The battle of the Investiture of the Gods had occurred when cultivators seized the opportunity presented by the grand calamity to reshape the world’s structure. From then on, Heaven and Earth were separated, and the secular authority of emperors could no longer govern the laws of nature.
From that moment, the celestial constellations, the mountains and rivers, and the great waterways each returned to their designated positions, to be governed by those from the profound realm known as the Heavenly Court.
“Sect Master, what do you mean?”
Feng Zikang’s expression flickered slightly. “Could it be that the objective of the Three Doctrines is not this struggle over the Wu-Tang dynasty, but rather…”
...the Heavenly Court!
“Over two millennia have passed since the Investiture of the Gods. Those who received divine posts, even if they haven't died, must surely be withered and decrepit by now.”
A sharp light flashed in Yuan Buhuan’s eyes; he seemed to grasp something.
That battle where King Wu overthrew Zhou saw countless heroic spirits return to their stations, summoned into the profound realm of the Heavenly Court to manage the Heavens, contrasting with the mortal emperors who governed the Earth.
The stars above, the mountains and rivers below, the courts of the Underworld—all had designated personnel occupying their posts.
But over these two thousand years, those heroic spirits have gradually waned, and many positions require new appointments. This inevitably leads to various shortcomings, with successors of uneven quality, which has already sparked murmurs of discontent.
“Could it be they intend to use this opportunity to re-establish the Investiture of the Gods?”
Yuan Buhuan pondered for a long time and felt this possibility held significant weight.
“If that is the case, what foundation do they rely upon?” Yuan Buhuan felt a deep sense of dread. During the original Investiture of the Gods, countless great supernatural beings from the Upper Realms were pushing things from behind the scenes to establish this celestial order.
In two millennia, those great supernatural beings have long vanished; it seems they took no further interest in this realm after establishing the profound realm of the Heavenly Court.
Now, although the Confucian, Buddhist, and Daoist sects boast formidable power, the highest living cultivation level achieved is merely the Soul Transformation stage, like Master Yuan Yuan. On what grounds could they possibly reinstate the Investiture of the Gods?
“Since matters have reached this point, we must wait for tomorrow’s assembly to know the outcome.” Feng Zikang understood that no matter what they discussed now, it would not alter the grand scheme; they could only wait for the grand meeting to begin to find out.
Yuan Buhuan nodded. “Tomorrow, you will accompany me to the venue. It will also be a chance for you to witness these figures from the Three Doctrines and the myriad schools.”
He chuckled. “In reality, it’s mainly so they can see *you!”
“Yes!”
Feng Zikang agreed with a nod and withdrew to rest.
※
The next day.
The grand meeting on Tianzhu Mountain finally commenced. The sound of qie echoed all around, deep and profound, as the scorching sun blazed down, fierce and intense.
The summit of Tianzhu Mountain manifested boundless golden light, resembling a sacred domain.
The cultivators at the base of the mountain were mesmerized, some with lower cultivation even prostrating themselves in worship.
This was the grandest convocation in a thousand years. Yuan Buhuan’s expression was solemn. He lightly lifted Feng Zikang, and the two transformed into streaks of azure light, piercing into the golden illumination.
Inside the golden light was a vast, ethereal sea of clouds, upon which floated twelve meditation cushions (putuan). Before each cushion lay tea, wine, and pastries—exquisitely crafted, clearly not of the mortal realm.
Yuan Buhuan glanced around, selected a cushion on the west side, and sat down, with Feng Zikang standing respectfully behind him. Looking across, he saw a gaunt, ancient Daoist sitting on a cushion opposite, smiling and nodding his acknowledgment toward Yuan Buhuan.
“Qianyang Zhenren!”
Feng Zikang’s heart tightened. He hadn't expected to encounter this Daoist so soon.
His enemy!
Feng Zikang remembered the two long swords behind Qianyang Zhenren with perfect clarity; one of them had pierced General Lu’s chest, causing him to lose the body of a Tribulation-Crossing cultivator.
