Was it the founding ancestor of the Wang Clan? The ancient Wang Clan patriarch from the mythic era? Meng Qi’s pupils slightly contracted, a strange sense of dread creeping over him.
Although the Wang Clan had deliberately concealed much, and ancient events often involved secrets, erased or sealed away by great figures within the river of history, his legend remained vague and obscure, yet the most basic facts were known to all.
He had obtained the River Chart, comprehended the ultimate principles of the Dao, and composed the “Suan Jing,” a manual comparable to the “Fu Xi Trigrams.” He had plumbed the depths of cosmic mysteries and laid down an enduring foundation for millennia. He was at the very least a legendary great adept, perhaps even stronger!
Yet such a formidable cultivator had let out such a shrill and terrified scream before death, its echoes reverberating through the ages, never fully fading away?
What had he encountered on the brink of death? What had he seen?
Even more terrifying was that this fate was not isolated; every Wang ancestor who attained the Dharma Body would emit a similar scream before passing away. Could it be that the “Suan Jing” was too ruthless, that the Dao’s backlash had become a curse embedded deep within the technique itself? That anyone who practiced it would either die young before fifty or perish tragically?
For some reason, the words “perish tragically” kept circling in Meng Qi’s mind, vivid and menacing.
His inner doubts and dread rose like bubbles, endlessly surfacing, instinctively compelling him to ask further. But recalling how deeply tied this was to the Wang Clan’s secrets, and that this was the ancestral hall of the Wang Clan itself, it was impossible for an outsider like himself to investigate. He forcibly suppressed his thoughts and smiled at the trembling He Xiang: “If it happens often, why be afraid?”
He Xiang pouted: “You wouldn’t understand. No matter how many times a girl hears it, it still scares her.”
Meng Qi smiled, about to return to his room, when a sudden realization struck him: Wang Siyuan had always been a bit of a mystic, speaking in half-truths, implying more than he said. Could his suggestion for Meng Qi to stay the night and speak again the next day have another meaning?
Knowing that the ancestral hall would echo with lingering cries at night, yet arranging Meng Qi at the Celestial Hall nearby instead of the more distant guest quarters—given the Jiangdong Wang Clan’s extensive management over the generations and the vastness and completeness of their ancestral estate, staying a bit further away, beyond layers of suppressing enchantments, meant Meng Qi wouldn’t have noticed unless he had deliberately eavesdropped.
In other words, Wang Siyuan had arranged for Meng Qi to hear the cries.
But why had he wanted Meng Qi to hear them?
Realizing this, Meng Qi turned to He Xiang: “I deeply respect the Wang Clan’s ancestors through the ages. Now that I have the rare opportunity to visit, I’d like to pay my respects with incense. Is there any chance I could do so now?”
Such a request was almost unreasonable. Not to mention the numerous remains of powerful Wang ancestors, for any clan, the ancestral hall was the most sacred place, open mainly to clan members. If an outsider had a legitimate reason, they might be allowed to offer incense, but only during the day. No one had ever heard of someone visiting another clan’s ancestral hall in the dead of night. Moreover, he wasn’t asking the clan head, just a servant girl.
Yet He Xiang smiled brightly: “Master Su holds such deep reverence for our ancestors, the entire Wang Clan would be delighted. I’ll take you to the ancestral hall right away.”
Just as I thought, Meng Qi muttered inwardly, saying nothing more as he followed He Xiang down the Celestial Hall, past the writing pool, through the cypress grove, and finally arriving at that solemn and ancient building.
The ancestral hall’s massive gates were tightly shut, flanked by two guards clad entirely in black armor, their faces obscured except for their eyes. Their auras were hidden by the armor, but their eyes were pitch black, as if all cosmic secrets were concealed within—truly extraordinary.
“The Jiangdong Wang Clan truly possesses deep hidden strength, countless secret experts who never walk the martial world…” Meng Qi silently nodded as he watched He Xiang produce a token and open the gates.
The Wang ancestors were at least legendary, and they certainly possessed one or more inner worlds, ensuring no lack of cultivation opportunities. Whether or not they wandered the martial world, their descendants could still advance.
What is the foundation of a clan enduring ten thousand generations? This is it!
As Meng Qi entered the hall, he suddenly felt a chill, as though stepping into an ancient tomb. Before him, the grand hall was filled with numerous long tables, each lined with dark tablets bearing names in dense rows, as if countless eyes were watching him, evoking an inexplicable sense of fear.
The Jiangdong Wang Clan had existed for at least two hundred thousand years. Even with the long lifespans of ancient and middle eras, they had accumulated countless ancestors by now, both those who attained the Dharma Body and those who did not, all forming a forest of ancestral tablets.
At the very front was the most open space, where a single tablet rested on the incense table. Its dark surface bore solemn golden characters: “The Founding Ancestor of the Wang Clan.”
