Chapter 63: The Pure Moon Shrine of the Mortal Realm

Mud Village was very quiet. Earlier, Yutu had passed behind the hillside and spotted a young man dozing off, clutching a bronze lamp in his arms.

That must have been one of the pivotal points of the formation concealing the village’s presence.

Though Yutu was not especially versed in formations, he could spot the core of this one at a glance.

Formations were divided into four levels: Human Harmony, Earth Advantage, Celestial Timing, and Dao Response.

The Seven-Star Hidden Formation belonged only to the Earth Advantage category. Before someone of Yutu’s cultivation, it was nothing more than paper—he could dismantle it with a mere flick of his finger.

Such formations held no interest for Yutu’s discerning gaze. He was merely curious about which celestial palace the one who set it hailed from. To Yutu’s knowledge, among the nine celestial palaces that had fallen into Xuanbei Chongzhou, none were renowned for their expertise in formations.

The long-eared rabbit hopped quietly to the little fenced courtyard, soundless and nimble.

Yutu flicked his sleeve and stood on the back of the giant rabbit, wordless, his expression cold as he gazed at the two courtyards.

Inside the low house, the old Daoist Zhang Daozhen suddenly stood up, fingers weaving signs in rapid calculation. After a moment, his hand fell slowly, and he sighed, “If it is fortune, it is not calamity; that which cannot be divined must have its reasons.”

After his sigh, Zhang Daozhen tugged at the collar of his patched Daoist robe and pushed open the door.

While Zhang Daozhen was calculating, “Iron General” had detected Yutu’s arrival even earlier.

The rooster emerged from its coop, hopped onto the low wall, and fixed its golden eyes on Yutu. At last, it threw back its head and crowed loudly in his direction.

Iron General was showing off. It sensed that this diminutive visitor posed a threat to its pale master, and it meant to drive away the unwelcome guest.

Hearing the rooster’s crow, Yutu turned towards the low wall, a smile flickering in his eyes as he murmured, “Bloodline of the Dark Bird? This little village is truly fascinating.”

Iron General continued to crow fiercely, but Yutu paid him no mind. It was the long-eared rabbit beneath him that could no longer bear it.

The rabbit’s eyes glowed brighter, a blood-red as if stained with scarlet, its three-petaled mouth opening wide to reveal sharp teeth, and it roared at the rooster.

A strange snarl, more beast than rabbit.

The rooster’s crow cut off abruptly. It shrank back, retreated two steps, then fluttered up to the roof, trembling.

The rabbit refused to yield, its blood-stained maw still gaping, drooling as if eager to devour the rooster.

At this moment, Yutu stroked the rabbit’s long ears and smiled, “Yu’er, don’t be greedy. That Dark Bird is no delicacy—eat it and you’ll upset your belly.”

The rabbit twitched its ears, licked its lips with a red tongue, and reluctantly shut its mouth, though its gaze remained locked on the rooster, full of predatory intent.

This commotion and the strange snarl startled Zhong Ming from his sleep. He jumped up in a start, flipping out of bed.

Groggy, Zhong Ming paused for a moment, gradually coming to his senses. He listened, heard sounds outside, and quietly peered through a crack in the door.

Squinting, he saw a large shadow outside the courtyard and felt a pang of anxiety. He ducked back inside, grabbed the Juexiang Blade, and hurried out.

Stepping into the courtyard, he saw it was not just a shadow.

He beheld a rabbit taller than a horse, with a child standing atop its back, and before them, the blind old Daoist Zhang Daozhen.

The old Daoist and the child stood silently.

Zhong Ming gripped his blade, not daring to act rashly. The situation was unclear; he dared not draw his blade, nor even ask questions, wary of breaking the quiet and inviting disaster.

It was Zhang Daozhen who spoke first, raising his hand in a Daoist salute: “This humble one is Zhang Daozhen of the Dan Ding Sect on Dragon Gate Mountain. May I inquire your esteemed name, Senior?”

It was almost comical—a Daoist over a hundred years old addressing a child as “Senior.”

Zhong Ming could not laugh, only grew more anxious. He quickly hid the Juexiang Blade behind his back, thinking to himself how complicated this was!

---

Yutu looked Zhang Daozhen over, his gaze disappointed as he shook his head. Then he turned to Zhong Ming, staring for a long time, making Zhong Ming uneasy, before finally asking with arrogance, “And who are you?”

The child before him, clad in a brocaded robe woven with gold, with porcelain-doll features, made Zhong Ming’s heart pound.

Earlier, Zhong Ming had guessed this person might be an immortal from White Jade Capitol, for his ethereal aura was much like Li Que’s—aloof, untouched by mortal dust.

Was he here for vengeance?

Zhong Ming wasn’t sure. He decided to assess the situation first, and clasped his hands respectfully, “I am Zhong Ming, the village record keeper of Mud Village, greetings to you, Sir.”

He knew nothing of Yutu’s origins; the fine brocade suggested either nobility or an immortal. “Sir” was a safe bet.

Hearing Zhong Ming’s name, Yutu raised his brows and smiled, “So, the son of Xu Qian Dao. No wonder your fate is so peculiar.”

That he could name Zhong Ming’s father at a glance told Zhong Ming this was no ordinary encounter. He quickly saluted again, asking, “So you are an old friend of my father? May I ask your esteemed name?”

Yutu chuckled, “I have no particular ties to Xu Qian Dao.”

Zhong Ming felt awkward—so this child was not his father’s friend, merely someone who knew of their connection.

Yutu did not answer Zhong Ming’s question, losing interest in him and turning to Zhang Daozhen: “So you are Zhang Daoling’s grand-disciple, and this formation here, is it your doing?”

