My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

He puffed out his chest:

"I am a true disciple of the Maoshan Sect, and I have studied magic for twenty-five years. I have never even heard of these things before. How can I believe you if you say it's true?"

Pu Songlin remained silent for a moment.

He neither argued nor explained, but simply nodded slightly.

"The Maoshan Sect is indeed a major sect. Its talismanic arts are renowned throughout the world."

Zhao Shouzhou became smug:

"It's good that you know."

Pu Songlin continued:

"Just because you don't know doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

Zhao Shouzhou was taken aback.

Pu Songlin looked ahead, his tone still calm:

"The world is vast and full of wonders. What you haven't seen may still exist. Even though Maoshan is vast, it may not encompass all the mysteries of the world."

Zhao Shouzhou felt somewhat uncomfortable after hearing what he said, but he was unwilling to admit defeat.

"Then tell me, are your stories true? Do you have any evidence?"

Pu Songlin shook his head:

"I have no evidence. But someone saw it with their own eyes."

Zhao Shouzhou was stunned:

Has anyone seen him?

Pu Songlin nodded:

"Of course, all these things I've told you are true stories told by the people in various places I've visited."

He paused, then said:

"I still vividly remember the sacred spring left behind by that Taoist priest. It can cure diseases and strengthen the body for ordinary people. I have personally experienced that. And this is just spring water that he casually drew from the ground!"

Zhao Shouzhou opened his mouth, wanting to say it was impossible, but for some reason he couldn't say it.

This person spoke in such a flat tone that it didn't sound like he was bragging or telling a story.

Zhao Shouzhou remained silent for a long while, then suddenly said:

"Where is he now?"

Pu Songlin shook his head:

"I don't know. That Taoist priest's whereabouts are unpredictable, as elusive as a cloud. I've been trying to follow his trail, but I'm always just one step away."

Zhao Shouzhou's eyes lit up:

"Then take me to him!"

Pu Songlin glanced at him:

"What do you want with him?"

Zhao Shouzhou puffed out his chest:

"I want to see if his skills are really that amazing. If they are, I'll have to fight him and see who's stronger!"

He paused, then said:

"Also, why don't you write about me? I am a true disciple of the Maoshan School, a genuine Taoist priest. Your story will surely be more popular."

Pu Songlin looked at him and suddenly smiled.

The smile was faint, yet it carried a hint of something indescribable.

"You're quite confident."

Zhao Shouzhou didn't take it to heart:

"That's natural."

Pu Songlin stopped talking and continued riding forward.

Zhao Shouzhou affixed a talisman for speed and followed beside him.

The two men and their horse disappeared at the end of the official road.

Behind them, in the teahouses of Qinghe Town, the news of the "immortal" disappearing into thin air had spread throughout the entire town.

Some say it was a true deity who appeared and then disappeared.

Some say it was a monster that escaped using a trick.

Some people were kneeling there, kowtowing to the open space, muttering incantations.

But Zhao Shouzhou knew nothing of this.

All he could think about now was finding that Master Qingwei and seeing what kind of skills he actually possessed.

Also, he asked the storyteller to write stories for him.

Zhao Shouzhou is a true disciple of the Maoshan School!

......

The outskirts of the Ten Thousand Mountains.

The sky was dusky, and the mountain path was deep and secluded.

A corpse-driver, ringing a copper bell, walked at the very front.

He looked to be in his forties, dressed in a drab gray robe covered with talismanic patterns.

His face was deeply wrinkled, his brows were furrowed, and his expression was serious; he was clearly a veteran who had been in this business for many years.

Behind him followed a row of corpses.

Seven, no more, no less.

There were men and women, young and old, all with yellow talismans pasted on their heads, their hands hanging at their sides, hopping and skipping to the rhythm of the bells.

"Ding-a-ling—Ding-a-ling—"

The sound of the bell drifted in the night wind, carrying far and wide.

The corpse-driver walked along, shouting at the top of his lungs:

"When the dead walk, the living avoid them."

He called out a few times, then stopped and looked around.

It was pitch black all around, not a soul in sight.

This is deep in the mountains, in the middle of the night, where would a yang person come from?

He muttered something to himself, switched the copper bell to his left hand, and rubbed his throat with his right hand.

"I'm exhausted."

His name is Miao Gui, and he is eighteen years old. Although no one believes it, he is indeed only this age, just older than his age.

I walked for most of the night, and my voice is hoarse from shouting.

He shouted this to avoid frightening the yang people and to keep them at a distance.

But these 100,000 mountains are desolate and uninhabited; who would hear my cries?

Shout it to yourself?

He took a few more steps, then gave up and didn't bother calling out anymore.

"Ring—ring—"

Only the bell was still ringing.

As Miao Gui walked, he glanced back at the row of corpses.

Seven bodies, all neatly arranged, hopping around, very well-behaved.

He suddenly had an idea.

This mountain road is so long, it must be tiring to walk on it.

If only these corpses could carry him, how much less effort would that save?

He had heard that some highly skilled corpse-driving masters could have several corpses carry their sedan chairs.

He's not skilled enough, but he should be able to try having a corpse carry him.

He stopped, walked up to a male corpse, and peeled the talisman off its forehead.

The male corpse stiffened and stood upright.

Miao Gui climbed onto its back and wrapped his arms around its neck:

"Take a few steps and give it a try."

The male corpse did not move.

Miao Gui wasn't in a hurry.

He pulled a new talisman from his pocket and slapped it onto his forehead—it was a control talisman that would allow him to briefly control the corpse.

He closed his eyes and concentrated.

The male corpse moved.

It's not walking, it's jumping.

One jump, one jump, and another jump.

Miao Gui, clinging to its back, was jolted so much that he almost threw up.

But he gritted his teeth and continued to concentrate.

After jumping a few times, the male corpse's rhythm suddenly changed.

It wasn't jumping, it was bouncing around randomly.

Miao Gui's expression changed:

"not good!"

He hurriedly reached out to peel the talisman off his forehead, but as soon as he raised his hand, the male corpse suddenly flung him away.

Miao Gui rolled around on the ground a few times, then got up and looked—

It’s over.

The seven corpses were all in disarray.

Without the talisman's control, the corpses bounced around like headless flies.

Some jumped east, some jumped west, and some spun around in place.

The scene was incredibly chaotic.

Miao Gui's scalp was tingling with rage.

He grabbed the copper bell and shook it vigorously:

"Ding-a-ling ding-a-ling ding-a-ling—"

The ringing was urgent and chaotic, and the corpses jumped even more excitedly upon hearing it.

Miao Gui threw down the copper bell, took out a talisman, and chased after the corpses.

One, two, three.

As he chased after the corpse, he stuck talismans on its forehead. Once he stuck one on a corpse, the corpse would become obedient and stand still.

He was exhausted and covered in sweat. He chased after them for the time it takes for an incense stick to burn before finally affixing talismans to all six corpses.

He slumped to the ground, panting heavily, and counted:

One, two, three, four, five, six...

Six?

He suddenly stood up and counted again.

One, two, three, four, five, six.

There were indeed six.

Is there one more?