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Chapter 222 The Masters' Shock
"Tianmeng·Winter Gate Swordsman·Fang Ang (Enemy/High-Rank 3-Star/Hero)"

In Wang Xi's view, the corresponding entry appeared above the white-clad swordsman's head.

The silver frame has been upgraded to a three-star rating.

This person's strength is considered top-notch among cultivators, and he could easily intercept and kill disciples of the Ink Sword Sect, but his luck was really bad, and this time he ran into Wang Xi.

"Senior sister, do you have a grudge against him?"

Wang Xi stood with his hands behind his back, calmly asking the black-robed female cultivator a question.

"Junior Brother Wang, I don't know this person."

Ruan Jiayao recovered from her shock and took a deep breath to explain, "But his style of doing things and his swordsmanship belong to the Winter Gate of the Heavenly Alliance, and he is a mortal enemy of my Mo Jian Zhai."

"I see." Wang Xi nodded. "Since they are enemies, let's take them back and hand them over to the elders in the temple for punishment."

"?!"

Upon hearing this, not only was Ruan Jiayao slightly taken aback, but even the white-clad swordsman on the ground was somewhat stunned.

The young man spoke as if he were casually grabbing a fish at a market and taking it home to make soup.

The Heavenly Alliance cultivators were a force to be reckoned with by many immortal sect disciples, but in the other party's eyes, they were no different from a dead fish.

Moreover, Fang Ang also understood from their conversation that this kid really was a new disciple of the Ink Sword Sect, and not some master in disguise.

This only makes things more puzzling.

How could a newly initiated disciple possess such terrifying strength?!
"Kid, I've really messed up this time."

Fang Ang lay on the ground, tightly bound by the "warning line," and sneered with a gloomy face, "But if my Heavenly Alliance were to learn that the Ink Sword Pavilion had produced a genius disciple like you, we would kill you at all costs..."

"Oh."

Wang Xi nodded casually.

"welcome any time."

Upon seeing this, Fang Ang's eyes twitched slightly. The other party seemed completely unconcerned, making him appear like a clown.

Wang Xi, too lazy to waste words with this guy, raised his hand and made a loose fist with his five fingers. A black hand materialized, grabbed the white-clad swordsman's wrist, and twisted it forcefully.

Gaba!

With a sharp crack, Fang Ang's hand was instantly broken, and the intense pain caused him to groan.

But it's not over yet.

Wang Xi manipulated the black hand to break Fang Ang's other hand and both legs. In the end, Fang Ang was trembling all over from the pain and almost fainted.

"A scholar can be killed... but not humiliated! Kill me!"

Fang Ang's eyes were bloodshot as he hissed.

Wang Xi ignored him and with a flick of his finger, the black hand lifted the crippled, limp white-clad swordsman up as if he were a chick.

As Ruan Jiayao watched this scene, she felt a chill run down her spine. This Junior Brother Wang was far more ruthless than she had imagined, and his strength was unfathomable.

She couldn't help but feel uneasy.

My actions of abandoning the other person and rushing on my own just now have probably offended them.

“Junior Brother Wang, I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you just now, it’s just that Senior Brother Kang…”

"Senior sister, there's no need to worry."

Wang Xi glanced at the female cultivator and said with a smile.

“Kang Jiekai colluded with the evil cultivators of the Heavenly Alliance to ambush and kill my disciples of the Ink Sword Sect. He is now fleeing in fear of punishment, and the masters of the sect will make their own decision.”

"Thank you for your understanding, Junior Brother Wang."

Ruan Jiayao breathed a sigh of relief and hurriedly thanked her.

Wang Xi put away her smile and said calmly, "Continue leading the way, Senior Sister."

"Okay...okay, junior brother."

Ruan Jiayao glanced again at the white-clad swordsman hanging in mid-air like a dead dog, then strode on her way.

Wang Xi followed closely behind, silently examining his harvest.

"Target defeated!"

He captured two dark green orbs of light from Fang Ang, the swordsman of the Winter Gate, which were now quietly floating in his mind.

After that, Ruan Jiayao didn't dare to cause any more trouble and obediently led the way.

