Bi Yao kowtowed three times with solemn gravity, her face filled with reverence, then rose to her feet. She stole a glance at Zhang Fan, only to find him looking elsewhere, standing motionless. Her brow furrowed slightly, but she let it pass, and said lightly: "Let's go."
When Zhang Fan had first walked in alongside her through that tunnel, he had harbored a measure of goodwill and warmth toward this woman in his heart. But now, at the sight of these two dark gods, the divide between their sects came rushing back to him at once, as did the teachings of his masters — and his expression naturally cooled, as he gave a slight nod.
Bi Yao cast him a glance, then walked deeper inside. Zhang Fan followed close behind, and this time they had not gone far before entering another open space. Unlike the stone chamber outside, this was a natural cavern hung with inverted stalactites and bristling with jagged formations; the stalactites came in every shape imaginable, fantastical and bizarre, their colors vivid and shifting. Before the two of them, at the entrance to the cave, stood a great monolithic stele upon which ten characters had been carved in bold, sweeping strokes: *The Earth has no benevolence—it treats all things as straw dogs!*
These ten great characters, each nearly half a man's height, bore brushwork archaic and unadorned, their strokes surging with fierce, vigorous energy—sweeping like dragons and snakes in flight—as though they might leap forth from the surface to meet the eye, roaring toward the vault of heaven.
At first, Zhang Fan noticed nothing unusual. But after gazing at it for a moment longer, his mind suddenly reeled, and his entire body stumbled back an involuntary step.
He was inwardly startled, and quickly steadied himself — yet there the characters remained, still as ever upon the stele, unmoved by a single stroke. It was simply the aura of them that was so utterly daunting.
Zhang Fan's heart gave a start. In the next instant he saw that Biyao had already rounded the great stone stele and was making her way deeper into the cave, so he followed after her. Passing behind the stele, he found that on every side rose stalactites of the most bizarre and contorted shapes. The two of them wound through the stone forest for a time, until Biyao, who had been walking ahead, suddenly halted and let out a soft, involuntary cry.
Almost simultaneously, Zhang Fan suddenly noticed that the fire poker he had been using to brace his arm had begun to emanate a strange radiance. The bead at its tip, in particular, lit up with an unusual cyan glow — yet this time it was gentle, as though it had encountered a long-lost friend after years apart, suffused with boundless longing and fond attachment.
Zhang Fan looked ahead in surprise, his gaze passing Bi Yao to take in the sight that had startled her: at the bottom of the cave stood a smooth stone wall, with a tunnel on either side leading off into unknown depths. But beneath that wall sat a flat platform of green stone, and upon it—impossibly—was a skeleton, seated upright, still and silent.
And the single bead upon the fire-poker, at this moment facing that skeleton, began to suffuse a gentle azure glow.
Bi Yao stood at the front, unaware of the strange expression on Zhang Fan's face or the changes in the fire poker he held. After the initial shock, she quickly composed herself.
After all, she was a member of the Demonic Sect — what had she to fear from a mere skeleton? She stepped forward and examined it carefully, yet found nothing out of the ordinary. Turning back to Zhang Fan with a smile, she said: "Who's to say this isn't the Black-hearted Old Fiend himself — the one whose name shook the entire world eight hundred years ago!"
Zhang Fan naturally had no goodwill toward these members of the Demonic Sect. He let out a cold snort. "You'd better hurry up and see if there's any way out."
Bi Yao shot him a glance, pressed her lips together, and said, "Find it yourself!"
Zhang Fan froze for a moment. Unable to swallow his pride, he let out a harrumph, turned on his heel, and—to everyone's surprise—walked straight into the left tunnel.
He had barely taken two steps before he was already shaking his head at himself inwardly, wondering how he could lose his composure so easily in the face of this woman from the demonic sect—reacting so strongly the moment she needled him. She had most likely seen the whole thing, and was probably mocking him for it right now.
