Chapter One: Pure Origin

In these times, when the world has reached a moment of profound stability, it is necessary to establish the host of celestial deities, dividing the powers of thunder, fire, pestilence, and strife; the Three Mountains and Five Peaks; the myriad stars and constellations; the bringers of clouds and rain; the rulers of the netherworld and arbiters of good and evil—thus forming the Eight Legions of True Gods to govern the order of heaven and earth.

Thus, the immortals together established the Investiture of the Gods.

This matter, concerning the eternal order of the heavens and the earth, affects all living things, and so even the mortal world is swept into conflict.

Dynasties rise and fall, wars abound, and all sides depend upon those who cultivate the Way, transforming the battles of the mundane world into a battlefield for the Investiture of the Gods.

Amongst these, those who will be canonized are both cultivators and mortals, chosen for their fate, cultivation, and the ebb and flow of fortune.

Since the former Tang Dynasty’s division, the land has been engulfed in flames of war.

Now, the realm is split into three, maintaining a tenuous balance.

To the south lies the Kingdom of Liang.

The central region is the Kingdom of Shu.

To the north is the Yuanmeng Empire.

...

“At man’s birth, his nature is fundamentally good.”

“Their natures are similar; their habits make them different.”

As dusk fell, the sky was awash in a dim golden glow.

The sound of children reciting drifted from a tiled house, tender yet lively.

After a while, a clear voice called out, “That will be all for today. It’s getting late—go home now.”

There came the cheers of children, and from the studious ones, a few lingering sighs. Seven or eight children ran out, waving as they left, “Teacher, see you tomorrow!”

At the door stood a young man, smiling, holding a scroll in his arms.

He was dressed in simple white robes, elegant and otherworldly.

His features were proper and bright, appearing to be eighteen or nineteen.

A closer look revealed a gentle smile upon his face, though a trace of confusion lingered in his brow.

His name was Qingyuan. Once a disciple of the Celestial Palace in the Upper Realm, he was sent down to seek his fortune because he lacked spiritual roots. Yet, despite years of searching, he had found nothing.

Though he had spent years in quiet cultivation and could endure solitude with a tranquil heart, the lack of any achievement left him inevitably lost and disheartened.

He stood in silence for a while before sighing softly and returning inside.

The sun set behind the western hills, and the glow of evening faded.

Night fell, deep and silent.

A candle flickered within the house. By the window, one could see the shadow of a figure seated at a desk, leafing through a book.

“The Way of Heaven takes from those who have too much and gives to those who have too little. The Way of Immortals...”

His voice was clear, each word enunciated.

...

The moonlight was bright, as thin as gauze.

He had already fallen asleep.

“Acolyte Qingyuan of the Great Immortal’s School, you have broken the rules, secretly reading the Register of Immortal Roots, spying upon the Investiture of the Gods, and absconding with the treasures of the Nine Bulls and Two Tigers. You fled out of fear of punishment. Now, by order, you are to be executed!”

In the quiet, hazy night, a crisp and icy voice suddenly rang out.

Faintly, it seemed a group of figures pushed open the wooden door.

Under the cold moonlight, their forms were ghostly, almost immaterial, drifting like immortals.

Behind the leader, several acolytes stood, all handsome and ethereal, exuding the aura of the Dao, brimming with spiritual light.

The one at the front was also a youth, about twelve or thirteen, dressed in spotless white, his brows proud, his expression cold. He held a jade ruyi scepter and carried a celestial sword on his back, pointing a finger from several yards away.

“Brother White Crane…”

Qingyuan awoke with a start, his body cold with fear.

He drew a deep breath, his heart still racing.

“Another nightmare…”

Back then, he had served as an acolyte in the Purple Cloud Celestial Palace. By chance, he discovered the Register of Immortal Roots, which recorded the spiritual roots of all cultivators in the world, but found his own name absent. Realizing he was fated for neither fortune nor immortality, he sought answers from the Great Immortal, only to learn the master was in seclusion.

Returning to the alchemy room, he discovered the clay figures representing the Nine Bulls and Two Tigers, entrusted to him by the Great Immortal, had been destroyed by fire.

Having devoted years to cultivation, this revelation left him disoriented and despondent. Even with poor spiritual roots and dull aptitude, he had believed that diligence could make up for shortcomings. But with no spiritual root at all, no amount of effort could yield results.

He possessed the true teachings of the immortals but could not cultivate, unable even to open the first gate of the Dao. In a hundred years, he would die like any mortal.

Lost and aimless, a gust of wind knocked over the clay figures, toppling them toward the south.