As dusk deepened, the sunset lazily spread across the horizon, casting a warm glow over the silent mountains. Wang Xi followed behind Ruan Jiayao and finally arrived at the gate of Mojianzhai.

A secluded valley hidden among towering mountains quietly opens up, and what comes into view is a huge maple tree that has grown for countless years, standing in a staggered pattern with its branches and leaves spreading out.

A gentle breeze blows, and fallen leaves flutter and dance like golden butterflies in the sky, filling the air with a crisp scent and a hint of ink fragrance.

At the edge of this golden forest, three ancient and powerful characters are carved into a mountainside—

Mo Jian Zhai!
"Junior Brother Wang, we've arrived."

Ruan Jiayao stopped and turned around.

Wang Xi nodded, then noticed a solemn and dignified forest of steles standing on both sides of the entrance. Each stele was over ten feet tall, with characters engraved on them, written in a vigorous and powerful style.

As soon as he got close, he felt a jolt in his heart. The words seemed to possess a captivating power that inspired a sense of awe.

“These steles were all carved by the previous abbots and hall masters. Junior brother, don’t look at them too much, or it will harm your spirit.”

Ruan Jiayao kindly reminded her.

Wang Xi also faintly felt a stinging sensation in his primordial spirit, so he heeded the advice and withdrew his gaze.

His strength mainly comes from the Fairy Tale deck, while the Mysterious deck is still in its development stage, so he is somewhat overwhelmed by the Stele Forest deck.

"Truly miraculous... The inscriptions on these steles alone are enough to deter villains and defend against foreign enemies."

Wang Xi exclaimed in admiration.

In the center, surrounded by the Forest of Steles, lies an ink pond, about ten feet in diameter. The water is as dark as night, deep and pure.

Beside the ink pool, two gatekeepers dressed in dark, close-fitting clothes and with long swords hanging at their waists stood solemnly.

They had clearly sensed someone approaching, and their sharp eyes immediately locked onto Ruan Jiayao and Wang Xi.

When their gazes swept over Wang Xi and the swordsman beside him who was strangely suspended in white robes and had a weak aura, the expressions of the two gatekeepers changed.

"Junior Sister Ruan, what's going on?"

One of the square-faced disciples stepped forward and asked in a deep voice, his hand already quietly resting on the hilt of his sword.

Where is Senior Brother Kang?

Ruan Jiayao glanced at Wang Xi behind her, then took a deep breath and briefly recounted what had happened: "Senior Brother Kang colluded with the Heavenly Alliance to harm fellow disciples. This Winter Gate swordsman tried to kill me, but fortunately Junior Brother Wang intervened and subdued him..."

She stammered, appearing embarrassed and awkward when she talked about it.

Upon hearing this, the two gatekeepers' expressions changed drastically.

After confirming with their own eyes that the captured person was indeed the Winter Gate Swordsman, they all gasped, exchanged glances, and were filled with shock.

"I will go and report this to the Master."

The round-faced disciple reacted extremely quickly. Without saying a word, he turned around and transformed into a dark shadow, rushing towards the depths of the valley like lightning.

The square-faced disciple suppressed the turmoil in his heart and clasped his hands in greeting to Wang Xi, saying, "Greetings, Junior Brother Wang... This matter is of great importance, please follow me!"

His tone was polite but carried an undeniable gravity.

He led the way, taking Wang Xi and Ruan Jiayao with him, and quickly passed through the Stele Forest and Ink Pond, stepping into the core area of ​​the Ink Sword Pavilion.

Along the way, Wang Xi noticed that the palaces and pavilions here were built according to the mountain's contours, with an ancient and dignified style.

The square-faced disciple led the two to a spacious front hall called "Mingde Hall". They had barely stepped inside when they heard a series of hurried yet steady footsteps.

The leader was none other than Kong Tai, the Master Confucius, whose face was filled with concern. Behind him followed a dozen or so disciples in black robes, each with a calm demeanor and sharp eyes.

Their abilities are almost on par with Ruan Jiayao's, reaching the level of a three-star character from a blank slate.

