Ten Yin Holy Son

"Daoist priest?"

The gates of the Daoist temple, with its red bricks and white walls, were shut tight, leaving only a tiny gap.

Zhang Xuezhou called out, then pressed himself against the gate and peered through the gap.

Through the gap, Zhang Xuezhou saw a pair of eyes peeking back at him from behind the gate.

"Little thief, I belong to the Yin Yang Nine Heavens Sect, and I have powerful backing too. I'm not afraid of your Ten Yin Holy Son. Leave at once, and we'll stay out of each other's way!"

The eyes behind the wooden gate met Zhang Xuezhou's, and the speaker spoke a second time.

Though he didn't know what the Daoist priest had misunderstood, the man was undoubtedly putting on a fierce front while quaking inside, and his attitude left Zhang Xuezhou bitterly disappointed.

A person with that sort of mindset was bound to achieve little and could hardly be formidable.

He pondered the Yin Yang Nine Heavens Sect and Holy Son the priest had mentioned, comparing them again and again with what he had heard in the past, but found no overlap whatsoever.

The people of Zhang Household Village had limited experience. Only Zhang Baojia, Zhang Zhong, and the others who had been conscripted and returned safely had seen much of the world, but none of them had ever mentioned any sect or Ten Yin Holy Son.

For the moment, Zhang Xuezhou couldn't understand how the priest had reached the wrong conclusion.

But when Zhang Xuezhou didn't understand something, he liked to ask directly.

He straightened his coarse cloth shirt a little and composed his bearing.

"How did you see through my background?" Zhang Xuezhou asked casually, watching the other man's panicked eyes.

"From ten meters away-no, I could smell that fishy stench on you from thirty meters away. It's a smell unique to your people. I couldn't have mistaken it!"

A muffled voice answered from inside the temple.

Zhang Xuezhou raised his sleeve and sniffed it.

Traveling on such a hot day meant sweating heavily, and his clothes did reek of sweat, but not enough for someone dozens of meters away to smell a fishy stench.

"You know our Ten Yin Holy Son?"

Now that the priest had mistaken him for someone else and kept him out of the temple, Zhang Xuezhou felt he had no way to explain. After all, he could smell only the sweat on himself, not any fishy stench.

Even if he explained everything, the thing that had caused the misunderstanding would still make it hard for him to seek medical instruction from the priest.

Of course, Zhang Xuezhou wasn't satisfied with the priest.

The man's abilities were bound to fall far short of the Ten Yin Holy Son's, and he was even somewhat afraid of the Holy Son's subordinates.

Compared with his waking life, Zhang Xuezhou was undoubtedly much bolder in the dream. After only a few words, he began borrowing the name of the Ten Yin Holy Son whom the priest had mentioned, conjuring a powerful backer behind himself out of thin air.

"We've met once," the priest said in a low voice. "What have you come here for, crossing the northern border? Aren't you afraid the Flying Feather Army will hunt you down?"

"We... you can barely protect yourself right now, and you're worried about us being hunted down?"

At Zhang Xuezhou's words, the priest's pupils immediately contracted, and a distinct flicker of panic appeared in his eyes.

"I've never offended you. What have you come to me for?" the priest asked.

"Our Holy Son is very interested in your method for cultivating to the entry stage!"

Zhang Xuezhou thought for several seconds before boldly broaching the subject.

Influenced by Zhang Weimeng, Song Fengying, and Zhang Manqian, Zhang Xuezhou had never engaged in this sort of swindling in real life, but this world had stirred up the stray thoughts lurking in his heart.

His words were measured yet casual as he seized on the topic and steered it toward his own goal.

"The Yin-Yang School does not pass on its methods lightly. We have always passed them to men, not women, and to the direct line, not collateral branches. Those who learn our methods must swear a solemn oath to the Nine Heavens Sect's founding masters through the generations, and only when they have mastered their art may they leave the mountain and travel the world. I am a dignified nine-foot man..."

Inside the temple, the old priest's face was full of struggle. His gaze darted away and lingered in hesitation, while heaven and man battled in his heart.

On one side were rules handed down through the generations; on the other was trouble he could scarcely bear.

He knew full well what sort of person the Ten Yin Holy Son was. A leading figure of the younger generation, the Holy Son was vicious in both temperament and methods; even powerhouses of the older generation were unwilling to provoke him.

Most terrifying of all was his backer, a supreme figure who roamed unhindered across the heavens, standing far above the heads and founding masters of many great sects.

