Chapter 1050: Encounter with the Wang Family

Wang Siyuan’s old illness has relapsed; is his life now in imminent danger?

Upon hearing this news, Meng Qi felt quite surprised. As a True Immortal who had completed the Celestial Ascension, standing at the threshold of True Immortality, any illness should have long been cured. Wang Siyuan’s frail condition stemmed from the backlash of the Dao of Heaven. As long as he did not recklessly endanger himself, logically speaking, he should not lose control of his condition before reaching the age of fifty.

Moreover, Wang Siyuan’s talent far exceeded that of every ancestor of the Wang Clan who had attained the True Body over thousands of years, even rivaling the youthful days of the Sage of Numbers. With his profound cultivation and the assistance Meng Qi provided in eliminating the hidden dangers of the Demon Buddha, his future remained bright and boundless, with a breakthrough anticipated. How could his old ailment suddenly flare up again?

After his initial surprise, Meng Qi’s first thought was that Wang Siyuan was setting up a scheme. As to what kind of scheme or whom it targeted, insufficient information made it difficult to judge.

Of course, it was also possible that Wang Siyuan had secretly done something that triggered premature backlash.

Meng Qi pondered deeply, then nodded slightly and said to Ruan Yushu, “Young Master Wang has long been a mentor to me; I must go to Guangling to investigate.”

…

History’s accumulation and the passage of time gave Meng Qi a profound sense of the ancestral residence of the Wang Clan in Jiangdong, where the faint traces of age did not show decay but instead revealed the enduring foundation of the Wang Clan throughout eternity.

“Master Su, please,” a sweet-faced maid with a round face led Meng Qi through courtyards and halls into the inner courtyard, entering Wang Siyuan’s sickroom.

This place resembled the chambers of an ordinary wealthy household, with thick Western Region carpets muffling footsteps even for those with low martial prowess. The walls were adorned with calligraphy and paintings brimming with Daoist essence and diverse styles, the works of past ancestors of the Wang Clan. The windows were tightly shut, and incense from a bronze censer wafted gently, its sandalwood scent calming yet not overpowering. However, a tangible aura of illness pervaded the room, clearly indicating an internal and external imbalance that had escaped the control of a powerful cultivator, affecting the surrounding environment.

The screen was drawn aside, revealing a large blackwood bed. Wang Siyuan, supported by the maid, leaned against a bolster, his head wrapped in a sickly bandage, his emaciation more pronounced. Combined with his delicate, feminine beauty, he seemed as though a strong gust of wind could shatter him.

“Cough, cough, cough,” Wang Siyuan coughed violently, as if his internal organs would be expelled, sending chills down the spine. After a long while, he finally calmed down and said, “Why bother visiting a dying man?”

Meng Qi smiled faintly, “This isn’t the Young Master Wang I know.”

“You know… cough… what kind of Young Master Wang do you know?” Wang Siyuan cast his gaze toward Meng Qi, his pupils slightly unfocused and dull, like an ordinary person on the brink of death.

Meng Qi’s smile faded as he replied solemnly, “The Young Master Wang I know believes one cannot achieve greatness without madness. He would never passively await death or succumb to despair. Instead, he might stake his life as bait in a life-or-death scheme, indifferent to the risks.”

Wang Siyuan struggled to curl his lips into a faint smile, “You… you think I would set up… cough… what kind of life-or-death scheme?”

“If I could deduce your plan from the current information alone, you wouldn’t deserve the title ‘Calculating All Beings.'”

Wang Siyuan took a few deep breaths, seemingly regaining a bit of vitality, “If I truly were scheming and you saw through it, that would be a failure. Human effort has its limits. Many past great cultivators could only sit in quietude without final resistance. If my body is like this, then my fate must be as well.”

His speech became momentarily fluent, making Meng Qi almost suspect a false resurgence of vitality.

Before Meng Qi could respond, Wang Siyuan offered a faint smile: “Shouldn’t I thank you for guiding my family’s teachings?”

“You?” Meng Qi was startled. The Divine Trickster Wang actually knew he had returned to the Middle Ages!

Which True Body informed him, or did the Sage of Numbers leave behind some clues?

Wang Siyuan coughed violently again, spitting blood into a nearby bronze basin. After several cycles of breathing, he said, “The ‘Sword Sage’ Su Meng is renowned in the Middle Ages for his humility and detachment; how could I not have heard of him? Moreover, my late grandfather left behind a few words mentioning the Jade Emperor Mountain incident, expressing great admiration for the esteemed Su cultivator and saying he was deeply inspired. Back then, I didn’t think much of it, but now, reflecting on it, I naturally understand.”

