Seeking Fortune and Avoiding Misfortune: Starting from the Celestial Master’s Mansion
Chapter 423: The Witch King's Coming to the World

Disguised as Wang Xu, Lei Jun did not linger near the outskirts of Suzhou. He continued his pursuit of the Vast Void Temple’s abbot, Monk Juexiang, and the Grand Shaman of Kongsang, Ou Hongcheng.

The two fled in different directions.

Neither was particularly fast.

However, with other Han cultivators scattered throughout the surrounding area, Lei Jun chose not to simultaneously activate both of his overlapping Great Ascension Dao Domains to seize them.

Instead, using the Haoran Mystic Jade to convert his Daoist mana into Confucian Righteous Qi, he kept his domain half-open—mimicking the Nation-State Realm of the Confucian Classics branch—as he pursued Ou Hongcheng.

It was a rare opportunity to confront a Grand Shaman of Kongsang, and Lei Jun was more inclined to capture that target.

Trapped within the simulated Nation-State Realm, Ou Hongcheng’s escape route was cut off.

Unfortunately, Lei Jun was unable to take him alive.

In the final moments, the Grand Shaman let out a mad howl—and his body spontaneously burst apart into four pieces.

A cloud of blood mist exploded into the air, thick with strange, ominous black qi.

Lei Jun remained cautious, carefully neutralizing the energy to prevent it from tainting his domain from the inside.

It was clear to him that Ou Hongcheng hadn’t self-destructed willingly.

This meant that somewhere in Kongsang, another powerful figure had long ago implanted a restrictive shamanic curse within Ou Hongcheng.

Such a method was likely beyond even most Ninth-Heaven Grand Shamans.

It was highly probable that this had been done by the same being responsible for the Witch King Curse that had afflicted the real Wang Xu.

The means were certainly vicious.

But it remained unclear whether Monk Juexiang had suffered the same fate.

At the very least, Lei Jun could now confirm that the Vast Void Temple was indeed working with the Kongsang Grand Shamans.

Many of the recent upheavals in the Han Mortal Realm had their fingerprints all over them.

Moreover, if Lei Jun was reading things correctly, Ou Hongcheng’s techniques originated from the Tianjing lineage of Kongsang.

As he quietly reflected, Lei Jun’s pace didn’t slow.

What complicated matters for the Ye, Li, and Wang Clans was that Lei Jun—still in the guise of Wang Xu—didn’t return to Su-Yang. Instead, he went straight north.

Ouyang Jingyuan and Fang Junmei accompanied him.

Back on the battlefield in Jiangnan, Monk Juexiang fled with serious injuries. The tide quickly turned.

Han cultivators launched a counterattack. The monks of the Vast Void Temple scattered, fleeing in all directions. Only a few stubborn demons refused to retreat, fighting while falling back.

The Han Dynasty began reclaiming large portions of lost territory south of the Yangtze.

Wang Xu—Lei Jun in disguise—made his way directly toward the imperial capital, Chang’an.

But his first stop wasn’t the city itself. It was Huayin, a short distance away.

There stood an imperial retreat.

And residing there was the nominal ruler of the Han Dynasty—Emperor Xiang Chengyuan.

As a representative of the Eastern Palace, Ouyang Jingyuan waited quietly outside the palace.

Fang Junmei led the way, inviting “Mr. Wang” to meet the Emperor.

The retreat was lavish, but “Wang Xu” paid it no mind.

In the garden, a troupe of musicians and performers was in the middle of an opera. At the sight of Wang Xu’s arrival, they quickly dispersed.

His gaze swept past them and finally landed on a middle-aged man in a pavilion.

The man wore casual robes and sat lazily, but the aura of Dragon Qi from the realm’s mandate of heaven clung to him unmistakably.

He was the current Han Emperor.

“Your Majesty,” Fang Junmei bowed first. “Mr. Wang has arrived.”

The Emperor waved a hand casually. “You may go, Minister Fang.”

Fang Junmei obeyed and withdrew.

“Wang Xu” stood with hands clasped behind his back.

The Emperor met his eyes for a long moment before speaking. “Minister Fang reported that you withdrew from the world years ago to recuperate from illness. And that even now, you are not fully healed?”

Wang Xu replied calmly, “It was because of the Kongsang Shamans.”

The Emperor fell silent for a moment, then rose from his seat—unsteadily—and bowed without a word.

Wang Xu didn’t seem surprised. “So Your Majesty, too, has been plagued by Kongsang’s shamans.”

The Emperor said nothing—neither nodding nor denying it. But his gaze held gratitude, envy, and admiration.

“Don’t stand on ceremony, Your Majesty,” Wang Xu said. “Back then, it was all coincidence. Even I didn’t expect the schemes of Kongsang to run so deep.”

By now, Lei Jun had pieced it together.

The once-esteemed Han Emperor, known for his wisdom, had grown suddenly dim and listless—around the same time that Wang Xu had mysteriously vanished.

Chances were, the Emperor had walked right into a trap set by Kongsang’s shamans.

Wang Xu had, by sheer accident, ruined their plans. And paid for it with his life.

His intervention had saved the Emperor from complete ruin—but not from lasting harm.

All the Emperor’s erratic behavior since then had been a result of struggling with the lingering effects of the shamanic curse.

