Chapter 81: The Supreme Powerhouse, Chu Yunge

Jiang Pingchuan stepped up to the painting and stopped, clasped his hands respectfully toward the figure within, his expression full of reverence. Lai Qing, on the other hand, watched him with curiosity.

“Do you know it was he who told me to save you?”

Lai Qing looked at Jiang Pingchuan, then at the figure in the painting. Jiang Pingchuan shook his head. Until now, he had only been speculating about who had prompted Lai Qing to rescue him. Hearing this, Jiang Pingchuan was filled with confusion—it stood to reason that Lai Qing before him and the figure in the painting could not possibly have lived in the same era.

“I didn’t know it was him. But how did he get you to save me?” Jiang Pingchuan asked softly, glancing at Lai Qing behind him. Lai Qing only shrugged, indicating he wasn’t entirely sure himself.

“The era in which the man in the painting lived was thousands of years ago. At that time, the Changfeng Continent had not yet been placed under restrictions,” Lai Qing murmured as he gazed at the painted figure. Jiang Pingchuan nodded; the person in the painting had most likely long since vanished from this world—how could he have had any connection with Lai Qing?

“Where did you get this painting?” Jiang Pingchuan asked. Since it was the figure in the painting who had instructed Lai Qing to save him, there had to be some connection. In fact, Jiang Pingchuan sensed that the path he now walked was one the man in the painting had trodden before.

“This painting was handed down in my family. As for the identity of the person depicted, I don’t know his name. But my ancestors left instructions: if ever a young man in white, a cultivator, was found in danger, we must intervene to help him. Along with that, a cultivation technique was also passed down, said to be taught by the man in the painting,” Lai Qing explained earnestly. It was perhaps the most he had ever said at once.

“The man in the painting is named Chu Yunge, the most powerful figure of the second generation of Mount Mao Daoism. I never imagined your ancestors would have had dealings with him,” Jiang Pingchuan said. The man in the painting was indeed Chu Yunge, the second generation’s greatest master of Mount Mao Dao, his strength rivaling even the first generation’s Ling Yunxiao. In their time, both were renowned as Supreme Realm experts.

“Mount Mao Dao? Second generation expert?” Lai Qing looked utterly bewildered by Jiang Pingchuan’s words—the history was entirely unfamiliar to him.

“We can discuss that another time. How did you recognize that I was the cultivator the man in the painting referred to?” Jiang Pingchuan asked, thinking that it was no surprise Chu Yunge could foresee his coming. His own grandmaster, Hongwu, had arranged for him to come to Changfeng Continent and even left his will behind in the ancestral shrine of Sanjiang County.

If Hongwu could manage this, then surely Chu Yunge, a Supreme Realm master from a thousand years ago, could do as much. Jiang Pingchuan even suspected that Ling Yunxiao, in his day, could have sensed Chu Yunge’s existence. Having experienced all these things, Jiang Pingchuan felt a subtle, mysterious connection between himself, Ling Yunxiao, and Chu Yunge.

“That’s quite simple. From your very first day in the city, my Beggars’ Sect disciples noticed you—much like the prayer beads in Master Gong’s hand, which can sense cultivators of profound power. I, too, have my own ways of sensing such things. With the chaos in Dongzhou City, I waited decades without finding a white-robed cultivator entering the city, so when you arrived, I began to pay attention to you,” Lai Qing replied with a cheerful smile. Jiang Pingchuan could tell that Lai Qing was deliberately concealing his exact method for recognizing cultivators, but Jiang Pingchuan didn’t mind—everyone had their own secrets.

“That’s all I know. As for how my ancestor and the man in the painting became acquainted, I have no way of finding out.”

Lai Qing gestured for Jiang Pingchuan to sit, poured two cups of tea, and slid one toward him. Jiang Pingchuan wrapped his hands around the cup, inhaling the fragrant steam, his muddled mind clearing considerably as the aroma reached him.

Within, his true energy was slowly recovering, but the eighth Dao Crystal within him continued to devour his energy ceaselessly—a strange phenomenon he had encountered before. When the seventh Dao Crystal manifested, he nearly lost himself, saved only by Fox Meier. This eighth Dao Crystal was like a bottomless pit—no matter how much true energy he poured into it, it was never sated.

“A thousand years have passed. The last time I saw him was in the Scripture Repository,” Jiang Pingchuan murmured over a sip of tea. His first encounter with Chu Yunge had been in the Scripture Repository, after comprehending the Ten Thousand Laws and awakening the will Chu Yunge had left behind.

“Can you tell me about yourself? And about the man in the painting?” Lai Qing asked after a sip of tea. It was clear that, though he was not talkative by nature, when something piqued his interest, he could not help but ask more.

