Senior, do you not know the art of flight and ascension?

The middle-aged man remained silent.

The two young disciples looked at the senior brother kneeling on the ground, and then toward the various Yin spirits lingering within the mountain cliff. Before them lay years of benevolent care from an elder, while down in the cliff were numerous vengeful ghosts who had met with various gruesome deaths. The two realities intertwined, stirring up towering waves of emotion in their hearts.

Exchanging a glance, the one called Sanshui stepped forward and bowed, asking:

"This junior wishes to know... why our martial uncle did such a thing."

The other chimed in: "This junior wishes to know as well!"

Jiang She glanced sideways at the old man prostrate on the ground, still remembering the latter's initial air of effortless detachment and worldly indifference.

"Refining Yin spirits, absorbing vital blood, and extending one's own lifespan..."

He sighed softly.

"It is hardly uncommon anymore."

Jiang She raised his hand slightly, and a gentle breeze lifted all the Yin spirits from beneath the cliff, floating them upward. He beckoned the two children over, saying, "Ask them one by one."

With a mere wave of his hand, these Yin spirits, previously possessing such ferocious and terrifying visages, lost their ghostly appearances. Their gazes were no longer scattered; as if someone had painted the pupils into their eyes to breathe life into them, their consciousness was restored. Were it not for their translucent forms, the two disciples would have thought them to be living people.

The middle-aged man widened his eyes in astonishment, forcefully suppressing his shock.

He recalled the term "Immortal" his martial uncle had used earlier.

He had originally thought it just a compliment given to a senior practitioner of profound Daoist arts, uttered out of flattery and fear of death.

Yet now...

A mere wave of the hand was enough to summon all these Yin spirits, restore their pre-mortem consciousness, and awaken their wits. Even he, who had chanted scriptures to deliver departed souls, had never witnessed such a sight.

Could such Daoist magic truly exist in this world?

With their consciousness restored, the Yin spirits, whose memories remained frozen at the very moment of their deaths, began to weep and cry out.

"Mother, I'm afraid—"

"So painful! So painful! Do not skin me!"

"Immortal, we have already brought the person to you. Whether you want the soul or whatever else is entirely up to you, but the gold we agreed upon cannot be short."

"Save me, save me! This lowly one knows his wrongdoings, and will never dare engage in this human-trafficking business ever again. This lowly one knows he was wrong, truly wrong! I'll return this batch of goods right away..."

Listening to the wails and pleas, the two young disciples felt a deep sense of grief and sorrow.

The way they looked at their martial uncle could never return to how it was before.

They parted their lips.

"Martial Uncle..."

The old man remained prostrate on the ground, offering no reply. He had not failed to consider what might happen if he were discovered, but he had always believed nothing would come of it. Once he extended his lifespan a little further and gained more time, he would simply clean everything up.

Convenient creations like the ear-reporting spirits had already been handed out to quite a few people. The vital blood of strong men among them had been of immense help to his cultivation.

The middle-aged man cast a deep, lingering look at his martial uncle.

He offered one final bow to the old man.

And sighed:

"Senior Brother..."

After a moment, he turned around.

Facing Jiang She, the middle-aged man bowed with a solemn expression and said:

"Many thanks, Immortal, for ridding Mount Yunmeng of this wicked disciple!"

Having witnessed these tragically slain Yin spirits, he could no longer persuade himself to plead for his martial uncle or repeatedly shield such harmful and wicked karma.

Mount Yunmeng was a sanctuary of pure cultivation, which had always walked the righteous path.

The cultivator had made his choice.

The old man's voice trembled: "Junior Brother, you...!"

He did not finish his sentence.

A branch pierced straight through his heart.

The two youths let out a startled cry, turning their heads away to avoid the sight. Only when the struggling sounds ceased did they look back at their deceased martial uncle, their hearts filled with complex emotions.

In their memories, this martial uncle loved to sit atop the mountain peak and fish leisurely, and was fond of reading secular vernacular tales.

Surrounded by pure breeze and bright moonlight, he seemed untainted by worldly dust.

He was also exceptionally caring toward the younger generation. Every time they visited, they would find many interesting little toys here, and he would patiently listen to them chatter endlessly about the trivialities of cultivation—truly a wonderful person.

Only now did they realize that his limit may have arrived long ago.

Only now did they realize he had harmed so many lives.

