The Qingyun Mountain range rose majestically like a crouching tiger over the Central Plains. Along its northern face flowed the great river "Hongchuan," while its southern face held the important stronghold "Heyang City," guarding the strategic throat of the empire—its geographical position was of immense importance.
Stretching for hundreds of li, Mount Qingyun undulated with peaks and ridges. Its seven highest peaks towered into the clouds; on ordinary days, one could only see white clouds encircling their waists, concealing the true faces of their summits. Dense forests carpeted Mount Qingyun, with flying waterfalls and strange rock formations, rare birds and exotic beasts in abundance. Its scenery was secluded, perilous, marvelous, and precipitous, renowned throughout the world.
Yet what was even more famous was the cultivation sect upon this mountain—the Qingyun Sect.
The Qingyun lineage boasted a long history; founded more than two thousand years ago, it stood at the head of both the righteous and demonic paths today. Legend had it that the founding patriarch was originally a wandering fortune-teller who had spent half his life in poverty and frustration. In his forty-ninth year, while traveling the world, he passed Mount Qingyun and immediately recognized its spiritual magnificence—a place where the spiritual energy of heaven and earth converged, an absolutely superb location. He immediately ascended the mountain, dining on wind and drinking dew, cultivating the Dao and refining his arts. Before long, in a secret cave deep within Mount Qingyun, he obtained a nameless ancient scroll recording various mystical arts and wondrous techniques. Though abstruse and dry, they were infinitely profound and immensely powerful.
Having obtained this fortuitous encounter, the fortune-teller devoted himself to its study. Twenty years passed in a blur; having achieved minor success, he emerged. After several storms of the martial world, though he could not dominate the world alone, he became a regional overlord nonetheless. Thus, on Mount Qingyun, he established a sect and named it: Qingyun. Because the ancient scroll's contents were close to the Daoist tradition, he dressed as a Daoist and titled himself "Qingyunzi." Later generations of disciples mostly revered him as "Qingyun Zhenren."
Qingyunzi lived to three hundred sixty-seven years. During his life, he accepted ten disciples. On his deathbed, he instructed: "My lifelong learning lay in fortune-telling, especially in the art of feng shui. This Mount Qingyun is a rare spiritual land in the mortal world. Our Qingyun Sect occupies this mountain; in the future, it will surely prosper. You must never abandon it. Remember this! Remember this!"
At that time, the ten disciples nodded repeatedly, believing it firmly, and only then did Qingyunzi pass away peacefully. Unexpectedly, in the hundred years that followed, whether by the whims of heaven or simply because Qingyunzi's fortune-telling skills were lacking, the Qingyun Sect not only failed to prosper but instead gradually declined.
Among the ten disciples, two died young, four perished in martial world vendettas and duels, one was crippled, and one went missing—only two lineages were passed down. Fifty years passed thus, and then an unprecedented natural disaster struck within a hundred li of Mount Qingyun: earthquakes, bursting mountain floods, and shaking earth. Countless died, and yet another lineage was extinguished. The sole remaining seedling was limited by mediocre aptitude and low skill, long unable to replicate Qingyunzi's former glory. Instead, because of that ancient scroll, he attracted foreign enemies seeking to seize it. After several bloody battles, had it not been for the powerful restrictive wards and magical treasures Qingyunzi had left behind, the Qingyun Sect would likely have been destroyed.
This situation persisted for a full four hundred years; the Qingyun Sect showed no improvement, and could almost be described as "hanging on by a thread." In the end, they were even bullied at their own doorstep. Among the seven peaks of Qingyun, aside from the main peak Tongtian Peak, the other six were occupied by foreign enemies, including bandits and outlaws who used them as bases to plunder and run rampant. The uninformed often misunderstood, believing the Qingyun Sect had fallen so low. Though Qingyun disciples tried to explain and harbored desires to kill the enemy and clear their names, they had the will but lacked the power—pitiful and lamentable. Even now, thinking back, those were truly the most bitter days in the history of the Qingyun lineage.
It was not until thirteen hundred years ago that the situation changed.