But thoughts were just thoughts—having already taken that step, there was no turning back. He walked a few paces, yet no sound came from behind him. Bi Yao had not followed. Zhang Fan felt, for reasons he could not quite explain, a faint pang of disappointment, though he promptly cursed himself under his breath for being so spineless, steadied his resolve, and pressed on deeper into the tunnel. The passage Zhang Fan now traversed was no different in appearance from the one he had come through outside, yet it was far more hushed and desolate. Peering ahead into the distance, he could make out little more than a murky gloom, and the path seemed to stretch on without end. He could not begin to fathom how those members of the Demonic Sect's Blood Refinement Hall had managed to carve out such a massive undertaking all those years ago.
Having walked on like this for quite some time, Zhang Fan suddenly noticed that the path ahead was gradually brightening. His spirits lifted, and he quickened his pace, hurrying forward — only to find soft light spilling from the far end of the road, strikingly clear against the surrounding darkness, like gentle tendrils reaching out to beckon all who dwelt in the mortal world.
Zhang Fan took a deep breath and stepped into that radiance.
Bi Yao watched Zhang Fan's silhouette disappear into the tunnel and froze for a moment, her expression darkening. Her father was a figure of great power and influence within the Demonic Sect; from the very beginning she had lived like a princess — who had ever dared to defy her?
Yet here today, trapped in this desperate predicament, she had unexpectedly crossed paths with someone from the righteous path — young in years but possessed of no small temper — and she could not help but burn with anger.
Come to think of it, Zhang Fan had been an easygoing young man back when he was at Qingyun Mountain—so why was it that things always became so rocky whenever he was with Biyao? Beyond the prejudice born of their different sects, even he himself likely could not say.
Biyao naturally knew nothing of these matters, but Zhang Fan's repeated attempts to make things difficult for her were plain as day before her eyes. She felt deeply displeased in her heart. Yet at present, both of them were trapped in this desperate place, and it was not the moment to act and teach this fellow a lesson. She could only let out a cold snort and note it in her mind—but to ask Biyao to swallow her pride and follow Zhang Fan? That was absolutely out of the question.
Without so much as a moment's thought, she turned and walked straight into the tunnel on her right.
After a few steps, Biyao felt that this path was much like the tunnel outside, yet the glowing things along the stone walls on either side were fewer, leaving the tunnel rather dim.
Fortunately, the path was not very long. Soon, Bi Yao reached its end and once again stepped into a stone chamber.
It was a medium-sized stone chamber. Along one wall stood numerous shelves; along the other lay a heap of refuse—mostly ironwork, blades and the like, the majority broken and battered beyond use. Most conspicuous was an axe tossed carelessly on top of the pile: massive, rust-covered from head to haft, yet wholly intact, looking for all the world as though it had been cast from a single block of iron.
BiYao glanced twice and lost interest, turning to walk over to those shelves. After a brief closer look, her face first broke into an expression of sheer delight—but before long, it had involuntarily shifted to one of disappointment.
The shelves were lined with labeled compartments one after another. Some of the characters on the tags had long since faded beyond recognition, yet those still barely legible never failed to set the heart racing — names such as "Five Peaks Divine Halberd," "Moon-Gazing Cord," and "Separation Spike."
Having grown up in the Demonic Sect, and with a father who was a rare genius versed in both ancient and modern lore, Bi Yao came from a family of deep learning — she naturally recognized these as the finest legendary Artifacts and secret treasures the Demonic Sect had ever produced. How could she not be delighted? What a pity, then, that on nearly every shelf, the labels were there but the objects were not. Her excitement had been for nothing.
She let out a sigh, yet still clung to hope, scanning the shelves one by one—only to find each one completely empty. Perhaps heaven does not forsake those who persevere, for in the very last compartment she discovered an iron box still sitting there. The shelf bore no label, however, leaving her with no idea what might be inside.
Bi Yao's heart swelled with delight. Carefully, she reached out and lifted the box, only to find it surprisingly heavy in her hands. She gave it a few gentle shakes, yet not a single sound came from within.
