Chapter Eleven: The Sacred Mountain of the West

In the northern wilderness, there were no powers of the Three Tribes, for this place was an endless ocean, and upon its expanse dwelled a great turtle. It was the deity of these waters, its limbs long and powerful, and none knew whence it came. Whenever it was attacked, its mighty limbs would lash out, scattering its foes to dust beneath their strength.

Upon an unknown mountain, a figure in a tattered Daoist robe lay in a cave, groaning in agony. “Where is this place?” Tongtian had lost all sense of vigilance, the thought echoing in his heart though he could not voice it. Moving his body, his wounds tore anew, pain twisting his face.

A nine-petal purple lotus floated out from his body, and Pangu revealed his dark, tangled hair. “How did I come to be here?” Tongtian surveyed the barren mountains around him before turning to gaze at Pangu upon the lotus.

“You were drawn into that cauldron; I used spatial transfer to bring you here,” Pangu said, pride gleaming in his eyes.

“And what of my two elder brothers?” In this world, only Laozi and Yuanshi were his blood kin. Tongtian had lost too much already and could not bear to lose those who had accompanied him for countless millennia.

“They were taken away by Heaven’s emissary,” Pangu replied, biting back his hatred for the Heavenly Dao.

“Oh, so it was Grandmaster Hongjun.” Hearing Pangu’s words, Tongtian was reassured, but Pangu wondered how this young one could know of Hongjun. He resolved to take advantage.

To the west lay Mount Spirit, destined to become the sacred land of Buddhism in ages to come, though at this time neither Jieyin nor Zhunti had emerged. A mighty figure had seized this mountain.

Why was there no trace of the Three Tribes in the west? In this region, their authority meant nothing. Instead, a powerful being named Rahu ruled over a multitude of solitary cultivators, commanding unrivaled strength. Thus, the Three Tribes held no sway.

In the grand hall, an elder in black robes sat upon the throne, listening quietly to reports from his subordinates.

“So, the true aim of the Dragon Tribe is the treasures of the other two tribes; they simply haven’t noticed,” Rahu said, addressing his followers.

“Yes,” replied Ghost Evil, Rahu’s strongest subordinate.

“Dismissed.” Rahu glanced at the group below and waved them away.

When the hall was empty, Rahu suddenly spoke, “How much longer will you hide? Show yourself.”

A surge of magic power struck the column, and a man brushed his Daoist robe, saying, “I’ve come to see whether this is a suitable place to reside.”

The man held a willow branch before his chest.

“Is Mount Spirit a place for the likes of you?” In an instant, Rahu summoned the Immortal-Slaying Sword Formation, trapping the Daoist within.

“What, you rely on this?” The Daoist frowned.

“Yes, this is enough,” Rahu declared with confidence.

The Immortal-Slaying Sword Formation was crafted from four innate swords and Rahu’s own design. To break it required the simultaneous assault of four Golden Immortals. Golden Immortals were so rare in the wilderness that one could count them on a single hand, and Rahu could not discern this man’s cultivation. Could he be even greater than a Golden Immortal?

The willow branch in the Daoist’s hand glowed green. With a sweep, it drew in the four swords. Rahu hastily poured more power into them, but the pull was overwhelming, and the swords slipped away, flying straight toward the Daoist.

Before Rahu’s very eyes, the swords were absorbed by the willow branch.

Rahu was furious—his protective treasures rendered useless and taken by the stranger’s artifact. “Return my treasures!” Rahu summoned a twelve-petal black lotus of world destruction beneath his feet and wielded the God-Slaying Spear, charging at the Daoist.

The Daoist calmly swept the willow branch again, absorbing both the spear and the lotus. Rahu was stupefied.

Without his treasures, how could he duel with magic? Rahu was at a loss.

“I have come only for one thing from you,” the Daoist said, his face serene, his robe drifting elegantly above the hall.

“What thing?” Nothing could be more precious than those treasures. With the innate spiritual objects, Rahu had ruled the western powers. Without them, demise was inevitable.

“I want your skin!” The Daoist’s indifferent gaze settled on Rahu, and Rahu felt the threat in those eyes—refusal would mean annihilation.

“No!” Rahu refused outright.

How could he surrender his skin so easily? Even if he did, his vitality would be gravely injured, and with his wounded body, he would be destroyed in any conflict.

“I know your origins, your thoughts, and your ambitions.” The wind swept through the hall, billowing the Daoist’s robe.

Hearing these words, Rahu was dumbfounded. When had such a formidable adversary appeared?

“I am not one to force others. If you agree to my terms, I will let you enjoy the fortune of the west and avoid destruction,” the Daoist continued.

Compared to his previous words, this promise was far more shocking. Western fortune—the dream was within reach. The question was whether he would agree.

“Very well, I accept.” Compared to the fortune of the west, his life was more important.

He descended, laying out a grand formation.

Enduring the agony of his skin being stripped, Rahu clenched his teeth and persisted.

“Here you are.” Rahu’s aura was chaotic, his magic uncontrollable, and he collapsed to the ground.

The Daoist smiled inwardly as he took the skin pouch. His goal was finally achieved.

He then returned the four swords, twelve-petal black lotus, and God-Slaying Spear to Rahu.

The Daoist cast a spell into Rahu’s body, and Rahu’s wounds slowly healed. Only then did Rahu open his eyes, recognizing a true master.

For the next month, the Daoist guarded the hall, forbidding Rahu’s subordinates from entering. Thinking something had happened, they attacked the Daoist madly.

Their treasures were collected as usual, but the Daoist did not kill them, merely placing them in illusions for tempering.

When Rahu emerged, he found his subordinates’ strength had risen dramatically. Rahu was delighted—he now had the power to contend for dominance over the wilderness.

As Rahu prepared to host a feast, the Daoist announced urgent business. Rahu repeatedly requested his help to unify the wilderness, but the Daoist politely declined.

As he departed, Rahu asked, “Master, what is your name?” A top-tier combatant was invaluable—Rahu’s Golden Immortal strength could not even touch the hem of the Daoist’s robe. Such a figure, even if not an ally, must never become an enemy.

“I am called Grandmaster Willow.” The Daoist cast a spell and vanished from Mount Spirit.