Seeking Fortune and Avoiding Misfortune: Starting from the Celestial Master’s Mansion
Chapter 420: Fake Sven Lei Chongyun

Miao Feng, a prominent disciple of the Shushan Sect of the Han Dynasty, watched in surprise as the robed Confucian scholar disappeared downstream.

He had vaguely seen the man’s side profile and heard him refer to himself. That moment sent a chill down his spine.

By the time Miao Feng snapped out of it, the man was already gone, his figure carried away by the current. He scanned the surroundings, feeling as though he were dreaming.

Later, Yu Boyan arrived with Ji Chuan and Wang Jianan.

Before they could ask about the monks from the Vast Void Temple, Miao Feng rushed forward. “Senior Brother Yu!”

Yu Boyan noticed his strange expression and asked with concern, “What happened? Are you badly hurt?”

“Don’t worry, Senior Brother Yu. I’m fine.” Miao Feng glanced at Ji Chuan and Wang Jianan, then finally said, “I just... ran into a senior.”

After hearing Miao Feng’s account, Yu Boyan was visibly shocked. “The Eastern Yang Hermit...”

Ji Chuan, who had come from the Tang Mortal Realm, had heard the name too—though it didn’t strike him as profoundly as it did the others from the Han Mortal Realm.

As he observed from the side, he saw that not only was Wang Jianan visibly stirred, even the usually composed Yu Boyan—who carried the bearing of a future sect master—couldn’t hide his change of expression.

“There really was a surge of Scholarly Righteous Qi just now...” Wang Jianan looked around, growing more excited by the second.

Yu Boyan quickly calmed himself and muttered, “For someone to blend the ideals of Confucian Classics with the mysteries of the Chanting Lineage, and achieve such profound mastery... it seems it truly is Layman Wang, the Eastern Yang Hermit, returning to the world.”

Wang Jianan took a deep breath to steady himself.

When he visited the ancestral land to honor his ancestors, he and his older cousin had pored over ancient texts and pieced together clues.

The Wang Clan of Langya had been searching for their Sixth Uncle, Wang Xu—the Eastern Yang Hermit—for years, exhausting manpower and resources. Now, at long last, they had news.

And it was good news.

The Eastern Yang Hermit, Wang Xu, was still alive.

For years, they’d had no word of him. Many even believed the Wang Clan was trying to locate the place where his bones lay.

But now, not only had he resurfaced, he was confirmed to be alive.

Ji Chuan stood quietly as a guest.

He had heard of Wang Xu’s name as well. And now that this legendary figure had reappeared, Ji Chuan’s mind turned to one thing: how this would affect the power dynamics of the Han Mortal Realm.

While Yu Boyan contacted the Shushan Sect’s main mountain gate, Wang Jianan discreetly sent word to the Wang Clan of Langya.

---

At this time, the current leader of the Shushan Sect, Chen Lingfeng, was in seclusion cultivating.

Some elders had gone out to support the Han Dynasty in suppressing the demonic unrest triggered by the Vast Void Temple.

Holding the fort at Xiaoding was Elder He Yuhang, who had once visited the Tang Mortal Realm.

When he received Yu Boyan’s message, his initial surprise quickly gave way to a surge of energy.

If Wang Xu, the Eastern Yang Hermit, was still alive, it would undoubtedly be great news for the Han court.

However, Yu Boyan and the others didn’t know where he was headed next, nor the reasons behind his mysterious disappearance back then.

Still, if Wang Xu had been willing to reveal himself to juniors, he clearly didn’t mind his return being made public.

He Yuhang immediately relayed the news to the capital in Chang’an.

In Chang’an, the Crown Prince of the Han heard the report and immediately ordered Minister Ouyang Jingyuan to head south and attempt to contact the Eastern Yang Hermit.

Ouyang Jingyuan’s second son, Ouyang Bo, accompanied him. Noticing the furrow in his father’s brow, he asked, “Father, do you sense something’s wrong?”

Ouyang Jingyuan replied, “There’s nothing wrong with the Shushan disciples’ message. Daoist Yu Boyan may be young, but his strength and judgment are exceptional. I doubt he misidentified him.”

“But what concerns me,” he continued slowly, “is what Wang Dongyang reportedly said when he first met the Shushan disciple. It sounded like he was talking to himself when he muttered, ‘Woke up too early.’”

Ouyang Bo fell silent in thought.

Clearly, Yu Boyan and Miao Feng had also found that line meaningful and made sure to record it.

