Under One Person: I Have a Billion Taoist Gods Within Me

Chapter 63 The Most Ruthless Man in the World of Extraordinary Beings! The Man the Japanese Pirates Fear Most!

Three days later.

In Sichuan, the Tang Clan.

The mountains resemble hibernating dragons, coiled deep within the clouds and mist.

A thousand peaks vie for beauty, and ten thousand valleys hide in seclusion. Houses with green tiles and white walls are built against the mountain, layer upon layer, hidden in the mist that never dissipates.

Outsiders passing by at the foot of the mountain would only think of it as an ordinary mountain village, where people have lived a simple life of farming and studying for generations, without any strife with the world.

Only those in the know understand that every blade of grass, every tree, every brick and tile here could conceal deadly traps and hidden weapons.

The seemingly ordinary bluestone slabs underfoot may be the trigger for the poisoned arrows;

The wildflowers swaying by the roadside may be a deadly poison that kills instantly.

Even the wind chimes under the eaves tinkle when the wind blows, and to those in the know, that sound is a signal that an outsider has broken in.

For centuries, the Tang Clan has been hidden among these seemingly ordinary mountains and rivers.

Tang Qiushan passed through numerous checkpoints and finally stood in front of that inconspicuous little courtyard.

The courtyard gate was ajar, and the sound of sweeping could be heard from inside.

Tang Qiushan stood outside the door and took a deep breath.

That breath, inhaled into his lungs, carried the bitterness of the mountain plants and trees, and also a kind of heaviness that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

The encounter three nights ago, the figure in the moon-white Taoist robe, the colorless flame, the words "Let those who should wake up wake up"—these words have been swirling in his mind for the past three days, he has thought about them no less than a thousand times.

But the more he thought about it, the more unfathomable it seemed; the more he thought about it, the more he felt that he had only glimpsed the tip of the iceberg.

He didn't know how the old man would react to these words.

He didn't know what those words meant.

All he knew was that if the Taoist priest had asked him to carry it, he had to do so.

He pushed the door open and entered.

Inside the courtyard, an elderly man dressed in a gray cloth robe was sweeping the floor.

The old man was terribly hunched over, his back bent like a bow, his white hair sparse like withered grass in autumn, and his hands holding the broom were thin and bony, with bulging veins.

His movements were so slow that it seemed as if he might fall apart at any moment—he would pause for a long time after each sweep, as if gathering the strength for the next swing.

But Tang Qiushan knew that this seemingly frail old man was none other than the current head of the Tang Clan, Old Master Tang.

For hundreds of years, the Tang Clan has weathered countless storms. Those who have been able to hold their positions have never relied solely on having the highest cultivation level or the most refined poison skills.

Instead, it relied on something more important: those eyes.

Eyes that see through people's hearts, eyes that see through the situation.

Tang Qiushan walked closer, stopping three steps away from the old man, knelt on one knee, clasped his hands above his head, and said in a deep voice, "Disciple Tang Qiushan requests an audience with the sect leader."

The old man didn't look up, continuing to sweep the floor slowly.

The broom swept across the bluestone slabs, carrying away a few fallen leaves and leaving a faint trail of water. There had been dew last night, and the slabs were still damp.

"You're back?"

The voice was hoarse and aged, yet it carried an air of authority that commanded respect.

"I'm back."

"Is your injury healed?"

"alright."

"How can I fix this?"

Tang Qiushan was silent for a moment.

He knew that nothing in the Tang Clan could be hidden from this old man.

Every checkpoint, every hidden sentry post, every carrier pigeon kept under the eaves—everything that happens in these mountains will, at some point, and in some way, reach the old man's ears.

He was on the verge of death when he escaped back to the Tang Clan; the old master must have known.

He is now standing here unharmed, and the old man has naturally seen him as well.

But how could he explain the Taoist priest, the colorless and formless flame, and the incredible "poison refining"?

If I tell him, will the old man believe me?

But he knew even better that in front of the old man, silence itself was the answer.

"He was saved by a Taoist priest."

The old man's hand paused slightly, and the broom stopped in mid-air.

"A Taoist priest?"

"Yes."

"What kind of Taoist priest?"

Tang Qiushan pondered the words, but found that no words could adequately describe that night, that figure in the moon-white Taoist robe, and those gentle, watery eyes.

Finally, he only said four words: "Unfathomable."

