Chapter 9: The Beast’s Sanctuary

  Time on Mount Penglai was not measured in hours or days. It was measured in the falling of needles and the shifting of the mist.

  Twenty years.

  To the Mortal World below, twenty years was a lifetime. Dynasties could rise, wars could burn cities to ash, and children could grow into warriors.

  To the figure sitting on the slate-grey precipice of the mountain’s peak, twenty years was a single breath.

  Liu Changsheng opened his eyes.

  Gone was the starving, three-year-old child who had once wept while chewing on bitter pine resin. The figure sitting in the lotus position was a young man of unearthly beauty. His robes, woven from the fibers of hemp and wild silk, were simple but immaculate. They draped over a body that defied anatomical logic.

  He did not look like he was made of flesh and blood.

  His skin possessed the translucent, milky sheen of white jade. Beneath the surface, one could almost see the slow, rhythmic flow of golden light where veins should be. He sat so still that a layer of fine mountain dust had settled on his shoulders, and a small, green vine had begun to curl around his ankle, mistaking him for a statue.

  Exhale.

  A stream of white vapor left his lips, shooting forward like a sword for ten feet before dispersing into the clouds.

  The Pine and Spring Diet had done its work. The mortal turbidity was gone. He had replaced the heavy, rot-prone carbon of a human body with the enduring, fragrant essence of the Spirit Mountain.

  He was no longer cultivating to survive. He was waiting.

  Inside his dantian, the chaotic sea of Qi had calmed. It was no longer a storm; it was a mirror. The foundation was complete. The "Pre-Natal" body was forged.

  Changsheng uncrossed his legs. The vine around his ankle snapped softly. He didn't stand up; he simply unfolded, rising with a grace that made gravity look like a suggestion rather than a law.

  He looked down at the sea of clouds below.

  "The Red Dust surges," he murmured. His voice was melodious, vibrating with a resonance that made the nearby pine needles shiver. "Chaos comes to the quiet place."

  He didn't need to see it. He felt it.

  The vibration in the earth. The disturbance in the wind. The stench of iron, sweat, and adrenaline rising from the foot of the mountain like black smoke.

  And then, the screaming.

  It started as a low rumble, the sound of a landslide, but quickly sharpened into the frantic cacophony of life fleeing death.

  Changsheng turned his gaze toward the dense forest to his south.

  Trees shook violently. Birds exploded from the canopy in a riot of feathers, screeching warnings to the sky.

  From the underbrush, they emerged.

  A Golden-Eyed Monkey broke through the ferns first. It was limping, blood matting the golden fur on its left flank where an arrow shaft protruded. It stumbled, rolled, and scrambled back to its feet, its human-like eyes wide with sheer panic.

  Behind it, a Black-Scaled Tiger—the apex predator of the lower slopes—crashed through the bushes. Usually, this beast walked with the arrogance of a king. Now, its ears were pinned back, its tail tucked between its legs, foaming at the mouth from exhaustion.

  Then came the others. Spotted deer, iron-tusked boars, badgers, even a massive python.

  Predator and prey ran shoulder to shoulder, the ancient laws of the food chain suspended by a greater terror.

  They did not scatter. They did not run blindly.

  They ran toward the hut. They ran toward him.

  Changsheng stood calm amidst the stampede. A boar, weighing four hundred pounds, skidded to a halt inches from his bare feet, kicking up dirt. The Black Tiger collapsed near the stone table, its chest heaving like a broken bellows.

  The Golden-Eyed Monkey dragged itself forward. It reached out with a trembling hand, grasping the hem of Changsheng’s hemp robe. It looked up, chattering frantically, pointing back toward the forest, then mimicking the drawing of a bow.

  Changsheng looked down.

  He saw the fear. It wasn't the fear of a fight; it was the fear of slaughter.

  He extended a hand. His fingers, long and exquisite, hovered over the monkey’s wound.

  Hmm.

