The Great Shaman glanced at Zhao Xunan and couldn't help but chuckle again.
"Actually… I don't understand either."
"...Great Shaman, are you mocking me?" Zhao Xunan's eyes twitched sharply. This tone made him feel like a fool.
The Great Shaman shook his head earnestly. "The moment I saw you, I felt something extraordinary—indescribable, yet akin to the light of Heaven, brimming with hope!"
"Could you be clearer? This vagueness is infuriating!" Zhao Xunan pinched his brow, forcing a smile. Praise was welcome, but this cryptic drivel left him stifled. Could they not give a straight answer?
"Not even I understand. But there's a voice in the void telling me—you are hope."
This only deepened Zhao's confusion. He shook his head vigorously. "I still don't get it."
The Great Shaman, sensing awkwardness, steered the conversation elsewhere. "West of the Two Realms Mountains, the land is desolate. You've traveled this far in the cold—surely you have a purpose? Might you share it?"
Zhao's eyes lit up. This was exactly what he needed. "To be honest, I'm searching for a mountain range. Rumors say beyond two ranges lies it, but I've seen nothing but grasslands. Can you clarify?"
The Great Shaman pondered, then shook his head. "That rumor must be false. My people roam with the herds—within a thousand li, there are only grasslands. Beyond the Two Realms Mountains, there are no other ranges. All you see is flat, endless plain."
"How is that possible?" Zhao frowned, disappointed. The Mingren had lived here for five millennia—they should know the land intimately. If even they were ignorant, perhaps the mountain truly didn't exist.
"Ah, rumors are unreliable. They say it's paired with the Kunlun Mountains, but that's just nonsense!" Zhao sighed, feeling his time had been wasted.
"Paired with Kunlun? Could it be the Celestial Garden?" The Great Shaman's tone shifted, hinting at deeper knowledge.
"The Celestial Garden? What is that?"
The Great Shaman's expression turned solemn. "If it exists, that must be it. Ancient records speak of a mountain range without beginning or end—fragments of a fallen celestial realm. It's overgrown with rare flowers and herbs, with pavilions and palaces hidden within."
"Many youths have ventured in. Some returned with treasures, but the garden isn't entered lightly. It only appears when the Kunlun Mountains are veiled by the fifteenth moon's light."
Zhao's heart raced. So the legends his past self had dismissed were true—it was a hidden realm, not a winding mountain range as he'd thought.
Excitement faded into a frown. "Kunlun is thousands of li away. How do I know when the moon veils it?"
"There's a way. Otherwise, how would one enter?" The Great Shaman pointed west. "Fifty li from here lies Crescent Moon Spring, resonating with Kunlun. On the fifteenth moon, its waters mirror the celestial garden's entrance—a moonlit path. Follow it, and you'll find the gate."
He handed Zhao a small porcelain bottle. "This holds spirit liquid I refined. Take it—it might save your life in the garden's depths."
Zhao bowed deeply. "Thank you, Great Shaman. I'll seek out the others for advice before entering."
The Great Shaman laughed. "The youths here have all been to the Celestial Garden. They'll warn you of its dangers."
True to his word, as Zhao returned to camp, a group of burly men—sleeves rolled up, grinning—blocked his path. They'd heard of his challenge and wanted a piece of him.
Zhao, amused, grinned back. "Who's been to the Celestial Garden?"
Seven or eight hands shot up. Good—he'd need to hold back, but these hotheads would be easy.
They trooped to a sandy clearing. Zhao stretched, cracking his knuckles. "You dare challenge a cultivator? Bravery or stupidity?"
"At least let us fight fairly!" one barked.
Zhao nodded. "No true qi—just fists. But losers must tell me everything about the Celestial Garden."
The men roared, charging like bulls. The first, Shan Hu (who'd threatened him earlier), swung a massive fist. Zhao spun, a side kick sending him flying three zhang. Shan Hu crashed, nose bleeding, unconscious before he hit the ground.
"Next!" Zhao called, brushing dust off his boot.
The others charged, but none lasted more than a punch or kick. Those who'd never entered the garden collapsed instantly; those who had staggered, still babbling warnings.
"Remember—exit before the garden closes. Every month it opens, but if you're trapped, it vanishes for good. Many of your kin never returned."
Zhao memorized their words, then traded for durable bread and salt. He bid the Great Shaman farewell and headed west.
The Great Shaman watched the group, chuckling. "We've shamed you," Shan Hu mumbled, waking.
