Heir of Mount Tai

The sky was shrouded in gloom.

A suffocating weight filled the air.

The entire room was so dark it seemed to swallow everything.

Ye Lu opened his eyes and gazed upward. Coarse stalks of straw lined the roof, supported by rough-hewn beams—the whole structure so crude that, compared to the sheer volume of straw, he couldn’t help but worry the beams might buckle beneath it all. The thought came to him unbidden. Then, almost reflexively, he lifted his arm and stretched out his hand. In the gloom, he could see the lines etched in his palms with perfect clarity.

Had he… lived another life?

Ye Lu felt momentarily adrift.

Almost disbelieving, he glanced down at his hands once more, flexed his fingers, and watched as both hands responded, moving gently in the dimness.

So it was true—he had lived through two lifetimes now.

All he remembered was completing his mission in the simulation. He had worn down the ghost that stole the sacred lamp oil until it was nearly destroyed, finally allowing himself to relax—perhaps too soon. Maybe, in its utter desperation, the suppressed spirit managed one final act of vengeance, determined to drag all three of them to their doom.

In the next instant, Ye Lu recalled the reckless way Xi Mingren had toyed with the ghost, baiting it like a cat with a mouse. He almost regretted not stopping that lunatic from ripping into the creature.

Wait—where were Xi Mingren and Gui Shusheng?

The memory of his two hapless companions came rushing back. The three of them had been ambushed during transit. If he had died, the other two could hardly have survived. But now that he was alive—what had become of them?

Ye Lu bolted upright.

At that moment, two groans echoed in the room, one after the other.

“…Ugh…”

“…Xi?”

The first was the sound of someone waking from a dream, the second tinged with confusion.

Strange, and yet hauntingly familiar.

A whirlwind of thoughts flooded Ye Lu’s mind. One possibility towered above the rest. He snapped his gaze toward the source of the voices.

There, on the earthen floor of the hut, lay two men—both tall and lean. One was half-reclining, the other tilting his head, every so often emitting a faint, nervous chuckle.

The thinner man had a refined, handsome face, lips curved in a perpetual half-smile. The other, the one who’d been laughing, was sturdier, his features striking and deep-set, with something almost foreign in his appearance.

Ye Lu could never mistake these faces; they were etched into his memory. Though both looked much younger than he recalled, he recognized them instantly—these two rascals.

Especially that scoundrel Xi Mingren.

“Daoist Master?” Gui Shusheng, still groggy with a splitting headache, rubbed his temples and sat up halfway. He found himself in a dim, straw-roofed hut. Not far away, on the bed, someone dressed in a tattered Daoist robe watched him with half-lidded eyes, the face expressionless but radiating a subtle, murderous air.

Gui Shusheng had only ever seen such natural authority in one person—especially after their Daoist leader became the chosen son of Mount Tai.

Piecing together the sequence of events, he lowered his hand and ventured a tentative question.

As expected, the shadowy figure—wreathed in dark energy—not far away sneered coldly, his voice dripping with menace.

Well, there was no need to say more—he’d guessed right.

Gui Shusheng silently turned to glance at Xi Mingren beside him.

Xi Mingren’s sharply handsome face wore its usual manic grin, lips pulled into a wide arc. Yet anyone who knew him could see the guilt lurking beneath—Gui Shusheng certainly did.

That bastard knew he’d gone too far this time.

Heh.

Gui Shusheng’s smile was painfully stiff.

But what could he do? He was the second in command. When the leader was angry, he couldn’t simply play dead. He couldn’t just stand by and watch the kid get beaten to death—especially now that Xi Mingren was powerless.

Moving gingerly, Gui Shusheng forced his stiff limbs to function. Standing up sent a wave of soreness through every muscle. As he rubbed his arms and approached the bed, he spoke up: “So, the three of us survived after all?”

“Seems so. Looks like it’s thanks to you, Daoist Master,” Gui Shusheng added after a moment’s thought. He recalled the peculiarities in their leader’s memories—the sense of age, the strange calm in the face of death—an equanimity even a Son of Mount Tai, accustomed to dealing with death, shouldn’t possess.

He was almost certain.

Ye Lu had only meant to frighten his two young troublemakers, especially that scoundrel Xi Mingren; he would never truly harm them.

Gui Shusheng, seeing a way to defuse the tension, rose to the occasion. Besides, Xi Mingren really wasn’t all there. The two of them had long since lowered their expectations for him; at least this time he hadn’t torn every ghost limb from limb, just a few, and not in a suicidal frenzy. That was progress.

“It was Chongshan,” Ye Lu said without dodging the subject. There were never secrets between the three of them.

“That foul-mouthed spirit vine?” Gui Shusheng instantly thought of the tyrannical vine that ruled the team’s shared space. According to it, it had served the Daoist Master since birth, protecting him ever since. At first, Gui Shusheng and Xi Mingren had treated it with deference, giving it whatever it asked for.

