Chapter Nine: The Death of the Mountain God and the Gaining of the Earth Dragon

The giant collapsed ahead, motionless and silent.
“It… seemed… deranged…”
The mountain fiend patted its own throat, then said, “And then, it fell.”
Qingyuan gazed in that direction, his expression complex and subtly shifting.

A single step from the towering demon could shatter a mountain peak, its strength overwhelming and unstoppable. Yet now, it lay utterly still, as if already dead. Its previous madness, perhaps, was the prelude to its demise.

“O great mountain demon,” Qingyuan murmured, lifting his eyes to the east. Dawn had not yet arrived; it was still night. After the demon had passed, the earth here had split and mountains crumbled—fierce birds and beasts, terrified, had already fled far away. The path ahead should be clear.

Qingyuan asked, “Are you curious?”
The mountain fiend lowered its head and gave a sound of affirmation.
Qingyuan glanced at Xiaoyu, fell silent, then looked again at the mountain fiend.
“But I need you to protect her. Find a place to hide.”
He paused, then added, “You must not harm her.”
The mountain fiend nodded again, head bowed.

Given what had passed, Qingyuan could begrudgingly trust the creature, and now the time was past—the moon no longer hung full in the sky—so he no longer feared it would use Xiaoyu to complete its ritual.

…

The saying goes: “Horses die running toward distant mountains.”
The mountain demon appeared near enough to the eye, almost within reach, but as Qingyuan traveled toward it, the distance proved immense.
Wounded as he was, each step only worsened his injuries.
Yet a stubborn resolve burned within him; he could not let go.

“The mountain demon fell to the south…”
“In the Celestial Palace, the nine oxen and two tigers statue fell southward.”
“The Northern Dipper governs death, the South governs life.”

He gritted his teeth and ran on.
The sky was already brightening.
The frightened beasts of the night had fled, but perhaps by daylight they would return.
He dared not delay.

…

As he drew near and beheld the scene, Qingyuan could not help but feel a chill of awe.
The thoughts and assumptions in his mind were overturned.

The mountain demon lay prone, back upward, chest and belly pressed to the ground, its head to the side, eyes glazed and empty.
But what stunned Qingyuan most was that this monster’s body was not flesh and blood—but stone.
Its hair was red rock, its skull green stone, its fangs white marble, its body mottled yellow and black.
It was, without doubt, a mountain formed of stones of many colors, shaped in the likeness of the mountain demon.

Elsewhere, Qingyuan might have thought it a stone effigy, laboriously carved after the demon’s image.
But here, it was truly the demon itself.
He had seen it during the rockslide—a giant capable of moving mountains and filling seas, its blood surging, muscles knotted with power.
“Once flesh and blood, now—upon death—turned to stone?”

Qingyuan saw no sign of life at all, and so judged the demon dead.
Yet its cultivation was so profound that, even for a practitioner, it was unfathomable, not to be measured by common sense.

Qingyuan circled the demon, finally halting by its head.
Before him gaped the demon’s mouth—wide open, its eyes unclosed in death.
Having turned to stone, its mouth had become a cave.
Without much thought, Qingyuan knew the cave must lead into the demon’s body.

He wished to enter, but hesitated.
“Should I venture inside?”

…

But what dangers might lurk within?
Might the mountain demon revive? If he entered and it awoke, would he not be courting death?
But… what was inside?

All these years in the lower world, he had not known what chance he was seeking.
He only knew he had to pursue cultivation.
Yet he had no clues—he had wandered lost for years, and now, with even a sliver of hope, he would risk anything.

He had courted danger before. But this time, the urge was fiercer than ever.
“As the saying goes, ‘Fortune favors the bold.’
“If men risk death for wealth and glory, how much more should I, seeking immortality?”
Qingyuan drew a deep breath, then stepped forward and entered through the demon’s stony jaws.

…

The mountain demon could not be regarded as ordinary life.
But for now, Qingyuan could only treat it as such.
In theory, one would pass straight into the stomach from here.

Ahead, several paths branched.
Looking down, he saw broken timbers and weeds scattered about.
These were remnants of the thatched hut, which the mountain demon had bitten in two and swallowed whole.

“Cultivators value the dantian above all,” Qingyuan mused. “If I map the body’s meridians, the dantian should be this way.”

With this in mind, he pressed on.
He had feared that though the demon’s outer body was stone, inside it might still be flesh, and he might be digested. But now he saw his fears were unfounded—the demon was stone through and through.

He moved cautiously, blade in his left hand, iron rod in his right.
The passage, dark red at first, gradually turned yellowish.
He recalled the Yellow Court Sutra he cultivated: earth is yellow, occupying the center; the “court” is the empty space before the steps, thus the dantian is named the Yellow Court for its central hollow.

