Chapter 1362: Chapter 1363: The Past of Xueshenzi
“Young Master Li, long time no see!”
From the depths of the void, a figure emerged slowly after a bout of distortion. It was none other than Beichen Feng.
Still draped in a thick robe, his entire being wrapped tightly with cotton cloth and tattered fabric, as though he was shielding himself from a bitter cold. Yet, upon seeing his face, Li Xiaobai inhaled sharply in shock.
The reason was simple: the face before him was horrifying. Half of it was that of an elderly man—weathered, yet hinting at a youthful handsomeness from bygone years. However, the other side was grotesque—rotting, foul-smelling, emanating a stench that churned the stomach.
Several worms wriggled across the rotting surface, an unbearable sight.
It was inconceivable that such a visage would belong to a living person. Memories of corpses—rotting, rancid, infested with maggots—surged through his mind. And yet, a human could bear such a face? It was utterly terrifying!
“Senior Beichen Feng!”
“How did this happen…”
Li Xiaobai stared wide-eyed, stricken with fear. The man before him was a Sage of the Confucian Path, yet his image was nightmarish—a walking dead man’s face!
“There’s nothing mysterious about it. It’s simply the consequence of my cultivation technique. This is also why I have refrained from showing my true face for hundreds of years—not out of vanity for this façade, but because, as a scholar of Confucian ideals, the faith of readers cannot be undermined by such a sight. Such an image would shatter the belief in countless cultivators.”
Beichen Feng spoke slowly.
“This is a side effect of the ‘Decay-Prosperity Divine Skill,’ the technique I created in my youth—a blend of Buddhist sect principles and Confucian philosophy. It’s said that when Lord Siddhartha entered nirvana beneath the twin sal trees of Kusinara, east, west, south, and north each bore two trees. Of these pairs, one was decaying, while the other prospered, forming the ‘Four Decays and Four Prosperities.'”
“The Buddha of that era attained nirvana between these eight realms, embodying a state that was neither decay nor prosperity, neither illusion nor emptiness.”
Yan Zuzi sighed beside him, reflecting on Beichen Feng’s unfortunate state—a story well-known though most who heard it had long since passed.
“It is both the philosophy of decay and prosperity and the doctrine of yin and yang, where desolation coexists with flourishing. Should it reach its utmost peak, it might even reverse life and death. I’ve witnessed Beichen Daoist once revitalize a dying tree—a miraculous feat indeed.”
Yitilou interjected, offering additional insight.
“This technique, named Decay-Prosperity, is in reality a study of life and death. Yet, no one can master life and death—it defies the Heavenly Dao. Thus, Beichen Feng paid the price.”
“All of it is nothing more than a lesser path, unworthy of true reverence. I had hoped to meet my master one last time, yet didn’t anticipate the Immortal Gods Realm to act with such haste, suppressing me via brute force to traverse realms by sheer will.”
Beichen Feng shook his head, a weighty sigh escaping his lips.
“Few dare venture into the Void Turbulence; whoever is banished there is unlikely to ever reunite with the human realm again.”
“Yet my master managed to hold back that colossal hand for a brief moment. It cost the invader greatly, preventing them from sustaining their descent and limiting their ability to reappear in the Central Origin Realm for the foreseeable future.”
Beichen Feng explained further, evidently possessing keen knowledge of the Immortal Gods Realm.
The descent of an Immortal God requires unfathomable resources. The enormous energy consumed during the brief manifestation of that giant hand was extraordinary; a second descent would necessitate extensive preparation over a lengthy period.
“Listening to your account, Senior, you seem deeply familiar with the Immortal Gods Realm. What then was the meaning behind Xueshenzi’s cryptic words?”
Li Xiaobai furrowed his brow, perplexed by the unresolved contradictions left behind by Xueshenzi’s swift demise.
“My master has always been a man of sorrow. Believing himself burdened by the fate of countless lives in the Central Origin Realm, he devoted his lifetime to wandering for their sake—but ultimately chose the wrong path.”