Bi Yao paused briefly in thought, then set the iron box on the ground. She drew a deep breath, steadied her mind, and readied herself. With a wave of her right hand, white light instantly flooded the stone chamber, and a jade-like flower materialized in midair, accompanied by a faint, delicate fragrance.
BiYao's expression turned solemn. She flipped her right hand, and the flower hovering in midair blazed with brilliant light, soaring above the iron box as white radiance enveloped it entirely.
Then, Bi Yao carefully extended her hand to open the box. The moment her fingers touched the iron lid, she sensed that it appeared to be unlocked. Her brows furrowed, the wariness in her eyes growing heavier. She bit down on her teeth, steeled herself, and lifted the iron lid open.
There came only a faint click, and before anyone could make out what lay within the iron box, a tendril of black vapor had already seeped forth.
Bi Yao's expression changed drastically, and she was flung backward as though struck by lightning. The white flower hovering above the iron box instantly plunged downward, and the black aura was at once enveloped in a shroud of white light. It surged and roiled several times yet could not break free. After a brief moment, the black aura began to slowly shrink, while the jade-like white flower gradually darkened—it had absorbed the black aura wholly into itself.
Not until the black aura had fully dissipated did Biyao finally walk over, having waited quite a while longer. She fixed her gaze intently upon her flower — the rare treasure her father had painstakingly forged for her alone, the "Heartbreak Blossom" — whose petals, once as white as jade, had now turned entirely to a deep purple-black, lending it a rather sinister cast.
Biyao's expression flickered subtly, and she said in a low voice: "'Ancient Corpse Venom'! That black-hearted old fiend truly has a rotten heart — to think he would actually refine something like this!"
Even as she cursed the black-hearted old man of the Demonic Sect under her breath, she cast her gaze into the iron box.
Inside was plain — an iron box holding only a single thing: a bell, golden in hue, whole and immaculate as if kept so by prayer.
Biyao was taken aback. She had not expected that such a rare and deadly poison as "Ancient Corpse Venom" would be kept inside this iron box merely to guard a little bell. She turned it over and examined it from every angle, yet found nothing out of the ordinary. After a moment's contemplation, she slowly reached out and picked up the bell.
*Ding-dong.*
A crisp, clear sound rang out — as though reverberating within the very heart — echoing through the secret stone chamber that had lain silent for eight hundred years.
Bi Yao picked up the bell and found its clapper to be exquisitely wrought—a slender iron chain fastened around the body of the bell. With the slightest shake, the clapper struck softly against the bell's side, drawing forth its sound once more.
Clang."
Biyao watched with delight—with the heart of a young girl, she found it utterly charming, and the disappointment from a moment ago had largely faded. She examined it carefully once more; there was indeed nothing peculiar about it. It seemed to be nothing more than an ordinary, exquisitely crafted little bell.
Yet given how mysteriously and carefully the dark-hearted old man had kept it hidden, this bell must be no ordinary thing. She would wait for a chance to leave and ask her father about it.
With that thought, Bi Yao's heart settled. Yet the more she gazed at the little bell, the fonder of it she grew, and so she fastened it at her waist. When she turned her body, peal after peal of clear, crisp chimes rang out—utterly melodious. Bi Yao was tremendously pleased with herself and nodded again and again.
After that, she carefully searched the stone chamber once more, but found nothing of value. She even sifted through that pile of refuse, yet discovered nothing worthy of notice—to say nothing of any way out.
After finishing her tasks, Bi Yao slowly rose to her feet. It was time to go check on that fool.
Before leaving the stone chamber, she took one last look back. The chamber remained as cluttered as ever—the heap of refuse she had rummaged through was now in even greater disarray, weapons of all kinds strewn across the floor, the great axe tossed carelessly into a corner.
Afterward, she walked out of the stone chamber.
