Chapter 85: The Sect is in Uproar

The people from the Immortal Sect were finally about to arrive.

In an instant, the entire sect was taut with tension.

All the elders present, whether in seclusion or meditation, responded at once to the summons.

When it came to welcoming figures of such importance from the Immortal Sect, even those who had spent centuries in bitter cultivation and were already on the threshold of the Third Realm had to emerge to pay their respects.

Was anyone not counting the years, waiting for this very day?

In this vast world, how many could, by their own strength alone, cultivate to the Heavenly Immortal of the Third Realm and knock on the gates of the Immortal Sect unaided?

Yet when the steward responsible for tallying the sect’s roster checked the names, he discovered that the former Outer Sect Elder Sheng Lin, as well as former Inner Sect Elders Xue Song and Wang Yan, had all failed to respond.

At first, no one paid much attention, assuming these elders were simply at a critical juncture in their seclusion and had no time for external affairs.

But as the report passed layer by layer upward and finally landed on Ling Jinsong’s desk, a single glance made his expression change drastically.

He drew a sharp breath, the hair at the nape of his neck standing on end, a chill crawling up his spine.

Others were kept in the dark—even the vice sect master, Yue Mingxi, had no idea—but as the sect master, privy to all secrets, Ling Jinsong knew all too well.

These three were all secretly nurtured demonic cultivators within the sect!

Of these, it was not Sheng Lin and Xue Song who most troubled his heart, but Wang Yan.

That old immortal, who had lived for centuries, had last shown his face decades ago when Ling Jinsong had succeeded as sect master. Since then, Wang Yan had lived in seclusion, a relic the sect kept hidden away as a trump card.

Now he, too, had vanished?

Even Qiao Cheng and Xue Song knew nothing of Wang Yan’s practice of demonic arts.

Others, seeing no response, would only think these elders were at a crucial point in their cultivation, unable to spare the attention.

But Ling Jinsong’s heart pounded with dread; his intuition told him something had happened to all three.

Especially Xue Song, who had recently parted ways on bad terms—if not for some accident, how could there be no reply? By Ling Jinsong’s reckoning, Xue Song should have been the very first to leap out, perhaps to denounce him before the Immortal Sect’s emissaries.

Ling Jinsong had thought to investigate personally, but reconsidered and instead ordered the disciples on duty at the three elders’ abodes to call for them.

The result was all too predictable—by now, Qin Yue’s purple flame had reduced them to ash, their souls scattered by thunder. Calling for them, or even summoning a judge to recall their spirits, was futile.

More news soon followed: former Outer Sect Elder Sheng Lin had simply vanished, but the abodes of Xue Song and Wang Yan appeared to have been ransacked, turned completely upside down, every valuable looted.

Even the rats would weep after entering.

More outrageously, the medicine gardens of both elders had been thoroughly stripped—not only were the ancient spirit herbs gone, but even three feet of spirit earth had been scraped clean, leaving not a single blade of grass. It was more ruthless than a plague of locusts!

As word spread, the entire Zhaoyang Sect boiled over like a ladle of water poured into hot oil—everyone was shocked and alarmed.

It seemed impossible that a single traitor could have accomplished all this; at the very least, it must have been the work of a well-coordinated team.

For a time, the entire sect was gripped with unease.

Most agitated of all were the Xue and Wang families, two of the sect’s seven ancient clans.

The old ancestors, long in seclusion, emerged one by one, only to hear that their clans’ pillars had vanished. When news reached them of Inner Sect Elder Qiao Cheng’s disappearance, their fury knew no bounds.

Some among them, of special status and standing, immediately headed to the main hall of the sect.

They would demand an explanation from the sect master.

...

Within the main hall, Ling Jinsong sat at the master’s seat, helplessly regarding the group of elders arrayed before him in their splendid robes.

Outside, more people continued to stream in, footsteps resounding heavily upon the bluestone floor. All were of deep seniority, though their prominence was far from what it had once been.

“How can such a major matter be kept from us? Do you take us for blind men?”

“What sort of traitor could have such ability? I say it’s collusion with the Tianluo Sect, letting in an external enemy!”

“Ling Jinsong, you must give us an explanation today!”

“The Immortal Sect’s emissaries will arrive at any moment—are we to let them fall victim to some unspeakable attack as well?”

“Investigate! This must be thoroughly investigated!”