"Xi Zhi, you've finally arrived." Confucius stepped forward quickly, his tone gentle: "I've been waiting for you for two whole months."

"I have kept Confucius waiting."

Wang Xi bowed with his hands clasped.

Confucius nodded, then looked at the white-clad swordsman hanging there, frowning as he asked, "Did you encounter an ambush by the Heavenly Alliance on your journey? Tell me in detail!"

"The thing is like this..."

Wang Xi nodded and began to speak softly.

He recounted in detail how he entered the inner realm of the Yellow Court, used the white jade seal as a token to summon Senior Brother Kang and Senior Sister Ruan for guidance, only to be deliberately abandoned by the two, and then encountered an ambush, among other things.

As they spoke, everyone frowned and looked at Ruan Jiayao with displeasure... She actually abandoned the task of guiding the new disciples halfway through?
They were almost intercepted and killed by the evil cultivators of the Heavenly Alliance!

It’s so embarrassing!

Confucius glanced coldly at Ruan Jiayao, said nothing more, and after a moment of silence, stroked his beard and smiled: "It's good that Xizhi is safe and sound. I knew I hadn't misjudged him."

Just then, a loud shout came from outside the hall:
"Where are the evil cultivators of the Heavenly Alliance?!"

Wang Xi looked in the direction of the voice and saw an old man in black robes with bristling hair and a stern face striding in with an angry aura. Behind him were several disciples, whose expressions were also not good.

This person is named Wu Mingyuan, one of the masters, and also the teacher of Kang Jiekai and Ruan Jiayao.

As soon as Master Wu entered the hall, his gaze was like lightning. He first swept his eyes over Ruan Jiayao, whose face was pale and who was trembling, and then he shouted sternly, "You wretched creatures! You have completely disgraced this old man!"

"Master, I know I was wrong!"

The sound was like muffled thunder, so loud that Ruan Jiayao almost fell to her knees. The female cultivator lay prostrate on the ground, weeping bitterly, not daring to raise her head.

"Your disciple was unaware that Senior Brother Kang was colluding with the Heavenly Alliance, almost causing harm to himself and others!"

After reprimanding his disciple, Master Wu turned his gaze to Wang Xi and the severely injured and crippled white-clad swordsman who had been thrown aside.

He frowned, took a deep breath, and said to Wang Xi:
"I am Wu Mingyuan. You are Wang Xizhi, the disciple Kong Tai took in from the Enlightenment Platform?"

"Indeed." Wang Xi bowed respectfully. "This humble one greets Master Wu."

"Indeed, a handsome man."

Master Wu stood with his hands behind his back and praised him.

"Rest assured, although Kang Jiekai and Ruan Jiayao are my disciples, they will be punished without exception... especially that traitor, who must be executed as a warning to others!"

As he spoke, his tone betrayed a palpable murderous intent.

This incident has now come to an end.

Fang Ang, the swordsman from the Winter Gate, was taken away and imprisoned by several disciples, awaiting interrogation.

Wang Xi then followed Confucius to another main hall. Above the door hung a blue jade plaque with three large, bold characters: Chengmo Hall.

The palace is magnificent and solemn, tall and dignified.

The hall was now packed with people.

A dozen or so elderly scholars sat on either side, while the heads of the four halls of calligraphy, painting, swordsmanship, and staff were seated at the innermost part. The master of the hall, dressed in a wide black robe, had an ancient and unsophisticated face and eyes as deep as an ancient well, and sat quietly in the main seat.

Below stood dozens or even hundreds of disciples in black robes, all standing respectfully, their eyes fixed on Wang Xi as he slowly walked into the center of the hall.

Master Song Hui calmly fixed his gaze on Wang Xi and chuckled, "Wang Xizhi, Confucius has already imparted to you the 'Ink Spirit Heavenly Question' technique of my Ink Sword Sect. How is your practice?"

"Please enlighten me, Master."

After speaking, Wang Xi made no attempt to conceal his intentions, raising his hand and simultaneously channeling his magical power. A gurgling sound emanated from the water.