“Wang Dongyang has been off the grid for years—it can’t have been for no reason,” Ouyang Jingyuan said. “‘Woke up too early’ could mean many things, some minor, some major.”

Especially after that incident involving the Venerable Sage of Wisdom in Mount Sumeru, people had grown increasingly sensitive to such remarks.

“Unfortunately, the Shushan Sect doesn’t know where he went next,” Ouyang Bo added.

“We’ll try our luck,” said his father.

“Do you think he’ll return to the Wang Clan’s ancestral land in Langya?”

Ouyang Jingyuan gently shook his head. “Unlikely.”

---

At the Wang Clan's ancestral home in Langya, the news in Wang Jianan’s letter caused a stir.

But as time passed and Wang Xu did not return nor send a single word, the initial excitement began to cool.

Of course, the mere fact that he was alive was enough to benefit the Wang Clan.

Still, with the Han court in turmoil, even a clan as deeply rooted as the Wangs had to tread carefully.

Clan leader Wang Yan stood before a quiet courtyard.

It had long been unoccupied, though it was still regularly cleaned and maintained.

This was once Wang Xu’s residence.

Elder Wang Jian approached him. “No new information about Sixth Brother’s whereabouts.”

Wang Yan nodded. “Thanks for heading south, Third Brother. If you get solid news, let me know. I’ll come to join you immediately.”

Wang Jian bowed. “Understood, Eldest Brother.”

As he was about to leave, Wang Yan added, “Take Qilang with you.”

Wang Jian paused. “Qilang...”

Wang Bujiao, or Qilang, was one of the most outstanding talents of the Wang Clan’s younger generation.

However, recent internal disputes had placed him at the center of controversy.

“Yes, take Qilang,” Wang Yan affirmed.

“Understood,” said Wang Jian.

“Is there news of Sixth Uncle?” Wang Bujiao was about to head out when he received the order and immediately changed his plans.

“You were going out?” Wang Jian asked.

“I planned to pay a visit to Fang the Chancellor from the Tang Mortal Realm,” Wang Bujiao replied. “But finding Sixth Uncle takes priority.”

Wang Jian gave him a long look and nodded. “Then let’s set out as soon as possible.”

The fact that Wang Xu had reappeared but hadn’t contacted the clan left Wang Jian and the others quietly sighing.

---

In the guise of Wang Xu, the Eastern Yang Hermit, Lei Jun rode the current downstream.

With Miao Feng and Wang Jianan acting as word-bearers, news of Wang Xu’s return would spread on its own.

Ji Chuan was also there, but it wasn’t the right time for Lei Jun to reconnect with him. That could wait for later.

Thanks to the Haoran Mystic Jade and the trace of Wang Xu’s spiritual imprint left in the Morning Star Bow, Lei Jun could impersonate him without raising suspicion.

As for Wang Xu’s old acquaintances, most were mortals, and he’d rarely interacted with cultivators directly.

After all these years, most of those people had passed on.

As for the Wang Clan and others—Lei Jun had no interest in long conversations.

This appearance was a deliberate move to stir the waters. They weren’t his real targets.

The Zhou Heavenly Mirror of Jade Purity hovered above, scanning the surroundings in advance.

If Lei Jun didn’t want to be seen, no one would see him.

Even if it came to fighting, he had no fear.

The Nation-State Realm of Confucian scholars and the Divine Court Universe of the Daoist Talismanic Sect were quite different. But with Lei Jun’s control over his own Great Ascension Dao Domain, and help from the Haoran Mystic Jade, he could convincingly fake the former.

Typically, the Divine Court Universe manifested as a sealed world, isolated from the outside.

In contrast, the Confucian Nation-State Realm was semi-open—its world was more like a backdrop or anchor behind the scholar, rather than a complete enclosure.

It was less effective at trapping enemies but less taxing to maintain.

Daoist masters releasing their Divine Court Universes or Dao Domains expended tremendous energy—only those with boundless mana like Lei Jun or Tang Xiaotang could keep it up for long.

With his exceptional comprehension, Lei Jun had fine control over his Dao Domain, so he could emulate a Confucian realm, presenting a verdant landscape just inviting someone like Miao Feng to walk in.

The thunder that had killed the Vast Void Temple monks was still Lei Jun’s Daoist lightning, merely masked by the Haoran Mystic Jade.

He couldn’t summon storms by reciting poetry.

In this world, the power of Confucian cultivation lay in one’s Scholarly Aura, or Righteous Qi.

Those of the Chanting Lineage used it to commune with the natural world.

The poems they recited didn’t have to be their own, but the effect depended on their own literary talent.