Had it not been for their meddling, he should have cultivated into a Great Heavenly Demon by now, instead of remaining stuck in the Demon Fetus realm!
His heart trembled, but naturally, he revealed nothing on the surface.
Qianyang Zhenren spoke courteously to Yuan Buhuan. “Sect Master Yuan, long time no see.”
Given his elevated status as the Sovereign Head of the Daoist lineage and a master of the Soul Transformation stage, Yuan Buhuan dared not slight him. However, he did not stand to offer the courtesy due to a junior; instead, his face showed a hint of alarm as he nodded slightly in acknowledgment.
“Qianyang Zhenren, long time no see!”
After all, Yuan Buhuan now represented the Military Strategist lineage of Dragon Tiger Mountain, a Sect Master in his own right. Under normal circumstances, he would have certainly offered the courtesies of a junior, but that was impossible today.
Otherwise, if the representatives of the Confucian, Buddhist, and Daoist sects were all senior experts at the Soul Transformation stage, the matters to be negotiated today could not proceed fairly.
Because the Three Doctrines have numerous branches, when inheriting leadership, only those of esteemed virtue and high prestige could assume the supreme position, which differed greatly from the Nine Streams, where most Sect Masters were second-generation disciples.
“Seeing Sect Master Yuan reminds me of General Lu’s valor that day…” Ah!
Qianyang Zhenren sighed, the wrinkles on his gaunt face bunching together, his expression one of deep sorrow. He was a man of feeling; General Lu was his close friend across generations, and his sudden death while undergoing tribulation, his spirit shattered in Qianyang’s presence, was the source of his greatest grief.
“Alas, Senior Brother Lu possessed great talent and vision. If he were here today, he could surely achieve great things. It is a pity fate was short-lived, causing one to clench their wrist in regret!”
Yuan Buhuan, that old fox, would naturally not miss this opportunity to build rapport. He feigned sorrow, deliberately mentioning that if General Lu were present…
If the Military Strategists of Dragon Tiger Mountain had General Lu, they would easily have secured the alliance leader position at this meeting today, rather than struggling so hard to win over the Nine Streams factions.
Qianyang Zhenren offered a dry laugh, his face showing a touch of awkwardness mixed with melancholy. Finally, he shook his head, letting the topic drop. Instead, he turned his gaze to Feng Zikang standing behind Yuan Buhuan, a divine light flashing in his eyes.
“Sect Master Yuan, your disciple radiates vigor; he indeed seems to carry some of General Lu’s spirit…”
Yuan Buhuan burst into laughter. “Zhenren, you have guessed incorrectly. This is not General Lu’s disciple. This is Feng Zikang, the disciple of Ye Tiansheng from the Bamboo Grove of our Dragon Tiger Mountain Military Strategists!”
“Oh!”
Qianyang Zhenren smiled and nodded. “So this is Feng Zikang. Good! Very good! Ye Tiansheng’s apprentice is just like General Lu’s apprentice—both were close friends I cherished across the years. Zikang is also a youthful hero; his name is like thunder! Seeing him today, I finally understand what it means for heroes to emerge from the youth!”
“Zhenren overpraises me!”
Feng Zikang returned the bow with humility. Though his hatred for Qianyang Zhenren remained undiminished, he maintained perfect composure outwardly, daring not to betray a single flaw.
That his master, Ye Tiansheng, knew Qianyang Zhenren was something he had already learned, so he was not surprised.
That this master of the Soul Transformation stage had even heard of his name as his reputation rose in recent years made him inwardly cautious, reminding himself to act with even greater care in the future!
“Alas, seeing his appearance reminds me of General Lu and Ye Tiansheng three hundred years ago. They were just as young then. Who would have thought time flies like a startled white colt? Three centuries have passed in an instant… This poor Daoist is truly getting old beyond words!”