“I am not from Changfeng Continent. I come from Hongwu Continent. The man in the painting, Chu Yunge, was a Supreme Realm master of my sect a thousand years ago,” Jiang Pingchuan replied seriously, meeting Lai Qing’s gaze. When he learned Jiang Pingchuan truly hailed from another continent, Lai Qing’s expression shifted subtly. But when Jiang Pingchuan revealed that Chu Yunge was a Supreme Realm expert, all composure fled from Lai Qing’s face—it was filled with awe.

Even his eyes shone with admiration. Now, with Changfeng Continent under restriction, its strongest cultivators were at best at the peak of the early Foundation Establishment stage. Compared to Jiang Pingchuan’s tales of Supreme Realm masters, the gap could not be greater; it was simply incomparable.

“There really are Supreme Realm masters in this world?” Lai Qing’s hands trembled as he held his cup. He had only ever dreamed of the Nascent Soul stage, never daring to imagine anything like the Supreme Realm. The idea that his ancestor could have known such a figure seemed almost unreal.

“Of course there are. In Mount Mao Dao, Supreme Realm masters are few, but there are nine who have reached the half-step Supreme level. The eight great elders and the old sect leader are all half-step Supreme,” Jiang Pingchuan said, his very presence seeming to swell with pride. These men were the pride of Mount Mao Dao, hidden from the world but always guarding it from the shadows.

“Can you take me to see Yuanwu Continent?” Lai Qing asked, his voice trembling. In this moment, Lai Qing was nothing like the cold, distant figure Jiang Pingchuan had first met. He now seemed more like a true cultivator, yearning for higher realms.

Some said Lai Qing was mysterious because he had no desires, but Jiang Pingchuan now saw that Lai Qing simply found nothing in Dongzhou City worthy of his desire.

“They’re all gone. Yuanwu Continent suffered a great catastrophe. When I left, Mount Mao Dao was drenched in blood,” Jiang Pingchuan’s voice grew hoarse. Lai Qing’s expression clouded with disappointment, but still, he reached out and patted Jiang Pingchuan on the shoulder, understanding that Jiang Pingchuan had come not to travel, but to escape calamity.

“My condolences,” Lai Qing managed after a long pause. Jiang Pingchuan smiled and shook his head.

“I intend to return to Yuanwu Continent and restore Mount Mao Dao. If you’re still here when that time comes, I’ll take you with me,” Jiang Pingchuan said with a cheerful grin, betraying nothing of his inner sorrow. Although he smiled, Lai Qing knew Jiang Pingchuan must be suffering greatly inside, but he had to remain strong, for otherwise, even if he gave in to weakness, there would be no one to see it.

“Can you tell me what happened tonight?” Lai Qing withdrew his hand, refilled Jiang Pingchuan’s cup, and asked. Jiang Pingchuan glanced at him and nodded. For now, it seemed Lai Qing was the only truly reliable person he could count on in Dongzhou City, especially since his ancestors had some connection with Chu Yunge of Mount Mao Dao.

Jiang Pingchuan carefully recounted everything that had happened that night, omitting only the blue silk band in his possession. With things as they were, he could rely only on himself; otherwise, he would always be subject to others’ machinations. After hearing him out, Lai Qing drained his tea in one gulp and slapped the table.

“Do you know how Han Ming died?” Lai Qing asked, his gaze probing, as if searching for something in Jiang Pingchuan’s eyes.

“Han Ming’s death is related to me. On the day Wu Duo died, I saw Han Ming’s shadow behind him. I suspect Han Ming used corpse control to manipulate Wu Duo, but what puzzles me is that even if Wu Duo’s death rebounded on Han Ming, it shouldn’t have killed him,” Jiang Pingchuan replied frankly, not avoiding Lai Qing’s gaze and laying out his thoughts and doubts.

Lai Qing suddenly let out a low chuckle. “Han Ming’s death is indeed connected to you, but you didn’t kill him. It was Master Gong.” As he spoke, Lai Qing produced a fragment of an old bronze mirror and handed it to Jiang Pingchuan. Through the piece, Jiang Pingchuan saw the scene of his duel with Wu Duo.

The image shifted to a secluded alley where two figures stood—Han Ming and Master Gong. When Jiang Pingchuan finished watching, his face went pale.

“What’s wrong?” Lai Jie noticed the change and asked softly.

“Lan Dao is still in the Gong residence,” Jiang Pingchuan replied, looking up. With him gone, Lan Dao was in even greater danger.

At this thought, Jiang Pingchuan abruptly stood, but his vision swam and everything went black as he collapsed to the floor.