[Fantasy Cultivation + Ancient Sects and Clans + Not a Power Fantasy + Two Male Leads + Political Scheming + Large Ensemble Cast + Plot-Driven]
Prejudice in people’s hearts is a mountain, a mountain even taller than Zuohuang Mountain.
And that boy just had to try to climb over it.
At the foot of Zuohuang Mountain, the owner of a tavern, bleary-eyed with drink, let the waiter help him to a recliner in front of a corner tower in the back courtyard.
He had only just lain down when he suddenly sat bolt upright again. Pointing into the distance, he asked the waiter, “Hic! Sanjin, tell me, what’s that over there?”
Following the owner’s finger, the waiter saw a mountain with twin peaks. Its main peak was a little taller, and a Taoist temple could just barely be seen atop it.
“Shopkeeper, that’s Qingliang Temple, the leader of the righteous path among our human race!”
“The leader? That’s right! ‘One city, one mountain, one stream and valley; the Moon’s Pavilion, where none return, in wind and snow.’ Those fourteen words kept the demon race from showing their faces for over a decade. What else could you call a leader? Truly awe-inspiring!”
With that, the tavern owner lay back down and closed his eyes. Yet a glint of moisture shone at the corner of his eye, and it seemed he was still murmuring something. The waiter leaned closer and faintly heard:
“They’re all filthy scoundrels, false of tongue and foul of heart. That was a child we watched grow up. How could they...”
The waiter had barely heard half before fleeing the courtyard in a panic, as if he had heard some utterly treasonous remark.
Only the stream flowing before the tower remained, as if remembering, its gaze fixed all day long.