The middle-aged man walked up to the old man, squatted down, closed the old man's eyes, and laid his body flat.

His voice was very low: "Thank you, Senior."

At the mountain peak, those Yin spirits, having attained deliverance, all dissipated. Even the wind grew still, while mist and white clouds hung low, enveloping the summit as a crimson sun rolled across the cloud layer.

Looking down toward the corpses below, the distance felt ten thousand feet away.

Jiang She sat cross-legged, holding a cat in his arms, stroking it gently as he said, "You came up the mountain to visit him, didn't you?"

The middle-aged man gazed at the floating clouds outside the mountain, his heart conflicted.

Standing to one side, he replied:

"Yes."

He then added, "Since Senior Brother has done such things, even without Senior, Mount Yunmeng would have purged him ourselves."

Jiang She asked, "Do you often come here?"

"Sometimes once every year or two. After taking on these two disciples five years ago, we visited more frequently—once every three to five months."

With his mind in turmoil and sensing that this senior intended to converse with him, the middle-aged man poured out more of his inner thoughts.

"Ever since I was initiated into the Dao and became acquainted with Senior Brother, fifty years have passed."

It was a journey spanning from the moment of birth in swaddling clothes all the way to the twilight of life.

Jiang She remarked, "From what I've seen, your two disciples seem to be quite fond of him."

The middle-aged man replied, "Senior Brother... has practiced the Dao for many years and has always had a good temper, embodying the detachment of a crane soaring through the clouds. Children also enjoyed talking to him and felt at ease in his presence. Since moving away from Mount Yunmeng ten years ago to seek seclusion near this mountain in Luoyang, I had no inkling of what he was doing, and previously I even rejoiced at his breakthrough."

"Thinking back now, isolating himself far from other cultivators was simply to make it easier to extend his life through nefarious means."

"Senior Brother was not like this before..."

As the middle-aged man spoke, his thoughts drifted back to those early days of cultivation on Mount Yunmeng.

He recalled the past. Back then, he and his martial uncle, much like the two disciples he brought along, often quarreled yet shared a profound bond.

His martial uncle, being slightly older, had a greatly improved temperament. At night, they would often sneak into the kitchen to steal food, and whenever they helped their master refine medicine, he himself would always be impatient with tending the fire, complaining that the heavy soot stung his nose—so his martial uncle would always do it instead.

His voice gradually tapered off.

At the summit, only a corpse remained, alongside a fishing rod not far away.

The mountain wind brushed against his garments; the wind on the mountains was always biting and cold.

The middle-aged man rose and bowed.

"We must thank Senior once again for delivering those departed souls, otherwise our minds and hearts would never find peace!"

He pulled his two disciples over, leading them in a bow to pay their respects to the departed souls. The middle-aged man said to them: "Today your martial uncle has met his death; tomorrow, should you ever encounter heterodox cults and wicked paths, or witness the evils of witchcraft and malevolent Yin spirits harming others—"

"Whether they be fellow sect members, good friends, esteemed elders, or even myself..."

"You must strike them down without hesitation!"

"Do you remember this?"

The two disciples looked at the corpse and acknowledged the instruction.

Gazing intently at them, the middle-aged man continued: "Even if one of you should see a companion straying onto a wicked path, harming human lives in pursuit of the Dao or for worldly glory—"

"You must never show leniency!"

The two disciples exchanged glances and gave their assent.

Being only around ten years of age, they could not yet understand why their martial uncle had abruptly chosen a wicked path.

The "evil paths" spoken of by their elders were even more vague to them, and they still possessed vast stretches of life to squander.

To spend it on laziness, on showing off their prowess, on plucking the feathers of white cranes in the mountains, or on hiding away to avoid a beating.

To spend it reading vernacular tales, wandering aimlessly around the county or Luoyang city, listening to storytellers spin tales of ghosts, spirits, and immortals, and nudging each other with hidden smiles—all of it was wonderful.

After today, there would still be tomorrow.

If they missed this year's peach blossoms blooming in Luoyang, there would still be the next spring.

The group descended the mountain.

Sanshui noticed that the senior in cyan robes did not use any Daoist levitation techniques; with a cat pacing closely by his heels, they walked down every single step.

She and her junior brother, Chu Yi, exchanged a curious glance.

Wonder twinkling in their eyes, she asked:

"Senior, do you not know the art of flight?"