Purple Wind city, capital of the Dongli state. For 6,000 years, the city stood as the economic backbone of Dongli and a touristic hub of the Yanzhou province. Drawing its name from a celestial phenomenon that occurred once every 360 years, Purple Wind city built its cultural wealth on the ancient temples, ritual festivals, and pleasure houses crowding the streets.

One temple stood out. Older than Purple Wind city, that temple lacked the lavish ornaments and gilded statues typical in other monasteries, preferring constructs of stone or bronze. But if the temple’s fancy-free architecture couldn’t appeal to the capricious elite, its soothing chants and ringing bells lured in scores of devout souls. Most sat crossed-legged in meditation, others kneeled and burned incense sticks at a tall bronze lotus—the rest kowtowed, wondering if they’d ever get a chance to cross the temple’s blessed halls.

Like most Lianist temples, they didn’t accept female disciples. Still, they would bar no one, female, noble or not, from learning their ancestral precepts. All those that received the temple’s guidance left free from worldly troubles. For that reason, Dongli citizens referred to it as the Clear Heart monastery. At the moment, the monastery received the visit of Dongli’s two most eminent characters, the old monsters of the White Immortal sect: Lord Hanxing and Lady Ziyun.

Respectively the Great Elders of the Dong and Zi clans, for over three centuries these two led the White Immortal sect’s elder council—sacrificing their cultivation speed to maintain the sect’s defensive formation. Still, both stood at the peak of the Nascent Soul realm—only a step away from Divine Transformation. But with only 200 years of lifespan left, that step...might forever elude them.

In the main hall of the Clear Heart monastery, Lord Hanxing and Lady Ziyun sat before a weiqi table. The marks of time wrinkled their faces, grayed their hair, yet failed to reduce the martial excellence flashing in their eyes. A tanned middle-aged man sat at the other hand of the weiqi table. Over two meters tall, with a herculean musculature matched only by his dark, oppressive eyes, that man would have looked out-of-place if not for the brown monastic robe on his shoulders. Most citizens of Purple Wind city could recognize him as Qingxin, abbot of the Clear Heart monastery and most esteemed monk of the Dongli state.

If Xinzi garnered praise as the youngest Enlightened Monk and most gifted Formation Master of Dongli, then Qingxin represented Dongli’s peak in both Lianism and the formation arts. Contrary to his ferocious appearance, the monk was a beacon of selflessness, faith and righteousness. Centuries ago, he joined the Clear Heart monastery, rose through its ranks at a lightning fast pace and succeeded to the abbot seat. Qingxin’s cultivation base only stood at the peak of the Golden Core realm, yet most Nascent Soul experts treated him with courtesy.

“Hanxing, Ziyun, you two have been squatting in my hall for hours, wasting my time, tea and warm seats. Our Clear Heart monastery doesn’t allow freeloaders, so take brooms and sweep for a wage or get the hell out,” abbot Qingxin said in a calm and level tone. Throughout the Dongli state, only he could spit such words at the White Immortal sect’s great elders’ face—and get off scot-free.

“Qingxin, oh Qingxin, I’ve heard that since your beloved disciple ditched your wretched place for my sect, you sank into depression and became even less likeable than you already were. At first, I couldn’t believe it. How is it possible for a cheap and execrable baboon to get worse? But seeing you now, I have to admit that you’ve indeed regressed.” With a cup of tea in his right hand, Lord Hanxing sprawled on his side—laying in a lazy and uncouth pose. Lady Ziyun was the polar opposite—her hands rested on her knees as she sat in the traditional seiza form.

“Hanxing, oh Hanxing, what’s wrong with being cheap and execrable? The former saves you money while the latter keeps unwanted guests far from your front door. A pity that some just can’t get the hint, and are so thick-skinned that they keep rushing back each time you make them roll. That said, in the topic of unfortunate conditions, being an old lecher with a dysfunctional schlong...the Golden Lotus be praised, now that’s what I call a tragic state.” Stroking his prayer beads, abbot Qingxin sighed at Lord Hanxing, and shook his head in a false show of helplessness.

“You foul-mouthed bastard monk, shut up to me! To think that millions of our country’s citizens look up to you as a beacon of holiness. One day I will expose you for the fraud you are!” Lord Hanxing coughed his tea, lost his composure and waved an aggressive index at Qingxin—the monk ignored him royally.

“I am the only Eminent Monk of Dongli. If they don’t look up to me, who should they turn to? You? Bah, the country would sink into sloth and collapse within a week.

