Dragon Vein Storyteller

Chapter 44 Zhang Daoling

Just then, the stone man's eyes seemed to move.

That round, massive stone sphere, that single eye, rolled within its bluish-gray socket, as if something had turned over from the deepest part of the statue. The pupil was a black hole, seemingly bottomless, yet in that instant, I clearly felt it wasn't looking in the direction we came from… it was looking at me. Straight ahead, coldly, as if scrutinizing a tomb raider who had intruded from across centuries of time.

Before I could even utter a sound, the sky spun and the earth spun. The glazed path beneath my feet seemed to be abruptly ripped away; I plummeted downwards and then floated upwards, unable to distinguish which way was up and which was down. The rosy sunset and the Milky Way mingled together, forming a hazy, gray mist. The stone figure crouched in the mist, its outline gradually changing. The blue of the stone faded, the watermarks dried, and the moss disappeared. Its shoulders were no longer angular, its waist no longer stiff; a wide robe grew out from beneath the stone's surface—not carved by a stonemason, but worn.

He rose, his steps light as if treading on clouds. His long robe trailed to the ground, the sleeves so wide they could let in the wind. He held a whisk, its slivers as white as snow, drifting in the gray mist, like three thousand strands of sorrow being drawn out one by one, or like the Milky Way bursting its banks, spilling a river of stars onto his hand. He stopped before me, his face expressionless, his eyes fixed on me, his gaze exactly like the single eye of a stone statue… straight, cold, scrutinizing an ant.

"This humble Taoist priest is Zhang Ling."

The moment those four words landed, it was like a bell striking in my mind. Zhang Ling. Zhang Daoling. The Celestial Master of the Zhengyi Alliance, the first Celestial Master of Longhu Mountain, and the founder of the Celestial Master's Mansion. In my younger days, I even kowtowed to his portrait.

My whole body went blank, my knees buckled, and all thoughts in my mind were swept away, leaving only one voice echoing repeatedly... It was the person I had kowtowed to.

"By the former patriarch..."

Only those four words escaped my throat before my mouth shut. I didn't know what to say, what I could say. I was a tomb raider, he was a founder of a religion. I dug up graves, he acted on behalf of Heaven. I was covered in the stench of death, he was bathed in rosy light and rode on clouds. Yet, I had knelt before him.

He didn't wait for me to finish speaking, nor did he even glance down at me. He stood there, gently flicking his whisk, the silver threads sweeping an arc of light through the air, his voice unhurried, as if reciting a decree that had been passed down for thousands of years.

"Held together with generations of Celestial Masters, this scheme was devised for the sake of all living beings. Those who come after... we hope you will shoulder the weight of the sun and moon, and grasp the stars in your hands, to carefully protect this last remaining lifeline."

Adding a pulse?

What is meant by "adding a pulse"?

Before I could even ask a question, Zhang Ling's words had barely left his lips when a strange incantation resounded in my mind. The incantation didn't enter through my ears; it crawled out from between my bones, surging forth from the most intensely burning spot on the jade tablet in my heart. The jade tablet was a seed, and the incantation was a vine growing from that seed, climbing along my veins in all directions… climbing over my chest, over my throat, over the root of my tongue, over the top of my head, and then exploding in my brain.

Each syllable sounded unlike any language I knew, yet I could understand their meaning. They coursed through my veins, took root in my bones, as if someone were using an extremely fine carving knife to engrave runes onto each strand of my marrow. The chanting emanated from within, like hundreds of mouths opening simultaneously within my internal organs, buzzing and vibrating, sending shivers down my spine. The jade incantation burned like a piece of molten iron against my chest; even through my clothes, I could see a bluish light seeping from the seams of my garment.

Qiankun Talisman.

I didn't remember it myself; someone etched those four words directly into my brain. I don't know what it is, or what it can do; I only know it's called that. It's like someone carved four words into the inside of my skull with a chisel, and it hurts so much my temples are throbbing.