The tunnel on the left that Zhang Fan had just entered was far longer than the right-hand path Bi Yao had taken. Bi Yao walked on for quite some time before she finally saw light flickering ahead, yet the situation within remained impossible to make out clearly. For some reason, though, not a single sound came from inside—and a faint, creeping unease stirred in her heart. This demon mound was filled with grotesque and cruel things, unpredictable and inscrutable. Could it be that he…
She unconsciously quickened her pace and stepped into the stone chamber. Only after taking a careful look did she finally feel at ease — Zhang Fan was standing there inside, staring blankly at the stone wall, lost in thought.
Bi Yao let out a sigh of relief, then took a careful look around this stone chamber. She could see it was considerably larger than the one she had just come from, yet utterly bare — not a single thing inside. However, carved across the hard stone walls were dense rows of inscriptions, and it was precisely these that Zhang Fan was standing before now, brow deeply furrowed as he studied them.
Biyao furrowed her brow, stepped forward and looked — and at once her face broke into a delighted expression, for at the very beginning of the stone inscription, only two great characters were carved.
Book!
"Books—these are books!" Bi Yao couldn't help but cry out in delight.
Zhang Fan gave a start, only then noticing that Biyao had come to his side—yet his attention seemed fixed solely on her words: "What is this book?"
Bi Yao shot him a glare. "How could you not know? This book is a sacred classic of our Holy Sect, passed down from ancient times to the present. Every divine ability possessed by every disciple of the Holy Sect was comprehended from within this very book."
Zhang Fan's body shuddered again, his face awash with bewilderment. He turned his head to stare at the stone carvings on the wall, and after a long silence, murmured in a low voice: "It can't be. It's impossible!"
Bi Yao's expression darkened. "This is our Sacred Sect's scripture — a closely guarded secret of our path. Aren't you one of those demonic heretics, not one of us? How dare you sneak a peek at it?"
Zhang Fan, however, seemed not to hear a word, his eyes fixed solely on the characters carved into the wall.
Book · Volume One
In the creation of heaven and earth, it is said that in the age of primordial chaos, all was dim and undivided—the sun and moon holding their radiance within, the earth merged in undifferentiated form. Then, when the great transformation swept through, the pure and the turbid were at last laid apart.
The reason the earth is able to endure long is that it does not live for itself; therefore it endures. Yet of all the ten thousand things upon the earth, each possesses its form. Sentient beings sink into delusion, bewildered by the mark of self, the mark of others, the mark of sentient beings, and the mark of longevity. Because they cling to these marks, their hearts give rise to the three poisons, the three fears, and the three terrors — and so they cannot long endure.
Phenomena are without fixed form; the Way is exalted yet nameless. Thus, holding no notion of self, no notion of other, no notion of sentient beings, no notion of lifespan — one attains the Light. Uphold the one true Way, inwardly embody one's innate nature: such is one who takes the root as the foundation of the heart.
Thus, where movement and stillness dwell within the earth — there the heart of the earth is revealed.
Thus, it is neither real nor void.
In the old land, all is left to nature — no deliberate action, no artificial creation.
Therefore, if things are not all preserved, one cannot be fully prepared!
……
Biyao let out a soft huff, half-minded to snap at him — but on second thought, she let it pass. She turned her gaze to the wall as well, and after reading only a few lines felt her head begin to swim. She couldn't help but feel a reluctant admiration for Zhang Fan: how could anyone actually sit through writing this dry and impenetrable?
But when he turned to look at Zhang Fan, he was mildly startled — Zhang Fan's face was etched with pain and bewilderment, his entire body trembling faintly, radiating an unspeakable, uncanny air.
In truth, no other person in the world could likely have matched the turbulence stirring in Zhang Fan's heart at that moment. This so-called classic of the Demonic Sect — this "book" — these words proclaimed to be its overarching principles: to Zhang Fan's eyes, each character struck like a blade, piercing straight to the depths of his heart. The impact was a hundredfold greater even than the time he had discovered that Qingyun Sect's Daoist cultivation methods were diametrically opposed to the Buddhist "Grand Brahma Prajna" method that Puzhi had passed down to him.