A pure, harmonious, and spiritually rich ink emanates, like smoke or mist, condensing above the palm and transforming into a pair of yin-yang fish.

— "Swimming Fish Dotting the Inkstone"

"Huh?" The teachers all showed surprise. "This is 'Landscape Ink Spirit'?"

"And it's in a form I've never seen before!"

"They seem to be a pair of yin-yang fish. I wonder what's so special about them?"

"But only those who have cultivated the 'Ink Spirit Heavenly Question' to perfection can possibly condense this treasure. How did he manage to do that?!"

"Haven't you only been cultivating for two months?"

"Could he really be a genius?"

Exclamations rose and fell, not only the disciples stared wide-eyed, but even the Master and the four Hall Masters turned their heads in surprise.

"Good good!"

Confucius stroked his beard and smiled, his eyes filled with satisfaction.

He looked around the room, feeling a surge of pride. Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he abruptly stood up and burst into laughter:

"The 'Ink Spirit Heavenly Question' was created by 'Mysterious Lord' of my Ink Sword Sect. Although it only involves the three souls and seven spirits, it contains profound mysteries. Ordinary disciples can enter the basics in half a month, achieve minor mastery in three years, major mastery in six years, and complete perfection in nine years."

"Although Xi Zhi took two months to arrive at 'The Outer World,' it wasn't due to dullness or laziness, but rather... he only came after perfecting his 'Ink Spirit Heavenly Question'!"

Confucius stroked his beard and shouted:
"Gentlemen! What else could this be but a genius?!"

As soon as these words came out, the whole hall was shocked.

To say that one can master something in two months is to be considered dull-witted; to say that one can achieve minor success in two months is to be considered exceptionally talented; and to say that one can achieve major success in two months... is unheard of.

Not to mention, it's a perfect two months!
The way everyone looked at Wang Xi changed completely!
Even the usually placid Song Hui, the master of the temple, showed a hint of appreciation. The yin-yang fish in the young man's hand was no fake, and with a sweep of his primordial spirit, he could tell that the other man's three souls and seven spirits were condensed and contained a subtle luster of ink spirit.

"Confucius has a discerning eye, and he has helped my Mojianzhai to acquire such a prodigy. His contribution is immeasurable."

Song Hui affirmed Confucius's judgment and also highly praised Wang Xi. He then looked at Wang Xi and said in a gentle voice, "Wang Xi, you are exceptionally talented and have a resolute character. Would you be willing to become a disciple of my Mo Jian Zhai?"

"Disciple is willing."

Wang Xi bowed respectfully.

Swah——

The disciples all looked at their master who was present.

As is customary, such a promising talent would naturally attract the attention of all the masters, who would vie to take him under their wing. However, a strange scene unfolded—the usually dignified and imposing masters looked at each other in bewilderment, none of them uttering a word.

They exchanged glances, conveying the same message: how could they possibly teach such a monstrous creature?
They brought shame upon themselves.

Confucius looked around and understood. As the one who introduced him, he naturally hoped that Wang Xi would have a bright future.

He immediately looked at the head of the calligraphy hall, a fair-skinned, beardless middle-aged man in a white robe, and said with deep emotion, "Head of the hall, this boy's talent in calligraphy is one in a million. Perhaps he could become a disciple of the calligraphy hall?"

Wang Xi followed Confucius's gaze.

"Ling Yuan, Head of the Ink Sword Study (Friendly/One-Star Title/Elite)"

All four hall masters are titled experts.

However, Ling Yuan smiled first, then slowly shook his head. His gaze toward Wang Xi was filled with a complex mix of admiration, emotion, and regret.

He did not respond to Confucius, but turned to the host in the main seat and bowed deeply: "Master, Wang Xi's talent is beyond our ability to limit. Such a rough gem can only be properly taught by you, Master, so please make an exception and accept him as your disciple!"

These words resonate deeply.

The hall fell silent instantly; you could hear a pin drop.

The master of the temple personally accepts disciples?

The last time... was twenty-two years ago, when the master of the hall took in a talented woman named Qu Muqing. Now, she is the head of the painting hall present here.

