275: Chapter 275 The Undercurrents of the Floating Pagoda Realm

Floating Pagoda World, Ancestral Land Elder Hall.

This ancient hall, which had existed for tens of thousands of years, was exceptionally oppressive today. The Saint Spirit Crystals embedded in the dome still emitted a milky-white light, yet they could not dispel the heavy, murderous aura within the hall. Thirty-six Obsidian Chairs were arranged in an arc. Those seated were all elders of the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan who held real power, with the lowest cultivation being a Spirit Grade Heavenly Sovereign. Behind them, portraits of ancestors from past generations flickered in the candlelight, pairs of old eyes that had long turned to dust silently watching this meeting.

Budu Xuan sat in the main seat in the center, his hair and beard silver-white, his face as rigid as if carved by a knife and axe. One of his withered hands rested on the armrest, his fingertips tapping unconsciously against the obsidian, the rhythm neither fast nor slow, yet it felt like it was tapping on everyone's heart. The sound was exceptionally harsh in the quiet hall, like some ancient torture device slowly tightening.

"Mu Chen." Budu Xuan spoke, his voice hoarse and deep, like two rough bone fragments rubbing against each other. "That bastard born to Qing Yanjing and a mortal from the Lower Planes. I said more than a decade ago that this child could not be left alive. Now, he has established the Mu Mansion in the Tianluo Continent, integrated six major forces, and has six Spirit Grade Heavenly Sovereigns under his command. Reports from scouts a few days ago indicate that he has already broken through to the peak of the Spirit Grade Heavenly Sovereign."

An oppressive commotion arose in the hall. Some whispered to each other, some looked livid, and others kept their heads down—those were the elders of the Qing Lineage, who had been pushed out of the core of power after Budu Xuan took control. Over the years, they had long learned to remain silent during meetings.

"I proposed strangling that child in his cradle more than a decade ago; who among you opposed it so vehemently then?" Budu Xuan's gaze swept over the elders of the Qing Lineage who were keeping their heads down, his tone carrying undisguised sarcasm. "Look at it now. The fledgling has grown, its sharp claws are honed, and it is ready to swoop back at any moment to peck out your eyes. If you hadn't killed him back then, he wouldn't be grateful to you either. That bastard is just like his mother; the blood of rebellion flows in his bones."

The Chief Elder of the Qing Lineage, Qing Yanshan, slowly raised his head. He was Qing Yanjing's cousin, his hair and beard half-white, his face gaunt, his cultivation stalled at the peak of the Spirit Grade Heavenly Sovereign for thousands of years without progress. But when he spoke, his tone was respectful yet measured, his phrasing as precise as dancing on a blade's edge: "Great Elder, the Goddess voluntarily returned to the clan to be imprisoned back then precisely to protect this child. If we were to harm him now, would we not be breaking our promise to the Goddess? Furthermore, Mu Chen is now at the peak of the Spirit Grade Heavenly Sovereign, and he possesses the heavenly emperor sword. If he comes, I believe—rather than shouting about killing him, we should talk."

"Talk?" Budu Xuan tapped his fingertip heavily on the armrest, and a fine crack appeared on the surface of the obsidian. "Talk about what? Talk about how to let that bastard trample over the threshold of our Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan's Ancestral Hall and show off? If he could honestly stay in the Tianluo Continent and be his master of the Mu Mansion, I might not necessarily kill him all. But if he dares to step foot into the Floating Pagoda World—the imprisonment his mother suffered back then will be his fate. No, he will be even more miserable than his mother."

Saint Son Xuan Luo sat to the lower left of Budu Xuan, not speaking throughout the entire process. As a Saint Son, his position was only below Budu Xuan, but he had remained silent. It was not until Budu Xuan said this that he slightly raised his eyes, a flicker of faint worry flashing in them. He remembered the man in black who had stood in front of Mu Chen outside the Ancient Heavenly Palace, and the miserable state of Saint Son Mohe You when he was burned to ashes before him. Hun Feng—Hall Master of the Spirit Hall, the Sixth Elder of the Great Thousand Palace, the Saint-Rank Heavenly Sovereign who had single-handedly repelled the Blood Shadow Twin Demons. Mu Chen was his most valued personal disciple; the entire Great Thousand World knew this.