"Shame?" The Great Shaman smiled. "In years to come, you'll brag about being knocked down by a true expert."
He turned to leave, leaving the men staring, bewildered—Being beaten up was an honor?
Fifty li west, Zhao found Crescent Moon Spring—a clear, icy stream. The pond around it was barren, stones coated in frost, mist curling in the sunlight.
Zhao frowned. This scene felt familiar. He dipped a finger—the water was colder than he'd imagined. This is just like the stream in Dragon Carp Gorge, minus the carp.
Three days until the full moon, he camped by the spring, resting and refining spirit liquid. By the third night, the moon rose, silver and full.
As it climbed, the mist over the spring swirled, revealing a vision: towering mountains, spirits soaring, clouds weaving through peaks. Though night, the land blazed with color—vivid, otherworldly.
Zhao's breath hitched. This was familiar, yet foreign. In his past life, after joining the Xiao Mountain Sect, he'd entered a mountain-secluded realm near Kunlun. Five millennia ago, it had been one with the mortal world, but time and law had changed it into something else—an entirely separate plane.
He watched, nostalgia mingling with bitterness. Those had been his darkest days.
At midnight, the vision vanished, swallowed by silver moonlight. Zhao mounted his horse, urging it east. Within moments, a glowing path materialized—a silver road stretching into the distance.
He dismounted, patting his horse. "Let's go. The world's changing. Without roots, I'll fight for my own future."
As he stepped onto the path, the Great Shaman—who'd been dozing—suddenly opened his eyes, muttering, "Forgot to tell him… there are multiple entrances. Many will enter…"
Step by step, night became noon. Grasslands vanished, replaced by rolling hills ablaze with flowers—red, blue, gold, purple.
"As the Celestial Garden… it lives up to its name," Zhao breathed. The air hummed with dense spiritual energy, richer than even crystal caves.
But scenery couldn't fill his stomach. He pinched his brow, calculating directions, and headed uphill. Past rumors said iron mother was abundant in the northern slopes. Though the tales sounded absurd now, his divination agreed.
He tread carefully, stepping on jade steps hidden in the grass. His divine sense swept the area—herbs everywhere. He only picked the oldest, most potent ones. Time was limited; he couldn't waste it on trivialities.
Suddenly, his heart raced. He drew his knife, ready. Clang! A foot-long demon-slayer mallet landed nearby.
Twenty zhang away stood a burly man with twin horns, a hexagonal bronze staff in hand. "Not bad, kid. This hill's mine. Get lost!"
Zhao weighed the mallet—forty or fifty catties, exquisitely crafted. He slung it over his shoulder, sprinting. Wind whipped the grass as he closed the distance.
Tian Ji flared, slamming into the man. He blocked with his staff, but the force drove him to his knees. Zhao reversed momentum, blade edge slamming into the man's groin.
As the man gaped, Zhao's knee smashed his chest. The mountain of a man collapsed, groaning.
"Pathetic," Zhao scoffed, kicking his head and hurling the staff away.
Though a Qi Refiner, this man was a brute—slow, unskilled. Even a young wolf cub would've fought better.
Climbing the ridge north, Zhao foraged for more herbs. Two twin-birth polygonum multiflorums, plump and fragrant, caught his eye. They'd grown for millennia—eating one might boost his cultivation by a rank.
By noon, his arms were full. He sighed, shaking his head. "Should've brought a basket. Can't carry them all… frustrating."
He tucked the herbs away, pushing thoughts of more aside. Focus on the task.
Thwip! An arrow embedded in the ground before him, fletching shimmering with a binding array.
Fifty zhang away stood a beautiful woman in leather armor, a flower-shaped talisman on her forehead. Her pointed ears twitched, listening to the wind.
"Spirit Race cultivator. We've never met. Why ambush me?" Zhao gripped Tian Ji, not breaking the array.
The woman's voice was clear as a oriole's. "Your bag reeks of herbs. I want those two polygonums."
Zhao sighed. Greedy, and rude. No choice but to fight.
He raised his knife, but a roar shook the air. A golden dragon plummeted, blasting the woman backward. She recovered mid-air, loosing two arrows.
Clang! Zhao deflected them with his knife—effortless, as if swatting flies. The woman gaped.
"Qingfeng, what's wrong? Why attack me?" She frowned, hair disheveled.
The young cultivator smiled. "I want those polygonums too, Friend Qingfeng. Care to share?"