With the matter here resolved, he did not linger further. Rising in a single leap, he transformed into a streak of sword rainbow and tore through the heavens. Despite the turbulence of sword Qi, the cascading rainwater akin to a waterfall did not wet him even a fraction.
However, after flying for a day, he began to sense something amiss. Everywhere he passed was nothing but boundless lakes and wetlands, with no trace of human habitation or farmland. Gazing far into the distance, he saw torrents of water rushing endlessly from the north. Sighing deeply, he murmured, "So it’s the Long River breaching its banks."
The Long River originates from the Beiming Continent, flowing from the northwest to the southeast, traversing East Splendor Continent, and ultimately emptying into the East Sea. However, one segment of the river’s middle course passes through the domain of Pan Tuo Palace, a region where the water level fluctuates dramatically, at times even breaking through mountains. Thus, successive dynasties have erected dams here to contain it, though when confronted by a true natural disaster, human hands are powerless to resist.
Flying a short distance further, his sword light paused slightly as he noticed a hill surrounded by floodwaters ahead. On the hill stood a Daoist Temple, its roof tiles now completely swept away by the violent wind. Inside the temple, a group of a dozen men and women huddled together trembling in fear, clutching each other tightly. Among them, an elderly woman cradled an infant, screaming defiantly at the heavens—a pitiful sight that stirred his compassion.
Zhang Yan stood motionless, his thoughts murmuring darkly to himself, "Had I not set foot into the Immortal Gate, my fate in a moment would undoubtedly mirror theirs. My only recourse would be to desperately pray for divine rescue, my life and death left outside my own control."
He lingered for a moment longer and thought to himself: if he had not come upon this calamity, he might have walked on without a second thought, but now that he has encountered it, he couldn’t simply turn a blind eye.
From the sky he let out a thunderous shout, and a dazzling twenty-zhang-long stream of deep blue Xuan Guang burst forth from his crown, instantly dispersing the rain clouds in the vicinity. He descended swiftly, and with a sweep of his robe sleeve as he passed the temple, he enveloped the dozen people in a mighty mist and lifted them all to the skies.
Those dozen people felt their feet suddenly lighten, as if they had landed in a warm, cotton-like cushion. However, having endured many days of hunger and exhaustion, they hardly comprehended what was happening to them. Many believed they were experiencing hallucinations on the brink of death, except for one youth, whose clear eyes revealed unusual composure amidst the chaos.
The youth found himself within the soft clouds that hugged him like cotton, marveling all the while. Despite his days of hunger, an inexplicable strength rose within him, propelling him forward. Crawling ahead, he lifted his gaze and saw a Daoist of majestic bearing guiding winds and dispersing clouds with effortless elegance. Realizing he had been rescued by an immortal, his heart surged with excitement.
Half a day later, the youth remained unsure how far they had traveled. He simply noticed that the rain had eased to a drizzle, and the blazing sunlight was so bright his eyes could hardly open. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he glimpsed a state city of towering grandeur in the distance.
Suddenly, he felt the ground solidly beneath his feet again, as though he had returned to earth.
"This place is densely populated. You may each go and seek out your livelihood."
With a snap of his fingers, Zhang Yan flicked out dozens of Elixir Pills, delivering them into the stomachs of each person present.
These pills were merely used to dispel cold and rejuvenate energy and were nothing remarkable within the Mingcang Sect, often consumed by Lower Court disciples during arduous mountain cultivation. Yet when applied to ordinary mortals, their effects proved extraordinary.
Instantly, the group felt a surge of warmth coursing through their eight meridians. Fatigue and weakness were swept away, and saliva welled up in their mouths, quenching their hunger and thirst. It was only at this moment that they fully woke as though from a dream. Falling to their knees, they repeatedly cried, "Immortal!"
Seeing that the matter had been resolved, Zhang Yan turned to depart. Yet the youth, overcome with emotion, summoned his courage and shouted, "May I ask which Immortal from the heavens has descended to deliver us?"
Zhang Yan cast a sidelong glance at him and observed his prominent features and clear, bright gaze. He had cultivated long enough to detect subtle hints of destiny in ordinary people, and this young man was no common soul. His heart stirred not in pity but in curiosity: "Whether fate binds us depends entirely on you."
With a wave of his hand, a golden talisman darted out and vanished into the youth’s chest. Then Zhang Yan soared away upon a rainbow, a song cascading from the clouds as he departed:
"Once a mortal grinding age and life,
Bound within a shack, knowing no strife.
I heard the Immortal sits high above,
Beyond Penglai Mountain, seeking Heavenly Tower."
The youth listened to the song in stunned silence, standing frozen for a brief moment. Then, as clarity dawned, joy lit up his face. Stepping forward, he knelt down and bowed deeply several times in the direction from which Zhang Yan had departed. With utmost reverence, he declared, "Disciple Jiang Zheng thanks the teacher for your guidance."
Leaving the group behind, Zhang Yan piloted his tunneling light further northwest.
Chenxiang Sect’s Main Temple was located atop Wutong Mountain. This area lay deep within the mountains at the borders of the Wei Dynasty. Just beyond stretched the domain of the Rouke Tribe, who occupied the fertile waters in the northwest. Yet every autumn, they crossed into Da Wei’s territory to capture wealth and women, igniting frequent violent skirmishes between the two cultures.
Traveling another thousand miles, he encountered skies of vast azure and a sprawling plain punctuated by towering peaks. Among the peaks was the highest summit, upon which perched a palace with a red roof and golden tiles. Under the blaze of sunlight, it emitted a breathtaking radiance.
At the foot of the mountain lay clusters of dwellings amidst tents and shelters, interspersed with herds of cattle and sheep sprinting through lush pastures.
The region housed tens of thousands of people, most of whom had fled wartime chaos and now subsisted on animal husbandry. The Chenxiang Sect, though established for mere centuries, lacked profound roots. Consequently, many of its disciples were recruited from among these locals.
Fortunately, its Ancestor Master shared the same lineage with an elder from the Shaoqing Sect. Coupled with their remote location, they avoided unwanted interference from rival sects.
At this moment, the residents at the mountain base noticed tunneling light streaking overhead. One by one, they knelt and bowed, their expressions overflowing with piety.
However, Zhang Yan’s carefree sword flight startled a meditating elder atop Wutong Mountain. From the grand palace erupted a streak of verdant Xuan Guang. Emerging from it was a cold-faced woman garbed in a lake-green skirt, with trailing silk ribbons. Arching her brows sharply, she rebuked, "Who dares intrude here? Do you not know this is the Daoist Field of Chenxiang Sect?"
...(To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please visit Qidian (qidian.com) to vote for recommendations or monthly votes. Your support is my greatest motivation.)