Chapter 15: Missing
As Li Qingfeng had predicted, the testing lasted for four full days.
In the end, five individuals were selected.
Their ages varied greatly, the oldest was twenty and the youngest only nine.
Liu Chuang was among the younger ones.
It was also said that three more were found unqualified, bringing the total including Meng Zhen to four.
As for who told him this, it was naturally the last two of the group of five friends.
After the testing concluded, the remaining two invited Li Qingfeng once again to the Music Pavilion.
“What a pity you didn’t come, Qingfeng. It was lively beyond words.”
“Even more festive than the imperial examis!”
“Such a display of worldly emotions, everything you could imagine,” Yang Lingu sighed.
Indeed, for those few days, the testing grounds were a microcosm of the human experience: some wept tears of joy, others fainted in excitement. There were howls of grief, tears of frustration, curses hurled at the heavens, desperate pleading, and those left in a state of utter despair…
Every shade of emotion was laid bare.
This test, ostensibly to measure spiritual roots and one’s affinity with immortality, was just as much a portrait of the myriad responses of mortals.
Some defied fate.
Some accepted it.
Some refused to believe in fate altogether.
Most, however, had never held out much hope. And since they weren’t among the unqualified, life simply went on, unaffected.
What surprised Li Qingfeng was that Meng Zhen didn’t show up.
He assumed the boy was still reeling from the blow of having spiritual roots but being unable to cultivate.
Li Qingfeng couldn’t help but count himself fortunate. He, too, had five-roots and understood all too well what the immortal master meant by "false roots."
With a false root, every step on the path of cultivation was a stumbling block. Without a heaven-defying opportunity, one could forget about even reaching the late stages of Qi Refining.
If it weren’t for encountering the Immortal’s corpse, gaining both a cultivation technique and the soul banner artifact, he wouldn’t have held much hope either.
Even so, though Meng Zhen didn’t show up, Li Qingfeng asked, “What about Brother Meng?”
He had a cultivation method now. No matter if it was orthodox or demonic, it was still a way forward.
“Meng Zhen’s been acting all secretive lately. I heard the governor’s office has been taking in those abandoned by the immortals, people with spiritual roots but no qualifications. No one knows what he’s doing now.”
Life had to go on, but without Liu Chuang and Meng Zhen, the usual literary gatherings were no more.
Liu Chuang was always the one to arrange them and bring everyone together.
They hadn’t realized before just how much they relied on him. Now that he was gone in search of immortality, the distance between them and the others became painfully apparent.
Without a mutual connection to bind them, the ties between friends naturally began to fray.
Li Qingfeng didn’t dwell on it too much. Sometimes, even with people you’ve known for years, a certain distance naturally grows, like an unfamiliarity that can’t quite be bridged.
When everyone was together, it didn’t seem like a problem. But once the key person was gone, the cracks became glaring.
Perhaps it was just as well. With no one to disturb him, he could focus on cultivating the Dao.
If the talent was poor, then work harder.
There was no concept of time inside the soul banner.
No sun, no moon like being in a prison.
Thankfully, Tu Shanjun could still practice martial arts every day.
He also revisited the knowledge he’d had before crossing worlds, reciting the ¹Dao De Jing and chanting the Heart Sutra.
Those were the only two scriptures he had ever memorized.
The Dao De Jing was for posturing, and so was the Heart Sutra.
He’d never imagined he’d end up in a world of cultivation. If he had known, he would’ve memorized more Daoist texts.
Tu Shanjun found it a pity that he hadn't studied the classics of his old world more seriously.
Teaching Li Qingfeng in dreams became one of his few remaining pleasures.
Two more months passed.
Li Qingfeng was still at the first layer of Qi Refining.
But his spiritual power had grown.
His martial prowess had become more refined, and with the nightly training against ghosts in the dream realm, his combat skills had improved dramatically.
Tu Shanjun asked him not to slack in the real world either.
He was to train by day and refine techniques by night until muscle memory was ingrained.
Li Qingfeng gripped the soul banner tightly and infused it with his spiritual power.
As though gazing inward, he saw the landscape within the soul banner.
Gray fog stretched endlessly, sky and earth indistinguishable. Vicious spirits swarmed together, resembling the gates of hell itself.
The ghosts didn’t look particularly terrifying, save for a few stronger ones.
The white-faced ghost he often sparred with was among the powerful few.
At the center of the horde sat the main ghost in meditation.
As his spiritual energy surged, Tu Shanjun sensed he could now move.
He stepped out of the banner and into the real world.
The study was elegantly traditional with shelves of books, some ancient, some newly bound, lined behind him.