  A pulse of green light—Wood Qi—flowed from his fingertip. The arrow in the monkey’s shoulder shuddered and popped out, falling to the grass. The wound knit together in seconds, leaving only a faint pink scar.

  "Pain is a teacher," Changsheng said. His tone was not one of pity, but of acknowledgement. "But cruelty is a violation."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The animals froze. The sound of his voice seemed to lower the temperature in the clearing, replacing the heat of panic with the cool clarity of a mountain spring.

  The Black Tiger crawled forward on its belly, pressing its massive head against the ground in a kowtow. The deer bent their knees.

  They were begging.

  "I hear you," Changsheng said.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  The ground rhythm changed. The erratic patter of paws was replaced by the heavy, disciplined thunder of iron-shod hooves.

  "The humans come," Changsheng observed.

  He swept his sleeve wide. It was a fluid motion, like a cloud passing over the moon.

  "Enter the Shadow."

  The space behind his thatched hut seemed to warp. The shadows cast by the eaves lengthened, twisting into a dark, nebulous pocket. It was a simple Mustard Seed Technique, a trick of manipulating Yin Qi to fold space.

  The animals understood. The monkey chirped a command, and the beasts scrambled into the shadow. One by one, they vanished, swallowed by the darkness, leaving the clearing empty save for the Daoist and the bloodstains on the grass.

  Just in time.

  CRASH.

  The treeline shattered.

  A warhorse, black as coal and armored in lacquered red leather, burst into the clearing. Its rider pulled hard on the reins, forcing the beast to rear up, its hooves pawing the air before slamming down with a bone-jarring impact.

  King Cheng’an of the Kingdom of Gege had arrived.

  He was a man who occupied space aggressively. His shoulders were broad, encased in gold-inlaid armor. A crimson cloak, lined with the fur of snow foxes, billowed behind him. His face was square, his beard trimmed into a sharp point, and his eyes burned with the restless, hungry energy of a conqueror.

  Behind him, a dozen riders fanned out—his generals and ministers. They were laughing, their bows strung, their quivers full.

  The laughter died instantly.

  They saw the figure standing by the hut.

  King Cheng’an frowned. He had expected a savage. He had expected a dirty, hair-covered hermit living in filth.

  Instead, he saw a man who looked like he had been carved from moonlight. Changsheng stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his robes unruffled by the wind, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if the King were nothing more than a passing cloud.

  The King’s horse whinnied and stepped back nervously. Animals knew.

  "You!"

  King Cheng’an’s voice was a boom of authority, trained to command armies.

  Changsheng did not blink. He did not turn.

  The King’s face darkened. He was the ruler of the Gege Kingdom, the conqueror of the Three Valleys. When he spoke, heads bowed.

  "I am speaking to you, Daoist!" The King spurred his horse forward, stopping only five paces from Changsheng. "Did you see a herd of beasts pass this way? A tiger? A monkey? My arrow pierced one of them. It is my prize."

  Changsheng finally turned his head.

  The movement was slow, deliberate. When his eyes met the King’s, the King felt a sudden, inexplicable chill run down his spine, as if he had just stepped into a deep freezer.

  "The mountain has no prizes," Changsheng said. His voice was soft, yet it carried over the wind with perfect clarity. "Only lives."

  The King blinked, then scoffed. "Philosophical rot. I tracked the blood to your feet."

  He pointed his riding crop at the bloodstains on the grass.

  "They are here. Hand them over. I want the tiger’s skin for my throne room and the monkey’s brain for tonight’s banquet."

  Changsheng looked at the bloodstain. Then he looked back at the King.

  "Go back," Changsheng said. "The Karma of the hunt ends here. If you turn back now, your reign may yet be long."

  A silence stretched across the clearing. The soldiers looked at each other, stunned. A hermit threatening the King?

  "Insolence!"

  A roar came from the King’s left. General Liu Feihu, a giant man whose neck was thicker than Changsheng’s thigh, jumped down from his horse.

  "Your Majesty," Liu Feihu growled, drawing a massive broadsword from his back. "This peasant is playing games. He thinks because he lives in the clouds, he is above the law."