From these lines of text, he was startled to discover that the cultivation methods of the Daoist and Buddhist schools—which he had privately assumed to be fundamentally at odds—seemed here to be quietly converging toward the same destination. Surprising as that was, he could still accept it. But as he read on, the color gradually drained from his face, for within this tome hailed as the scripture of a Demonic Sect, he had uncovered a great secret.
The various mystical arts and heterodox techniques within this demon sect are extreme and peculiar in nature, yet at their very root, it comes down to this: the Daoist school emphasizes mastering the body through the natural transformations of heaven and earth, while Buddhism emphasizes the realization of one's innate nature. Yet within this book, it seems to cover all aspects without exception—encompassing Daoist thought while also touching upon the Buddhist\*\*. *(Note: the source text appears to be cut off at the end — the sentence is incomplete.)*
Had it been someone else — Bi Yao, for instance — reading these words would have stirred no particular thought; she would simply have assumed it was some great divine art left behind by her own founding patriarch. But in the eyes of Zhang Fan, the only person in this world who truly understood the authentic teachings of both the Daoist and Buddhist paths, the matter was deeply, terribly alarming.
A thought he had never entertained before clung to him, impossible to shake away.
What, in the end, is truly right?
He could not help but read on, his face pale, his mind in tumult, gripped by a feverish and peculiar hunger of curiosity. He had the dim sense that some great secret lay right before his eyes — yet it remained forever beyond his grasp, impossible to touch or see — and that very elusiveness only drew him more powerfully toward it, urging him onward in pursuit of that elusive thing.
Yet within his heart, a measure of fear had taken root — was that not as it should be?
Biyao watched Zhang Fan for a long moment. He remained wholly absorbed in the stone inscriptions on the wall, his expression peculiar, as though he had entirely forgotten she was standing right beside him. An inexplicable irritation welled up in her chest; she let out a cold snort — only to find that Zhang Fan paid it no heed whatsoever, not so much as stirring.
Bi Yao pressed her lips tight, seething with irritation, yet somehow she simply could not bring herself to put this person in his place. With a furious spin she stormed out, stamping her feet loudly as she went — but that fool still showed not the slightest reaction.
Biyao stormed out of the stone chamber and returned to the stalactite cave, taking out her sullen mood on the skeleton within. At first she thought it nothing worth dwelling on, but the more she looked at that figure, the more it grated on her — and the more she thought about it, the angrier she grew. Then she glanced at the "Heartbreak Flower" by her side, once so lovely, now turned entirely black, and her fury shifted at once to the black-hearted old man.
She pointed at the skeleton in fury: "You wretched old ghost — eight hundred years dead and you're still out to harm people, to harm *me*, turning my Yuhua into… into…"
Unable to get another word in edgewise, Biyao's fury mounted higher and higher. Saying nothing more, she swept her sleeve and the Heartbreak Flower flew out, circled the skeleton once, and returned. A moment later, a grating crack of breaking bone rang out — *crack, crack* — and the skeleton shattered into pieces and collapsed.
After striking out, Bi Yao's temper finally eased a little. She couldn't help feeling a twinge of regret, unsure where all that anger had come from. But when she glanced over, she was startled — on the stone wall that had just been hidden behind the skeleton, there were actually several lines of writing. She hurried over to look more closely, and saw that four lines were inscribed upon the wall.
The bells choke with sobs, a hundred flowers wither,
The figure grows ever more gaunt, temples white as frost.
To love deeply is to suffer; to live is to suffer all one's days,
A devoted heart suffers only for the heartless.
Note 1: The guiding text of this section draws reference from the *Classic of Virtue*, the *Diamond Sutra*, the *Platform Sutra*, the "Biography of Ji Zhan" in the *Book of Jin*, the *Commentary on the Judgment of the Hexagram Fu* in the *Book of Changes*, and others.