For Quan Hongming, life was like an island in the darkness.
He knew he was alive, but he couldn't tear through the darkness to bring his consciousness back to his body.
It was like a person stranded on a deserted island, but instead of the sea, there was something else surrounding him.
Quan Hongming clearly realized that leaving the island meant death.
Once, in his memory, he stood on a small hill. The sky was dim and grey, and the earthen hill beneath his feet was a golden yellow, like autumn wheat. The hill stood on a terrifying, dark brown plain.
Everywhere were withered, twisted black trees, and strange, grotesque rocks were scattered across the ground. The earth was covered in fine, scale-like cracks that shimmered faintly, like countless eyes piercing out with malevolent light. The plain seemed to be etched with death.
Quan Hongming tried countless times to cross the desolate plain. He wanted to go to another mountain on the horizon, hoping for a turning point there.
But he failed countless times.
Walking ten thousand steps forward didn't bring him any closer to that mountain, and a certain terrifying aura pervading the plain caused many strange transformations in his body. His back was covered in small, tender, white baby arms that clung to each other, forming a shell on his back. Many pale tusks protruded from his cheeks, three symmetrical sets in total, like the maw of an ancient beast reborn on his face. His blood, at some unknown point, had become scorching hot and highly poisonous. Sometimes, when his skin was corroded and ulcerated by the toxic blood, this black blood would seep out. It was as heavy as mercury, collecting on the wounds and transforming into wailing faces, lifelike, as if countless vengeful spirits had possessed him.
He felt incredibly scared. Turning back, he took just one step and was back on the earthen hill.
Perseverance was hard, but giving up was so easy.
After repeated failed attempts, he resigned himself to dying of old age on the mountain.
Quan Hongming cursed the world, cursed his life, hated his memories, and was tired of his relatives.
His desperate roars split his skin, and blood flowed freely down the mountain, soaking the golden soil and turning it a tragic red.
He no longer cared.
At some point, the terror from beneath the plain spread upwards.
The sky and the earth were corroded by darkness.
Strangely, Quan Hongming was willing to use 'corrosion' to describe this replacement.
Darkness replaced light because of sunset, and when the sun rose again, light would fill the world.
But the night here was eternal; there would be no more day.
The sky and earth were replaced by color, losing their original substantial existence.
Only this mountain glowed with a bloody red light.
Life was like an island in the darkness.
Ning Baiyi's life was perhaps even more monotonous than Simon's.
Besides daily chores, all she had to do was use acupuncture to stabilize Quan Hongming's breathing and then research methods of treatment.
She spent her days poring over vast medical texts, only at the dead of night would she go to the bamboo grove to relax and play a tune for herself.
This was her only entertainment and pastime of the day, her most relaxed and carefree moment.
Until she met that strange man, his face wet with tears, his demeanor comical and amusing, adding a touch of humorous yellow to her elegant and pure musical memories.
Ning Baiyi actually knew why he cried.
In the jianghu, only two sects were famous for their 'demonic music': one was the Xuan Nu Sect of Jingnan, and the other was Hundred Flowers Valley.
The Xuan Nu Sect's demonic music was upright and grand, using internal energy to stir sound waves, unleashing heart-shattering blows that would rupture the listener's heart meridians.
The Hundred Flowers Valley's demonic music, however, was skilled at enchanting and confusing, causing hidden damage to the mind. Listeners would fall into a dreamlike state, vaguely sensing their impending death.
To mesmerize an audience, a musician needed an extremely high understanding of zither techniques, as well as talent in martial arts.
Only by controlling sound with spirit could one move emotions and disturb the mind.
Ning Baiyi was naturally capable of this.
Her emotions could be conveyed through her zither music, but that night, she was actually quite happy, so those who heard the music should have been smiling, yet Mo Yun was in tears.
Was it really just sand in his eyes?
Regardless, Ning Baiyi now played the zither more carefully, afraid of affecting others again.
In the dark bamboo grove, on a clearing covered with fallen leaves, a mat was spread, a zither stand placed on it, and on the stand, a zither and an incense burner.