  The General marched toward Changsheng, his heavy boots crushing the wildflowers. He stopped arm's length away, towering over the slim Daoist.

  "Deaf or stupid?" Liu Feihu sneered, spitting on the ground near Changsheng’s pristine robes. "His Majesty asked for the beasts. Speak, or I will cut your tongue out."

  Changsheng looked at the General. He looked at the spit on the ground.

  "The Red Dust is loud," Changsheng sighed. "And dirty."

  He sat down.

  Right there on the rock. He closed his eyes and returned to his meditation, effectively erasing the General’s existence from his mind.

  General Liu Feihu turned red. The veins in his forehead bulged. To be ignored was worse than to be insulted.

  "Die!"

  The General didn't hesitate. He was a warrior of the chaotic battlefield; he didn't believe in mercy. He gripped the hilt of his broadsword with both hands, raised it high, and swung it down with enough force to cleave a boulder in two.

  Whoosh.

  The blade cut the air, a blur of cold steel aiming directly for Changsheng’s neck.

  King Cheng’an watched with a cruel smirk. He expected the spray of blood. He expected the head to roll.

  CLANG!

  The sound was not a wet thud.

  It was the sound of a hammer striking a bronze bell—a deep, resonant gong that vibrated in the chests of every man present.

  Sparks flew.

  General Liu Feihu howled, dropping the sword. He clutched his wrists, staggering back. The impact had been so hard that the webbing between his thumb and forefinger had split open.

  The sword lay on the grass, its edge chipped and curled.

  Changsheng sat unmoved. There was no mark on his neck. Not a scratch. Not a bruise.

  For a brief second, the air around his skin shimmered with a faint, hexagonal pattern—the image of a turtle shell.

  The Indestructible Diamond Body.

  Changsheng opened one eye. The pupil was vertical, reptilian for just a split second before returning to human roundness.

  "Iron breaks against stone," he said calmly. "And malice breaks against the Dao."

  The clearing went deadly silent. The horses shifted uneasily.

  King Cheng’an stared, his mouth slightly agape. He looked at the chipped sword. He looked at the glowing man.

  Fear, cold and sharp, began to creep into the King’s heart. But the King was a proud man, and pride is often louder than survival instinct.

  "Sorcery," the King whispered, his hand drifting to the hilt of his own royal blade. "Demon magic."

  Changsheng stood up again.

  "You call it magic," he said, taking a step toward the King. "I call it the result of eating pine and drinking spring water for twenty years while you gorged on wine and meat."

  He raised a finger.

  "Leave."

  Author's Notes: The Dao of Physics

  1. The Indestructible Diamond Body (Vajra Body)

  In the chapter, General Liu’s sword bounces off Changsheng. This is not a magical forcefield; it is biological alteration. In Daoist alchemy, the human body is "Post-Natal" (mortal, decaying). By consuming Pine (Wood/Longevity) and Spring Water (Water/Pure Yin) for 20 years, Changsheng has expelled his mortal impurities. His cells have effectively crystallized. He is currently in a state of "Pre-Natal" (Xiantian) existence. To him, steel is as soft as tofu.

  2. The Concept of "Red Dust" (Hongchen)

  You’ll notice Changsheng refers to the King and his army as "The Red Dust." In Chinese literary tradition, Hongchen (Red Dust) is a metaphor for the mortal world—filled with desire, noise, war, and suffering. To a cultivator, the "Red Dust" is sticky; it clings to the soul and weighs it down, making Ascension impossible. Changsheng isn't just annoyed by the noise; he is literally allergic to their "karmic pollution."

  3. Spatial Folding (Mustard Seed)

  The trick Changsheng used to hide the massive animals behind a small hut is a reference to the Buddhist maxim: "Mount Sumeru contained in a mustard seed." High-level cultivators understand that size and distance are illusions of the mind. By bending the shadows (Yin Qi), he created a pocket dimension—a standard technique for someone who has touched the edge of the Void.