Become the mirror of those you confront, reflect the misdeeds they conceal and lead them away from depravity—that is my Lianist way. The people of Dongli lay themselves bare at my feet, so naturally I treat them with love, care and courtesy. You are a barefaced cunt, so just the same, I will spit in your face at any given opportunity.” Qingxin didn’t mince his words. At a loss for words, Hanxing threw hands and feet, fuming like a petulant child. Used to the two’s antics, Lady Ziyun stayed stoic. An imperceptible glint flashed as she glanced at Qingxin, whose eyes never once lingered on her.

“Less nonsense. Your visits never bode well for me. Why are the two of you here?” Qingxin asked and seriousness returned to Hanxing’s face. “Qingxin, give us your disciple. We want to train him into our successor as soon as possible,” Hanxing said in a straightforward tone.

“I have dozens of disciples. Which one do you want?”

“You know who.”

“Clearly I don’t. Or are you brain-damaged? It’s been three years since that unfilial brat left me to chase the jaunty butts of your sect. I don’t even know what he eats for breakfast and you’re asking me to give him to you? Alright, where do I find him?” Perhaps the most offensive part of Qingxin’s verbal arsenal wasn’t the harsh words he used to brutalize his foes, but the calm with which he uttered them. Lord Hanxing choked on the rebuke—coughing to no end.

“Qingxin, since you took refuge in the Clear Heart monastery, our husband and wife pair has supported you to the best of our abilities. We convert the tributes sent by your monastery into donations for Dongli’s underprivileged and eliminate the rampaging beasts and heretical forces you point us to. Though the Clear Heart monastery has been a vassal of the White Immortal sect for thousands of years, since you took office, that relationship is nominal at best. Don’t you think it’s time you pay us back for centuries of hard work?” Realizing that Hanxing couldn’t get much from Qingxin, Lady Ziyun chimed in.

“This generation is, without a shred of doubt, the most outstanding in the history of our sect. Several disciples showed Divine Transformation potential. Some might even go further. But as you know, the greater the talent, the greater the dangers. Xinzi, Xia Hu, Chun Xu and Dong Ling will be the foundation of our sect’s future. Once their fame spreads, several forces will line up to claim their lives. The old fossils of the Yanzhou Hegemon’s court might show some restraint because of you, but the mad dogs of the Anyue state and Flower Plucking gang are itching for action. As if that wasn’t enough, Guang Fanghu and Zi Yao have broken through.”

“Those 500 years old babies have broken through to the late-stage of Nascent Soul already?” Qingxin’s brows rose in surprise. If in wealthier areas, these achievements weren’t worth mentioning, throughout Yanzhou, few could boast such cultivation speed.

“Indeed. They’ve cultivated the Yin-Yang Sword Array to the fifth-level and broke through to the late-stage of Nascent Soul. Even without our support, those two can now butcher the unredeemable oaf of the Soaring Crane mountain,” Lady Ziyun said, not surprised by Qingxin calling Guang Fanghu and Zi Yao “babies.”

“Guang Fanghu and Zi Yao are the most ambitious sect masters since the founding of our sect. Now that none throughout Dongli can suppress them, wars are bound to follow. With them presiding over our most outstanding generation, my heart is not at ease. We wish to remove the key disciples from their control. But as you know, Chun Xu is Zi Yao’s disciple while Dong Ling is their daughter. We have no right to interfere with these two. Xia Hu and Xinzi are different. One just proved his worth and is despised by Guang Fanghu, while the other stands aloof in the sect’s walls—yet already wields significant influence.” Here Lady Ziyun paused, watching for the changes in Qingxin’s face. Each time the name Xinzi resounded, the Eminent Monk’s cheeks twitched.

“Xia Hu has no background and shouldn’t be a problem. But three years after he left the monastery, Xinzi still refuses to acknowledge anyone but you as his master. But Qingxin...what have you taught him?” Lady Ziyun sneered at Qingxin. This time, it was Hanxing’s turn to not reveal his emotions.

“Moral precepts, Lianism and the foundations of the formation arts—that’s it. You have one of the preeminent talents in the last 10,000 years but insist on restraining his growth. Your Nascent Divinity suffered extreme damages—forcing you to drop all the way down to the peak of Golden Core—but your knowledge remains. Why do you refuse to teach him all you know? Since you won’t do it, allow us to. Destroy Xinzi’s ordinance, formally ban him from the Clear Heart monastery, and we two pledge to groom him into the next master of Yanzhou,” Lady Ziyun said and closed her eyes, awaiting Qingxin’s reply.