He spoke openly, unashamed in front of the maid, confident that the information would not leak.

Meng Qi could only manage a dry chuckle in response.

Wang Siyuan did not elaborate further but instead withdrew his gaze, tiredly closing his eyes: “Gurdo is dead? Did the Heaven’s Punishment Axe fail to save him?”

“He indeed perished; the Heaven’s Punishment Axe fled on its own,” Meng Qi replied concisely.

Wang Siyuan did not open his eyes, offering a half-smile, half-sneer: “When fortune favors, heaven and earth unite their strength; when luck wanes, even heroes lose their freedom.”

After speaking, he shook his head, seemingly unable to endure prolonged conversation. A half-step True Body, capable of abstaining from food and drink for long periods, now showed signs of exhaustion: “Stay at the Wang residence tonight… there is something else I must discuss with you tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Meng Qi did not refuse.

“Hesiang, take Master Su to temporarily reside at the Celestial Calculations Pavilion,” Wang Siyuan instructed the round-faced maid.

The maid respectfully complied, leading Meng Qi out of the room. As they neared the door, Meng Qi heard Wang Siyuan bitterly remark, “I’ve never had any friends. After my illness recurred, aside from emissaries sent by sects and clans to visit… only you came.”

Meng Qi inhaled sharply. This was not the usual tone of Young Master Wang. The more he pondered, the more profound the implications seemed.

Could it be that he truly was nearing his end and planning one last, grand move?

As these thoughts swirled in his mind, Meng Qi followed the round-faced maid, Hesiang, through a series of courtyards to a two-story pavilion, its exterior gray and plain.

“The Celestial Calculations Pavilion lies near the heart of our Wang Clan territory, Master Su. Please do not wander freely. If you wish to go out, call for me to guide you,” Hesiang said with a smile as she opened the pavilion’s door.

Inside, the pavilion was elegantly arranged, free from the decay of long abandonment yet lacking the vibrancy of frequent guests, creating an unusually quiet atmosphere. Meng Qi ascended the stairs to the second floor, gazing into the distance. The nearby pavilions and gardens stretched before his eyes, but to the left, near a grove of evergreen pines and cypresses, stood an ancient building, solemn and dignified.

“What is that place?” Meng Qi asked casually.

Hesiang composed her emotions and replied, “That is our Wang Clan’s ancestral hall.”

Ancestral hall? Meng Qi nodded slightly, entered the room, sat cross-legged in meditation, and awaited the next day.

As the sun set and night deepened, Meng Qi’s awareness naturally expanded around him, sensing the tranquility of the night. No one moved nearby, except Hesiang standing guard outside the door.

Clouds veiled the moon. The third watch had arrived, and the night grew thick as ink. Meng Qi, seemingly still yet not entirely so, connected with his “Other-Self Mark.”

Ah!

Suddenly, a scream pierced his ears—desperate and shrill, as if someone faced an unimaginable horror yet could only endure it helplessly. Even Meng Qi, with his formidable cultivation, couldn’t help but shiver involuntarily.

In an instant, Meng Qi appeared outside the door, asking the oblivious Hesiang, “What was that scream?”

Hesiang immediately wore an apologetic expression: “It was my negligence, Master Su. I should have warned you. In our Wang Clan, when ancestors who achieved the True Body pass away, they emit such a scream. People say it is the punishment of the Dao of Heaven. Once they enter the ancestral hall, their lingering attachments cause occasional echoes of such screams, which gradually fade with time. Since this place is near the ancestral hall, hearing such screams occasionally is normal.”

All Wang Clan True Bodies screamed in agony before passing away? Meng Qi suddenly recalled the Sage of Numbers’ parting words: the closer one gets to the truth, the less control one has over one’s fate. Though adorned with splendor and countless benefits, eventually, one must repay all debts, with interest…

“Surely the Sage of Numbers’ scream isn’t among them?” Meng Qi asked casually.

“No, the Sage of Numbers passed away elsewhere; only his ceremonial robes were enshrined here,” Hesiang answered truthfully.

“Which True Body’s scream is the earliest still lingering now?” Meng Qi asked offhandedly.

Hesiang was about to reply when another scream erupted from the ancestral hall—ancient, desolate, as if piercing through eternity, laced with extreme terror, nearly making Meng Qi shudder.

“The earliest… the earliest is from our clan’s founding ancestor… when the Wang Clan was first established…” Hesiang answered, trembling slightly.