Chapter 61: Cloudveil Peak (Seeking First Subscription~)

Outside Lingxi Pavilion, amidst the wild woods and crimson leaves, a group of cultivators had already gathered, some quietly conversing, others sitting with eyes closed to rest. Among them, a figure stood out, wearing a finely crafted bronze mask; the others subtly regarded him as their leader.

Song Yan and his two companions arrived. The cultivators who had been resting opened their eyes.

“Everyone is here,” someone remarked, seemingly addressing the masked cultivator.

The bronze-masked man raised his gaze toward Song Yan and his group, his look pausing momentarily before narrowing slightly.

Song Yan Sheng? Why is it him… Is it mere coincidence?

Song Yan quietly sized up the others. None appeared to be concealing their cultivation levels. Sweeping them with his spiritual sense, he found that aside from the masked man at the eighth level of Qi Refining, there were five at the sixth level and three at the fifth, including himself.

What surprised Song Yan most was that this mysterious bronze-masked cultivator wore the distinctive robe of an inner disciple of Cave Abyss Sect—his face hidden, but his identity openly displayed.

“An inner sect senior?” Song Yan pondered the man’s identity, while the other also observed him.

“So these are your friends,” the masked man said with a smile. “Turns out, you are a fellow disciple of my sect. I am Che Ning.”

Song Yan had never heard this name. He offered a respectful salute. “Senior Che.”

No need to ask Wu Huaguo; Song Yan was certain the name was false. He was used to such things.

Besides Che Ning, there were two other disciples from Cave Abyss Sect. Both appeared middle-aged, around thirty or forty years old. At their age, not having reached the seventh Qi Refining level meant their chances of breaking through and entering the inner sect—and eventually Foundation Establishment—were slim.

Song Yan recognized one of them: Wu Zheng, the outer sect’s well-known gentle soul. Even a solitary cultivator like Song Yan had benefited from his kindness. His seniority and experience meant inner sect disciples often looked after him, assigning him easier, more influential chores. Wu Zheng, always benevolent, used his position to help many outer disciples, even those he didn’t know, never breaking sect rules but easing others’ paths. He was highly respected in the outer sect.

“Fellow cultivators, our destination is Hujian County, Overcast Cloud Peak,” Che Ning said, a flash of spiritual light at his fingertips as a wooden mat woven from vines slowly expanded.

“If you have flying artifacts, you may travel ahead. My withered wood meditation mat can only carry five,” Che Ning continued.

“No need to worry, Senior Che,” Wu Zheng replied with a carefree laugh. “Old Wei and I have our own means.”

The cultivator called Old Wei nodded, and the pair departed. Three others, seemingly a small group of itinerant cultivators, nodded as well.

Only Song Yan was astonished. All these were Qi Refining cultivators—yet he alone seemed to lack a flying artifact. Where did they find the spirit stones for such luxuries?

Speechless in thought, he nonetheless enjoyed the ride, settling comfortably onto Senior Che Ning’s meditation mat. With a flick of Che Ning’s hand and a spell, the mat transformed into a stream of light, soaring into the clouds.

The view from the mat was wide and clear, more transparent than the spirit boat that had carried him to Silent Valley, and more comfortable than Senior Sister Qin’s flying sword.

Che Ning’s voice, likely altered, sounded deep and muffled, not quite natural. Yet he was talkative, and Song Yan, who had intended to rest, found himself drawn into conversation.

“Junior Tong, when did you enter the sect?” Che Ning asked casually.

Song Yan recalled, “About three years ago.”

“Oh…” Song Yan couldn’t shake the sense that Senior Che Ning felt familiar—his manner, his speech, his presence. Previously, such feelings had amounted to nothing, and he expected the same now. Yet suddenly, a spark of intuition struck him.

He so resembled Senior Lin Qing.

But then Song Yan dismissed the thought; Lin Qing had not yet joined the inner sect, while Che Ning wore a genuine inner disciple’s robe. It must simply be a resemblance.

Besides Song Yan, Wu, Rong, and Che Ning, there was a scar-faced cultivator on the mat, silent and uninvolved in their discussion.

Hujian County was not far from Cave Abyss Sect’s mountain gate. In moments, they arrived at Overcast Cloud Peak.

Mist shrouded the mountains, clouds swirling in vortexes. Overcast Cloud Peak was one of the better-known spiritual mountains in Chu Kingdom, despite its sparse spiritual energy. Only a few small sects nearby, their disciples all at Qi Refining stage.

Song Yan recalled that when he had studied formations, he had heard that this place produced a kind of cloud-shield lingzhi, used as powder in the crafting of maze pearls and formation plates.

Everyone had arrived.

“I’ll be brief,” Che Ning said. “The senior who built this cave residence was an itinerant Foundation Establishment cultivator, with whom I share some connection. Were circumstances different, I would have preferred to claim the treasures alone.”

Song Yan and Rong Xiaofeng glanced surreptitiously at Wu Huaguo. He spoke the truth.

“First, let me clarify: there are only two ink treasures in the cave that I must obtain,” Che Ning continued.

Still the truth.

“All other spiritual items and relics, you may take as you wish.”

Again, true.

The three pondered: Was Che Ning truly so generous?

Wu Zheng, upon arriving, looked around as if discerning something. After some hesitation, he spoke up. “Did this senior choose this place because he knew his days were numbered?”

“Overcast Cloud Peak combines the ‘Azure Dragon’ and ‘Black Tortoise’ geomantic forces—dragon’s palm open, tortoise’s head lowered—both auspicious for burials. Their embrace further protects a tomb from evil winds.”

Che Ning nodded. “Indeed…”

“This senior was named Lin Qinglong, a cultivator skilled in Daoist arts. In his later years, knowing he would not break through, he established his cave here.”

Everyone cast an admiring glance at Wu Zheng.

Song Yan recalled that in Shiliang Town, there was a feng shui master who had advised his grandfather’s burial, though the man was just a down-and-out daoist from a forgotten temple, and lacked Wu Zheng’s expertise.

Following Che Ning, the group proceeded to the mountainside, where the mist thickened, giving the landscape its waterfall-like veil.

At a certain spot, stone cliffs and a waterfall.

“This is the place,” Che Ning announced, halting and producing a blue jade ring in his palm.

He channeled spiritual power, and the jade ring flew toward the bottom of the waterfall pool. There was a faint sound, drowned by the falling water.

“Hmm?” Song Yan felt something and looked up. After the jade ring entered the pool, the waterfall’s flow began to diminish.

With a soft roar, the water shrank until it vanished completely, yet before them lay only a bare cliff—nothing else.

Buzz—

The jade ring flew back from the pool, returning to Che Ning’s hand. Now, it radiated rippling patterns of spiritual light.

“Please, follow me,” Che Ning said.

They followed him, walking atop the water toward the cliff. When they were less than ten feet away, the scene before them finally changed.

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