Ahead, a faint golden glow flickered.
If he was not mistaken, the dantian should be near.

“What lies ahead?”

Qingyuan suddenly halted.
If the demon had swallowed a living thing, and it had not yet perished, would it have turned to stone as well—or might it still live?
Though Qingyuan had some martial skill, he was a novice at best, not yet even an initiate in the Dao. Should a tiger or wolf be present, it would be perilous enough.

He drew a deep breath and moved forward.
Turning the corner, he was bathed in golden light.

A pair of golden eyes met his own.

What eyes they were!
Majestic, immense, ancient—and furious.

The golden-eyed creature bore antlers like a stag, the ears of an ox, tortoise-like eyes, shrimp whiskers, and ivory fangs, its body covered in golden scales—a dragon’s head, unmistakable.

It was a five-clawed golden dragon.

The dragon, about three meters long, was shackled in chains.
The chains were black as ink, thick as arms—four in total, two on either side.
One end of each chain was anchored in the stony walls—the demon’s petrified flesh.
The other ends bound the golden dragon’s body.

…

Though merely three meters in length, Qingyuan could see in the dragon’s eyes the weight of ages, an ancient and boundless presence.

“Dragons can be great or small, may ascend or hide; vast, they stir clouds and breathe mist; small, they conceal themselves; ascending, they soar across the universe; hiding, they lurk beneath the waves.”
Lines from ancient texts flashed through Qingyuan’s mind: “A true dragon’s size cannot be judged. Though this dragon is not large, its aura is ancient—who knows how many eras it has survived?”

Qingyuan wished to move, but locked eyes with the dragon, found himself unable to budge, as if paralyzed.
The golden dragon gazed quietly at him, then its anger grew.
With a lash of its tail, it lunged forward.

Qingyuan’s mind went blank.

…

It was as if a mountain pressed down upon him—no less oppressive than when the mountain demon had shattered the peaks.
Suddenly, the chains clattered.

The golden dragon, restrained, paused, but strained furiously—the chains creaked and seemed to loosen.

Qingyuan was shocked, and slashed with his blade.
A crisp ring—the blood-soaked blade struck the dragon’s head, then flew from his hand.
The dragon was unscathed.

It twisted, seizing Qingyuan in its coils.
The chains jerked, dragging the dragon back—and Qingyuan with it.

“Damn—!”
He freed a hand and slammed down with his iron rod.
The dragon roared, a sound that shook the heavens; dust and debris rained down.

The iron rod was fiercer than the blade—
The golden dragon wailed in pain, struck clean in two.
Fury flashed in its eyes; its upper body pressed down, claws digging into the ground as it bit into Qingyuan’s chest and abdomen.
The lower half crashed upon Qingyuan’s head.

Agony overwhelmed all his senses.

A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind.

“If I cannot attain immortality, in a hundred years I’ll be nothing but bones.
Yet in pursuit of immortality, I die today.”

He thought, “What a muddled reckoning…”

He sighed within, but no words came.
Who ever said the quest for immortality would succeed?
How many seekers of the Dao have perished—devoured by wild beasts, fallen from cliffs…

Yet, even if he failed, at least he had tried—he had struggled to the end, and his life was not in vain.

He had no time for regret; endless darkness washed over him like the tide.

…

Beyond the thirty-three heavens, in the ninety-nine palaces,
Clouds drifted where none could see.

“Grandmaster.”
A Daoist arrived to report, face pale with shock, voice low: “There has been a disturbance in the Dragon Pool. When I looked, among the many swimming fish at the bottom, a golden-red carp had appeared.”

“Order those who guard the Way in the mortal world to investigate, but… let them not neglect greater matters…”

An ancient voice, deep and distant, replied.

…

In the uttermost south, beyond heaven and earth, in the chaotic void—
Neither color nor mist, only emptiness.

“Report to the Heavenly Lord.”
A maidservant announced, “One of the firefly lanterns suddenly broke. We have gathered the fireflies, but…”

There was no reply from within.

The maidservant, voice trembling, said, “There is one more firefly than before, origin unknown.”

After a moment, a gentle, melodious man’s voice answered: “Unknown origin?”

The maidservant bowed low. “It is certainly not one of the original fireflies.
Here, every lantern is registered—each firefly accounted for. Now, one lantern broke, and there is one extra firefly—could it be that a new cultivator has been born into the world?”

The voice paused, then said, “A novice in the Way, not emerging in the Birth Pool, but appearing directly in the lantern? Could it be an anomaly?”

The maidservant whispered, “What is your command, Heavenly Lord?”

“The matter of the Investiture of the Gods is paramount,” the Heavenly Lord replied. “Instruct those at the Flower-Washing Pavilion in the mortal realm to observe quietly, nothing more.”