Chapter 169: The Rankings

Chapter 169: The Rankings

The mountainous terrain surrounding the land of the dead was entwined with bands of light, where the density of energy was exceptionally high. Eight transcendent beasts had constructed their nests around this no-man's land, forming a daunting perimeter.

Wang Xuan gazed into the distance, wondering what expression the Ferryman would wear upon seeing him. Would there be a warm reunion, or would the Ferryman think he's seen a ghost?

Perched atop a peak, Wang Xuan spied a family of Silk Serpents, two adults and two younglings, lazily basking in the sun outside their snake hole. He had no desire to disrupt their peaceful moment and decided to leave them be.

He also noticed the Mountain Tortoise, as lively as ever. Since the transcendent fruits had been plucked, it had been practicing its Spirit Tortoise Steps daily, ever vigilant for foes in that area. The herbless tortoise seemed somewhat pitiful, and he resolved not to disturb it.

Then, his eyes fell upon a Silver Bear, almost perfectly spherical from indulgence, which hardly ever strayed from its den. The bear's homely nature stirred a sense of compassion in Wang Xuan, and he chose not to intrude.

Moving on, he observed from afar a golden monstrous bird perched on a cliff, ferociously tearing into an elephant, its talons soaked in blood that stained the rocks red. Witnessing the savage bird's feast, Wang Xuan thought it best to leave this fierce creature to its meal.

After circling around, he found the eight great nests were heavily guarded, and approaching them seemed unwise—likely a consequence of his frequent, uninvited visits that had left the eight transcendent beasts less than welcoming.

"Some Earthlings from Oula," he heard someone mutter, spotting him. They could not hide their anger, and they stealthily retreated to gather more people for a hunt.

Wang Xuan had noticed them already, glancing indifferently in the direction of their departure, too disinterested to bother with them. His sights were set on transcending.

He was ready to enter directly into the land of the dead. The demonic fruits were now out of reach, with all the creatures on guard.

He felt the energy accumulated within him should suffice; the mysterious fog had been assimilated, he had drunk plenty from the fountain of the earth immortals, and he had consumed a significant amount of the transcendent beasts' flesh.

As Wang Xuan stepped into the shrouded mists, all sounds ceased. The abundant sunshine of the Hidden Land morphed into a cold, moonlit night scene with the silver moon hanging high above. Upon entering, his body writhed in pain once more, pores bleeding, yet he shrugged off the discomfort as an old acquaintance.

This time, however, something was different. On the path that must be taken to reach the blue lake, a massive golden-yellow metallic lump appeared, standing over five meters tall. Clearly weathered by the ages and coated in dust, it emitted an extraordinary presence, inexplicably unseen in his previous visits.

Approaching the metal, Wang Xuan wiped it with his hand, revealing beneath the dust a surface that dazzled brilliantly, like a sun breaking the horizon, its true magnificence unveiled. Astonishment seized him at the thought that it might be Sun Gold—a legendary material said to be used by immortals in forging weapons. How could such a sizable piece lie here, in this place?

He drew his short sword, tentatively aligning it against the Sun Gold. With a careful stroke, a jolt of excitement ran through him as the sword sliced through the metal. Could this be destiny's offering to him? He remembered well the value of Sun Gold; a mere hundred grams could command a price of five hundred million New World Credits, a veritable fortune.

He inspected it closely, poised to carve off a large chunk with his short sword. Such mythical material, fit for the weapons of celestial beings, would be an offering fit for a goddess like Zhao Qinghan. To trade with Elder Zhong for sacred texts seemed not just possible, but promising.

With a decisive clang, he struck the Sun Gold, and a deep crack appeared. Judging by the size of the fissure, a few more strikes would likely cleave off a piece weighing dozens of pounds.

As Wang Xuan recoiled, the colossal nugget of Sun Gold came alive, emanating a light so intense it cast a radiant barrier between him and the precious metal. Although tinged with a slight sense of loss, he couldn't harbor much regret; he was well aware that the relics of the Eura did not surrender themselves easily.

Inscriptions caught his eye, a myriad of enigmatic glyphs densely packed and cascading down the height of the monolith. They were a puzzle, their meanings elusive, characters from a lexicon Wang Xuan could not decipher.

A cautious brush of the golden barrier at its base, and he felt a vibration—a resonance with something intimately familiar. The script before him shifted, morphing into a narrative uniquely his own. The once arcane symbols spelled out a new truth: "Wang Xuan, who has thrice walked the Eura, remains but a mortal."

What was this towering testament of Sun Gold, bearing enigmatic symbols that seemed to catalog names and tales?

His own name was etched into this chronicle for his repeated ventures into the Eura as a mortal. But who were the others whose stories were etched in the lines above?

He reached out, attempting to trace the glyphs above his own, only to be met with a rebuff: "Rank insufficient, viewing restricted."

"A cursed rank of enigma with a less than satisfactory interface," he quipped, a smile fighting the edges of his frustration.