The sparse stars and moon only illuminated the zither strings, glittering like a silver bridge, vast like dense clouds.
Ning Baiyi sat upright on the mat, her slender jade fingers skillfully plucking the strings.
She warned herself not to play so freely and wantonly again, but when the emotions grew intense, she still lost herself. The soft, elegant zither music, capable of reaching all spirits, shone across the earth, startling roosting birds into flight.
Under the dark bamboo shadows, a man in white stood silently.
When the tune ended, Ning Baiyi packed up her zither stand, and the man quietly left.
Simon's fortune-telling stall gained a competitor.
It was a Taoist priest from the Ran Mountain Sect in Shandong.
East Street stretched for two li, wide enough for eight double-horse carriages to travel side-by-side without crowding. In such a large area, that damn Kun Qing Taoist priest insisted on setting up his stall just three feet from Simon, and it was also a fortune-telling stall!
This was stealing business right out of his money pouch!
It was hateful that this scoundrel was dressed in a proper-looking Celestial Master's robe, making him seem like the real deal.
Even more hateful was that these mortals didn't recognize the true living Buddha among them, and instead ran to that scoundrel Taoist for fortune-telling and physiognomy.
Simon, with a straight face, still closed his stall after three divinations each day.
Fortunately, he had arrived early and had quite a reputation as a divine diviner, so he still had many customers daily.
However, while he let go of this business rival, Kun Qing had no intention of letting him go.
The reason was actually quite simple: Kun Qing was now part of Quan Manor's subordinate Qike Mountain Villa, and he had to consider Simon on behalf of Quan Manor.
It turned out that the Ran Mountain Taoists were divided into two factions: those who 'entered the world' and those who 'left the world.' Those who 'left the world' cultivated the Tao and refined qi, while those who 'entered the world' traveled the world for study. Kun Qing belonged to the 'entered the world' faction.
Any traveler with ambitions for the world would not miss the capital, and those eccentric heroes and strange guests with aspirations but lacking capital knew that the Quan Manor people had the magnanimity of Mengchang, so coming to the capital to seek refuge with Quan Manor was a good choice.
Kun Qing naturally also wanted to obtain some silver and rare treasures from Quan Manor to aid his cultivation, so he immediately rushed to the capital after descending the mountain.
To gain the initiative, he couldn't be the one to seek out the Quan Manor people; instead, his abilities should be discovered by them, and then he would be cordially invited as a guest.
He naturally succeeded.
On his first day in the capital, he competed with hundreds of his peers, crushing their businesses. His outstanding talent and magnificent aura astonished everyone who witnessed that day. To this day, rumors of the 'Mad Taoist' still circulate on the streets.
Kun Qing's arrogance naturally had its basis; for someone of his status, it couldn't even be considered arrogant.
As one of the three lineage inheritors of the Ran Mountain Sect, equivalent to the Eighteen Arhats of Shaolin, who would dare to hold a grudge?
As an unofficial member of Quan Manor, Kun Qing was still very aloof. This time, he was entrusted by someone to test how capable this new 'Monk Miaoji' really was.
"Hey! Little monk, why don't you do a few more divinations?"
The handsome middle-aged Taoist walked up to Simon's small stall, like a leading, proud yellow rooster, surrounded by little chicks coming for fortune-telling.
Simon shook his head, "Divinations are not about quantity, but about essence. Doing one more divination shortens one's life!" He was actually mocking Kun Qing's mass-production approach to physiognomy.
The little chicks chirped, a big spectacle was about to begin, as if rice rain was about to fall from the sky, ready to fill the empty stomachs of these spiritually vacant people.
Kun Qing let out a joyful crow, shaking his comb, like a rooster king challenged by a younger descendant. "Little monk, I'm afraid you don't have the ability to do more divinations. How about we compete? Whoever wins gets the business, and whoever loses immediately smashes their stall!"
Simon smiled, as if watching a cricket about to arm-wrestle an elephant. "How can a bet with such a small prize be enough? How about the loser strips off all their clothes and runs a lap around East Street in the capital? What do you think?"
Whoosh—
The crowd erupted!
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