Chapter 238: Inner Demon

Xiangshan Academy was selective with admissions but also rigorous about graduation. Getting accepted was hard, passing final evaluations was harder.

Yet once admitted, students enjoyed great freedom. They chose their own study fields and taught masters freely. Some specialized in arts like music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, striving to be scholars. Others focused solely on cultivation, agriculture, governance, craftsmanship, or commerce—aiming for mastery in one field, not broad competence.

Unfettered Cultivators had even more liberty than disciples of the Civil and Martial Hall, Literary Brush Hall, or Literary Sword Hall. As long as one passed the academy’s yearly exams proving diligence, daily life remained unmonitored. Free meals and accommodation were provided, plus monthly silver allowance, ensuring scholars could study undisturbed.

After bidding farewell to the white-clad Wen Feixue, Mu Feng didn’t rush to attend lectures. Instead, he wandered along the academy’s bluestone paths through wooded trails, familiarizing himself with its layout. As he walked, he traced the weight of its thousand-year history beneath his fingertips.

Only at nightfall did he return to his quarters. He sat cross-legged on his bed, intending to meditate—to break his Seal soon, unlock the third layer of the Blood Refining Art’s insight, and overcome his bottleneck. But minutes dragged on, chaotic thoughts swirling relentlessly in his mind, refusing to settle.

He dwelled on Jing Wushuang—kind and understanding, yet poisoned by Ghost Mother’s Demonic Elixir. Was she alright? His gravely ill mother—had her health improved? Then his thoughts veered to Fourth Lady Mei and Feng Qianjin, both severely wounded diverting enemies for him. To Flying Sky Bat, gone without a trace.

Who set the fire in Jianshui City?

Had Fourth Lady Mei reunited with Flying Sky Bat?

Who started the blaze at the temple on Puyang Mountain? What formidable foe had even Master Kongwu, with all his power, confronted that forced him to disguise himself? Why did he leave so hastily after leaving a message for Mu Feng via an Old Woman at the He residence?

Questions tangled in Mu Feng’s mind like weeds—overgrowing, indestructible. The harder he tried to calm down, the wilder his thoughts raced. Such mental disarray had seldom struck him since his cultivation journey began.

Had something gone wrong? Was this an ill omen?

Alarmed, Mu Feng swiftly drew a turtle shell from his robes. Chanting a Shamanic Incantation, he squeezed a drop of Lifeblood Essence onto it. Hands formed a Sorcerer Seal as he channeled pure Spiritual Power. Gradually, faint threads of fate-energy shimmered in the air.

Ancient Witchcraft—Divination.

Using Spiritual Power as the foundation and Lifeblood Essence as a catalyst, it unveils futures and destinies.

He resorted to this Wumen Divine Art after long days, depleting enormous Spiritual Power. This time, the resilient shell didn’t crack, but no Talismanic Script appeared—only hazy azure light.

“Hnh… Either a mighty force shields my fate, blocking detection, or the Scholastic Palace’s Restrictions interfere?” Mu Feng arched a brow, expression grave. After touring the campus earlier, he’d sensed powerful, layered Restrictions everywhere. Whether they affected the divination, he couldn’t tell. Gazing at the shell, he recalled the Hemp-robed Old Taoist—nicknamed Celestial Diviner—who expertly foresaw futures. He remembered his words by Wangjiang Tower.

Peach Blossom Calamity?

What sort of trial was that?

Reflecting on the prophetic verse echoing after the Taoist’s departure, Mu Feng sank into silence. The more he mused, the thicker the mental fog grew. Lightheadedness washed over him until the Breeze Ring on his finger pulsed coolness—and clarity struck.

Inner Demon!

Wasn’t this the mental barrier described in the Yinfeng Record, heralding an impending bottleneck breakthrough?

He vividly recalled passages from Ghost Mother’s gift book. Exhaling stale air in a slow stream, he rose, walked to his desk, and sat down.

Pouring clear water into his inkstone, he ground ink beneath the dim moon. Soon, the faint fragrance drifted through the air. Unfolding paper, he wrote seven large words: ‘Calm’. Gradually, his restlessness faded, peace settling over him.

The path of cultivation resembles sailing upstream—stagnation spells regression. Perseverance is vital.

Yet sometimes, one must pause—reassess and solidify gains. Relentless pursuit risks shortening life, wasting potential, and causing Qi Deviation past redemption!

Facing such a formidable Inner Demon now meant it was time to reflect and consolidate!

Mu Feng’s mind became clearer than polished glass. He understood his circumstances thoroughly.

Though no match for his powerful adversary Mu Tie, Mu Feng yearned to advance to the Elite Realm—or even attain the True Human Realm.

In truth, his progress was extraordinary already. In a startlingly short time, he’d risen from a bookish youth with clogged energy passages to the Mortal Realm Peak.

His journey was fast and fierce—cutting through thorns and settling debts, his power surging dramatically. But it left unseen cracks. His foundation wasn’t rock-solid. Cultivation doubts and complexities remained unmastered. He needed stillness, reflection, and consolidation!

Once aware, Mu Feng didn’t force his cultivation. He casually picked books from his shelf, flipping through pages.

His Annex Courtyard had its own entrance and small yard. Though compact, it brimmed with quietude, surrounded by gardens with fresh air. Per Scholastic Palace rules, only scholars ranked Level Three or higher gained such privileges—titled as ‘Three Books Master’ or ‘Three Swords Master’.

“Hnh… ‘Historical Records of Rise and Fall in the Buddhist Sect Across the Great Thousand World’?”

Tucked within a wall-mounted shelf stood rows of books, many dust-layered. Clearly neglected long ago. What kind of student lived here before him? Amid aimless browsing, Mu Feng’s fingers landed on a yellowed volume.

Hoo—

Blowing dust off its cover revealed faded text opening it showed tidy, hurried script—a handwritten copy. Not scripture, but a chronicle exploring Buddhism’s origins and cycles of prosperity and decline.

As recorded:

Long ago, the Great Thousand World was pure soil—no demons, no Buddhist Path, nor Way of Immortals. The latter emerged much later.

In a far-distant Ancient Era beyond records, Buddhism arrived from the legendary Saha World—known simply as the Buddhist Sect. It flourished rapidly, becoming state faith in many kingdoms.

At its zenith, the world nearly transformed into a Buddha’s land: majestic temples everywhere, while people starved emaciated.

Then, mysteriously, Buddhism fractured. It split into the Buddhist Sect, Zen Sky Sect, Tantric Sect, and others. The Way of Immortals surged forth as people pursued immortality.

Zen Sky Sect?

Just reading the first pages stirred Mu Feng’s thoughts. He recalled Jingxu—abbot of Zhushan Temple whom he’d slain—and the profoundly powerful Master Tianyin. Swiftly, he retrieved the Killing Character Kasaya gifted by the latter.

“Killing is not Killing; Not-Killing is Killing?”

Staring at the blood-red character penned by Master Tianyin on the kasaya, Mu Feng pondered deeply.

Freed earlier from his raging Inner Demon, he now glimpsed a faint insight—a whisper within this paradox on silk.