The old fellows quarreled like a market crowd. Though no one mentioned the “small fry” Qin Yue by name, things had become troublesome enough to give Ling Jinsong a headache.

“Honored elders, allow this junior a word in fairness.”

No one knew when Yue Mingxi had stepped to Ling Jinsong’s side. His voice, though quiet, carried a penetrating power, and the hall gradually fell silent.

He looked grave as he spoke slowly, “I believe you are all mistaken.”

“Mistaken?” an elder from the Wang family sneered. “Are you suggesting they ran off on their own?”

Yue Mingxi glanced at the speaker—an elder who, during the contest for the sect master’s position, had been the most vocal opponent.

Ling Han’s mother, after all, was from the Wang family, and she was especially agitated by Wang Yan’s disappearance.

Truthfully, the real reason the old guard had come to make trouble was that they suspected Ling Jinsong’s involvement!

How could a mere traitor possess such abilities? There must be someone aiding from within.

“And what do you mean by that, Elder Wang?” Yue Mingxi’s tone was even. “It’s true that the sect has been unsettled lately. We are also investigating Elder Qiao Cheng’s disappearance…”

“Disappearance? Wasn’t it said he was killed by the traitor?” the elder cut in sharply.

“There are such rumors in the sect, but no conclusive evidence,” Yue Mingxi replied calmly. “Elder Qiao’s body has not been found, only some ashes in his residence, burnt so thoroughly no one can say for certain it was him. For all we know, he might be traveling the world under the guise of a faked death.”

“Nonsense! Who would risk their life for such a prank?”

“Utter rubbish!”

“Yue Mingxi, do you take us for senile fools?”

The former elders of the Wang and Xue families slammed the table, showing no regard for the vice sect master’s status.

Yue Mingxi, as if he hadn’t heard, continued, “Whether it’s nonsense or not, evidence is required. Elder Qiao’s case is unresolved, and so are those of Xue Song and Wang Yan. Without bodies, who can say for sure something has happened to them? What if they’ve simply attained enlightenment and gone into seclusion for a breakthrough?”

The faces of the Xue and Wang family elders turned crimson with indignation.

They had seen the human-shaped scorch marks in the abodes—no matter how thoroughly burned, the outlines could not be faked.

Yet with Yue Mingxi now standing beside Ling Jinsong, he represented not only the vice sect master but also the Yue family, one of the seven great houses.

Which meant the Ling and Yue families had reached a consensus to cover up the matter.

Among the current inner sect elders, Dongfang Qingyu of the Dongfang family and Yang Yidong of the Yang family were both Yue Mingxi’s confidants. Though they said nothing, their positions made their allegiances clear.

Seeing this, the elders of the Ling, Yue, Dongfang, and Yang families quickly chimed in to smooth things over.

“Yes, let’s not jump to conclusions without evidence.”

“It could be they’re in seclusion for a breakthrough—this often happens with elder cultivators. Don’t speak rashly, or you’ll be cursing them if they’re alive.”

“Let’s try reaching them with sound transmission stones first.”

Finally, Ling Jinsong himself spoke up, skillfully defusing the situation. His words managed to “calm” everyone down.

“The emissaries from the Immortal Sect are about to arrive. What good would come from stirring up trouble now? You all understand what’s at stake—either suppress this for now and investigate later, or cause chaos and risk losing our places in the Immortal Realm. The choice is yours!”

...

Ling Chen slipped away to Qin Yue’s abode, eagerly recounting the farce in the main hall. “Ha! You should have seen it—those old men from the Wang family left looking greener than the poisonous mushrooms on the mountain! Hilarious. Their own ancestors go missing, and they come to my father to raise a fuss?”

Qin Yue handed him a cup of spirit tea. “Hold your tongue—don’t make trouble for your father.”

“What’s there to fear?” Ling Chen scoffed. “There’s no smoke without fire. Ever since the heavenly phenomenon, the whole sect’s been strange. To me, it’s like those mortal dynasties at the end of their days—demons and monsters always appear.”

Qin Yue’s mouth twitched—this kid dared to say anything. If Ling Jinsong heard that, he’d probably skin his own son.

But Ling Chen’s words confirmed Qin Yue’s suspicions: the demonic cultivators in Zhaoyang Sect had deep roots. They’d simply been hidden before, but after the heavenly phenomenon, they couldn’t restrain themselves, trying to use chaos and dark arts to break through.