But I didn't care what the talisman was. I just wanted to curse. Zhang Ling… the first Celestial Master, the great patriarch to whom countless disciples and followers kowtowed, burned incense, and presented petitions every day. Me… a tomb raider, just looted from the Chengwang Palace, armed with swords and knives, three severed heads hanging at my waist, a luminous pearl in my pocket, and Zhao Ming's blood on my hands. What did he say to me? "Shouldering the sun and moon, embracing the Milky Way."

Shouldering the sun and moon... What have these shoulders carried? They've carried the corpse of a cripple, the bundle of Cui Dake's head, and the Yue King's sword and the Wu King's sword that I smuggled out of the armory.

Holding the Milky Way in my hands... What have these hands ever held? They've held the collars of the dead, the diamond threads of a flying dragon's claws, and even the chicks I picked up from a mass grave.

Sun, moon, stars... which of these words could be associated with tomb raiders? I wouldn't believe it even if he said it.

Just as I was cursing under my breath, my vision shifted again. Zhang Ling before me gradually blurred in the gray mist, his long robe turning into watermarks, his whisk turning into moss. He was still that stone figure, squatting in the middle of the glazed road, staring at the path I had come from with his single eye.

In my mind, besides the still-buzzing incantation, only four words remained: Qiankun Talisman.

"you……"

I was about to ask them if they were alright, but before I could even speak, Sanjin spoke first, his voice muffled, but his tone was so confident that it didn't sound like him.

"Half-Immortal, do you understand the Unique Spirit Array?"

I turned to look at him, my mouth slightly agape. The four words in my mind hadn't even warmed up before I was stunned by his abrupt and nonsensical remark. "Single Spirit Array." Three words. Spoken by Sanjin.

This is harder than seeing a ghost. It's not because I don't understand... it's because I don't believe he does understand at all. Who is Sanjin? Sanjin is the one who can't even distinguish between "Zhang Liang" and "Zhang Fei," the one who asked me "What is a civil official?" in the Chengwang Hall, the one whose most difficult character to learn in his life is "Qin Shubao," and who only recognizes the "Qin" with the "gold" radical.

The phrase "Single Spirit Array" shouldn't even be on his mind.

I was about to yell at him, but then I realized something was wrong. His eyes were different. Usually, when he asked me questions, his eyes were empty, the kind of blank look that comes from knowing you're not smart enough and waiting for someone to tell you the answer. But now, his eyes weren't blank; he was confirming something, like confirming something he already knew but didn't know why he knew.

"Who the hell are you...get off Sanjin!"

Before I could even get up and finish speaking, he pulled me to his side with a burst of strength. His hands gripped my arms like iron clamps, so tightly that my bones were cracking.

"No... Just now I felt that stone figure glance at me, just once, and then something appeared in my mind. A formation. From beginning to end, the formation diagram, the formation core, the formation base, how to set it up, how to close it, how to rotate it... everything. I know what it's called, it's called the Unique Spirit Formation. I don't know how I know, but I just know."

As he spoke, veins bulged on his forehead, and beads of sweat streamed down his face. His knuckles were white from clenching his fist, as if he were struggling against something within his body. The formation wasn't seeped in; it was chiseled in, carved into his bones with every stroke of the hammer… He was in pain, but he couldn't say it.

I stared at his face for several breaths. He wasn't lying. Sanjin never lied; every lie he'd ever told was written on his face, his cheeks flushed red as if scalded by boiling water. But now, his face wasn't red; there was only a confusion that even he couldn't explain.

"Me too," Liao the Bald's voice came from behind me, "but I only have two words... Youling."

I turned my head and saw that he had somehow gotten close to me, his expression exactly the same as Sanjin's... not fear, not panic, but confusion. A deep, unyielding confusion.

"Youling?" I asked him.

"Look at my face...do I look like I know?" He pointed to his nose. "There's something in my head, quiet and still, like water seeping into stone. I know it's called Youling, but how do I know...you ask me? Who am I supposed to ask?"

Three people. Three things. The Qiankun Talisman, the Duling Array, and the Youling. Three things that none of us had ever heard of, yet whose names we all knew, were inscribed onto the bodies of us three grave-digging thieves.