The Southern Dipper presides over life, the Northern Dipper over death.

Having studied the Daoist texts in the Celestial Palace, Qingyuan took this as an omen. Staying in the celestial realm would only waste what little time he had, so he descended to the mortal world to seek his destiny.

When he left, he took with him the “Huangting Celestial Canon” he had pondered for some time, the iron rod used for stoking the alchemical fires, and consumed the half-baked, nearly ruined clay figures.

“It’s been several years now,” Qingyuan sighed with melancholy.

Since descending to the lower realm, he had journeyed southward, seeking his fortune and enduring countless perils.

In these years, he had evaded tigers and wolves, escaped tree demons, been wounded by wood spirits, and fled the clutches of monsters and ghosts, barely preserving his life on numerous occasions.

Only upon reaching Li Village did he find a period of peace.

Li Village was a settlement on the southern border of Shu, in the Central Plains. Beyond lay dense mountains and forests, leading to the southern Kingdom of Liang.

Those wild mountains were rife with fierce beasts and, it was rumored, monsters; ordinary folk could not traverse them. To go around meant a long detour, crossing into a borderland where armies stood opposed, barring passage.

Thus, he had remained here for some time.

During this period, he was invited by Elder Ge to teach the village children to read, finding solace and calm in this routine.

Qingyuan sighed inwardly and looked out the window at the bright moon, thinking, “Tonight is the thirteenth. On the fifteenth, the Great Immortal will lecture again.”

He sighed softly and slipped into contemplation.

He imagined a bright moon rising above his head, which then split into six.

Six beams of moonlight shone, ethereal as a dream.

Moonlight fell like gauze, cool as water.

It illuminated the nine-tiered jade pavilion within his brow.

...

Late at night.

Moonlight flickered gently.

Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the night, sharp and harrowing.

The cry echoed through the village.

Qingyuan woke with a start. He rolled out of bed, grabbed the iron rod at his side, and rushed outside.

“What’s happened?”

Others had already gathered, calling out in alarm.

The one who had screamed was still catching his breath, and gasped, “Elder Ge…”

Qingyuan saw the man’s face, pale and terrified, and knew something was wrong. He hurried over.

Inside the house, an old man lay by the bed, his clothing torn at the chest and abdomen, five deep, parallel gashes slashed diagonally across his body, exposing bone—ghastly to behold.

The old man’s breathing was faint, but he still clung to life.

By now, others in the village had arrived.

There was a tumult of panic. The village had no physician, and everyone was at a loss.

Qingyuan, seeing the severity of the wounds, thought quickly and said, “Let me try.”

In the Celestial Palace, he had served as an acolyte, tending the alchemical fires for the Great Immortal. To avoid mistakes, he had studied many books on herbs and medicine, acquiring some knowledge of healing arts.

Hearing his offer, the villagers exchanged surprised glances but made way for him. With no physician in the village, fetching one from town would take too long, and Elder Ge would not survive the wait.

This young scholar had arrived months ago, teaching the village children. He was gentle, serious, and humble—a learned man, and it was not strange that he might know something of medicine.

Yet his modesty had concealed this skill, and the villagers were surprised.

Qingyuan approached and examined the wounds, frowning deeply.

These were claw marks—five slashes, diagonal, the center deeper than the sides.

There was no time to hesitate; he set to work at once.

At his urging, some boiled water, some fetched spirits, others found medicine and cloth.

After a flurry of activity, Elder Ge’s wounds were finally stabilized.

His breathing and pulse gradually steadied.

After a long while, things finally calmed down.

Suddenly, Qingyuan realized something was amiss. A thought flashed through his mind and he exclaimed, “Xiaoyu?”

Xiaoyu was Elder Ge’s granddaughter, one of Qingyuan’s pupils—a sweet, well-behaved girl. Qingyuan owed his stay in the village to the kindness of Elder Ge and his granddaughter.

Now, with Elder Ge gravely wounded, Xiaoyu was nowhere to be found.

At his words, another wave of panic rippled through the crowd. As neighbors, they all cared for the child and scattered to search for her.

Qingyuan, skilled in medicine, stayed to tend Elder Ge, but his brow remained furrowed as he pondered, searching the room for clues.

Just then, Elder Ge stirred, gasping, “Ape…monkey…”

The words were frail and broken, barely audible.

“Slowly now…”

Qingyuan stepped closer, bending his ear to listen.

But the old man, weak and wounded, could say no more before lapsing into unconsciousness.

Puzzled, Qingyuan thought carefully and confirmed that Elder Ge had indeed said “ape-monkey.”

Before he could pursue the thought further, more commotion rose outside.