Not only Zhong Ming, but Zhang Daozhen felt awkward, sweat beading on his palms.

This formidable “Senior” had repeatedly asked but not given his name, instead questioning directly about the Seven-Star Hidden Formation. It was likely he was from White Jade Capitol seeking revenge, and Zhang Daozhen grew fearful.

If it came to a fight, Zhang Daozhen might not even have a chance to strike back.

Thinking through the risks, Zhang Daozhen quietly touched the jade gourd at his waist and answered, “Indeed.”

“Then it’s as I thought. I suppose the warding at the distant burial ground is also your work?” Yutu pressed.

Zhang Daozhen’s hand was already on the gourd’s stopper. He kept silent.

Zhong Ming grew tense as well, gripping the handle of the Yan Luo Juexiang Blade, the dragon ring trembling faintly.

Seeing Zhang Daozhen silent, Yutu laughed lightly, “Since you say nothing, I’ll take it as consent.”

With that, Yutu suddenly waved a finger. Behind him, a giant hand appeared, rising high and blotting out the sky, far larger than Zhong Ming’s little courtyard.

The purple giant hand extended its index finger, pressing down towards Zhang Daozhen.

All happened in a flash, and Zhong Ming could not react. He only felt his breathing grow difficult, as if even the night air had stilled.

By the time he saw the giant hand, Zhang Daozhen was already pinned to the ground by a single finger.

The old Daoist’s knees were bent, his arms bracing against the earth, his body trembling violently under the immense force.

The jade gourd at his waist remained unopened; he could not summon his two mystical pills.

It was a crushing disparity of strength—Yutu’s power far exceeded Zhang Daozhen’s. The old Daoist truly had no way to resist.

“Rather stubborn. Your arts are inferior to Zhang Daoling’s, your aptitude even less so, but this stubbornness is a bit like his. Seems the Dan Ding Sect teaches little skill, only obstinacy like a mountain ox.”

Yutu laughed again, slowly withdrawing his finger; the giant hand vanished.

The pressure receded, the night wind resumed, and Zhong Ming felt his body lighten, freed from the weight he’d felt before.

Zhang Daozhen did not rise, remaining kneeling.

Yutu leapt from the rabbit’s back, standing before Zhang Daozhen and patting his head, “Little Daoist, you must know your sect’s ancestral immortals are gone—no one to shield your sect. Now many immortals vie for fortune in this land. As a vanquished remnant, your Dan Ding Sect would do better to seek longevity quietly, and not meddle in others’ affairs.”

---

Zhang Daozhen said nothing, struggling to rise, his upper body upright, knees striving to leave the ground.

The old Daoist had backbone, unwilling to yield even in defeat.

“You’d best stay kneeling; you’re not worthy to speak with me standing.”

With a light laugh, Yutu turned, but Zhang Daozhen abruptly collapsed again, unable to rise. It was as if a mountain weighed upon him.

Yutu stepped over to Zhong Ming, looking up at him.

Zhong Ming gripped his blade, but dared not swing. He was indignant on the old Daoist’s behalf, furious at Yutu’s domineering ways.

Yet he could not move; before Yutu’s wild, primeval aura, even breathing was hard.

It was a smallness akin to a grain of sand gazing up at a mountain.

In the face of absolute power, Zhong Ming could only hate his own weakness, unable even to summon a spark of resistance.

It was as if fate itself clutched his throat, leaving only endless despair before him.

Yutu did not force Zhong Ming to kneel, merely walked up and patted Zhong Ming’s side, his short stature reaching only Zhong Ming’s waist.

Yutu examined Zhong Ming’s dantian, then smiled, “Little one, don’t follow your father’s path as some martial hero, practicing those second-rate qi arts. It’ll only bring trouble upon yourself.”

As soon as he finished, Zhong Ming felt a cold energy dart from his side, piercing right into his dantian.

The chill churned like needles in his core, pain forcing beads of sweat from his brow, and he clutched his abdomen, squatting down.

“Well, little one, I’ll help you a bit. The path of a reckless fighter is unworthy; don’t contend with us seekers of the immortal way for heaven’s fortune.”

Yutu smiled, watching Zhong Ming writhe in pain, satisfied with his twisted expression, his eyes narrowing in amusement.

Having done as he pleased, Yutu floated onto the long-eared rabbit’s back, “Consider this a lesson. In future, do not meddle in White Jade Capitol’s affairs. If White Jade Capitol wishes you dead by midnight, you’ll not live till dawn.”

With that, the rabbit carried Yutu away, leaping into the night.

Zhong Ming, unwilling to let him go, called out, “Do you dare leave your name?”

A silvery laugh rang out, followed by an answer, “White Jade Capitol above the clouds, Pure Moon Shrine in the mortal realm.

I am the newly appointed Pure Moon Immortal Officer of the New Tang, master of the second tower of White Jade Capitol. My name is Yutu.

Little one, if you wish to settle the score, come find me!”

Throughout, Zhong Ming never rose. The pain in his dantian lasted long, and when it finally eased, he stood and did what he’d long wanted.

Facing the direction Yutu had gone, Zhong Ming raised his middle finger, “Give my regards to your ancestors, all eighteen generations!”

But Yutu was far gone, unable to hear Zhong Ming’s greeting to his forebears.

Rubbing his abdomen, Zhong Ming stood straight and immediately examined himself to see what Yutu had done.

Sensing his dantian, Zhong Ming gasped.

Inside his dantian, a layer of frost had formed. Both streams of vital energy and the wood spirit orb were frozen solid, no longer spinning.

Yutu was truly vicious—he had sealed Zhong Ming’s dantian with ice!