Qianyang Zhenren sighed deeply, shaking his head repeatedly.
While they were chatting, two more groups simultaneously entered the golden light barrier. Feng Zikang recognized one of them: Mo Wu, the Mohist School’s Grand Master. He nodded to Yuan Buhuan and took a cushion next to him, then smiled toward Feng Zikang, thanking him for saving his daughter.
His disciple also stood respectfully behind him, curiously observing Feng Zikang.
Feng Zikang did not recognize the other group. Judging by their attire, they were from the School of Yin-Yang. The head of the school wore robes patterned with the Yin-Yang symbol, a peach wood sword hanging from his waist, his expression arrogant and sternly sharp. He took the last vacant cushion and then nodded in greeting to the three who had arrived earlier.
“This person is Qiu Mubai, the Sect Master of the Yin-Yang Sect,”
Yuan Buhuan whispered to Feng Zikang, providing instruction as he introduced them one by one.
The Yin-Yang School’s Daoist arts are profound. Qiu Mubai was the only cultivator present from the Nine Streams who had reached the Nascent Soul stage. Given his age and cultivation, a degree of arrogance was understandable.
However, although this man was haughty, his mind was clear. He understood that the strength of his Yin-Yang School could not compare to the Three Doctrines, and even the overall power of the Dragon Tiger Mountain Military Strategists surpassed his sect. Therefore, he readily agreed to the alliance proposal put forth by the Dragon Tiger Mountain Military Strategists without objection.
Subsequently, several other Sect Masters and leaders arrived in succession.
First came Xu Rou, the Sect Master of the Farmers’ School from Mount Tai. Feng Zikang was quite curious about her. Upon closer inspection, she was a gentle woman dressed in plain cyan robes, possessing only a stricter reserve than Wen Lingsu. She showed a slight shock upon seeing Feng Zikang, clearly having seen his likeness or a recorded image of him before.
Then, the School of Logicians’ Head, Gongsun Can, entered arm-in-arm with Lü Xian, the Head of the Eclectics. The Eclectics and Logicians were close allies, and the two were good friends.
The School of Logicians had been somewhat wavering regarding the Nine Streams alliance, but it was through the Eclectics’ Head, Lü Xian, that Yuan Buhuan managed to persuade Gongsun Can.
Next, the Confucian School’s Sect Master, Master Yan Haoran, the master of the School of Righteousness Academy, entered. This man held great prestige and was also a master of the Soul Transformation stage. All the other Sect Masters offered welcoming words, not daring to be remiss.
Afterward, Su Congqi, the Head of the School of Diplomacy, stepped into the golden light barrier. Noticing the empty seat next to Yuan Buhuan, he brazenly sat down there, smiling and paying respects to Yuan Buhuan.
“So, this must be Martial Nephew Feng. Truly, a magnificent aura and excellent aptitude,” he clicked his tongue in praise, seemingly unbothered that Feng Zikang had killed his disciple.
But everyone knew that the words of the School of Diplomacy could not be trusted. Feng Zikang merely smiled faintly and nodded his thanks, treating the statement as if he hadn't heard it.
The Head of the School of Legalism, Wang Zijie, was a man whose features were upright, radiating authority even without anger. He flew in with precise timing, arriving just a few breaths before the assembly was scheduled to begin.
The last to arrive was the foremost expert of the world, both before and after General Lu—the Buddhist Sect’s Head, Master Yuan Yuan of White Horse Temple!
Feng Zikang knew this was also his greatest nemesis.
“Clang!”
The sound of the jade gong announcing the start of the meeting rang out, and at that very moment, Master Yuan Yuan arrived, soaring through the air, and settled firmly upon the last remaining cushion!
He wore white monastic robes, his features as refined as a painting. His hands were clasped in prayer, a string of jade beads draped over his fingers, and he chanted his formal Buddhist name aloud.
“Amitabha, this poor monk is late! I beg forgiveness from all present!”