Family Cultivation: I Become a Mirror

Chapter 321 - 294: Meeting in the Temple

The evening breeze echoed through the courtyard, grass blades falling all around. The dim candlelight flickered, casting wavering shadows. In the yard sat a middle-aged woman, her looks unremarkable, yet she bore an air of poise, lounging beside a stone table.

The servant bowed low, trembling as he spoke:

"We questioned Young Master. He says the climate in Eastern Shanyue is pleasant, and he is unwilling to return."

Lu Wanrong shook her head helplessly, sighing softly, and replied kindly:

"Do I not know him yet? He is merely searching for witchcraft in that Shanyue Region... hoping to open the Spirit Aperture. But with his father long gone, there’s nothing I can say to change his mind."

Li Xuanling had only ever married her, never taken a concubine. She bore him two sons, their natures as different as night and day. The elder, Li Qinghong, was bright and spirited, and now already at the Third Layer of Qi Cultivation. The younger, Li Yuanyun, born without a Spirit Aperture, was obscure and nameless, growing ever gloomier as time went on.

Lu Wanrong kept the changes in Li Yuanyun close to her heart, increasingly anxious. She mentioned it to Li Xuanling many times. Each time Li Xuanling spoke of this legitimate son, he only said to let him be, so long as he harmed no one...

She was a sensitive woman, and somehow sensed a strange guilt in her husband, who was always more forgiving toward Li Yuanyun, leaving her bewildered and at a loss.

Even when she brought Yuanyun up the mountain years ago, all except Li Tongya—whose might made her shiver and kept her head bowed—the others of the Xuan generation, whether Li Xuanfeng or Li Xuanxuan, treated Li Yuanyun with unusual kindness.

"Perhaps I’ve overthought it."

Lu Wanrong shook her head, dispelling the thought, and said in a low voice:

"What news is there from the marketplace?"

"Madam, news has come back from the marketplace—still, there is no word of the Third Master."

Lu Wanrong was now nearing forty. Her talent was lacking; her cultivation merely at the third level of Fetal Breathing, unable to keep pace with her husband. Because of her delicate family name she dared not seek property or authority, and had always kept a low profile. But now Li Xuanling had been missing for three months, and Lu Wanrong could restrain herself no longer.

She gripped the jade cup tighter, worry etched deeply into her brow, and spoke solemnly:

"Three full months without news... My husband has always been cautious; something must have happened... How did the mountain reply?"

The servant collapsed to his knees with a thud, and said in a low voice:

"Madam, Lijing Mountain is now completely locked down. We are lowly servants and cannot see Young Master."

Lu Wanrong’s heart skipped a beat, unease rising rapidly within her. She hurried to fetch brush and ink, writing swiftly, muttering to herself:

"No, something must be wrong here. I need to ask Qinghong."

————

Li Xuanling crossed the river once more, drifting through a sea of clouds, stopping a few passersby to ask directions and confirming his path toward Luoxia Mountain. He rode the wind slowly, occasionally descending to walk. Throughout the journey, all was calm and quiet.

The road led through the realm of Xu Country, where most dwellings were Taoist temples. Li Xuanling checked his bearings, winding and weaving along, and found himself near Bianyan Mountain—now the border between Xiuyue Sect and Tang Jin Sect. What used to be barren land now sprouted fresh green vegetable shoots, pleasant to the eye amid the mist and light rain. Travelers had begun to appear on the road, lending a faint air of bustle.

"Xiuyue Sect is, after all, the most righteous among the Three Sects; truly a rare thing..."

Xiuyue Sect was one of the few among the Three Sects and Seven Doors to uphold the Immortal Mansion’s ideal of seclusion and transcendence. Its disciples spent most of their time cultivating on the mountain, seldom descending into the world of men. Hence, there were few renowned cultivators, save the much-lauded Shangyuan Perfected Person, said to be the foremost under the Zifu level; other members were obscure, unknown to the world.

"Bianyan Mountain... There was once a Taoist temple here. In those years, pressed by a demon, they were forced to gather boys and girls to feed the monster—wonder what has become of it now."

Under the Xiuyue Sect’s rule, open strife between Toaist Lineages was strictly forbidden; the hills swarmed with small temples and minor families. Though in secret conspiracies, vileness, and ruinous schemes still abounded, each year saw annexations and murders. Yet, compared to other lands, competition here was gentler by far.

Li Xuanling wandered for a while, watching the misty mountains and the drizzle, recalling the Taoist temple he visited when eradicating demons years ago, and mused silently:

"That Zifu ordered me to go to Luoxia Mountain, yet gave no date..."

Li Xuanling was not a coward, and had long accepted this arrangement; even so, he wished to live a little longer and see more of this world. Now, he thought secretly:

"Flying all this way has drained my mana—why not visit this small temple and rest my feet, before heading north."

So he descended riding the wind. Now, in this peaceful age, the once tightly-shrouded little hall, hidden by powerful Illusion Arrays, lay revealed in plain sight. The stone statues flanking the way stood stern, rain streaming down their faces. Li Xuanling shaped a spell, and knocked lightly on the grayish-red wooden door plastered with a Peach Talisman, smiling as he called:

"A loose cultivator from the wilds comes to pay his respects—may the Taoist Temple Master open the door!"

He called twice, yet no answer came. A trace of unease flickered in his heart. As he hesitated, hand raised, the gray-red door slowly swung open by itself.

"Creak—"

The temple doors opened of their own accord, letting the morning breeze, fresh with rain, sweep into the hall. Li Xuanling stood silently on the threshold, staring stunned at the scene inside.

Outside, fine rain danced, and white cranes cried. Within, darkness prevailed. Dim yellow candlelight flickered; a strange mix of incense and blood filled the air, unsettling to the core.

Dark blood pooled upon the floor, reflecting motes of gold. The wooden and earthen idol loomed solemn and strict, but below, bones lay strewn in disarray. An old Taoist’s headless body knelt before the altar, gray hair scattered across the floor, fluttering gently as the wind passed.

The central meditation mat was now buried beneath a heap of Taoist corpses, bodies stacked high and in disarray, eyes wide open yet free of resentment—instead bearing a look of peace and tranquility.

Atop the mound of corpses sat a bare-chested monk in meditation. His muscular frame, sinews clear and red, radiated power. Palms pressed together, eyes closed deep in thought, a golden sigil shimmered endlessly between his brows.

The floor was littered with limbs and flesh, covering painted gold talisman script. Blood dripped from crimson-stained scholar robes, falling drip by drip upon the monk’s nearly flawless muscles—he seemingly unaware, unmoving as stone.

"Fa Hui..."

This was the very monk who, over ten days ago, waylaid Li Xuanling near Duanchen Village in Zhao Country, entangling him without cause. Now, his blood-wrought energy soared to the heavens, breath wild and unsteady, as he meditated atop a mountain of corpses, drenched in fresh gore.

Fa Hui’s ears quivered. His chiseled face was caked with dried blood. His eyelids twitched, and slowly his eyes opened, pupils blazing gold-red with burning anger, fixing firmly on Li Xuanling below.

"Serpent Jiao Bastard! I’ve been waiting for you a long time!"