He paused, then added, "This disciple cannot see through him."

"I can't see through it at all."

"He stood there, and I could see him and hear him speak—but I just couldn't see through him."

"He has no aura, no power, no oppressive presence, nothing at all."

"But my disciple is unable to move in front of him."

"It wasn't that they were subdued, it wasn't that they were suppressed, it was—"

—

Tang Qiushan paused, as if searching for the right word: "They dare not move."

The old man finally raised his head.

A glint of light flashed in those cloudy old eyes.

"He saved your life, and then what?"

Tang Qiushan took a deep breath and said, word by word, "He asked me to pass on a message to the sect leader."

The old man didn't speak, he just looked at him quietly.

Tang Qiushan met that gaze and said in a deep voice, "He said one."

"This calamity for the Tang Clan is just the beginning."

"Greater tribulations await you in the future."

"If you wish to transcend the tribulation—"

—

"Let those who need to wake up, wake up."

The words fell.

The courtyard was deathly silent.

Even the wind has stopped.

Only the rustling sound of the broom hitting the bluestone slabs could be heard, but it had stopped sometime earlier.

The broom remained suspended in mid-air, and the hand holding it remained motionless.

The old man stood there, motionless.

Those cloudy old eyes were now swirling with a complex light that no one else could understand.

a long time.

The old man spoke, his voice even hoarser than before: "What else did he say?"

Tang Qiushan shook his head: "That's all I said."

"What's his name? What's his background? Why did he save you?"

"This disciple does not know."

Where did he go?

"This disciple does not know."

The old man remained silent for a long time.

So long that Tang Qiushan thought he would never speak again.

Then, the old man suddenly laughed.

The laughter was old and deep, yet it carried an indescribable meaning.

"Let those who need to wake up, wake up..."

He murmured the words repeatedly, then raised his head and looked towards the western sky.

There, the clouds were so thick that nothing could be seen.

But the old man's gaze seemed to pierce through the layers of mountains and the heavy clouds, landing on a certain person.

It fell into a certain period of time.

It landed on a name he thought he had long forgotten, but which turned out to be buried deep in his heart.

"interesting."

He said softly.

Then, he looked down at Tang Qiushan.

"You may leave."

"Yes."

Tang Qiushan got up, retreated to the courtyard gate, and then stopped.

He turned around, watching the hunched figure pick up the broom again and continue sweeping, and couldn't help but ask, "Master, what...what did that mean?"

The old man paused.

He didn't turn around, but simply said, "You don't need to know."

"Go."

Tang Qiushan dared not ask any more questions and turned to leave.

The courtyard gate closed gently.

Inside the courtyard, only the soft rustling of sweeping could be heard.

It took a long time to scan.

As the sun began to set and dusk gradually fell, the sun began to set.

The old man finally put down the broom, straightened up, and looked towards the western sky.

A strange light shone in those cloudy old eyes.

"The person who has woken up..."

He muttered to himself.

"Is that you?"

No one answered.

Only the night breeze rustled the branches and leaves of the old locust tree in the courtyard.

The old man withdrew his gaze, turned around, and walked into the house.

He stopped at the threshold.

I turned around and glanced at the western sky.

That glance was full of meaning.

Then, he pushed the door open and entered.

Inside the house, the lights were on.

The night of the Tang Clan has begun.

And some things—

And it has begun.

late at night.

All was silent except for the mountain breeze.

Old Master Tang sat alone in the room, a dim oil lamp casting a long, long shadow on the mottled wall.

The shadow swayed gently with the lamplight, like a hunched ghost wandering alone on the wall.

Before him lay a yellowed scroll of manuscripts, the "Poison Scripture," a secret text passed down through generations of Tang Clan leaders.

Every page is imbued with the blood, sweat, and lives of countless Tang Clan predecessors over the centuries.

But he wasn't looking.

His gaze merely lingered on a certain spot, as if he saw something else through the scroll, through the wall, through the vast darkness of the night.

What did you see?

He himself couldn't explain it.

But that one sentence kept swirling in my mind, like a spider's web in the night wind, impossible to shake off, only getting deeper and deeper.

"Let those who need to wake up, wake up..."

He murmured the words repeatedly, his voice so low that only he could hear them.

Who is that Taoist priest?