Each successive line he touched rebuffed him with the same denial of access until a celestial melody pierced the silence. The monolith of Sun Gold burst forth with light, and amidst the undulating mist, a high-placed line was suddenly highlighted and made legible. A spiritual imprint bore forth its message: "Chen Tuan of the Western Lands, achieved mastery under the Wutou Tree with the Nine-Color Golden Pill, and with the inception of the Nine Turns Ascended Immortal Technique, he vanquished..."

He would never divulge the secrets of the treasures vying for the Immortals' attention, which had been cast into his Inner Landscape. Should word get out, all forces would converge upon him.

Next time he explored his Inner Landscape, Wang Xuan resolved to scrutinize the inscriptions on the treasure closely. Were they coveted secrets desired by the immortals, or something even more profound? He was eager to find out.

Suddenly, he was startled by an anomaly, “Something fell from the moon!” Indeed, the night was full of surprises.

White light cascaded down like a celestial rain of ascension, dousing the sea. It appeared as if treasures from the heavens themselves were descending upon the world.

Wang Xuan's gaze was locked on a curious sight—a scroll cascading from the moon with an ethereal grace. "A scripture from the moon itself?" he marveled in quiet disbelief.

The Ferryman, meanwhile, seemed unsurprised. "So it has come. You've ventured into the Hidden Lands thrice as a mere mortal and now find your name etched on the Sun Gold List. The heavens seem to look upon you with favor," he mused with a note of reverence.

Skepticism edged into Wang Xuan's voice. "Senior, you've never truly set foot on the Passing Moon, have you?" he prodded.

"I've not, yet I've observed its enigmatic behaviors," the Ferryman admitted, his eyes carrying the weight of untold stories.

The scripture floated above the raft, bathed in a ghostly glow, hinting at otherworldly origins. Wang Xuan felt a twinge of unease as he noticed a shimmering thread, fine yet formidable, tethered to the scroll—reminiscent of a fisherman's line.

Upon inspection, the lunar thread was infinitely more intricate and durable than any mundane fishing line, embroidered with runes pulsing with the breath of cosmic laws.

The cover of the scripture was inscribed with cryptic symbols, initially indecipherable to Wang Xuan. However, a mental flash suddenly decoded their meaning: "Sixteen-Foot Golden Body Technique."

A surge of connection stirred within him. His own practice involved the cultivation of a golden body, and now, as if by destiny, a possibly Buddhist manual on corporeal refinement had literally fallen into his life. The serendipity was as unsettling as it was exhilarating.

Despite the allure, the knowledge of Buddhism's sacrificial climax—a self-consuming fire—quelled his eagerness.

Turning back to the Ferryman, Wang Xuan sought historical context. "Has such an event occurred before? What became of those who claimed the scripture?"

"The thread led them to the moon, or so it seems," the Ferryman replied, his certainty clouded by ambiguity.

"Led to the moon? It feels more like they were being fished out of this world," Wang Xuan remarked, his suspicion growing. He envisioned the thread as a celestial angler's line, complete with bait and an unseen hook.

The Ferryman shook his head, a gesture of resignation. "The mysteries of the moon are beyond my ken," he confessed.

Wang Xuan pondered the origins of the Passing Lands, speculating they might predate even the ancient immortals. "Could it be that this Passing Moon is older than the array of immortals themselves?" he mused, a hint of concern crossing his features.

There was a creature—or perhaps a person—fishing from the moon. The notion was absurd, and no matter how little he understood of the lunar enigma, Wang Xuan was resolute: he would not ascend to its surface.

He scoffed at the scripture titled "Technique of the Sixteen-Foot Golden Body" before him. "What worthless secret is this? It's nothing compared to the texts in Old Zhong's library. To think I haven't seen the world—take it back!" In a mix of disbelief and bewilderment, he watched the fishing line retract, taking the volume back into the night sky.

Soon after, another scripture descended from the heavens, suspended above their bamboo raft, dangling from yet another line. "Have you set your sights on me, thinking me a fish to be hooked?" Wang Xuan unsheathed his short sword. If the text proved valuable, he would consider it; if not, he would send it back.

He scrutinized the cover of this new scripture, eventually deciphering its title through an imprint in his mind: "The Primordial Cleansing Spirit Technique." The name alone was imposing, promising exceptional profundity. He glanced at the ferryman, seeking confirmation. "It's a renowned spiritual technique from the early days of Taoism—a truly sophisticated piece of knowledge," the ferryman responded with gravity.

Wang Xuan examined the scripture thoroughly, yet restrained himself. "There are even more powerful secret texts in Old Zhong's library. This one doesn't measure up." Without a sound, the scripture was reeled away, vanishing into the ether.

The ferryman spoke softly, his curiosity piqued. "May I ask, who is this Old Zhong, and what sort of secret teachings does his library hold?"

As they conversed, the moon cast another fishing line downwards, spilling radiant light like a celestial shower. A vibrant scripture emerged, its daoist essence shining, brimming with runes, and slowly descended towards them.