If someone could write works comparable to the classics, then reciting those classics would have power.

If not, then even perfect memorization would yield barely any spiritual response.

If someone had no literary talent at all, their recitations were just that—recitations.

Like the current Lei Tianshi—he had no flair for poetry and could only fantasize about being a copycat scholar.

Fortunately, he had incredible comprehension in Daoist arts, and both Daoist and Confucian paths emphasized communing with nature.

With help from the Haoran Mystic Jade, he could fake it convincingly.

Using poetic thunder to kill those monks, he stirred the Righteous Qi and cemented his identity as someone with mastery in both the Classics and Chanting branches—thus solidifying his impersonation of Wang Xu.

“Still, better not overdo it...” Lei Jun checked the Haoran Mystic Jade.

His mana was vast, especially after mastering the Yin-Yang Star Radiance technique, allowing fast recovery.

But transforming Daoist power into Righteous Qi depended entirely on the jade. It had its limits.

Push it too hard, and it would either break or expose his true nature.

Thankfully, he had prepared an excuse: Wang Xu had been in seclusion to recover from injuries.

Now, though he had emerged, he hadn’t fully healed. That explained his brief appearance.

Too bad Elder Miao of the Shushan Sect might have to shoulder the blame for the incident...

“I should probably consider which Confucian techniques I can’t convincingly fake yet...” Lei Jun mused.

First would be the poetic realm of ninth-heaven Chanting scholars.

Starting from the third tier of the Ninth Heaven, their art became fundamentally different from both the Confucian Nation-State and the Daoist Divine Court.

Confucian paths—including the yet-unborn Neo-Confucianism—all referred to the Ninth Heaven as Pacifying the World.

The Classics path had the Five Classics, and the Chanting path had the Five Realms.

Progressing through the Chanting path from seventh to eighth heaven led to the ninth, where the first realm was called Transcendence Through Spirit.

At this stage, they were no longer confined by restrictions on spiritual energy, and could even redirect their enemy’s spells against them.

Take Liang Zhuo, the scholar Lei Jun once fought in a foreign khanate—he could do just that.

The second realm, Attuning with Nature, allowed multiple overlapping poetic domains to influence the world around them.

The third, Transcending the World, enabled the scholar to step into the poem’s realm—and forcibly drag their opponent’s soul inside.

That was bad news for Lei Jun’s Dao Domain.

Dragging someone’s entire being into it? Easy.

Attacking their soul directly? Easy.

Forcibly separating soul and body and only pulling in the soul? Much harder.

In the end, the “still injured” excuse was probably his best cover...

Disguised as the Eastern Yang Hermit Wang Xu, Lei Jun drifted with the current while pondering quietly to himself. Passing through the Great Lake of Dongting, he entered the Yangtze River. Along the way, he revealed himself now and then, allowing word of his reappearance to steadily spread.

Under the gaze of the Zhou Heavenly Mirror of Jade Purity, the number of people coming and going around him had clearly increased.

As he approached the Poyang Great Marsh in the Han Mortal Realm, Lei Jun spotted a familiar face from the Tang Mortal Realm—Fang Yue.

Fang Yue had come to survey the Han Dynasty's state-run academies in person.

Thanks to the relatively strong imperial court of the Han and the early years of wise and diligent governance by the reigning Han Emperor, the dynasty had successfully established a robust network of official schools, from regional academies to county-level institutions.

Upon hearing this, Fang Yue had made a special trip. After paying respects to the Emperor in Chang’an, he began touring the grassroots academies.

The results were... mixed.

On the plus side, there were indeed many academies, and they formed a far-reaching network.

But on the downside, most were firmly under the control of aristocratic families and influential clans.

The situation wasn’t unlike the old Imperial Academy of the Tang.

Even enrollment at local county schools had exceedingly high barriers.

Fang Yue didn’t dig too deeply, but it was hard not to draw comparisons: the Emperor had once been open-minded and enlightened, but now seemed dull and negligent. The initial blossoming of the academies had deteriorated into what they were today.

Although the Crown Prince of Han was reputed to be wise, he remained shackled.

Domestically, the Emperor still reigned.

Externally, the Han Dynasty faced chaos within and threats without.

Despite the disappointing reality, Fang Yue didn’t feel disheartened. He continued traveling and observing.

The Han officials accompanying him noticed, exchanging looks of amusement, but said nothing to stop him.

Through the mirror, Lei Jun identified one of the officials traveling with Fang Yue—Fang Junmei.

