a journey into immortal cultivation

Chapter 35: The Back Mountain

Inside the great hall stood over forty inner-sect disciples, wearing black, white, or red robes—none in purple. Many faces were familiar to Wang Lin: Wang Zhuo, the girl surnamed Xu, the woman surnamed Zhou, Senior Brother Zhang, and others.

On the dais sat a dozen-odd elders in two rows, each with a cold expression. At the center sat a man of about forty in a blue long robe, immortal bearing, eyes like lightning. He said coolly, “Junior Brother Sun, this is your disciple?”

Sun Dazhu hurried to smile and reply, “Senior Brother Sect Master, this boy is indeed my disciple Wang Lin. He entered late and didn’t know what it means when the bell tolls five times.”

“As the master, so the disciple. Junior Brother Sun, your disciple is as thick-headed as you were back in the day,” a red-faced elder on the right mocked.

Another elder laughed, “Senior Brother, that’s not quite fair. Junior Brother Sun at least met the talent standard back then—far better than this disciple of his.”

Sun Dazhu’s face flushed red then pale. He shot Wang Lin a vicious glare, snorted, and could not be bothered to retort. He went to an empty seat on the left and sat down.

The man in blue frowned, gave Wang Lin a cold glance, and then ignored him. In a deep voice he said, “I’ve already made myself clear: this training must bear fruit. In four years, we have exchanges with Xuandao Sect—we absolutely cannot lose! Starting today, you will enter the Back Mountain. Each of you will have your own cultivation site. Seclude yourselves and improve your realms. As for Depriving Spirit Pills, the sect is allocating ten thousand for your use. During this period you may not leave the Back Mountain. Is that understood?”

All inner disciples answered in unison.

The man in blue nodded slightly and continued, “I hope that four years from now, some of you will don purple robes. Purple represents the core disciples of our Hengyue Sect, far above inner disciples. Enough—the stake and gain, you’ll grasp yourselves. I’ll send you to the Back Mountain now; someone there will assign your cultivation grounds.”

With that, he flicked his sleeve. A white light shot out, circled the hall, and at his low command—“Open!”—the light expanded into a curtain that enveloped all the inner disciples.

“Go!” he barked, and the light curtain rippled and vanished from the hall.

Wang Lin felt a warm current wash over him. His vision blurred, then cleared. He found himself standing in a valley where the spiritual energy was much denser than outside. In the distance came the sound of flowing water. A glance around showed all the inner disciples similarly surprised, looking about.

The valley had no vegetation, only a bare cliff face riddled with countless beehive-like caves. Some of the openings were sealed with huge stones.

Wang Lin suddenly sensed someone watching him. He turned to see Wang Zhuo staring over with a cold smile and disdain in his eyes.

Just then a purple-robed youth flew out from one of the caves. He swept everyone with a stern gaze and said in a deep voice, “Junior brothers, this is the Back Mountain of our Hengyue Sect. Though called the Back Mountain, it’s not actually behind Mount Hengyue. This place was opened five hundred years ago by several Nascent Soul patriarchs as a training ground specifically for inner disciples. The spiritual energy is far richer than outside. Since you’re here, seize every moment to cultivate. Slack off, and don’t blame me for tossing you out!”

Wang Lin recognized this purple-robed youth: Second Senior Brother Zhang Kuang—the same person who had traded for his spiritual spring water—reportedly at the sixth layer of Qi Condensation, unfathomable in strength.

Wang Lin lowered his head slightly. He knew Zhang Kuang’s scheming well; with just a few words back then, he had pushed Wang Lin into danger.

“I have the Qi Condensation formulas up to the seventh layer,” Zhang Kuang went on. “If you reach the corresponding stage and lack the formula, come to me. I’ll check you and give it to you. As for your training quarters, any cave not sealed by stone on this cliff is yours to choose. Here are Depriving Spirit Pills—fifty bottles, fifty pills each. They’ll be resupplied annually!”

Inner disciples stepped forward one after another, quietly took a bottle, and went to choose caves.

Wang Lin took a deep breath. He thought that since he’d used a Transforming Form and Voice Pill that day, Zhang Kuang shouldn’t recognize him. He stepped out and picked up a bottle. Zhang Kuang stood aside, watching each disciple walk past. When Wang Lin came up, his expression turned odd.

“What’s your name? Why haven’t you even reached the first layer of Qi Condensation? Who’s your master?”

Wang Lin stopped, turned, and said respectfully, “Senior Brother, I am Wang Lin, disciple of Master Sun Dazhu. Perhaps my talent is lacking—until now I still haven’t reached the first layer.”

Zhang Kuang was taken aback, then smiled. “You’re Wang Lin? I’ve heard of you. Talent matters, but perseverance is also the key to cultivation. If your talent is poor, you must work all the harder!”

Wang Lin quickly assented.

“Very well. This cliff is high. Since you haven’t reached the first layer, you probably can’t get up there. I’ll give you a lift.” Zhang Kuang flicked his sleeve; a pushing force surged under Wang Lin’s feet, carrying him to the mouth of a cave before dissipating.

Wang Lin thanked him respectfully, then turned into the cave—and his face immediately darkened. If not for what had happened before, he would have taken this second senior brother as affable. Unfortunately, knowing the man’s true colors, he wouldn’t count such small favors for much.

The cave wasn’t large—just a stone bed and, on the wall, a handle. Wang Lin examined it, pulled, and with a rumbling crash a massive stone slab descended from above, sealing the entrance shut.

He checked the interior carefully and, finding nothing amiss, was quite satisfied. When he’d sought out Sun Dazhu earlier, he’d meant to use a pretext to leave the sect and find a quiet place to cultivate. Though refused then, this setup wasn’t far from what he had in mind.

Only one thing was lacking: there was no water source in the cave. Wang Lin’s cultivation relied mainly on spiritual liquid. Still, he had stored quite a bit of snow-water in his pouch earlier—enough for some time. And he’d heard the sound of water in the valley; the water issue, handled cautiously, shouldn’t be hard to solve.