Chapter 86: Asking for Directions
Chapter 86: Asking for Directions
“Who did you plan to drown in this puddle?”
Zuo Meng halted without retreating. A Thousand Years of Inner Strength surged into his left palm as he thrust it toward empty space.
Boom!!
A sonic boom erupted.
An ordinary palm strike, amplified by millenniums of cultivation, became fantasy-like martial skill. The air trembled as a translucent hand materialized mid-air, striking faster than Dao Zuo’s attack. Though Dao Zuo had moved first, he instantly became the defender. His mighty black river torrent turned laughable, obliterated by Zuo Meng’s single palm strike.
The once-dominant chief disciple of Human Respect flew backward like discarded trash, tumbling over a dozen times. The painting scroll disintegrated into scattered fragments.
Be it magic tools or dark arts,
A single palm strike breaks them all!
“How—”
Pfft!!
Dao Zuo choked on his words as blood gushed from his mouth. The “material” he and Human Respect had dismissed now seemed absurdly powerful. Their supposed control over events now resembled a clown’s antics. Dao Zuo knew Human Respect’s limits well—if his master couldn’t subdue Zuo Meng after years of trying, this newcomer’s strength defied reason.
Facing such power, Dao Zuo felt pathetic. He’d nearly been destroyed by one casual strike.
“Who are you?! Heavenly Lord? Earthly Lord? Impossible—even they aren’t this strong!”
Dao Zuo’s mind reeled. Such strong individuals always left traces, yet this man seemed to emerge from nowhere. His profound aura spoke of centuries-old cultivation, not sudden fortune. No known figure matched these traits.
“I owe you for aiding my breakthrough, so I’ll spare you. Tell Human Respect not to provoke me, or I’ll flatten his pathetic mountain.” Zuo Meng’s true gain lay in fully utilizing the dust powder—now spent—to convert the mountain’s energy into foundational power through lifetimes of accumulated wisdom.
“Owe us?”
Dao Zuo remained bewildered.
Ignoring him, Zuo Meng withdrew his energy and departed unchallenged.
On the mountain.
Human Respect exited his hidden chamber, grimacing at his battered disciple.
“I personally verified his weakness before recruitment. Had he possessed such power, I’d never have permitted his ascent.” The lord shook his head. His carefully curated “materials” never rebelled before—this anomaly reeked of interference.
“Could Earthly Lord be behind this?”
Dao Zuo clutched at conspiracy theories.
“Possible.”
The Three Great Lords—Human Respect, Earthly Lord, Heavenly Lord—wielded Extraordinary Power, reigning supreme above Jianghu sects they treated as playthings. Only they occupied this pinnacle.
“He spared me claiming owed favor.” Dao Zuo shuddered, recalling that world-shattering palm strike.
That palm strike didn’t resemble any martial skill.
A palm capable of splitting mountains and rivers—what martial skill could do such a thing?
“The palm technique must belong to the Earthly Lord. Only he cultivates such skills. To harm you, it couldn’t have been a mere disciple. I suspect the attacker was the Earthly Lord himself.” The Three Great Lords were all shrouded in mystery, each with their own special abilities. None would believe a strong individual could emerge suddenly, as their paths were impossible to replicate.
“Have someone investigate. My injuries are severe—I’ll rest now.”
Dao Zuo fell silent. His body dissolved into ink, seeping into a blank painting on the wall until he vanished.
“Earthly Lord…”
Human Respect approached the bed, retrieved a bamboo tube, and dispatched orders…
Half a day later.
Zuo Meng was lost.
He’d lingered too long in the Dream World. The real world was a distant memory. After six or seven hundred years, recalling even a name or two was a miracle, let alone roads. This was the price of deep immersion in the Dream Era—so deep it felt like living an extra life. In contrast, his time in the previous eras had been like watching a play, leaving little mark. The rewards of full immersion came with trade-offs.
“Better ask someone.”
After a brief flight, Zuo Meng spotted a sprawling mountain estate radiating grandeur.
“Shuixie Dongtian? Some martial family, wasn’t it? Whatever. Just ask.”
Upon landing, Zuo Meng saw the estate’s massive entrance plaque.
Martial artists patrolled everywhere, their auras sharp. These were true fighters, not mere decorative guards.
Shuixie Dongtian ruled as the southwest’s greatest martial family.
Family Head Murong Tian led the region’s Martial Arts Alliance. Unlike sects like the Liuhe Sect, southwestern power stemmed from family roots. Shuixie Dongtian served as the Murong family’s hidden stronghold, unknown to outsiders.
In his study, Murong Tian scowled at a letter.
The family ship had sunk in the river.
All cargo lost. His cousin, who’d been aboard, was missing—likely dead.
“They grow bolder by the day.”
Murong Tian moved to the bedside and held the letter over a candle flame until it turned to ash.
“Do you know the way to the Liuhe Sect?”
A voice spoke behind him. Murong Tian jerked, dropping the half-burned letter.
Who?!
He whirled to find an ordinary young man standing there.
When had he entered?
Which faction sent him?
Schemes raced through Murong Tian’s mind. Asking directions? To their secret estate? Did this fool take him for an idiot?
“Who are you?!”
“Never mind. I’ll look myself.”
Zuo Meng ignored formalities. He rifled through the study’s shelves, pulling out secret ledgers. Each document drawn made Murong Tian’s eye twitch—so many exposed secrets. Yet the intruder’s aura screamed danger, freezing Murong Tian in place as his study was ransacked.
“Here.”
Zuo Meng reached the last shelf and pulled out a map.