1: Chapter 1 Mountain Flood Traps Ancient Temple
Torrential rain poured down like the Heavenly River had burst its banks, kicking up three feet of white mist as it smashed against the rugged mountain path.
Lu Mingyuan gripped the strap of the book box on his back with one hand and leaned on a withered branch he had snapped off with the other, trudging through the mud with difficulty. His green scholar's robe was already soaked through, clinging to his thin frame, and every gust of mountain wind brought a bone-chilling cold. He wiped the rainwater from his face and looked up at the gray sky—only one hour remained until the Hour of the Rooster. If he couldn't cross Eagle Beak Cliff before dark, his journey to the imperial examinations would likely end here.
"Ten years of hard study..." he murmured, his voice swallowed by the thunder.
The book box contained handwritten copies of the Collected Commentaries on the Four Books and the Correct Meaning of the Five Classics, as well as three flatbreads his mother had tucked into a hidden layer before his departure—by now, they had surely turned to mush. Lu Mingyuan gritted his teeth and quickened his pace. The mountain path had become exceptionally slippery under the downpour, and he nearly tumbled over the cliff edge several times, only managing to steady himself through the sheer stubbornness of a scholar.
Just as he climbed a steep slope, the ground beneath his feet suddenly gave way.
"Oh no—"
Mud mixed with gravel collapsed with a roar, and Lu Mingyuan fell backward. In that split second, he instinctively let go of the book box and scrambled to grab the vines on the cliff face. A sharp pain shot through him as his fingernails tore, but he managed to halt his fall. Once his panic subsided, he saw the scene below: the original mountain path had been washed away into a precipice, where a turbid flash flood surged past, carrying broken wood and giant boulders—exactly where he had been standing just moments ago.
Cold sweat instantly broke out on his back. If not for that slip...
The book box had already fallen into the torrent, disappearing after a few tosses and turns. Lu Mingyuan hung in mid-air, listening to the faint sound of the vine roots loosening in the soil, his heart sinking to the bottom.
"I can't die here."
He took a deep breath and scanned his surroundings. Three zhang to his left, amidst the rock walls washed by the rain, he could faintly see the upturned eaves of a building. Driven by the instinct to survive, Lu Mingyuan endured the intense pain in his fingers and crawled sideways inch by inch like a gecko. Rain blurred his vision, and thorns from the vines pierced his palms; every step felt like walking on the edge of a blade.
By the time he finally touched solid ground, he was exhausted.
After slumping in a hollow of the rock wall to catch his breath for a moment, Lu Mingyuan barely managed to push himself up to look at the building. It was a dilapidated ancient temple with damaged blue tiles and peeling red lacquer. Two wooden doors stood ajar, creaking strangely in the wind. The stone steps in front were covered in dark green moss, and weeds grew from the cracks; it had clearly been abandoned for a long time.
Thunder rumbled again, and the sky grew even darker.
Lu Mingyuan had no choice but to stagger forward and push open the wooden doors.
A musty smell mixed with the scent of dust hit him. The interior of the temple was dim, with only a little light leaking from the skylight revealing its outline: the main hall was about three zhang square, and the features of the enshrined statue were already blurred, though one could tell it was a Daoist Lord from the remaining patterns on the robes. The altar was collapsed, the incense burner lay overturned on the ground, and thick spiderwebs hung from the beams, swaying slightly with the air current.
Most strangely, the inside of the hall was much drier than the outside.
Lu Mingyuan closed the door behind him, temporarily shutting out the wind and rain. He slid down against the door panel and sat on the floor, trembling—whether from the cold or the lingering fear, he didn't know. After a long time, he finally managed to steady his breathing and felt around to take a fire starter from his robe. Fortunately, it had been wrapped tightly in oil paper, and a spark still remained.
He lit a remnant candle on the altar, and the dim yellow light dispelled some of the gloom.
The warmth allowed Lu Mingyuan to regain some of his ability to think. He checked his injuries: the fingers on both hands were bloody and mangled, and his left knee was scraped, but these were all superficial wounds; his bones were unharmed. The book box was lost, along with his travel permit, food, and travel expenses; only a few taels of silver and his identification documents, which he kept close to his body, remained.
"I can only wait for the rain to stop," he muttered to himself, his voice echoing in the empty hall.
The candle flame flickered, casting the statue's shadow on the wall, twisting and changing.
Lu Mingyuan was not a superstitious person, but being alone in an ancient temple on a desolate mountain, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. He stood up and bowed to the statue: "I, Lu Mingyuan, encountered danger on my way to the exams and have come here to take temporary shelter. If I have offended you, I hope the Great Deity will be magnanimous."
After the bow, he felt slightly more at ease.
Since things were already like this, he might as well look for something flammable. In a corner of the hall, he found a pile of withered branches and leaves, likely accumulated from the damaged roof, and gathered them in front of the statue to start a bonfire. Once the fire was lit, the chill vanished. Lu Mingyuan took off his wet clothes to dry them, finally having the leisure to examine the ancient temple carefully.
The murals on the walls had long since faded, with faint traces of cloud patterns and cranes visible. Half a mural remained on the east wall: an Immortal riding a crane toward the west, with commoners bowing below. The west wall had completely peeled off, revealing the rammed earth structure. While wondering about this, Lu Mingyuan's gaze fell beneath the altar—
There was a blue stone slab there, its edges unusually neat.