But after a period of real acquaintance, their relationship soured rapidly. The vine was sharp-tongued and cruel, always finding the sore spot and stomping on it.

Who would have thought that spiteful vine would prove useful after all? That was Gui Shusheng’s first thought.

Next time, he’d treat it a little better.

At least it truly could save the Daoist Master’s life.

With Chongshan still alive, his heart settled—if the companion spirit survived, their leader should be fine.

“…The space won’t open,” a sticky, languid voice chimed in after a while. The accent was odd, as if he wasn’t used to speaking. Soon, a tall figure joined them at the bedside, casting a shadow over the pair.

It was Xi Mingren.

At his words, both men checked their mental networks. Sure enough, the team icon had gone dark.

“We can’t reach the Starweb, either,” Ye Lu said after a moment of silent probing. No matter how he tried, the Starweb in his mind was as dead as stone. He opened his eyes and spoke.

Of the three, Ye Lu had always achieved the most within the Starweb, and maintained the closest connection. If he said it was unreachable, then it truly was.

“So we’ve ended up lost in some strange place?” Gui Shusheng asked, his tone hesitant.

Xi Mingren promptly sat at their feet, as if to be closer to his two elder brothers. He nodded at first, then hesitated and shook his head. “This world feels different,” he said.

Before Gui Shusheng could probe further, Xi Mingren explained himself.

“It’s dangerous. Desolate. It feels… wrong.” He spoke slowly, perhaps fearing disbelief. He pointed to his arm for emphasis.

The fine hairs there stood rigid.

“The spiritual energy is different—terrifying, uncanny,” Xi Mingren continued. “Remember the world of the Living Buddha we encountered before?”

The other two immediately recalled that bizarre world—blood rituals everywhere, dismembered limbs, corpses, souls, even sacrificial offerings raised since childhood, whose spirits continued to chant Amitabha in death. The memory was still enough to send chills down their spines.

They’d only survived that ordeal because Ye Lu, as the chosen of Mount Tai, was granted a rare reprieve by the world’s fate.

Gui Shusheng fell silent for a moment. “You mean this place is similar?”

Xi Mingren nodded earnestly. “Somewhat. But not as mad.”

Gui Shusheng’s guard shot up, relaxing only slightly at the last words. He trusted Xi Mingren’s instincts implicitly. The man’s childhood had given him a near-supernatural sense for danger. If he said it was perilous, it was perilous—his instincts had saved them countless times.

Of course, those very instincts also left him unable to distinguish danger from safety, and he was forever drawn to peril. Hence, the Starweb had dubbed him “Xi Mingren”—the man who flirted with fate.

“If Xi says so, let me add this: the spiritual energy here is strange, and the earth’s veins are even stranger. I’ve felt it since we arrived,” Ye Lu said, sharing his findings. From the start, he’d instinctively tried to commune with the land’s pulse.

Such was the way of the Son of Mount Tai.

Yet the earth here, although gentle, seemed to warn him of danger.

He warned the others to stay vigilant—this world was anything but ordinary.

Gui Shusheng and Xi Mingren both nodded solemnly. Especially when Ye Lu, after finishing, fixed Xi Mingren with a piercing look—one that clearly said: You little brat, behave yourself.

Xi Mingren nodded obediently, not even venturing a single chuckle, no doubt cowed by the threat of a joint beating.

“So, this is a thatched hut?” Gui Shusheng, satisfied with Xi Mingren’s sudden docility, shot Ye Lu a glance that said, “That’s how it should be.” He then scanned the room and voiced his observation.

“We must be in ancient times this round,” Ye Lu said with a wry smile. He knew Gui Shusheng had always thought he spoiled Xi Mingren, but after all, the boy had suffered too much as a child. Ye Lu could never harden his heart, and though Gui Shusheng talked tough, he too turned a blind eye.

Otherwise, how could Xi Mingren have gotten away with tormenting ghosts under their noses?

“At the very least, it’s a feudal society with scarce resources,” Gui Shusheng observed, letting his gaze rest on the meager stores of grain—pale white and yellow, each kernel no larger than a baby’s finger, tinged faintly with spiritual energy, odd enough to suggest the world itself was responsible. The grain looked much like millet.

He also spotted corn, sorghum, and a few green, blocky vegetables.

There was little else. Along the mud-brick wall, a few earthen bowls, chipped but clean, suggested modest means—neither rich nor truly destitute.

Seeing their Daoist Master lying in the bed, Gui Shusheng surmised this must be his home.

Well, he had long grown accustomed to Heaven and Earth’s favoritism toward their Daoist Master.

The Son of Mount Tai—such things were only to be expected.