Chapter Sixty: The Other Side of the Teleportation Array

As Li Ruoyu faced calamity deep within the Yellow Mountain, on the other side of the teleportation array, there stood another such array, identical to the one Li Ruoyu had seen. Before it, a figure clad in black robes was stationed.

The robe enveloped him entirely, leaving only a pair of weathered eyes fixed upon the teleportation array.

"Master, will Lord Dugu succeed this time?" A voice rose from behind the black-robed figure, half inquiry, half murmured soliloquy.

The one addressed as Master remained silent, his gaze shifting from the array to the boundless heavens, as if peering far beyond, deep into the outer realms, searching for someone unseen.

This teleportation array was set atop a great mountain, its peaks piercing the clouds, shrouded in white mist like a celestial palace. The mountain bore a striking resemblance to Yellow Mountain on Tianhuang Star, boasting seventy-two peaks, each uniquely arranged and named—Xuanyuan Peak, Fuchiu Peak, Rongcheng Peak, and more—all with their own distinctive character.

This mountain was famed for four marvels.

First, its extraordinary pines. Hundreds of renowned varieties—Welcoming Pine, Watching Pine, Sea-Seeking Pine—crowded the slopes in tangled profusion, uneven in height.

Second, its peculiar stones. Their forms were fantastical: The Immortal's Guide, Old Monk Gathering Herbs, Flying Stone, Monkey Gazing at the Sea—each revealed new shapes depending on vantage and weather, as if “from afar a ridge, up close a peak, varying with distance and angle.”

Third, its sea of clouds, breathtaking in beauty, grandeur, wonder, and surreal charm. Vapors rose, red trees spread over the mist, leaves drifting atop the cloud ocean. Passing between Twin Scissor Peaks, the clouds funneled and cascaded downwards like a celestial river slicing the sky.

Fourth, its magical springs. The waters, cold and pure as celestial milk, nourished year-round—fit for drinking and bathing, imbued with extraordinary spiritual energy.

If one only considered these four wonders, this mountain would be a marvel indeed. Yet when beholding the landscape as a whole—the Buddhist miracles flickering in the clouds, peaks shaped like lions, camels, and pagodas, waterfalls plunging like flying immortals—the place seemed nothing less than a paradise hidden from the world.

But to a master versed in geomancy and fate, such grandeur would chill the soul, ice sinking to the bones. Each marvel, taken alone, was exquisite—a nurturing, sacred land. But together, this was no utopia. Rather, it was a burial ground capable of annihilating immortals and gods—a lethal domain whose origins were unfathomable. If forged by nature, it must have been shaped by countless deaths, transformed into a forbidden land that transcended ages. If crafted by human hands, it could only be the work of an unimaginably powerful being or group, creating a terrain where extreme yang burst into extreme yin—a place deadly, absolute, and forbidden.

At the foot of the mountain, a stone tablet bore two ancient characters: "Yellow Mountain."

Meanwhile, Li Ruoyu, beset by disaster, decisively grasped the gray prayer beads. Buddhist relics were known to counter strange and evil forces, though he was unsure if they would help. Fortunately, the beads emitted a gentle Buddhist light. As the glow traveled from his hand up his arm, reaching his shoulder, the corpse spots shrank, compressed until they formed a small, black-gray sphere, which dropped to the ground.

Li Ruoyu stared at the fallen sphere in silence. He wrapped it in the beads and stowed it within the World-Destroying Pearl. To him, this corpse spot sphere was a double-edged sword, dangerous to both self and others. But used wisely, it could serve as a trump card—a killing weapon capable of bringing death.

After surviving this "dragonfly skimming the water," Li Ruoyu seemed blessed by fortune, the old adage proving true: “Great calamity brings great fortune.” He safely exited Yellow Mountain.

Outside, Li Ruoyu gazed at the immortal-blooded corpse impaled by a long spear upon the mountainside, recalling the teleportation array he had seen.

He thought of Shi Sikong’s dying words; of the white-robed woman who traversed the ages; of the Ancient Shu Immortal Dynasty and the undefeated ancient god praised as, “Do not speak of roads ahead, atop Dugu stands a solitary peak”—Dugu Peak.

He remembered also Ye Wuyou, whose feats went unrecorded yet prompted Dugu Peak to declare, “How many are prodigies? Wuyou alone is peerless for life.” He recalled the corpse that seemed to have perished while playing chess, and the inscription on the stone wall: “Ten years to hone a sword, a hundred to become an immortal.”

All these experiences in Yellow Mountain left Li Ruoyu deep in contemplation. If he wished to unravel all these mysteries, they all seemed to point toward one place—“Desolate Land.”

Setting aside his thoughts, Li Ruoyu summoned his flight aura and headed toward Hengjiu Sect. He had planned to return quickly after visiting his hometown, but was waylaid by the ruthless Yin Yi and the vengeful serpent. With a sigh, he reflected that if he had foreseen these events, he would have ensured to return to Hengjiu Sect with Wang Bo. Then, even encountering Yin Yi, they might have subdued him. Alas, life seldom goes as desired.

Li Ruoyu knew that letting Yin Yi escape would bring trouble in the future. Both were seekers of the Dao. He understood that the greatest fear in life was not failing to reach the goal after effort, but lacking direction. Seekers of the Dao could already see the path ahead.

Though the Dao was boundless, as long as there was a road, one could always grow stronger. Thus, when he next met Yin Yi, Li Ruoyu was certain there would be a fierce and bloody battle.

Returning to Hengjiu Sect, Li Ruoyu was surprised to be greeted first by Jing Hong—the “Jing Demon.” As always, Jing Hong was like a startled swan, instantly memorable. Her fiery red hair and matching robes, pale skin, and dazzling eyes and teeth gave her an exotic allure, radiating startling beauty. Standing before the sect gate, she seemed to have endured heartbreak, with traces of tears still at the corners of her eyes, making her appear even more pitiful—yet all the more enchanting.

Looking at Jing Hong, unmoving like a statue of devotion, Li Ruoyu recalled their ordeal in the Demon-Falling Valley and smiled knowingly. He walked toward the dazed “goose.”