In Wang Xi's view, an entry appeared above the abbot's head:
"Song Hui, Master of Mojianzhai, Calligraphy and Painting Taoist (Friendly/Five-Star Title/Legendary)"

The monk's deep gaze lingered on Wang Xi for a long time, and no one dared to utter a sound.

He did not immediately agree to Ling Yuan's proposal, but gently raised his hand. The disciple standing beside him understood and immediately brought out a set of antique writing brushes, ink, paper and inkstones—pine soot ink, sinking dragon scale inkstone, thousand mountain wolf hair brush, and plain snow Xuan paper.

"In that case..."

The abbot's voice echoed in the main hall.

"Wang Xizhi, I will test you once more. Here are your brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. Write something freely, without regard to style. Let me see if your calligraphy can reach the profound."

The teachers exchanged glances, already understanding.

This is not a simple test, but a demonstration of core traditions. The master of the temple wants to observe its "spirit," not just its "form."

Only if Wang Xi's writings contained the "divine" power to move the master of the temple, would he be qualified to become his personal disciple.

The hall was completely silent. The disciples were breathing heavily, their eyes fixed on the young man in the long black robe.

It seemed they wanted to see how he would perform.

The hall was filled with hundreds of disciples of the Ink Sword Sect, more than a dozen instructors, the four hall masters, the sect leader... Under the watchful eyes of everyone, the pressure was enough to make any newly initiated disciple tremble with fear and spill ink.

However, Wang Xi only stood still for a moment before nodding slightly and saying, "Okay!"

He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the exquisite calligraphy set, his eyes clear and bright, showing no sign of nervousness.

Immediately, Wang Xi calmly rolled up his sleeves, without hesitation or unnecessary movements, and swiftly picked up the wolf-hair brush.

Dip in ink, stroke the pen, and the proposal falls to the ground—

In an instant, the ink flowed across the pristine white Xuan paper like a dragon or snake, or like a sudden clap of thunder!
Swish!
The remaining sound of writing filled the room.

Wang Xi did not use the regular and dignified characters of regular script or clerical script, but instead wrote in an extremely unrestrained and wild cursive script.

As the written content was presented, everyone looked astonished.

It is not a work imitating the ancients or sages, but a travelogue and reflection written by Wang Xi based on his own experiences.

The opening three characters: "The Letter of the Demon's Death"

The brushstrokes are swift as the wind, penetrating the paper with force, concealing a sharp killing intent; the sword energy seems to burst forth from the paper, piercing the eyes.

"...In the twenty-first year of autumn in Moling, the hairy carp and millet raged. The ears of grain were stained with cinnabar and mottled with blood, the sacrifices misled the people. The children's marrow was exhausted, and the old bones were laid out on the ridges. Wang Sheng trod the muddy road, and the cold rain drenched the root of evil. Thunder roared and split the millet and sorghum, and the withered grain wrote the death of the god."

The powerful and refined martial arts energy surges between the lines. The preface, though only a hundred or so words long, has already sketched a breathtaking picture of demon-slaying.

"The evil aura of the bountiful harvest is rampant, and the allure of red sleeves dances. The spring water is filled with resentful spirits, and children cry frequently at night. I am invited to cleanse the demon's lair, and curses rise from the deep alley. Suddenly, the filthy sea recedes, and the wicked bodies of the three aunts stretch out..."

The brushstrokes became faster and more unrestrained.

The ink is sometimes thick and heavy, like the darkness pressing down on a city; sometimes dry and rough, like being cleaved by a knife and axe, until finally, in one breath, it is completed, ending in a magnificent five-character quatrain:

"The Mysterious Lord once roamed, his charm still lingers after a thousand years. His brushstrokes startled demons and monsters, his writings moved even ghosts and gods to tears. He left the Purple Palace with his sharp sword, his ink scrolls entered the mortal world. He slew three thousand demons, his book spread for millions of springs. The landscape hides mysteries, the grass and trees conceal demonic auras. He goes forth to seek the true meaning, hoping to leave a legacy for future generations."

The pen stops.

A powerful literary atmosphere seemed to leap off the paper.