In the end, Saint Son Xuan Luo did not speak. He knew that mentioning Hun Feng while Budu Xuan was in a fit of rage would only add fuel to the fire.

A pro-war elder stood up abruptly, his voice like clashing iron and stone: "Great Elder is absolutely right. The child Mu Chen has already gained momentum in the Tianluo Continent. If we do not make a move now, he will surely become a great threat in the future. In my opinion—we do not need to wait for him to come to us. Our Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan should take the initiative, send elites to the Mu Mansion, and take advantage of the time before he is firmly established—"

"Shut up." Budu Xuan coldly interrupted him, his tone carrying a condescending indifference. "The Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan is one of the Five Ancient Clans, with a heritage of tens of thousands of years. How can we lower our status to go to the Tianluo Continent to fight a junior? I cannot afford to lose that face. If he wants to come and die, we will fulfill his wish. Pass down the order—from this day on, strengthen the defenses of the Ancestral Land, activate all three layers of the Forbidden Hall's Spirit Arrays, and in addition to the two rotating elders, deploy four more Heavenly Sovereigns to guard the outer layer. If the sinner dares to come, there is no need to report; kill him without mercy."

The elder sat down awkwardly, not daring to say another word. Budu Xuan's gaze swept across the hall again, and every elder touched by his gaze unconsciously lowered their heads. Finally, his line of sight rested on Qing Yanshan, lingering for a long time, so long that a layer of fine cold sweat seeped from Qing Yanshan's forehead.

"Qing Yanshan." Budu Xuan's voice suddenly calmed down, so calm that it made people's spines chill. "Is Qing Yanjing still behaving in the Forbidden Hall?"

"The Goddess has always been well-behaved. She meditates and chants scriptures every day and has not had any unusual movements," Qing Yanshan replied with his eyes lowered, every word sounding as if it had been measured with a ruler.

"Well-behaved?" Budu Xuan sneered. "She has been well-behaved for over a decade because she hasn't seen her son. Now that her son is at the gates, can she still be well-behaved? Notify the rotating elders—from today on, adjust the Forbidden Hall's Spirit Arrays to the highest level; no one is allowed to visit. If Qing Yanjing makes any unusual moves, execute her first and report later."

Qing Yanshan trembled all over, bowed, and replied: "Yes." He lowered his head, a flicker of complex light that no one noticed flashing in his eyes.

Forbidden Hall.

In the deepest part of the Ancestral Land, outside the layers of Spirit Arrays, a solitary stone hall stood in the darkness. There were no guards outside the hall—they were not needed. Three layers of Saint-Rank Spirit Arrays wrapped the hall so tightly that not even a moth could get in without his permission. Every entry and exit node was personally controlled by Budu Xuan himself.

Embedded in the four walls inside the hall were several Spirit Crystals, emitting a cold, eerie white light. The air was filled with a faint sandalwood scent—that was the spiritual incense used by the Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan to suppress the restrictions. Smelling it for a long time could calm one's soul, but after smelling it for over a decade, this fragrance had become a silent torture. It constantly reminded the person imprisoned here: You have been here for a long time, and you will stay here for even longer.

Qing Yanjing sat cross-legged on the stone bed, her moon-white dress glowing with a faint pearlescent luster under the cold light. A gold, vine-like headpiece extended from her raven-black hair, and the diamond-shaped forehead ornament remained bright, yet it could not light up the shadows that had settled in her eyes after being imprisoned for too long. It had been over a decade. Her cultivation was still sealed, but her perception had never fallen asleep—the intuition of a Saint-Rank Heavenly Sovereign could not be completely suppressed by mere Spirit Arrays.

The sky of the Floating Pagoda World was not quite right today. The fluctuations of the Spirit Arrays were more frequent than usual, the footsteps of the patrolling disciples outside the hall were denser than usual, and even the air was filled with an oppressive atmosphere, as if a storm were coming. And there was that indescribable premonition—a palpitation rising from the depths of her bloodline that could not be detected by any Spirit Art, like a zither string being lightly plucked by an invisible finger.