Perhaps Qingyunzi's fortune-telling had finally proven effective, or perhaps Heaven had grown tired and stopped toying with the Qingyun Sect. At this time, from the eleventh generation of Qingyun heirs, there unexpectedly emerged a peerless figure of stunning talent who stood head and shoulders above the rest—Daoist Qingye. Qingye's secular surname was Ye; originally a poor scholar of extraordinary natural intelligence, he had repeatedly failed the imperial examinations. Later, by chance, he was accepted as the final disciple by Wufangzi, the tenth generation sect leader of Qingyun, at the young age of twenty-two.
After entering the sect, Qingye comprehended and mastered all the sword arts and Daoist methods Wufangzi had taught within a single year, standing head and shoulders above his fellow disciples. After another year, even Wufangzi could only rely on his profound cultivation to fight him to a draw. Both shocked and delighted, Wufangzi decisively produced the ancient scroll passed down by the founding patriarch and gave it to Qingye to study on his own. Qingye thus entered secluded cultivation in the "Illusionary Moon Cave" on the back mountain of Tongtian Peak. This seclusion lasted thirteen years before he finally broke through and emerged.
It was said that when he emerged, it was on a night of the full moon. That night, the cold moon hung high, and the entirety of Tongtian Peak on Mount Qingyun was bright as day. Suddenly, a great wind arose, and from the back mountain came a long, draconic roar that shook the earth for a hundred li; all who heard it paled. Then, faint purple auspicious light shot toward the heavens. With a thunderous boom, the Illusionary Moon Cave swung open. Qingye emerged with completely white hair and beard, a smile on his face, his body surrounded by clear light, walking slowly forth. The crowd was terrified, believing he had become an immortal.
Thereafter, Qingye officially renounced the secular world. Taking his family surname Ye and the "Qing" character from Qingyun, he adopted the name Qingye. That day, he smilingly bade farewell to his master Wufangzi, saying, "Master, please wait. This disciple has some business to attend to and will return within a day."
The crowd did not understand his meaning. A day and night later, Qingye returned riding his sword. The foreign enemies on the six peaks of Mount Qingyun had all been executed. The might of Daoist Qingye's Dao arts and the ruthlessness of his means shook the world in an instant, and the Qingyun Sect's prestige soared.
Another year passed, and Wufangzi passed the position of sect leader to Qingye, after which he went into pure cultivation and no longer concerned himself with mundane sect affairs. After assuming power, Qingye worked diligently to govern, vigorously supporting his fellow disciples and strictly selecting successors. Combined with the comprehension he had gained from that nameless ancient scroll—which possessed unfathomable power capable of moving gods and ghosts—the Qingyun Sect flourished day by day. Within fifty years, it became a pillar of the righteous path; after two hundred years, it led all the righteous sects and schools.
Qingye Zhenren passed away at the advanced age of seven hundred fifty. Throughout his life, he had been strict in accepting disciples, passing his teachings to only seven people. He thus assigned each of the seven Qingyun peaks to one of them, commanding the seven branches to jointly carry on their legacy. The main branch resided in the Qingyun Temple on the main peak Tongtian Peak, serving as the heart of the sect.
Down to the present day, the Qingyun Sect had nearly a thousand disciples, with experts as numerous as clouds; its renown was illustrious. Alongside "Tianyin Temple" and "Incense Valley," it was ranked as one of the three great sects of the current age. And the sect leader, Daoxuan Zhenren, whose cultivation approached the profound mysteries of creation, transcending the mortal and entering sainthood, was an unequaled figure of the highest caliber in the world.
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At the foot of the Qingyun Mountain range, fifty li northwest of the great city "Heyang," there was a small village called "Caomiao Village." Over forty households lived here; the local customs were simple and honest. Most of the villagers made their living by going up the mountain to chop firewood and exchanging it with the Qingyun Sect for some silver. Ordinarily, the villagers often saw Qingyun disciples coming and going like the wind, performing all manner of miraculous feats, and they revered the Qingyun Sect immensely, regarding them as immortals who had attained the Dao. The Qingyun Sect had always looked after the surrounding common people and treated these villagers quite well.