He hesitated for a moment but leaned down to check. The stone slab was about two feet square, and there was no moss on its edges, indicating it was often moved. Prying up a corner with force, he found a hidden compartment underneath, where an oilcloth bundle lay quietly.
The bundle felt quite heavy in his hand. Lu Mingyuan untied the cord and unfolded the oilcloth layer by layer, revealing the object inside: it was a thread-bound ancient book with brittle, yellowed paper and many worm-eaten edges. Three ancient seal characters on the cover were barely discernible—
classic of mountains and seas.
Lu Mingyuan was stunned. Having read extensively since childhood, he was naturally no stranger to the classic of mountains and seas, but the book in his hand was clearly different. The usual classic of mountains and seas had only eighteen volumes, but this one was nearly twice as thick, and its binding was archaic, certainly not a version circulated in the markets.
Opening the title page, there was no preface, only a table of contents. The entries also differed from the common versions: after "Classic of the Mountains: West, Volume Four," there were unheard-of chapters like "Classic of the Shadow Mountains" and "classic of the nether sea." Curious, Lu Mingyuan began to read carefully by the firelight.
This reading lasted for half an hour.
The records in the book were bizarre and fantastic, far exceeding his knowledge. The Classic of the Shadow Mountains mentioned a "Shadow Mountain," saying it "appears by day and hides by night; there is a kingdom in the mountain where the people have no shadows"; the classic of the nether sea described a "Sea of Guixu," stating "all the waters under heaven return here, and within it are Five Divine Mountains that float with the waves." The writing was archaic, but the details were thorough, not seeming like a fabrication.
What concerned Lu Mingyuan even more was one particular record.
A withered leaf was tucked into a page of the Classic of the Mountains: West as a bookmark. That page described an "Eagle Beak Mountain": "Its shape is like an eagle looking up and pecking at the sky; on the shady side of the mountain is an abyss, and the abyss connects to the Yellow Springs, appearing with a bloody light every sixty years." Beside it was a note in small regular script: "This is the Eagle Beak Cliff of today; on the third day of the seventh month in the Gengzi Year, red Qi was once seen piercing the sky."
Lu Mingyuan shuddered.
Eagle Beak Cliff—that was precisely the name of the mountain where he was now. And today was indeed the third day of the seventh month in the Gengzi Year.
Thunder exploded outside, shaking dust from the beams. Lu Mingyuan looked up sharply. At that moment, the candle flame flickered violently, and in the interplay of light and shadow, he seemed to see the statue's eyes—
Flash with a faint light.
He held his breath and stared fixedly at the statue. It was a clay-sculpted, painted statue of a Daoist Lord. The eyes had originally been painted with ink dots, but now, in the firelight, they seemed to have spirit, as if he were looking down at his uninvited guest with lowered eyes.
"My eyes are playing tricks on me..." Lu Mingyuan shook his head, but felt a chill down his spine.
Composing himself, he continued to leaf through the ancient scroll. On the last page of the classic of the nether sea, he found a strand of hair—white as frost and warm to the touch. Looking closely, the tip of each hair shimmered with a faint golden light, not seeming like something from the mortal world. Lu Mingyuan couldn't recall what kind of beast this belonged to, so he carefully tucked it back into the book.
The wind suddenly intensified, making the broken window frames clatter, and a few drops of rain splashed into the hall. The bonfire flickered unsteadily. Lu Mingyuan hurriedly rose to close the window but caught sight of the scene outside, and his movements froze—
In the Northwest sky, a rift opened in the thick clouds.
It wasn't lightning, but a kind of dark red, viscous light like blood, seeping from the depths of the clouds and crawling slowly like a wound. After only three breaths, The Rift was covered by even thicker dark clouds, as if it had never appeared.
But Lu Mingyuan was certain he had seen it.
He remembered the "Red Qi Piercing the Sky" from the scroll's annotation, and cold sweat seeped from his palms.
The night grew deep, and the torrential rain did not cease. Lu Mingyuan rewrapped the ancient scroll and placed it by his side. Leaning against the wall, he listened to the sound of rain hitting the roof, his thoughts in disarray. His path to the imperial exams was broken, the road ahead was uncertain, and this eerie rainstorm, this ancient temple, this classic of mountains and seas, that bloody light... everything seemed to point toward some trajectory he could not understand.
Holding that strange strand of hair, drowsiness gradually washed over him.
His last thought before falling asleep was: If there truly is an Opportunity, why must it be in such a desperate situation?
The candle burned out, and the last wisp of blue smoke dispersed. The hall fell into darkness, with only the embers of the bonfire glowing faintly. At the moment Lu Mingyuan drifted into a dream, he vaguely heard a soft roar—
It sounded like a sheep's bleat, yet also like a lion's roar, ethereal and distant, unexpectedly piercing through the rumbling thunder and reaching his ears clearly.
He wanted to open his eyes but had already fallen into a deep sleep.
The ancient scroll lay quietly beside him, the characters for classic of mountains and seas on the cover shimmering with a faint light under the reflection of the embers.