Beichen Feng sank into the earth, seating himself. From his side, he drew forth a sword emitting a piercing white light: the remnants of a bygone truth gradually revealing itself.
“This was once the sword of my master. Listen to its voice, and you will understand.”
…
From the radiance of the white sword erupted strands of energy, coalescing into visions suspended in the void—memories belonging both to Beichen Feng and Xueshenzi.
Great Immortal Zhenyuan was the first literary scholar to ascend from the Immortal Spirit Continent. Founding the lineage of Confucian practice, he heralded a golden era, a pinnacle of achievement. It was during this period that Beichen Feng first encountered the Confucian Path.
Fragments of tranquility whisked across the void, bathed in soft white light that soothed the soul.
A group of children, seated upright in a modest thatched hut, earnestly recited the classics of wise sages.
The Great Immortal Zhenyuan, garbed in white, radiated elegance as he stood with folded hands behind his back, a gracious smile playing upon his lips as he listened to their study. All was harmonious; he was a Confucian luminary who vowed to lead readers toward their own unique path, establishing Confucianism as the third pillar alongside Buddhism and Daoism.
“Master, are you afraid of demons?”
Young Beichen Feng raised his hand, his voice laced with innocent curiosity.
“We who read broadly cultivate an aura of noble righteousness—unafraid of any adversary the world has to offer!”
“Through the ages, have you ever heard of demons daring to trouble great scholars?”
Zhen Yuanzi chuckled softly as he replied.
“Yet, readers may wield longswords too. Should the essence of slaughter seep in, wouldn’t they themselves turn into demon heads?”
Beichen Feng pressed further, his tone youthful yet cuttingly incisive.
“This sword is named Self-Nourishing Sword—upright and unflinching. Never forged in the treacherous shadows; instead, bathed in sunlight to thrive and grow. This is the sword of a reader, granting the righteous path its rightful name!”
Zhen Yuanzi unsheathed the sword from his waist, presenting it to his disciples. The blade was dull and unsharpened, devoid of any aura of slaughter. The moment it left Zhen Yuanzi’s scabbard, the children’s hearts blossomed with four luminous characters: “Dignity and Integrity!”
This was the sword of a gentleman!
Thus unfolded the early days of Beichen Feng’s and Zhen Yuanzi’s acquaintance, rooted in the scholarly realm. Onward they tread, traversing courts and marketplaces, earnestly spreading scholarly wisdom.
Zhen Yuanzi’s reputation soared, lecturing emperors atop courtly towers as a royal tutor, sparring within sects, interpreting Buddhist doctrines, and illuminating hearts. In the Central Origin Realm, he established his own school of thought, forming a new faction that drew many cultivators to its fold—although many departed as well.
The issue lay in the Confucian Path itself, thought to be fragile. At early stages, it lent little advantage—its core merely a righteous heart and noble aura, eschewing bloodshed. Across similar realms and cultivation levels, disciples of other paths easily outmatched its students, rendering them downtrodden. Aside from a minority who genuinely loved Confucian classics, few could endure the training.
Yet Zhen Yuanzi remained indifferent to the defections, pursuing ever greater peaks of study. Immersed in oceans of texts, his cultivation grew professionally. His fame solidified; everyone in the Immortal Spirit Continent knew there was now a Living Immortal carving an extraordinary new path.
The turning point occurred on the eve of Zhen Yuanzi’s ascension to the Central Origin Realm.
As usual, he was reading late into the night, though the scripture he held had been turned upside down—a sign of his distraction. Beichen Feng knocked upon his door, seeking instruction on academic matters.
Entering, he discovered his master was unlike his former self. The aura of noble righteousness seemed tarnished; his eyes betrayed a thread of doubt.
Turning to him, Zhen Yuanzi said, “Disciple, I believe that the Confucian Path of today is flawed—incomplete, and far from orthodox. The principles recorded in these texts are outdated. If we cling solely to tradition, we risk teaching future generations to become hollow shells. We must refine a new Confucian Path!”
“Take this book—it’s mostly mistaken in its teachings!”