Never mind a branch faction like their Yin Yang Nine Heavens Sect-even the founding master of the Yin-Yang School would not want to provoke the Holy Son's backer.

The old priest didn't know why the Ten Yin Holy Son needed a method for beginning cultivation.

Perhaps the Holy Son wanted to read widely among the teachings of the Hundred Schools of Thought. Or perhaps, as the saying went, the King of Hell was easy to deal with, but his little demons were hard to shake off, and the underlings doing his work had stirred up trouble at random, only to land on the old priest's doorstep.

"Rules are dead, but people are alive!"

Seeing the battle between heaven and man in the old priest's eyes, Zhang Xuezhou kept pressing him.

"A tree dies when moved, but a person lives by moving. That's a truth that has never changed since time immemorial," Zhang Xuezhou urged.

"What you say... makes sense!"

After a long moment, the old priest gritted his teeth, seeming to have made up his mind.

"Besides, it's only a tiny bit... This is only a tiny bit of what our Nine Heavens Sect has inherited!"

The Ten Yin Holy Son was only seeking a method for reaching the entry stage, not demanding all the Yin Yang Nine Heavens Sect's secret texts and manuals.

That was not a loss he couldn't bear.

As for afterward, the old priest figured that if he couldn't afford to offend them, he could at least hide. He could simply find another mountain and ply his trade there.

Once he had thought it through, he acted briskly.

A bamboo scroll came flying out from behind the gate.

"This is our Nine Heavens Sect's method for reaching the entry stage," the priest explained. "Forgive my discourtesy, but the fishy stench on you is too strong. I'm afraid that if your scent rubs off on me, the Flying Feather Army might misunderstand while pursuing the Holy Son across the border."

"No matter!"

Zhang Xuezhou reached out and caught the bamboo scroll securely in his palm.

He hadn't expected the man to toss out the method for reaching the entry stage before he had even entered the gates of the Nine-Foot Daoist Temple.

Listening to Zhang Zhong speak so impressively about those who had reached the entry stage and the methods for reaching it, Zhang Xuezhou had found it all so lofty and grand, yet what he had obtained now had come far too easily.

Of course, getting the method was one thing; cultivating it was another. Whether he succeeded would still depend on fortune.

But mastering the Essential Instruction for Recuperation had given Zhang Xuezhou considerable confidence. He felt there couldn't be anything too difficult about cultivating a method for reaching the entry stage in the dream world. If nothing else worked, he could take his time and slowly polish his skills.

According to Zhang Changgong, Zhang Cigong, and the others, the signs in his body clearly meant that the seed of the entry stage had likewise sprouted in him, meeting the prerequisite for cultivation.

Zhang Xuezhou had climbed the mountain with great difficulty, but things had gone extremely smoothly. Before even entering the temple, he had obtained a method for learning how to reach the entry stage.

He unrolled the bamboo scroll and read a few lines, but found he couldn't quite understand them. Rather than embarrass himself and give himself away, he simply took the scroll and slowly made his way down the mountain path.

"The Ten Yin Holy Son's man has come knocking here. It looks like this place will very likely be caught up in trouble from now on. I'd better lie low!"

As Zhang Xuezhou slowly descended the mountain, the old priest in the temple went pale, then ashen, repeatedly counting on his fingers.

"I, Zou Bugui, am incompetent. I have failed the founding masters of every generation!"

After calculating for a long time, Zou Bugui felt unable to divine whether fortune or disaster lay ahead.

But judging by his own senses, he felt he would meet with great misfortune.

The Nine-Foot Daoist Temple had become entangled in something dangerous. Leaving the temple for the time being to keep himself safe was the surest course.

A tree dies when moved, but a person lives by moving. Zou Bugui wholeheartedly agreed with the words of the Ten Yin Holy Son's messenger.

The man had warned him so plainly that if he still didn't run, he would be far too slow on the uptake. If he died, he could blame no one else.

After packing up and putting all his gold, silver, and money into a waist pouch, Zou Bugui left with equal briskness.

He took out an umbrella, and his whole body rose like a kite, drifting up into the sky.

When he occasionally looked down, he could see that figure moving slowly along Nine-Foot Slope.

Though a few stray thoughts vaguely crossed his mind, Zou Bugui thought of seeking good fortune and avoiding disaster and couldn't be bothered to dwell on them. He felt that getting away from here quickly was the foremost priority.