He stepped out and listened.

Only then did he learn that the village fence had been broken down, claw marks and tufts of fur left behind, and several chickens and ducks killed—evidence of a beast’s intrusion.

The village, nestled by mountain and water, often saw wild animals in the hills behind, but rarely did they venture into the bustling village. Still, it was not unprecedented.

To the villagers, it seemed Xiaoyu had been taken by a beast and her fate was grim.

It was deep night. None dared enter the mountains. Even the outskirts were risky, while the depths were a place from which none ever returned.

Voices of regret and sorrow filled the night. Some continued searching and calling, but hope had faded.

That night, sleep eluded them all.

...

“Ape-monkey?”

Qingyuan’s gaze sharpened as he searched the room.

Though he lacked spiritual talent and had not cultivated true power, he had visualized the nine-tiered jade pavilion—counting as half a cultivator. At the very least, this gave him enough spiritual acuity to observe things more keenly.

He searched closely and found, amid the dust, a strand of hair.

It was black as ink, coarser and stiffer than human hair, like the bristles of a dried brush.

“There’s an unusual aura about this…”

Qingyuan mused.

If Elder Ge had not been mistaken in his delirium, then the ape-monkey that came was certainly no ordinary creature.

Common apes are no larger than children; for one to injure Elder Ge so grievously and abduct a child, it must either wield spiritual power or possess an extraordinary physique.

If it had cultivated power, it would be a demon. Had it struck, Elder Ge would be dead, his soul gone.

If it was simply of great size, Qingyuan recalled a similar creature from his studies.

Such a being is called a shanxiao—known as a mountain goblin.

Also known as a mountain god.

...

“There’s a demonic aura on this hair. This is no ordinary beast, but a monster.”

With his nine-tiered jade pavilion visualization, Qingyuan saw things invisible to normal eyes.

He pondered, “There’s an eighty percent chance this is a shanxiao.”

Among monsters, shanxiao are unique. Their ancestor was a great demon, born of heaven and earth, who later became a demon immortal but was slain by the Celestial Lord Luyang for his crimes.

Bloodlines such as these cannot be measured by common sense. After the demon immortal’s death, his essence scattered, so that among all ape-kind, there are some born with exceptional gifts.

Some apes, transformed in the womb, are born distinct from their kin—massive, broad-shouldered, and more powerful than men.

Besides their strength, their intelligence also surpasses ordinary apes.

These mutants are called the bloodline of the shanxiao.

“If it’s a shanxiao, things may be difficult.”

Qingyuan recalled what he had read in old texts.

Shanxiao, being larger than apes, tend to oppress their kind. Often driven out as juveniles, they roam the wilds alone.

Unlike common apes, they detest fruit and prefer flesh, their nature cruel and depraved. If a human encounters one in the mountains, rarely do they survive—hence the name mountain ghost.

Some even cultivate spiritual power, and, possessing deep Daoist attainment, proclaim themselves mountain gods. They demand offerings from mountain folk—sacrifices of food and beautiful maidens, whom they consume after satisfying their appetites.

Thus, shanxiao are classed among the evil spirits.

“This one has not yet cultivated power, so it’s not a true demon, only a monster.”

Qingyuan thought further, “An immature shanxiao, lacking in Daoist attainment, is simply a beast of monstrous strength—larger and stronger than an ape.”

“Though not a threat to cultivators, such creatures possess uncanny means and are hard to fend off for ordinary people.”

He calculated, “But with my visualization of the nine-tiered jade pavilion, if I am vigilant, I should not fall into its trap. Tonight is the thirteenth; the full moon falls on the fifteenth. Xiaoyu should be safe until then…”

Shanxiao have a certain trait: upon maturity, according to their nature, they select a living being and, on a moonlit night, perform a ritual—first venting their base desires, then disemboweling the victim for food.

After this bloody act, their energy surges, laying the foundation for future cultivation.

This is their inherited ritual, passed down since ancient times.

Owing to their depravity—perhaps from their demon ancestor—the shanxiao usually select mortal maidens for their rites, not beasts.

“The fifteenth is the full moon.”

Qingyuan sat in thought, “When moonlight floods the mountains and the yin energy is deep, that will be when the shanxiao performs its ritual.”

He considered his abilities, weighing his chances.

“Xiaoyu should be unharmed until then.”

He thought, “There are two days to prepare; it’s not a death sentence…”

P.S.: The new book has been created, but the review process is taking a bit long... Um, there’s a prologue before this, don’t miss it... O(∩_∩)O Haha~ Also, please add to your collections, recommend, click, and so on...