This man had once accompanied Ouyang Jingyuan as a deputy envoy to Datong.

By now, Lei Jun had learned quite a bit about him. Fang Junmei was, in his own way, an interesting character—remarkably similar to Fang Yue.

Both hailed from the Fang Clan of Jingxiang in the Han Dynasty. Both had earned fame at a young age. Both were outliers within their families.

But Fang Junmei had long aligned himself with the imperial court.

That said, his reputation in the Han Realm was worse than Fang Yue’s in the Tang.

He was widely known as a flatterer and sycophant, always fawning around the Emperor.

Yet now, as he hosted Fang Yue, he appeared every bit the courteous and refined gentleman—no faults to be found.

Another young official stood nearby, face expressionless. He too bore the surname Fang—Fang Xiwu, another member of the Jingxiang Fang Clan.

He had long heard tales of the Fang Clan’s fate in both the Tang and Datong regions. Now watching Fang Yue and Fang Junmei converse, his feelings were... complicated.

These days, due to internal and external pressures, the noble clans of Han had begun reconciling with the imperial court, working together against powerful enemies.

So Fang Xiwu found himself working alongside Fang Junmei, respectfully hosting Fang Yue without skipping a beat.

A few years ago, he would’ve greeted Fang Junmei with nothing but scorn.

“The battle at Poyang—what’s the latest?” Fang Yue suddenly paused mid-step.

After studying the waters for a moment, he turned to Fang Junmei and Fang Xiwu.

Fang Junmei also gazed out at the vast lake. “Many elders from the Lin Clan of Jiangzhou have joined the fray. For the most part, the rampaging demons have been pushed into the southern part of the marsh.”

“Anyone strong holding the line in Jiangzhou?” Fang Yue asked.

Still staring at the water, Fang Xiwu replied, “Master Longhuai is currently studying in seclusion there.”

Fang Yue knew that Master Longhuai was the courtesy name of Lin Xiaoyi, current head of the Lin Clan in Jiangzhou. Among the Eight-Heaven cultivators the Tang closely monitored, his name was high on the list.

He was widely regarded as the Confucian most likely to break through to the Ninth Heaven—Pacifying the World realm—in the near future.

What Fang Xiwu called “studying in seclusion” was really just a euphemism for closed-door cultivation.

To be fair, the Lin Clan wasn’t slacking off. While Lin Xiaoyi remained in retreat, the rest of the clan’s top experts had gone to battle, defending Jiangnan against the opportunistic demons unleashed by the Vast Void Temple’s chaos.

“The northern part of the lake seems... unsettled,” Fang Yue muttered. “Could be a powerful demon sneaking through. Worth looking into.”

Fang Junmei, still peering across the lake, said, “You’ve come from afar, Brother Duanfeng. Perhaps you’d prefer to return north?”

“Demon suppression knows no boundaries,” Fang Yue replied, righteous energy building in him. “If I’ve arrived in time, I’d be honored to lend a hand.”

Even as he spoke, his Righteous Qi surged—but he didn’t release it immediately. Instead, he condensed it around him.

Despite the looming threat, both Fang Junmei and Fang Xiwu found themselves drawn to Fang Yue.

This esteemed chancellor of the Tang Imperial Academy was a Chanting-lineage Confucian who had reached the Eighth Heaven—Transcendence realm.

In that realm, a scholar’s poems, paired with their Righteous Qi, produced an aura of divine inspiration and mystical power.

Among Confucianists, the Eighth Heaven of Chanting had four layers of “Transcendence”: forgetting form, forgetting breath, forgetting thought, and forgetting self.

The first, forgetting form, manifested divine aura from ordinary objects.

The second, forgetting breath, attuned one to the cosmic flow, letting the scholar draw upon heaven and earth’s spiritual energy with little cost to their own reserves.

Fang Yue was now demonstrating precisely that.

His qi remained condensed, yet it pierced the sky and reached the earth. It twisted the very air, causing heaven and earth to stir.

His Heavenly Pivot and Earthly Axis formed a conduit for raw spiritual energy.

Unlike other Chanting Confucians of his level, Fang Yue’s technique benefited not just himself, but those around him—Fang Junmei, Fang Xiwu, and others.

As the two-tailed black sturgeon surged toward shore, Fang Yue activated his realm.

Though he seemed motionless, the eruption that followed was overwhelming.

“How I wish for a Sky-Cleaving Sword to slash the mighty whale across the sea!”

As he chanted, sword qi poured from the heavens like a storm, forming a torrential downpour that struck the demon fish head-on.

