Ch. 1124 - Chaos Cloud Ravine, Elder Lord Temple

The Nine Heavens had always regarded the Ancient Demon Race with deep wariness.

Even in ordinary conversation, people avoided mentioning them, a silent taboo.

Most within the Nine Heavens despised and loathed the demons.

But in this realm called the Godfiend Abyss Heaven, the situation was reversed, here, the Ancient Demon Race reigned supreme, unchallenged and unquestioned.

They had ruled this world for countless ages, ever since the ancient eras.

Their dominion was absolute, their influence deeply rooted and enduring.

At this moment, somewhere within the void of the Godfiend Abyss Heaven, the air was thick with demonic energy.

Endless black mist cloaked everything, as though it had lain undisturbed for eons.

Suddenly, an ancient existence stirred and murmured faintly, “So… he has come after all.”

The void remained silent for a long while before another voice replied.

The first voice continued, “I knew it. One day, he would return. For he is the greatest Demon Sovereign this world has ever seen.”

Another voice followed, heavy and uncertain.

“Then what of us? What is to become of our fate?”

“All things are destined,” the first voice sighed. “No one can defy the will of heaven.”

Meanwhile, Xu Zimo stepped into the Chaos Cloud Ravine.

The mountain path was rugged and overgrown with wild grass.

He had not walked far when he heard someone singing in the distance.

“Five cranes come from the northwest, soaring high toward the Supreme Pure. On clouds of green the immortals dwell, and speak of Master Anqi’s name. I wish to ask them, swift as the falling stars. To taste the golden herb, and live as long as heaven.”

The song was odd, sung loudly, echoing through the entire gorge.

Xu Zimo looked up and saw a woodcutter.

He carried a bundle of firewood on his back, wore a grey short-sleeved tunic, and had a straw hat on his head.

After walking a short distance, the man paused to wipe the sweat from his brow before continuing, humming his strange immortal poem.

Xu Zimo frowned slightly.

In his perception, this man was completely ordinary, not a trace of spiritforce within him.

How could a mere mortal appear in a place like this?

“Hey, traveler ahead, wait a moment,” Xu Zimo called out.

The woodcutter stopped and looked around, spotting Xu Zimo approaching from the distance.

“What is it?” the woodcutter asked.

“I seem to be lost,” Xu Zimo said with a faint smile. “Could you tell me where this place is?”

“Oh, you must have come from the north,” the woodcutter replied. “This is Cloud Village. Where are you headed?”

“The Hundred Flowers Valley,” Xu Zimo answered.

“Hundred Flowers Valley?” The man frowned in confusion. “There’s no such place around here. Perhaps you took the wrong path?”

“The poem you were just singing,” Xu Zimo asked, “who taught it to you?”

“The Dao Temple up on the mountain,” the man replied. “There are immortals there. I often hear their disciples reciting this verse every morning, so I learned it myself.”

“That Dao Temple, it’s up beyond those Stairs to the Clouds, isn’t it?” Xu Zimo asked, pointing forward.

The woodcutter nodded slightly.

Xu Zimo gave him another brief glance, then stepped forward and rushed up the stairs.

He moved swiftly, in just a few breaths, his figure vanished from the woodcutter’s sight.

“What a strange fellow,” the man muttered, shaking his head. Then, humming his tune again, he continued down the mountain path.

The Stairs to the Clouds lived up to their name, impossibly tall, stretching into the mist above.

Xu Zimo ascended for nearly half an hour before reaching the top.

At the summit, the scene was serene and dignified.

Tall pine trees grew densely all around.

Even in this late autumn season, their needles remained a deep, unwavering green, standing proudly against the cliffs.

Amid the pines stood an ancient Daoist temple, modest in size yet exuding solemnity.

Its architecture was gray and austere, surrounded by circular stone walls.

A large iron gate marked the entrance.

From within came the sound of a bell, low, resonant, and steady.

Two young men in Daoist robes stood guard on either side of the gate.

Raising his gaze, Xu Zimo saw three large characters inscribed above the entrance.

Elder Lord Temple.

On either side hung a vertical couplet.

Three thousand years of spring and autumn, Endless is the climb toward the apex.

Xu Zimo climbed the steps toward the entrance, but the two Daoists stepped forward to block him.

“What brings you here, traveler?” asked the one on the left.

“I wish to look around your temple,” Xu Zimo replied calmly.

“The temple does not receive guests today,” the one on the right said, shaking his head. “Please, turn back.”

But just then, from within the temple came a deep and majestic voice, “Since he is a fated one, let him enter.”

The two Daoists exchanged surprised glances, then pressed their palms together and slowly opened the heavy gate.

“Please, come in.”

“A fated one?” Xu Zimo murmured, puzzled, but he stepped inside nonetheless.

Though the temple looked vast, much of it was open courtyards and walkways. The actual halls were few.

Beneath his feet stretched smooth white-stone steps, and not far ahead ran a clear river, its surface like glass.

The water flowed gently, with fish occasionally leaping through the current.

A white jade bridge spanned the stream.

As Xu Zimo crossed it, the bell tolled again, faster this time, each note trembling through the air.

Across the bridge stood the main hall, where faint figures could be seen inside.

Flanked by rows of pine trees, the path led directly to the hall.

As Xu Zimo drew closer, he heard voices reciting.

In the ancient age, the four poles collapsed and the nine heavens shattered.

Heaven could not cover all, nor Earth bear its weight.

The fires blazed without end, and the waters surged without rest.

Beasts devoured men, and fierce birds preyed upon the weak…

Someone was teaching at the front, while the disciples below recited in unison, solemn, reverent, and harmonious.

When Xu Zimo stepped off the jade bridge, the chanting abruptly stopped.

Every disciple turned to look at him.

Under their gazes, he walked calmly into the main hall.

Inside, the scene was simple.

Disciples stood in orderly rows on both sides. At the head sat an elderly Daoist, wearing a wide-sleeved robe and holding a dust whisk.

The old man radiated immortal grace, his posture upright, his long beard white as frost.

“You’ve arrived,” he said before Xu Zimo could even speak.

“You know me?” Xu Zimo asked.

“Of course,” the old man smiled. “Otherwise, how would you have entered my temple?”

“Are you sure you haven’t mistaken me for someone else?” Xu Zimo frowned. “I don’t recall ever meeting you.”

“Think carefully,” the old man said. “You have been here before.”

“I… have?” Xu Zimo hesitated.

He furrowed his brow, he had no memory of such a thing.

“Ah, so be it,” the old Daoist sighed softly. “Reborn into a new life, many of your memories have faded.”

He gently waved his dust whisk.

A calm yet profound Daoist aura spread through the hall.

“That will be all for today’s lesson,” he said serenely. “You may all withdraw.”

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