The moon-white figure described by Tang Qiushan, the pair of gentle, water-like eyes, the colorless and invisible flame, and the seemingly casual yet weighty phrase "Let those who should wake up wake up"—these characteristics, these details, and the "indescribable" presence in Tang Qiushan's words slowly brought a name to the mind of Old Master Tang.

Mianshan Daluo Palace, Liyuan Daozi.

The scenes from the Lu family's birthday banquet a few days ago have already spread throughout the entire world of supernatural beings, along with the departing guests.

The Celestial Master's image manifested, and the Junior Celestial Master Zhang Zhiwei bowed in public. The Great Immortal Zuo Ruotong offered him the Triple Rebirth Technique, but he politely declined...

Every single thing confirms the same fact:

This naturally gifted individual cannot be simply described as a "master" in the ordinary sense.

At this moment, he unexpectedly appeared in eastern Sichuan, saved the life of a Tang Clan disciple, and sent someone back with this message.

Old Master Tang closed his eyes.

He knew what the Tang Clan was facing.

The land of Sichuan, with its towering mountains and crisscrossing rivers, has been a place where dragons and tigers have lurked since ancient times.

The various forces are intertwined, and the open and covert struggles have never stopped.

The Tang Clan is a large and influential family; its centuries-old foundation has attracted enemies all over the world.

Three months ago, three of Tang Sect disciples were ambushed and killed in eastern Sichuan. Their deaths were extremely gruesome—not ordinary sword wounds, but tortured to death. It was clearly a provocation against the Tang Sect.

Two weeks ago, another shipment of goods bound for Huguang was robbed, and none of the eight disciples escorting the shipment survived. Their bodies were abandoned in the wilderness and gnawed beyond recognition by wild dogs.

He kept all of these things to himself.

Suppress the news, suppress the anger, suppress the disciples' requests to fight.

Because he knew the other party was waiting.

Wait until the Tang Clan can no longer hold back, wait until the Tang Clan takes the initiative to attack, wait until the Tang Clan reveals a weakness, and then fall into the trap.

This is the oldest and most effective tactic in the martial arts world.

The Tang Clan has seen this countless times over the centuries.

But every time, someone falls for it.

Because anger blinds us, and hatred devours our reason.

He held the position of sect leader for sixty years, and his greatest skill was forbearance.

But now, the unfathomable Daoist Li Yuan has sent a message back saying:

This is just the beginning.

What does this mean?

This means that the Daozi saw something.

They saw what the Tang Clan hadn't seen.

I saw something deeper than interception, robbery, or any other overt provocation.

They saw the calamity hidden deeper, larger, and quietly approaching.

Old Master Tang opened his eyes.

At this moment, a sharp glint appeared in those cloudy old eyes.

He remembered someone.

A person who should have been awake, but has been "asleep" for many years.

Tang Bingwen.

This name is rarely mentioned in the Tang Clan these days.

The younger generation of disciples only knew that a madman lived in the forbidden area behind the mountain, a strange man who had locked himself up for more than ten years, a taboo that even the elders of the sect were unwilling to mention.

Occasionally, curious individuals who wish to investigate would be stopped by the elders guarding the forbidden area, who would simply say, "There is no one you wish to see there."

But Old Master Tang remembers.

I remember ten years ago, how that young man in his early twenties amazed the entire Tang Clan with his "Cloud Piercing Needle" technique. Eighteen Cloud Piercing Needles were launched simultaneously, in eighteen directions, with eighteen different trajectories, and finally hit eighteen falling leaves at the same time.

At that moment, all the elders present fell silent.

Because that goes beyond the realm of "skill"; that's talent.

I also remember eight years ago, when that young man accepted that impossible mission and went alone to assassinate that master who was famous in the world of supernatural beings.

That master swordsman was a god of swordsmanship, and had killed countless people; three elders of the Tang Clan had fallen at his hands.

The boy went, and on his first attempt, he lost his footing, broke two ribs, and returned barely alive.

The second time, six months later, he infiltrated again, but failed once more and lost an eye.

Everyone thought he should give up. The expert had spared his life twice, which was already an immense favor. Anyone else would have stopped there.

But he didn't.

A year later, he infiltrated for the third time.

No one knows what happened that time.

All we know is that he came back alive, but the blind eye never opened again.

After his return, the expert personally visited him and said, "I cannot kill your disciple."

"It's not that you can't kill his body, it's that you can't kill his heart."

"

"I would also feel sorry if he died a third time."