Where was the name? Could it be that even the Wang Clan no longer dared to speak of it? Meng Qi furrowed his brow, staring closely. Suddenly, his gaze was drawn to those golden characters, which seemed to grow larger, blurring everything around him as time and space shifted.
In an instant, Meng Qi found himself before a mountain of tombs. The mountain was pitch black, its cliffs sheer, and each cliff face was carved with countless caves, each containing a coffin of either bronze or dark wood. In front of each coffin lay the tablets he had just seen.
The tomb mountain had only a single path leading to its summit, lined with coffins and tablets on both sides. At the very top stood an enormous ancient bronze coffin, emanating an oppressive and formidable presence. It was restrained by nine chains of deep violet-black, standing motionless in silence. On its lid lay a tablet as dark as the night sky, inscribed with golden seal script characters: “The Founding Ancestor of the Wang Clan.”
The nine chains extended into the mountain, seemingly reaching into the very heart of the earth, binding the coffin to this world itself.
“The Wang Clan’s ancestral hall is one of their inner worlds. No wonder it can hold the remains of so many ancestors…” Meng Qi realized, yet his brow remained slightly furrowed. This arrangement seemed like it was meant to suppress that ancient bronze coffin.
Had the backlash against the founding ancestor of the Wang Clan been so severe that even after his death, it continued to haunt his descendants? If not for this suppression, the entire clan might be doomed?
At this moment, He Xiang held up a red lantern, its flickering flame illuminating the surroundings, yet making the “hall” seem even more eerie.
“Master Su didn’t come just to burn incense, did you?” He Xiang asked with a smile.
Meng Qi had no idea what Wang Siyuan was plotting, but he nodded slightly and followed He Xiang up the mountain path, slowly ascending.
The coffins and tablets lining both sides of the path created an intense sense of pressure, and intermittent cries echoed through the air, growing more terrifying.
Suddenly, Meng Qi’s ears twitched as he heard a creaking, bone-chilling sound from a nearby dark wooden coffin, as if someone inside were scratching at the lid!
Meng Qi immediately stopped, his right hand instinctively reaching for the Void Saber, his heart pounding. Could it be that even after death, those who screamed in terror before passing had transformed into vicious undead creatures?
Creak… creak… creak!
The coffin lid slowly opened. Meng Qi’s expression turned serious. He stood protectively in front of the trembling He Xiang, ready to draw the Void Saber.
Cough! Cough! Cough! Suddenly, a familiar coughing sound came from within the coffin.
Meng Qi’s expression instantly turned strange. He saw a pale, emaciated figure slowly rise, cheeks flushed with a sickly redness, looking as though he might collapse back into the coffin at any moment. It was none other than the eldest son of the Wang Clan, Wang Siyuan!
“What are you doing pretending to be a ghost?” Meng Qi chuckled, noting that He Xiang was nearly frightened out of her wits.
Wang Siyuan stepped out, smiling faintly: “This is the coffin I chose for myself. What do you think?”
“Not bad…” Meng Qi replied casually, then added with a smirk, “Maybe bronze would be more impressive.”
“More impressive?” Wang Siyuan waved a hand, signaling He Xiang to retreat down the mountain path before slowly walking forward in silence.
Meng Qi said nothing either, waiting for the mystic to speak. The two walked in silence, side by side, all the way to the summit, stopping before the ancient bronze coffin of the Wang Clan’s founding ancestor.
Only then did Meng Qi notice a dark scroll in front of the coffin, tightly bound with a thin golden rope.
“The Divine Soul Painting,” Wang Siyuan’s voice was eerie and hollow, like that of a ghost. “When the ancient heavenly court fell, the God-Sealing Chart returned to blankness. The divine souls who had entered it to attain godhood were freed. Those with loved ones or old friends sought help to reform their Dharma bodies. But those who were alone and friendless suffered terribly. Their divine power came from the God-Sealing Chart and the heavenly court. Once lost, they could only become wandering spirits. Out of pity, my ancestor crafted this scroll to contain them…”
The God-Sealing Chart? Meng Qi wanted to say he had just seen the real one.
Unfortunately, Master Xiao Bai had gone wandering in the Real World after arriving, exploring everywhere while Meng Qi traveled from Langya to Jiangdong. Otherwise, if the Demon-Subduing Whip had been here, the great mystic Wang might have been in for a surprise.
Wang Siyuan coughed for a while before regaining his breath: “Unfortunately, on the night they re-entered the Divine Soul Painting, the scroll mysteriously disappeared. It only reappeared more than twenty days ago.”
This… Meng Qi inhaled sharply.
Was Wang Siyuan’s recent illness related to this?
Suddenly, he heard a creaking sound again, coming from the bronze coffin before him!
This was the coffin of the Wang Clan’s founding ancestor!
Was the great mystic Wang playing tricks again? Meng Qi looked at Wang Siyuan in astonishment.
Wang Siyuan smiled faintly: “That was just to help you get used to it.”
His eyes held no amusement, only madness!
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