On this day, the sky was dark and overcast, with heavy clouds hanging low, giving people a feeling of being unable to catch their breath.
Seen from Caomiao Village, the majestic Mount Qingyun pierced straight into the heavens; its strange peaks and grotesque rocks faintly carried a hint of ferocity.
However, the villagers had lived here for generations; they had seen this sight countless times and paid it no mind, to say nothing of ignorant children.
"Stinking brat, where do you think you're running?" A shout, carrying a hint of laughter, came from a half-grown child. He looked to be about ten years old, with delicate and pretty features, leading four or five boys and girls in chasing another child ahead. The child in front was two years younger and shorter; at this moment, his face was full of smiles as he ran forward with all his might, turning back now and then to make a face.
"Zhang Xiaofan, if you've got guts, stop!" the child behind shouted loudly.
The child in front called Zhang Xiaofan spat "Pah" and said while running, "You think I'm an idiot?" With that, he ran even faster.
Chasing and running all the way, these children gradually approached the dilapidated thatched temple at the eastern end of the village. From the outside, this small thatched temple was utterly run-down; who knew how many storms of human life it had weathered.
Zhang Xiaofan rushed in first. Unexpectedly, in a moment of carelessness, he tripped on the door plank. Thud—he fell flat. The children behind were overjoyed and swarmed forward, pinning him beneath them. The delicate-featured boy wore a look of triumph and smiled, saying, "Caught you! Now you've got nothing to say, right?"
Who knew that Zhang Xiaofan would roll his eyes and say, "Doesn't count, doesn't count. You ambushed me, how can that count?"
The boy was stunned and said curiously, "When did I ambush you?"
Zhang Xiaofan said, "You, Lin Jingyu, how dare you say you didn't put this door plank here?"
The child called Lin Jingyu said loudly, "Nothing of the sort!"
Zhang Xiaofan pressed his lips together and cocked his head to one side, looking completely unwilling to surrender or submit. Lin Jingyu's anger flared; with one hand he gripped Zhang Xiaofan's neck and said furiously, "We agreed that whoever got caught would admit defeat. Do you yield or not?"
Zhang Xiaofan ignored him completely.
Lin Jingyu's face turned red; he applied more force with his hand and shouted, "Do you yield or not?"
Zhang Xiaofan's windpipe was being choked; breathing gradually became difficult, and slowly his face began to flush red too. But though he was young, his temperament was extremely stubborn—he remained completely silent.
Lin Jingyu grew increasingly furious, applying more and more strength in his hands, repeating over and over: "Do you yield? Do you yield? Do you yield?"
By now, the other children sensed something was wrong and quietly shrank back. Only these two ignorant children remained, persisting in this confrontation due to a contest of pride and their extreme, stubborn natures.
A great disaster was about to occur out of nowhere when suddenly, from deep within the thatched temple, a Buddhist chant was heard, and someone said, "Amitabha, stop at once."
A withered, skinny palm shot out from the side, extending two fingers to flick at Lin Jingyu's hands. Lin Jingyu felt as if shocked by lightning; his entire body convulsed, and his hands naturally loosened.
Zhang Xiaofan gasped for breath, clearly having been choked hard. The two of them stood frozen in place. Coming back to their senses and recalling what had just happened, they looked at each other, and both grew increasingly frightened at the thought.
Lin Jingyu said dazedly, "Xiaofan, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me..."
Zhang Xiaofan shook his head, his breathing gradually steadying, and said, "It's fine. Huh, who are you?"
The children followed his gaze and saw standing in the temple an old monk. His face was crisscrossed with wrinkles; he wore a tattered kasaya, and his entire body was filthy. Only in his hand did he hold a string of jade prayer beads—crystal clear and sparkling, dazzling to the eyes, emitting a faint green light. Strangely, among the dozen or so identical, lustrous green jade beads, there was unexpectedly mixed among them a single round bead that was neither jade nor stone, deep purple in color and completely lacking luster.