Li Qingfeng’s face paled visibly, sign of depleted spiritual power.
Before Tu Shanjun could take in his surroundings, his form dissolved into black smoke and was pulled back into the soul banner.
“Five breaths.”
Li Qingfeng smiled. His spiritual power had doubled, enough to summon the main soul for five full breaths.
From the initial two breaths to now five.
His dantian held ten strands of spiritual power, each as fine as a hair.
He was still far from reaching the second layer of Qi Refining.
One strand was Qi Refining first layer. Ten strands was still first layer.
Another two months passed.
A long-absent Yang Lingu came to visit.
He was in a hurry.
Once seated, he only frowned, saying nothing.
“Brother Yang?”
Li Qingfeng called out, snapping Yang Lingu out of his daze.
“Wubao, warm Brother Yang’s tea.”
Wubao quickly replaced the cold tea with a fresh, steaming bowl.
Yang Lingu hurriedly apologized, “Brother Qingfeng, forgive me. I truly don’t know… how to say this.”
“You’re being too polite. Speak freely.”
“Meng Zhen…may already be dead.”
Words shocking enough to freeze the air.
As the sentence landed, a sharp gleam flashed through Li Qingfeng’s eyes.
“Yang, that’s a horrible joke,” Li Qingfeng said gravely. Even if they’d grown somewhat distant, Meng Zhen was still a friend.
That kind of joke was no laughing matter.
Yang Lingu’s voice trembled with grief. “I would never jest about such a thing, Brother Qingfeng.”
As he spoke, he retrieved a messenger pigeon from his robe. White-feathered, red-beaked. He opened the letter box tied to its leg, it was empty.
“Meng Zhen and I were very close. We shared everything.”
“Three months ago, he told me the governor was providing cultivation techniques to those with spiritual roots.”
“He even managed to sense spiritual energy and became a Qi Refiner.”
“But this past month, he grew more and more difficult to contact. Our last exchange was seven days ago.”
“He rushed to meet me and said the technique had issues.”
“He also said the governor’s men were watching them closely, not allowing anyone to leave.”
“Before we parted, he told me: if the pigeon returns with no message… it means he’s likely been silenced.”
By the time Yang Lingu finished, Li Qingfeng’s face was clouded with severity.
There’s something terribly wrong with the governor’s office.
Even Tu Shanjun, upon hearing this, had the same thought.
The mere fact they were recruiting the “rejected” spiritual root holders made their intentions suspect.
Now that Meng Zhen had vanished, the governor’s office was the prime suspect.
“I don’t know what else I can do,” Yang Lingu sighed deeply.
A month ago, Liu Chuang had hosted a farewell banquet for the three of them. Meng Zhen didn’t show up.
Liu Chuang had already left with the immortal master. His family had the most influence.
Now that he’d gone, no one else could help.
Yang Lingu had turned to the last of their five, but that man didn’t think it was serious. He suggested Meng Zhen might just be in secluded cultivation.
Yang couldn’t go to Meng Zhen’s family with this either. If he told them such news, they might beat him out of the house.
With nowhere else to turn, he came to Li Qingfeng.
He didn’t expect Qingfeng to solve it but someone else needed to know. If he were to die too, the secret would be lost.
More importantly, bearing this burden alone was becoming unbearable. Every step he took felt like walking on a cliff’s edge.
He needed someone to help him think things through.
He needed to confirm Meng Zhen’s fate quickly.
“Qingfeng, your family runs several businesses. You must know someone close to the governor’s advisors,” Yang Lingu said, hope shining in his eyes.
Just then, Li Qingfeng’s gaze swept over him.
Gone was the high-spirited Yang of the past. In his place stood a haggard man, weighed down by worry.
“I’ll find someone to ask,” Li Qingfeng finally said.
Yang Lingu thanked him sincerely, though he didn’t hold much hope.
Li Qingfeng gripped the soul banner tightly, watching Yang’s retreating figure.
It had been two months. He now had ten more strands of spiritual power, enough to let the main soul roam for ten breaths.
Enough to unleash Night Parade of a Hundred Ghosts once.
Most ordinary people were no match for him.
Even those so-called first-class or innate martial experts would be torn apart by the main soul’s fury.
Tu Shanjun’s expression didn’t change.
It seemed Li Qingfeng had already decided to investigate the governor’s office.
He had no words to dissuade him.
Could he really persuade him to stop investigating, to ignore his friend’s life and death?
Tu Shanjun couldn’t do it.
Some things must be done, even if one is still weak.
(Chapter End)
¹ Dao De Jing, a classic Chinese text by the sage Laozi.