An invisible force, seemingly imbued with a sense of righteousness and a profound ambition to attain enlightenment, swept through the hall.

call--

The disciples who were closer felt as if the ink was surging before their eyes, and the sword intent, fist energy, and staff shadow contained in the writing seemed to rush towards them.

There was an uproar.

The disciples involuntarily took several steps back, their faces pale. Those with weaker cultivation felt their blood churning in their chests and their eyes stinging, and they dared not look directly at the still-wet ink.

"This is?!"

Confucius was astonished.

On the newly written "Demon's Lament," the ink seemed to come alive. From the originally seamless ink marks, tiny, more refined and vibrant ink droplets spontaneously separated out.

To everyone's astonishment, a tiny child, no bigger than a finger joint and dressed in a simple, wide-sleeved black robe, appeared lifelike on the paper.

"The Child Guardian of Ink?!"

This time, not only Confucius, but also Master Wu, who was standing next to him, exclaimed in surprise, his voice changing with excitement.

Wang Xi was also surprised, wondering what this thing was.

He was so engrossed in writing that he didn't expect such a miraculous change to occur after he finished writing his original "Demon Mourning Post".

"Confucius, what is this?"

Wang Xi put down his pen and stood still, asking curiously.

Confucius was so excited that his face turned bright red:

“Xi Zhi, this is the ‘Guardian of Ink Boy’!”

"They are auspicious spirits born of nature, often accompanying masters of calligraphy! They cannot be manifested by ordinary brushes and ink; only masterpieces with outstanding literary talent, a spirit that transcends time and aligns with the great principles of heaven and earth can attract them by chance!"

At this moment, Ling Yuan, the head of the academy, added in a deep voice:
"It is said that when Xuanjun wrote his masterpiece 'Xuanjun's Journey', twelve ink-guarding boys appeared at the same time to protect his true spirit and ward off evil... Your 'Demon Funeral Post' has attracted the manifestation of one ink-guarding boy, which is an achievement that is rare throughout history!"

"It contains a trace of the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, which can increase 'yin virtue,' aid in the cultivation of the primordial spirit, and bring immeasurable benefits!"

Upon hearing this, Wang Xi was taken aback.

That's incredible!

At this moment, the little boy in black robes on the "Demon's Funeral Scroll" seemed like a lively sprite, jumping and dancing on the magnificent characters, appearing extremely joyful.

Finally, it seemed to have had enough fun. It stopped, turned around, bowed to the author Wang Xi, and then knelt down on both knees, prostrating itself like a devout believer worshipping a god.

After the ceremony, the small, dark figure swayed gently and vanished like smoke, leaving no trace.

The instant the boy disappeared, Wang Xi felt an indescribable coolness, as if it were flowing from the heavens into his ancestral aperture between his eyebrows.

He clearly felt a wonderful change happening to his body, and even his primordial spirit received a significant boost.

"amazing."

At this moment, the host, Song Hui, clasped his hands in praise.

"What a fine piece of writing, 'The Letter of the Demon'! And what a line, 'I am going to seek the true meaning of this journey, so that it may be known to future generations.'"

He slowly rose from the wooden chair, put his hands behind his back, looked directly at Wang Xi, and said in a deep voice, "You want to compare yourself to Xuanjun and write a travelogue in the style of 'Xuanjun's Travels'?"

Wang Xi took a deep breath.

In fact, after learning about Xuanjun's deeds from the peddler, he was filled with longing for it. So, when faced with the master's test, he wrote "The Demon's Funeral Post" on a whim.

"This humble one dares not compare himself to Xuanjun."

Wang Xi clasped his hands in a fist salute and said solemnly.

"I only ask that in this chaotic world, we eliminate evil and calamity, leave behind written records, preserve evidence of our time, and allow future generations to see the indelible traces of our ink."

Master Song Hui laughed heartily: "Excellent!"

He then waved his hand, his sleeves fluttering.

"Wang Xizhi, I wish to take you as my personal disciple. What do you think?"

"Meet the Master!"

Wang Xi flicked his robe and performed the disciple's salute.

(End of this chapter)