Tang Qingxuan had been run off her feet these past days. She was practically the “chief assistant” of the sect; when Ling Jinsong was overwhelmed, she had to make the decisions.

It wasn’t until the eve of the Immortal Sect’s arrival that she, weary to the bone, came to Qin Yue’s abode.

She had come both to visit and on official business.

“Tomorrow, when the Immortal Sect’s emissaries arrive, I’ve placed you in the front row of the welcoming party. Remember to wear elder’s robes and your coronet.”

Qin Yue shrank his neck. “Can’t I stand further back?”

Tang Qingxuan smiled helplessly, dark shadows beneath her eyes. “It wasn’t my arrangement. The Immortal Sect specifically requested you by name.”

“They’ve heard of me?” Qin Yue was puzzled.

He was known as the successor of Green Bamboo Grove, but how would such important figures know of him?

“You really don’t know how rare cultivators of the agricultural path are,” Tang Qingxuan explained. “Back in the day, Green Bamboo Grove was a place the Immortal Sect always visited when they descended to the mortal realm. They often took disciples from there. For you, a successor after a generation’s gap, it’s only natural they want to meet you.”

She paused, then added, “There are many alchemists in the world, but very few specialize in the way of herbs and plants. That discipline is profoundly deep—you need both talent and patience. Even in the Immortal Sect, few are truly skilled in it.”

At last, she teased, “So many people would kill for a front-row spot, and you want to hide in the back? Who knows, maybe you’ll catch their eye and ascend early.”

After she left, Qin Yue immediately returned to his cultivation chamber and dug out a secret technique he’d found in the library.

It was a method for concealing one’s cultivation, and once perfected, it not only shielded him from detection but could “forge” his apparent level.

To others, he appeared an ordinary Void-Gazing cultivator—outstanding among inner sect disciples, but still far from prodigies like Ling Chen or Chu Wanqing.

But who knew if among the Immortal Sect’s envoys there might be someone who could see through all disguises?

He had no wish to draw such attention; better to be thoroughly prepared.

...

Early the next morning, Qin Yue was brought by Ling Jinsong’s flying vessel to the main square of the sect.

The square was filled with cultivators in splendid robes, many of them ancient monsters who had lived for centuries. All craned their necks, gazing skyward, faces tense and expectant.

The matter of the missing elders seemed to have been suppressed by Ling Jinsong and Yue Mingxi—no one brought it up.

Ling Chen popped up out of nowhere and sidled over. “Tsk tsk, you actually look the part in those robes.”

Qin Yue, annoyed by his babbling, edged away. Clearly, this fellow was just jealous of his looks.

When silent, Ling Chen seemed a cool and noble young lord, but once you knew him, he was pure mischief—a spoiled child with no filter.

Yet with Qin Yue, his candor was genuine—the more he was rebuffed, the happier he became, taking it as a sign of friendship.

At that moment, a ripple ran through the crowd.

Qin Yue looked up to see an ancient flying vessel break through the clouds, its hull wreathed in faint rosy light. Though it seemed to drift lazily, in a blink it hovered above the square.

Where moments before the crowd had been noisy, now perfect silence reigned; even the sound of wind fluttering the banners could be heard clearly.

Qin Yue caught sight of several white-haired elders beside him, their hands gripping their horsetail whisks trembling, eyes shining as if stars had fallen into them.

The flying vessel descended slowly, the wind it stirred billowing everyone’s robes.

Suddenly, the great bell in the sect’s tower began to toll, its sound long and sonorous—the highest ritual of the sect.

When the founder established the sect, the bell had tolled seventy-two times. Since then, aside from visits from the Immortal Sect, even the ascension of a new sect master merited only thirty-six chimes.

Once the bell fell silent, a white jade gangway was lowered from the vessel. Down it descended a group of people in moon-white robes, followed by many disciples clad in the attire of Zhaoyang Sect.

Ling Jinsong, with Yue Mingxi and a host of elders, hurried forward, faces adorned with cautious, respectful smiles.

Ling Chen, unqualified to approach, had already slipped to the periphery.

Qin Yue stood at the edge of the front row, calmly observing the emissaries of the Immortal Sect.

At their head was an elder with hair as white as a crane’s and the face of a youth; his gaze swept out, seeming to freeze even the air itself.