Volume Two: Mountains and Rivers Block Every Path Chapter Eight: The Sun-Worshipping Sect

On the fifteenth day of the first month, the Lantern Festival, Changshan City was bustling with excitement. Every household was adorned with lanterns and streamers, and people filled the streets, calling out to friends and preparing for a night of revelry.

A thousand miles from Changshan City, in the northwest of the Kingdom of Huaxu.

Zhuo Hua and Old Yao had just dismounted their flying beast. With a chant, Zhuo Hua recalled the creature. He then took out the Green Oriole Mirror, his fingers swiftly tapping on its surface until a landscape painting appeared within the glass.

Old Yao leaned in, his curiosity piqued by Zhuo Hua’s manipulation of the mirror. “My Lord,” he asked, “why are you looking at the Green Oriole Mirror at such a moment?”

Zhuo Hua studied the image within the mirror and replied, “The Green Oriole Mirror is not only a tool for gathering light and igniting fires—it can also link to the Xuanhuang Mirror and use its computational abilities.”

Old Yao clicked his tongue in amazement. “My Lord, doesn’t that mean you’re carrying a Xuanhuang Mirror with you at all times? Remarkable!”

Having gained a general sense of their surroundings, Zhuo Hua put away the mirror and said, “The calculations reveal intense spiritual activity in the valley ahead. We should investigate—it’s likely the headquarters of the Sun Worship Cult.”

Under cover of moonlight, the two made their way to the valley. Even from a distance, they could hear the raucous shouts and the clatter of cups and bowls.

As they drew closer and rounded a bend, a massive gatehouse loomed before them, three fathoms high and stretching five or six hundred paces.

Old Yao sucked in a sharp breath. “These villains have built such a formidable gatehouse here.”

Zhuo Hua nodded. “According to the King of Yan, the Sun Worship Cult has entrenched itself here for years, but I never imagined it had grown to such a scale. It seems they’ve become local warlords.”

Lowering his voice, Old Yao asked, “My Lord, how shall we enter? By stealth, or by disguise?”

“We’ll play it by ear,” Zhuo Hua replied, and with that, he lifted himself on the wind, soaring over the gate and into the valley.

Inside Sun Worship City, the Lantern Festival was in full swing. Night banquets stretched endlessly, tables lined up as far as the eye could see.

Old Yao, impressed, murmured, “What a spectacle,” and followed Zhuo Hua into the grandest building, suspecting it was a place of worship. They slipped inside to investigate.

Within the domed structure, a long corridor stretched before them, eerily silent—a stark contrast to the revelry outside.

Zhuo Hua pointed to the murals on the corridor walls and explained, “Old Yao, look at these murals. Though they depict followers worshipping the sun, the sun itself is painted black, not golden.”

Old Yao was puzzled. “Why is that, my Lord?”

Zhuo Hua snorted coldly. “On the Xuanhuang Map, our totem is a golden sun, symbolizing vitality and a bright future. But this black sun is the totem of the Dark Scream Tribe. To them, every golden sun means darkness and death.”

“So, the Sun Worship Cult doesn’t really worship the sun, but the Dark Scream Tribe?” Old Yao exclaimed.

At that moment, Zhuo Hua suddenly halted, slipping into stealth and hiding behind a thick pillar. Old Yao quickly followed his lead, picking a pillar for himself.

They stilled their breath and calmed their minds, waiting for the people approaching from the opposite door.

Moments later, two men strolled by, conversing. One, a burly man with heavy steps, spoke in a low voice, “The last batch of spirit-essence helmets must be finished faster. Divide the craftsmen into three shifts—work day and night without pause. We can’t afford delays.”

The other, a short man, replied hesitantly, “But General Yuan, the craftsmen are already working without sleep. Many are ill or dead. So…”

General Yuan barked, “Our great work is nearly complete. What’s a craftsman’s life worth? If we run out, we’ll just seize more from neighboring countries.”

The subordinate fell silent, nodding repeatedly.

General Yuan continued, “How goes the training of the thousand Spirit-Helm soldiers?”

The subordinate replied, “They’re nearly ready, chosen from the strongest and most devoted followers. Their families are all under our control; they’ll obey without question.”

General Yuan grunted approval. “Once the last batch of spirit-essence helmets is complete, the vanguard warriors of the Dark Scream Emperor can possess these soldiers. Nothing will stand in our way! Then, our nation’s wrongs will be avenged, and our family’s grievances redressed.”

At that moment, Zhuo Hua emerged from hiding, suddenly appearing before the two. His eyes cold, he stared up at General Yuan, who towered over him, and asked, “Are you referring to the Dark Scream Emperor?”

The two men, startled at first, quickly regained their composure.

General Yuan spoke, “Anyone who can move freely and unseen in the headquarters of the Sun Worship Cult must be a master. Let me guess, which chieftain or king sent you to destroy us? The Sun Tribe? The Warmth Tribe?”

Old Yao also stepped out, standing behind Zhuo Hua. “No one sent us. We’ve come to take your life.”

General Yuan burst into laughter. “Since I, Yuan Kang, was enlightened by a sage of the Dark Scream Tribe and ascended to the immortal ranks, I have not met a true rival in this void. Aside from the Star Envoys of the Celestial Palace, whom should I fear? And why would the Star Envoys concern themselves with trifles like this?” He paused, scrutinizing the two before him—the youth’s appearance was striking, but he seemed somewhat frail, and the middle-aged man beside him was old and ugly, devoid of any sign of martial prowess.

With scorn, he continued, “Since you’ve come here today, you’ll never leave. We’ll give you a proper reception.”

With those words, his expression twisted fiercely, and he gathered his qi, thrusting both palms forward.

Zhuo Hua remained impassive, murmuring an incantation. The lid on his right-hand ring flipped open, revealing a black gem shimmering with starlight. Zhuo Hua’s right hand closed as if gripping something, twisting from right to left.

The mass of energy that had nearly struck Zhuo Hua slowed, then sped backward, returning to Yuan Kang, who found himself back in the posture he’d held before unleashing his strike.

Appalled, Yuan Kang hurled his fists forward, activating hidden mechanisms in his sleeves. The entire space before him filled with qi blasts and a hail of needles—inescapable, unavoidable.

Zhuo Hua’s expression did not waver. His left hand formed a blossom gesture, while his right shifted from fist to palm and pushed forward. All the needles and qi blasts froze in midair. With a flick of Zhuo Hua’s left fingers, Yuan Kang’s massive body was flung backward twenty or thirty paces, while his subordinate was pinned to the wall by the needles.

Realizing his peril, Yuan Kang unclipped a beast token from his waist, preparing to escape. Just then, explosions thundered outside the valley, followed by shouts and the clash of battle. The overwhelming noise unsettled Zhuo Hua’s mind. Taking advantage, Yuan Kang summoned a flying beast—half deer, half horse—and fled.

Zhuo Hua collected his artifacts and prepared to see what was happening outside.

Old Yao asked, “My Lord, was that black gem just now the White Colt Star?”

Zhuo Hua nodded.

Old Yao clapped his hands in admiration. “Today my eyes have truly been opened! I’ve heard the White Colt Star can control the flow of time, rendering any attack before it null and void—a divine treasure indeed!”

Zhuo Hua shook his head. “A mere trick. If it were truly so miraculous, I wouldn’t be wandering in such places. Come, let’s go see what’s happened.”