Many were killed instantly, blood dyeing the lake red.

Then, the largest of them—a monstrous, twin-tailed black sturgeon the size of a floating island—surfaced.

Its foul demon aura clashed with the realm’s spiritual energy.

But Fang Yue’s qi did not falter. His sword energy coalesced into a titanic blade, cleaving the giant’s rock-like head clean off.

Fang Xiwu inhaled sharply.

Whatever his opinion of Fang Yue or the Tang, he had to admit—the man’s strength was terrifying.

Even Fang Junmei’s eyes flickered. “Brother Duanfeng, your words are divine and your energy resplendent. Truly breathtaking.”

Fang Yue didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the still-churning waters.

“Watch out!” he suddenly shouted.

Before his words finished echoing, a massive black shadow emerged—far larger than the previous beast.

It was a fire-red giant turtle.

As it surfaced, it looked like an island of flame rising on the lake’s edge.

Scalding heat vaporized the water around it, and the fiery demon aura surged toward the shore.

Fang Yue had no time to speak, not even to think.

But he didn’t need to.

Suddenly, towering mountains appeared from thin air—illusory at first, but quickly solid, blocking the turtle’s attack.

This was the third Transcendence—forgetting thought.

At this level, a Chanting scholar could trigger poetic power without recitation or even intention. Nature itself responded to the verse held deep within them.

Even at the Fourth Heaven, such scholars could subtly influence the world without speaking. But the full might of their abilities wouldn’t manifest.

Only at the Eighth Heaven’s third layer could one summon that power in full, silently.

The mountains held off the flames.

Fang Xiwu finally managed to speak. “The Flame-Isle Turtle King?! How did this demon get across Poyang without a whisper? There wasn’t even a warning!”

This beast was comparable to a Ninth-Heaven human cultivator—and had rarely been seen north of the Southern Wasteland.

Now it was practically at the Yangtze River’s doorstep.

Its infernal flames roared, blasting against the conjured mountains, cracking them apart.

Fang Yue had no time to chant.

But empowered by forgetting form, breath, and thought, he summoned sword qi again—forming a sky-cleaving blade that slashed down at the turtle.

The beast tucked its head slightly. Sparks flew, but the sword couldn’t pierce its armored shell.

Its demonic shell was more frightening than its flames.

Lei Jun hadn’t seen Fang Yue in action for a while and was watching with great interest—until something else caught his eye.

His gaze shifted to Fang Junmei.

The man had used some non-Confucian technique to conceal himself and was circling to the side.

Interesting find... Lei Jun thought.

He reached for the Morning Star Bow beside him.

At the lake’s edge, Fang Junmei launched a surprise strike.

His sword qi didn’t radiate like that of the Classics cultivators. It was focused—one beam—aimed straight at the demon’s eye.

But despite its size, the turtle moved with startling speed, tilting its head just enough for the attack to miss.

Fang Junmei didn’t linger. He retreated immediately.

The demon let out what sounded like a mocking snort and pressed forward, flattening the banks.

Without fully emerging, it half-crawled ashore, flames surging to engulf them all.

Fang Yue’s waves of qi barely held it back. He was forced to retreat, and his realm collapsed.

He would need time to reform it.

The flames surged higher.

But just then—a brilliant streak of light pierced the sky, slamming directly into the turtle’s neck as it tried to withdraw.

The beast let out a thunderous roar—only to choke mid-scream.

Its massive body was knocked backward, sliding across the shore.

The light beam didn’t stop. It drilled through the turtle, nearly cutting it in two.

The creature writhed in agony, half its body re-immersed in the lake, but the wound kept burning from within.

Lightning and fire flared from the injury.

Its thrashing shook the earth.

Fang Yue, Fang Junmei, Fang Xiwu—all were stunned.

They turned toward the source.

Down the river, a lone skiff floated calmly toward them.

A radiant light glowed from its deck—so bright that even with their trained eyes, they could see only blinding white.

As the glow faded, they saw the figure clearly.

A middle-aged scholar stood at the bow, draped in a raincloak. In his hand, the Morning Star Bow still gleamed.

Remembering the recent rumors, Fang Junmei and Fang Xiwu both held their breath.

The Eastern Yang Hermit—Wang Xu.

The man approached and flicked his sleeve at the wounded beast.

In the eyes of Fang Yue and the others, space rippled. A Nation-State Realm unfolded, pulling the demon inside.

Within that realm, sword qi howled cold and sharp.

The once-rampaging turtle vanished without a trace.

The flames died. The air cooled. The demonic aura dissipated entirely.