The expert finished speaking and left.

From then on, Tang Bingwen began to go into seclusion.

He devoted his entire being to the greatest secret of the Tang Clan, Dan Shi.

Using one's own Qi to create a unique poison that specifically targets the meridians, this is the Tang Clan's supreme assassination technique.

Over the centuries, very few have been able to master it.

Other methods are easy to get started with, but become increasingly difficult and dangerous as you go deeper.

The Dan Shi method is the opposite—it's easy to learn once you start, but extremely difficult to master.

Before practicing, one must first change one's constitution with a secret external medicine, and then follow the Dan Shi Tu (丹噬图) method.

This step alone eliminated 99% of the Tang Clan disciples.

That Dan Shi Tu (a magical diagram) is as complex as a celestial script; one wrong step and all your meridians will be destroyed.

As for that secret external medicine, once ingested, it felt like a thousand ants gnawing at the heart; of those who could endure it, only one in ten survived.

The final step is even more difficult, like ascending to heaven, to break through the barrier between life and death.

It's not the kind of detached, fearless acceptance of death.

It wasn't impulsive courage, nor a momentary outburst of anger, nor the reckless act of "I might as well fight to the death."

It is about reaching a higher realm, a realm that is almost completely indifferent to life.

Including one's own life.

This also includes the lives of others.

If one's mind is not yet ready, yet one intends to create the Dan Shi within one's body for the first time, one will become a victim of the most poisonous substance in the world.

His death was extremely gruesome; blood flowed from all seven orifices, his body was covered in sores, and he died after three days.

Tang Bingwen secluded himself for ten years.

For ten years, the forbidden area behind the mountain remained deathly silent.

No one knows whether he has mastered it or not.

No one even knows if he is still alive.

But at this moment, Old Master Tang remembered him.

I think of that boy who attempted assassination three times, was spared each time, and lost an eye but still refused to give up.

I remember the boy lying in a pool of blood, his ribs broken, his eyes blind, yet he gritted his teeth and remained silent.

I recall the fleeting glint in that young man's eyes when he was praised by a master.

That light was not joy, not pride, not any emotion that could be called "positive".

That light was gone.

A kind of unfathomable emptiness, as if it sees through everything.

I remember what was hidden within that light—

That wasn't murderous intent, hatred, anger, or even anything that could be called an "obsession."

That was something deeper, colder, and more unsettling.

It is indifference.

It's a kind of indifference towards one's own life, a feeling of having long since seen through and understood it.

Old Master Tang suddenly understood.

The person Li Yuan Daozi referred to as "the one who should wake up" might just be Tang Bingwen.

Because the calamity that the Tang Clan is about to face does not require his old bones, nor those young and impetuous disciples, nor anyone who is "still alive".

Need one —

A person who has already died once.

A person who truly disregards life and death.

A person who can make the enemy feel despair.

A person who mastered the Dan Shi technique.

Grandpa Tang took a deep breath.

He got up and pushed open the door.

The night was deep, and the sky was full of stars.

Mist rose from the valley floor, wisps of it clinging to the eaves, the branches of the old locust tree, and his robes.

The chill penetrated to his bones, but he was completely unaware.

Without hesitation, he walked straight towards the back of the mountain.

The next morning.

The fog had not yet dissipated.

Alone, Old Master Tang navigated through numerous traps and obstacles to reach the depths of the back mountain.

It was a secluded valley, with sheer cliffs on all sides, accessible only by a narrow path.

The valley is shrouded in mist all year round, obscuring the sun; even at noon, sunlight cannot penetrate.

At the end of the path is a stone house built against the mountain.

The door to the stone house was tightly shut.

The stone steps at the entrance were covered with fallen leaves, layer upon layer, piled up thickly, clearly indicating that no one had cleaned them for many years.

Some of the withered leaves had decayed into mud and blended into the stone steps. The window frames of the stone house were covered with vines, completely obscuring the windows.

This doesn't look like a place where people live.

This place looks like a grave.

Old Master Tang stopped in front of the stone steps.

He didn't knock; he just stood there quietly.

a long time.

From inside the stone house, a hoarse voice asked, "What are you doing here?"

After a moment of silence, Old Master Tang slowly said, "I've come to see you."

"Look at me?" The voice let out a low, cold laugh.

"Ten years have passed, and you've come to see me?"

Old Master Tang did not offer any explanation.

