of shame. Despite having the ability to freely manipulate and contain these realms, Tao Fengming always appeared so absent-minded, shattering Song Mu’s image of a formidable and refined scholar.

However, Song Mu seized upon the key point in his words, stepped closer, and respectfully cupped his hands.

“May I ask, sir, what is the meaning behind your actions?”

A faint smile appeared on Tao Fengming’s face, though coupled with his somewhat weak expression, it seemed rather eerie.

“It is simply the heart of a lover of talent.”

Upon hearing this, Song Mu finally breathed a sigh of relief but showed no other emotion. He scrutinized Tao Fengming once more and then asked,

“Your name is Tao Fengming, might I ask if you are…”

Tao Fengming understood immediately and invited Song Mu to sit on the nearby step. Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out something resembling dried meat and handed it to Song Mu.

Song Mu took it, but unlike Tao Fengming, who immediately chewed, he just stared at him intently.

“Have you heard of Tao Yuanming?” Tao Fengming asked casually.

Song Mu was about to nod but suddenly recalled his name.

Tao Yuanming, Tao Fengming…

Tao Yuanming was the patriarch of the pastoral literary school, a figure known to every scholar. Among the great otherworldly realms accessible in the Wen dynasty, “The Peach Blossom Spring” was the most terrifying.

Pastoral scenery, serene hearts, time gently worn away, everything smoothed over.

Could Tao Fengming be a descendant of Tao Yuanming?

This thought unsettled Song Mu so much he almost stood up. Yet Tao Fengming’s hand suddenly appeared from nowhere, pulling him back. Calmly, he said,

“I’m not as impressive as you think—I wouldn’t call myself a descendant of Tao Gong.”

Relieved but puzzled, Song Mu listened as Tao Fengming continued.

“Though I am the best at using Tao Gong’s poetry.”

Song Mu felt as though his nerves were being toyed with by this man. Rubbing his forehead, he looked up again.

“So you belong to the Tao poetic school?”

Tao Fengming nodded, pulling out another piece of dried meat and chewing it nonchalantly.

Song Mu was speechless, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. Yet Tao Fengming shook his head again and said flatly,

“Maybe I used to, but not anymore.”

By now, Song Mu’s expression was a mix of amusement and disbelief—couldn’t this man just finish his story?

At this point, Tao Fengming looked at Song Mu, their eyes meeting. In those somewhat feeble eyes, Song Mu glimpsed a hidden depth, a flicker of emotion.

Feeling a shift, Song Mu thought perhaps this was just the temperament of a scholar and wasn’t so unsettling after all.

“I’m done. Do you understand now?”

Song Mu lowered his head to ponder before looking up and asking,

“Mr. Fengming, so you called me here today to take on an apprentice…”

At this, Tao Fengming seemed to recollect something. He extended a hand toward Song Mu, who looked at the pale palm with some confusion. Then Tao Fengming said,

“Place your hand here.”

Song Mu grinned wryly but, seeing no ill intent, reached out and clasped it.

At that instant, he felt a shift inside his mind.

His mental energy stirred as a gentle force enveloped his brain, then dissipated just as quickly.

The force came and went like a shadow, leaving only one word lingering: bottomless.

Like an abyss vast and terrifying, the mental energy probed deeply and vanished without a trace.

Tao Fengming’s hand relaxed, and he smiled at Song Mu.

“I knew I wasn’t mistaken. You’ve just entered the scholar stage, yet your mental energy has already reached the peak of that level.”

Song Mu looked puzzled.

Tao Fengming continued,

“Your mental energy is unusual. I’ve never seen anyone with mental power at the novice scholar stage who can use it so well without extensive study.”

His words made Song Mu wary—perhaps this man had sensed his secret.

Yet Tao Fengming showed no expression, simply saying,

“The only explanation I can think of is your ancestor, Song Wenrong. That great scholar was a master of the highest order—his ancient and modern poems flowed effortlessly, his mental energy spanned a thousand miles, and with a flick of his hand, he could create three or five otherworldly realms, driving away demons who fled at his approach.”

As Tao Fengming spoke, the scenes seemed vividly alive.

Song Mu listened, entranced. This legendary ancestor had left an indelible mark on Wen dynasty history but had mysteriously passed away at only seventy.

“I can feel your literary and mental power are equally strong, though your mental power may be even greater.”

Tao Fengming then turned to Song Mu, his gaze earnest.

“Song Mu, are you interested? To become a realm crafter?”

“To learn my craft and become the strongest realm crafter in the world.”

At these words, Tao Fengming’s eyes blazed with a newfound confidence, radiating an endless brilliance.

Song Mu swallowed hard.

Today, he had finally set his heart on becoming a realm crafter.

Never had he imagined someone would offer him the chance to achieve this so soon.

His heart beat wildly but quickly regained its composure.

When a great master extends a hand to a weaker one, asking him to inherit his legacy, there must be a reason.

In this age of flourishing scholarship, great scholars rarely considered their profound skills lost forever.

Seeing Song Mu remain silent, Tao Fengming’s expression softened. Bowing his head, his voice shed its usual languor and grew grave.

“I know what you’re worried about.”

“I only have one request: within twenty years, retrieve something for me and return it to the Tao poetic school.”

“All my skills, I will teach you without reservation.”

As he spoke, a wave of immense presence radiated from Tao Fengming—an imposing scholar’s aura, yet far more terrifying than any other.

…