4: Chapter 4 First Arrival at Qingyang Temple

Early the next morning, the sky was just beginning to brighten.

A carriage, not particularly luxurious but spacious enough, slowly drove out of the Zhao family estate gates, accompanied by the respectful send-off of the steward and a group of servants.

Chen Fan leaned against the soft cushions, closing his eyes to rest.

The carriage wheels rolled over the bluestone road, emitting a rhythmic "rumble."

He did not lift the carriage curtain to look at the fearful or curious gazes outside.

The madness of last night—three warm, soft bodies, three completely different women—now left only a blurred impression in his mind.

There was no lingering taste, nor any guilt.

He was simply using the fastest way to complete his authentication as the character, Zhao Long.

Yes, that was it!

The carriage traveled for over an hour, and the bumping sensation gradually intensified.

The wheels had left the official road and began climbing along the winding mountain path.

"Young Master, we have arrived at the foot of the West Mountain."

The coachman's voice came from outside.

Chen Fan opened his eyes, pushed open the carriage door, and stepped down.

Zhang San and Li Si also jumped down from another servant's carriage, carrying the luggage that had been prepared long ago.

Looking up, a steep stone staircase wound upward, disappearing into the verdant forest.

Mist swirled through the mountains, and halfway up the slope, the blue-grey upturned eaves of roofs were vaguely visible.

That was Qingyang Taoist Temple.

"You wait at the foot of the mountain."

Chen Fan gave the instruction, picked up a parcel himself, and stepped onto the stone stairs first.

Zhang San and Li Si hurriedly followed, wanting to help carry the luggage, but were stopped by a gesture from Chen Fan.

He needed to experience this path himself.

To feel just how feeble this body, hollowed out by wine and lust, truly was.

The stone stairs were very long.

After walking for less than a quarter of an hour, Chen Fan began to pant, and his legs felt weak.

His heart pounded in his chest, each beat carrying a dull exhaustion.

This was the body of a wastrel.

A golden exterior, but rotten within.

Chen Fan's pace slowed, but he did not stop.

He needed power.

In this world where human life is as thin as paper, whether to live better or to experience more diverse lives, power is the Foundation.

And this Golden Finger, "Substitution Rebirth," while powerful, was too passive.

He could not always rely on being killed to become stronger.

Moreover, the extreme pain when dying was unavoidable.

He was no masochist to go looking for suffering.

He had to possess power of his own, power he could actively control.

Finally, the mountain gate came into view.

It was a simple stone archway, engraved with the three characters "Qingyang Taoist Temple," the script ancient and bearing marks of erosion from wind and rain.

Two young Taoists in grey robes were leaning against the stone lions by the gate, chatting, looking completely bored.

Seeing the three of them approach, they lazily straightened up.

One of them, a tall, thin man with upturned eyes, sized Chen Fan up, curling his lip at the sight of his luxurious clothing.

"Who goes there?"

The other, slightly shorter Taoist spoke in a flat tone, yet with a hint of condescending scrutiny.

"Zhao Long."

Chen Fan announced his name, his breathing still somewhat unsteady.

"Zhao Long?"

The tall, thin Taoist let out a "pfft" of laughter, as if he had heard some huge joke.

"So it's the Magistrate's Young Master Zhao. I've heard much about you, truly, I've heard much."

Though his words claimed respect, the contempt and mockery on his face were undisguised.

In all of Qinghe County, who didn't know what kind of person Zhao Long was?

Bullying men and women, committing every evil.

And now he had actually run to their place of quiet cultivation?

It truly dirtied the grounds of Qingyang Taoist Temple.

"Uncle-Master Liu has already given instructions."

The shorter Taoist said expressionlessly, "Young Master Zhao, is it? Follow me. The temple has its own rules; this is not your family's backyard. Put away your Young Master temper, or else you'll have a hard time."

His words were full of intimidation and warnings.

Chen Fan did not speak.

He just calmly looked at the two men.

From Zhao Long's memories, he knew that these small characters were best at sizing people up and treating them accordingly.

They had decided he was just that willful and arrogant wastrel, which was why they dared to be so insolent.

They wanted to give him a show of force.

"Carry your own luggage."

The tall, thin Taoist, who was Ming Feng, pointed at the parcels in the hands of Chen Fan and the servants behind him.

"Once you enter Qingyang Taoist Temple, there are no Young Masters, nor servants, only Disciples of the Dao."

"Carrying water, chopping wood, washing clothes, sweeping—these are all your lessons."

He walked up to Chen Fan and deliberately bumped into him with his shoulder.

The force wasn't great, but the insult was extreme.

"Did you understand? Young Master Zhao?"

Ming Feng leaned in, lowering his voice, full of malice.

Zhang San and Li Si's expressions changed instantly, their hands already resting on the hilts of the blades at their waists.

In Qinghe County, no one had ever dared to treat their Young Master like this!

But Chen Fan raised his hand, stopping them.

He looked at Ming Feng, who was inches away, and suddenly smiled.

"My father is Magistrate Zhao De of Qinghe County."

He spoke, his words very calm, as if stating a fact.

Ming Feng was stunned for a moment, then sneered.

"I know, so what? Trying to use your father to pressure me? Let me tell you, this is Qingyang Taoist Temple. The Temple Master and my master are peers with your father! You, a..."

He hadn't finished his sentence.

Chen Fan's next sentence made the smile on his face completely freeze.