He just stood there, staring at the closed door.

Looking at the thick layer of dust on the door, and at the sliver of darkness peeking through the crack in the door.

A long time passed.

He spoke, his voice old and deep: "Li Yuan Daozi of the Mianshan Daluo Palace sent someone back with a message."

Suddenly, the stone house fell silent.

It was a deeper, more profound stillness.

a long time.

The hoarse voice rang out again, this time with a hint of something new: "What did you say?"

Old Master Tang said, word by word, "Let those who should wake up, wake up."

silence.

A long silence.

Then, the door opened.

There was no creaking sound, no noise whatsoever.

It just opened silently.

Old Master Tang's pupils suddenly contracted.

Because the moment the door opened, he suddenly realized that he could no longer sense the presence of the person inside.

The door was clearly open, and the person was clearly standing inside, no more than three zhang away from him, yet his senses were completely blank.

It was as if there was only air there.

It was as if no one had ever been there.

But his eyes clearly saw it.

I saw a thin, middle-aged man standing inside the door.

The man was dressed in a gray cloth robe, extremely thin, with high cheekbones and a face that looked far older than middle age.

His temples were as white as frost, his eye sockets were deep as pools, and his skin had a pale color that had never seen the sun for many years. It was so white that it was almost transparent, and you could almost see the blue veins underneath.

But what's most striking is his left eye.

That eye was closed.

There was a very faint scar around his eye, almost invisible, yet it subtly hinted at the danger of that sword strike years ago.

His right eye was looking at Old Master Tang.

What kind of eye was that?

calm.

It was so calm that there wasn't a single ripple.

There was no anger, no resentment, no joy, none of the emotions that Old Master Tang would have expected to see.

There is only one—

It was a calmness as if one were observing something unrelated to oneself.

But at this moment, there seemed to be something more in that eye.

There was a very faint fluctuation, so faint that even Tang Bingwen himself might not have noticed it.

"Li Yuan Daozi..."

He murmured the name over and over again.

The sound was very soft, as soft as a mountain breeze.

But in that single eye, something is quietly awakening.

Old Master Tang looked into his eyes and suddenly understood.

What led Tang Bingwen out of that stone house was not his grandfather, not the phrase "let those who should wake up wake up," and not even the impending calamity facing the Tang Clan.

It's that name.

He is the legendary person who was born with knowledge, received public praise from the Celestial Master, and had the Celestial Master's image manifest.

It was the one he had never met, but had heard about countless times in rumors—the one who was born with the Dao.

Tang Bingwen stepped out of the stone house.

The sunlight fell on him, but he didn't squint.

He stood there, looking up at the sky.

It's been ten years, and this is the first time I've seen the sun.

But his face remained expressionless.

Only that one eye gazed at the western sky.

Where is he?

Old Master Tang said, "After saving one of our disciples, they went west."

Tang Bingwen nodded.

Then, he walked past Old Master Tang and headed out of the valley.

The pace was neither fast nor slow.

But Old Master Tang noticed that he made no sound when he walked.

Even though I was stepping on fallen leaves, there wasn't a single rustling sound.

Even though it passed right by me, no more than three feet away, I couldn't sense any trace of its presence.

There was no Qi, no breath, no temperature, nothing a living person should have.

It was as if only a shadow had passed by.

A moving shadow.

Old Master Tang turned around and watched the figure recede into the distance.

The mist closed in behind him, gradually engulfing his figure.

It seemed as if it might disappear into the vast mountain mist at any moment, never to be seen again.

Old Master Tang suddenly spoke up: "Bingwen."

The figure paused for a moment, but did not turn around.

Old Master Tang's voice echoed through the valley: "You've mastered it?"

silence.

a long time.

The figure continued walking forward.

Only one word drifted over, as lightly as a mountain breeze: "Mmm."

The sound was very soft, so soft that it was almost inaudible.

But to Old Master Tang, it sounded as heavy as a mountain.

He stood there, watching the figure disappear into the mist.

For a long time, there was no movement.

The mist surged and gradually engulfed the entire valley.

It swallowed up the stone house, the withered leaves, and the path.

It swallowed up the person who finally emerged ten years later.

It was swallowed up too—

Everything is hidden in that one word.

Grandpa Tang looked up at the sky.

Above the mist, the sun is gradually rising.

A new day has begun.

Some things are finally about to begin.