She slowly raised her hand and looked down at her slender, fair fingers. There was a very slight tremor in her fingertips—not fear, not nervousness, but a bloodline resonance that her body had sensed before her consciousness. She knew what this meant. Her son was coming here. The infant in swaddling clothes she had protected in the Bailing Continent over a decade ago had now grown into a man capable of making the entire Ancient Floating Pagoda Clan feel as if they were facing a formidable enemy.

"Chen'er." She whispered very, very softly, her voice hoarse, as if she hadn't said these two words for too long. During these dozen years of imprisonment, she would silently recite this name in her heart every day, but when she actually said it out loud, her throat still tightened. Her phoenix eyes turned slightly red, but there were no tears—a dozen years of imprisonment had long since boiled her tears into something sharper. She placed her hands back on her knees, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, the shadows in her eyes had receded for the most part, replaced by a cold and tenacious light.

He had grown up. He had come. Then this time, she would not let anyone stop her. Budu Xuan could not, the Ancestral Pagoda could not, no one could.

The eternal lamp on the stone table flickered slightly. The flame swayed, casting her long, slender shadow on the four walls. She looked up at the ceiling of the hall, her gaze seemingly piercing through the layers of Spirit Arrays and the stone walls with tens of thousands of years of history, landing in a place very, very far away. Then she closed her eyes again, formed seals with her hands, and began to assault the seal inside her body that had imprisoned her for over a decade.

Meanwhile, in the residential area of the Qing Lineage in the Floating Pagoda World.

In Qing Yanshan's study, only a very dim oil lamp was lit. He had dismissed all his attendants and sat alone at his desk, with a blank communication talisman spread out in front of him. His fingers hovered above the talisman paper, hesitating to fall. Outside the window, the rhythmic footsteps of patrolling disciples could occasionally be heard; every time they passed, his fingers hovering in mid-air trembled slightly.

The words "execute first and report later" from Budu Xuan during the meeting this afternoon were like a poisonous thorn stuck in his mind, impossible to pull out. Budu Xuan was determined to kill Mu Chen, and Qing Yanjing in the Forbidden Hall knew nothing of all this. If Mu Chen truly stepped into the Floating Pagoda World, what would await him would be layers of Spirit Arrays and the siege of six Heavenly Sovereigns—no, Budu Xuan would not even let Mu Chen walk to the entrance of the Forbidden Hall. He would take action himself the moment Mu Chen stepped into the first line of defense of the Floating Pagoda World, killing him on the spot under the pretext of "trespassing on the Ancestral Land and offending his superiors."

Qing Yanshan gritted his teeth and finally let his finger fall. Spiritual energy was injected from his fingertip into the communication talisman; the spirit patterns on the talisman paper lit up layer by layer, eventually condensing into a line of extremely thin, dark red characters. He didn't write much—too much would be easy to intercept; he could only convey the most critical information in the most obscure way.

"The Great Elder has ordered to kill on sight. Chen is arriving. Prepare quickly."

He folded the communication talisman into a tiny paper crane and got up to walk to the back window of the study. Outside the window was a small path leading to the inner river of the Floating Pagoda World, and at the end of the path was an inconspicuous hidden canal. It was one of the few secret passages that the Qing Lineage had been secretly maintaining for many years—Budu Xuan's people didn't know about it, but Qing Yanjing knew about it before she was imprisoned. The paper crane trembled slightly in his palm and then silently sank into the night, disappearing into the darkness along the direction of the hidden canal.

Qing Yanshan stood in front of the window for a long time, until the night wind dried the cold sweat on his forehead, before he slowly closed the window. He turned around, his back against the window lattice, and an extremely bitter smile appeared on his aged face. He had done what he could. The rest would depend on that young man's fortune. A dozen years ago, the Qing Lineage failed to protect Qing Yanjing; this time—he at least had to deliver the message.