"My father told me yesterday that Qingyang Taoist Temple receives three thousand taels of silver in incense money from the county government every year, used for repairing the halls and making offerings to the Three Pure Ones."

Chen Fan tilted his head.

"He said that this money doesn't seem to have been approved for this year yet."

The silence of a study instantly descended upon the area before the mountain gate.

The expressions on the faces of Ming Feng and the other short Taoist froze.

Three thousand taels!

For a common Taoist temple like theirs, that was a huge sum! It was the main source of their annual expenses!

They only knew Zhao Long was a wastrel, but they had forgotten that this wastrel's father was the official who held their lifeline!

"You... what do you mean?"

Ming Feng's voice was dry, his confidence completely gone.

"Nothing special."

The smile on Chen Fan's face disappeared, replaced by indifference.

"I just think this mountain path is too slippery and the stone steps are too hard. If I accidentally fall and crack my head, and go back to tell my father that the immortals of Qingyang Taoist Temple didn't take good care of me..."

He didn't continue.

But the threatening implication was already thick and inseparable.

Zhang San and Li Si exchanged glances, seeing the shock on each other's faces.

Was this... really their Young Master who only knew how to get angry and hit people?

These words, soft yet hard, struck directly at the vital point; they were a hundred times more vicious than directly hitting someone!

Cold sweat seeped from Ming Feng's forehead.

He was just a lowly Outer Sect Disciple; if the temple lost its incense money because of him, the Temple Master would surely skin him alive!

"Young... Young Master Zhao..."

His waist bent involuntarily.

"It's a misunderstanding, it's all a misunderstanding..."

"What misunderstanding?"

A resonant voice came from inside the mountain gate.

A middle-aged Taoist wearing blue robes, slightly plump, with a goat-like beard, walked out quickly.

As soon as he saw Chen Fan, his face immediately crinkled into a chrysanthemum-like smile.

"Oh my, isn't this my worthy nephew Zhao! Why didn't you send someone to notify us earlier so that this humble Daoist could have gone down the mountain to receive you!"

The person who arrived was none other than the Uncle-Master Liu in Zhao Long's memory, whose Daoist name was Xuan Li.

He was also the "master" arranged for him by Magistrate Zhao De at Qingyang Taoist Temple.

A typical sycophant, a person who was slick and worldly.

Daoist Xuan Li walked up close and immediately saw that the atmosphere was wrong.

He glared fiercely at Ming Feng.

"You blind thing! Hurry up and apologize to Young Master Zhao!"

Ming Feng shivered in fear and quickly bowed and offered obeisance to Chen Fan.

"Young Master, please forgive me! It was this lowly one who had eyes but failed to recognize Mount Tai; I couldn't speak any good words!"

Chen Fan didn't even look at him.

He just looked at Daoist Xuan Li.

"Uncle-Master Liu, right?"

"I wouldn't dare, I wouldn't dare, worthy nephew can just call me Daoist Xuan Li." Daoist Xuan Li smiled even more obsequiously.

"My father sent me up the mountain to cultivate in quietude and temper my temperament."

Chen Fan said indifferently.

"But why do I feel that the gates of Qingyang Taoist Temple are not very easy to enter?"

Daoist Xuan Li's heart skipped a beat, and he inwardly cursed Ming Feng for being an idiot.

He hurriedly promised, "Worthy nephew, rest assured! In this temple, absolutely no one will dare to give you even the slightest grievance! You are my, Xuan Li's, Disciple; you are just like my own son!"

He turned his head and shouted sternly at Ming Feng and the other Taoist.

"Are you blind? Hurry up and take Young Master Zhao's luggage and send it to 'Tingzhu Pavilion'!"

"Tingzhu Pavilion" was the best independent courtyard in the temple, usually used to entertain distinguished guests.

How could Ming Feng and the other dare to say a word? They snatched the luggage from Zhang San and Li Si and led the way, bowing and scraping.

A show of force instantly turned into a complete farce.

Some Taoists who had come upon hearing the noise watched this scene, their expressions varied.

There was disdain, there was jealousy, but more than anything, there was fear.

They finally understood that the person who arrived was not a wastrel who could be easily manipulated, but a plague god who needed to be carefully appeased.

Chen Fan, personally accompanied by Daoist Xuan Li, walked into Qingyang Taoist Temple.

He looked straight ahead, completely indifferent to the pointing and whispering around him.

In this world, ultimately, strength matters.

Fists are strength.

Power is also strength.

He was Zhao Long now, so naturally, he had to make good use of the conveniences brought by Zhao Long's identity.

"Worthy nephew, rest assured, as your master, I will definitely impart the sect's supreme skills to you without reservation!"

Daoist Xuan Li patted his chest, swearing solemnly.

Chen Fan was noncommittal.

What he wanted was just a gateway to contact the Martial Dao.

As for whether this master was sincere or fake, it didn't matter at all.

Soon, the group arrived at "Tingzhu Pavilion."

It was indeed a quiet and elegant courtyard, incomparably better than the large dormitory rooms of the ordinary Disciples.

Xuan Li gave a few more attentive instructions, left Ming Feng and the other to serve, and then left with satisfaction.

In the courtyard, only Chen Fan and the two trembling young Taoists remained.

"You two, bring me all the classics about martial arts from Qingyang Taoist Temple."

Chen Fan sat on the stone stool and issued his first order.

"All of them?" Ming Feng was stunned.

"Yes, all of them."

Chen Fan picked up the teacup on the table and blew on it gently.

"Did you not hear me?"

Ming Feng's face instantly turned pale.