Chapter Seventy-One: The Railgun

Wushui, Wushui—the character “Wu” is synonymous with filth, a term ancient people used to deride this wild land. The scenery here is undeniably beautiful, yet it teems with venomous insects and fierce beasts, rarely visited since time immemorial. Coupled with the legend that the Black Death Emperor was buried here a thousand years ago, whether for political or economic reasons, the area has remained untouched, preserving its primeval appearance.

Amid these verdant mountains and waters, there stands an exquisite Taoist temple. Within this sanctuary, nearly cut off from the outside world, a group of Taoists with their hair bound and crowns high are engaged in their morning ritual.

“The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao…”

In a solemn and reverent atmosphere, an elderly Taoist, his beard and hair white as snow, sits at the head. Below him, five young Taoists recite scriptures with closed eyes. Time slips by; with the final syllable, the morning lesson concludes.

As the old master slowly exits through the main door, the young Taoists immediately shatter the tranquility, excitedly pulling smartphones from under their meditation mats.

“Hurry up, hurry up! I cast the divination—today’s an auspicious day for ranking up!”

“Pfft, your lousy divination couldn't even predict rain properly.”

“Enough talk, let's team up. Today, the Five Supreme Masters are going to slaughter the Diamonds!”

Ten minutes later—

“They’re ganking me! Why didn’t you ward, junior brother?”

“That’s your job! I have to hold the lane.”

“Stop chatting, I’m getting solo killed!”

“Damn, this match is hopeless. Each of you is lining up to feed; even pigs play better!”

The brothers begin to argue heatedly.

“I swear you’re targeting me, Fat Tiger!”

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“I, Little Fu, am targeting you—what are you going to do about it? Come on, fight me!”

“Think I don’t dare?”

The two Taoists, one large and one small, leap to their feet, rolling up their sleeves and glaring at each other. The other three are equally disgruntled, blaming each other for lack of cooperation.

“You’re a jungler and never join team fights—think you can save the world?”

“I won’t take the blame! You can’t even hold four versus five for a bit, yet you lecture me?”

“It’s because you keep whining that if you don’t get mid or jungle you’ll feed…”

Only the eldest, senior brother, quietly recites a Daoist mantra and sighs, “Ah, what a mess. Master should never have gotten that internet connection, let alone WiFi. Once you step into the mortal world, disputes abound.”

The four whirl around and retort, “You dare judge? You’re the worst—always hiding in the back as the tank!”

As the five bicker and quarrel, a sudden thunderous crash erupts in the distance. A swath of trees collapses, tons of dust rise into the sky, catching the attention of the small temple.

“What’s that…” Senior brother Wang Daoming steps out and gazes toward the commotion.

The white-haired old master silently appears beside Wang Daoming, sighs deeply, “Karmic fate of the mortal world has finally caught up with us.”

Wang Daoming’s lips press tightly, “It’s Zhang Liaoyuan. He’s here.”

“A hundred years ago, the founder of this temple was entrusted by him to investigate the tomb of the Black Death Emperor. Now, at last, the time of reckoning has come.” The old master looks at Wang Daoming, “I’m half in the grave already; staying here matters little to me, but it’s hard on you, Daoming. You possess extraordinary talent yet must guard this place with me, isolated from the world. Surely you resent it?”

Wang Daoming bows solemnly, “Master’s grace is beyond repayment. Besides, times have changed: one can know the world without ever leaving home. I still go to the nearest village to pick up parcels.”

The old master is silent for a moment, as if lamenting his inability to keep pace with the era. He sighs, “Among the five disciples, only you can sense the Qi veins. Your gift is rarely seen. Once this promise is fulfilled, you may go out and see the world. But to delve into the tomb of the Black Death Emperor is a perilous journey, almost certain death. Are you truly willing?”

Wang Daoming laughs heartily, standing tall in the wind, “How can a warrior shrink from danger? Since it is our patriarch’s vow, I’ll help fulfill it. I’d like to meet Zhang Liaoyuan, the greatest man in the world.”

Looking into the distance, giant trees topple one after another, as if some colossal being strides through the forest.

Before long, a man as steady as a mountain appears, carrying a massive crystal coffin on his shoulder, crushing everything beneath his feet and forging a broad avenue toward the temple, arriving before the master and his disciple.

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Inside the crystal coffin, a shadow of yellow and red can be vaguely seen. Yet in the overwhelming presence of Zhang Liaoyuan, even the coffin seems insignificant.

Wang Daoming’s gaze is grave, “The Imperial Star—Zhang Liaoyuan…”

Zhang Liaoyuan glances at Wang Daoming, then suddenly turns, grinding trees down like a millstone and carving out another path.

Wang Daoming says lightly, “Master, I’m going now. Tell my brothers we won’t be gaming together anymore.”

This handsome, youthful Taoist sweeps his sleeves, lightly steps forward, and pursues Zhang Liaoyuan, who has already vanished from sight.

The old master strokes his long beard, watching his disciple depart, waiting until the sun sets, yet he does not return.

————————————————————

Countless massive trees, meters thick, have been forcibly snapped at the root. In this silent, ancient, and dense forest, a broad road has been stomped out by sheer force.

Along this serpentine avenue, a deep pit suddenly appears. At the bottom lie several people, blood streaming from their seven orifices, dead in tragic fashion.

A group of Qi-bearers arrives unexpectedly, all lightly dressed, mutated, and barefoot, unafraid of the sharp stones or venomous insects along the road.

For Qi-bearers, bare feet grant greater agility.

“The enforcers who went ahead already fought Zhang Liaoyuan. Sadly, they misjudged the gap between themselves and him,” a delicate-featured young man says calmly.

The blind Qiu Qiuchan bends down to examine the fallen colleagues, his tone grave, “Their skin is untouched, yet their bones and organs are pulverized. Zhang Liaoyuan’s indestructible body has reached the perfect balance of hardness and softness—he could shatter stone through a block of tofu, leaving the tofu unharmed.”

“Not only that,” Ong Dongqi approaches, “all the corpses show signs of exhaustion and decay. This means Zhang Liaoyuan didn’t just kill them; he drained all their Qi veins.”

Beside him, a woman in a red dress clenches her fist, “Leech Vein! Zhang Liaoyuan is a natural-born Leech Vein, and he hid it from everyone all these years!”

“The Leech Vein is an evil talent that plunders heaven’s blessings for oneself. Even in all of Shenzhou’s history, fewer than five have possessed it. That Zhang Liaoyuan could resist the temptation to devour others’ Qi veins and cultivate himself to the peak of the world—I have to respect that,” Ong Dongqi gazes at the broad road Zhang Liaoyuan carved out, his heart wavering.

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