The twisted nature of those curses left wounds that could not be spoken aloud.

It was as much for his own sake as for the listener’s.

Even now, facing someone who had suffered the same fate, Emperor Xiang Chengyuan remained cautious.

Beyond gratitude, he also deeply envied Wang Xu—for having shaken off the aftereffects, for being able to speak freely of Kongsang.

...Of course, the truth was, he need not envy anything.

The real Wang Xu had never fully escaped those effects either.

For a figure like him—or the Emperor—to be so grievously harmed, the curse had to have come from someone beyond the Ninth Heaven. A master of exceptional power, much like the Venerable Sage of Wisdom from Mount Sumeru.

Still, things had not gone smoothly for that enemy either. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have waited all these years to strike again.

Then—

“Has Your Majesty visited Mount Longhu in recent years?” Wang Xu asked, his gaze steady.

The Emperor nodded. “I have. But the ancestor of Mount Longhu seemed... unwell. Though he offered me guidance and tried to suppress the curse, he could not purge it completely.

Later, when the Tang Dynasty’s Tianshi Mansion swept through Datong and returned to our lands, Mount Longhu as a whole retreated into the Taiqing Grotto-Heaven, choosing seclusion. I suspect it was for similar reasons.”

He gestured for Wang Xu to sit. “There are monks of great power in Mount Sumeru, but I... had my concerns. So I never went to seek help.”

His gaze returned to Wang Xu.

Wang Xu shook his head. “Healers often cannot heal themselves. It’s the same on either side. My survival came through a series of coincidences. I’m afraid I cannot help Your Majesty further.”

“I understand,” the Emperor said with a sigh.

Wang Xu continued, “The knot must be untied by the one who tied it. You’ve already figured this out, haven’t you?”

Among the performers earlier, several had cultivation—high cultivation.

They were shamans.

The Emperor’s expression remained unchanged as he nodded and clapped his hands.

A woman stepped in.

She saluted the Emperor, then turned to Wang Xu.

“Before the Eastern Yang Hermit, I, Chen Xiao of Kongsang’s Dedu Lineage, pay my respects.”

Wang Xu said nothing, simply watching her.

Chen Xiao continued, “Due to the nature of shamanic spells, there are things I cannot say aloud. I hope you will understand.

What I can share is this: Kongsang is now divided into two lineages. One is called Tianjing, the other Dedu. The former is aggressively expanding.

If they succeed, people like us from Dedu will be enslaved—or worse, exterminated. That is why we’ve been quietly aiding His Majesty.”

Wang Xu nodded slightly.

Then, turning to the Emperor, he asked, “If Your Majesty were to strip away the arts of rulership and imperial empowerment, your Ninth Heaven cultivation—would it align with Confucianism or Shamanism?”

The Emperor hesitated, then sighed. “I failed in both paths. Hence today’s predicament.”

He looked up. “I ask only one thing: that you keep all of this secret. Should word spread, it could shake the very foundations of the empire.”

“I will,” Wang Xu agreed.

“Does the Eastern Palace know?” he asked next.

The Emperor replied, “Jing’er knows a little. But with his intelligence, I’m sure he’s pieced together most of it.”

“I’ll pay him a visit in Chang’an later,” Wang Xu said.

“Will you return to Langya afterward?” the Emperor asked.

“I have no plans to for now,” said Wang Xu. “After being shut away so long, I want to take a breath, roam this vast land, and investigate the Kongsang matter further. There’s no need to seek me out. I’ll keep watch on Kongsang.”

With that, he took his leave.

Fang Junmei entered, per imperial order, and escorted Wang Xu out.

The Emperor leaned back in his chair, visibly exhausted.

Chen Xiao said softly, “He’s extremely guarded. He didn’t fully believe Your Majesty.”

The Emperor didn’t respond. He simply closed his eyes—and began to snore softly.

After leaving the Huayin retreat, Lei Jun’s next destination was the Han capital, Chang’an.

Ouyang Jingyuan had already arranged everything in advance.

Crown Prince Xiang Jing held a banquet in the Eastern Palace to welcome Wang Xu.

Everything at the feast proceeded as usual.

Once it ended, the Crown Prince dismissed the attendants and bowed deeply to Wang Xu.

“Thank you, sir. Had you not intervened back then, my father might not have survived.”

Wang Xu asked evenly, “How much do you know about Kongsang?”

“Mostly fragmented rumors,” the Crown Prince replied. “Very little is verified.”

“They’re planning a resurgence,” Wang Xu said. “But their exact strategy is still unclear. I attempted to capture one of their Grand Shamans, but he self-destructed—left no solid leads.”

“Their spells are notoriously insidious,” said Xiang Jing. “You need not burden yourself.”

Then he asked, “We’ve heard that the Grand Shamans are split into two factions—Tianjing and Dedu. What’s your view?”

Wang Xu shook his head. “Too few clues. It’s too soon to say who’s friend or foe. It’s even possible the two are working together in secret.”

Xiang Jing frowned in thought. “That makes sense. But if that’s the case, then my father…”

He looked up. “May I ask, sir, where do you plan to stay next?”

Wang Xu gave the same answer he had given the Emperor.

Naturally, the Crown Prince was disappointed.

But someone like Wang Xu couldn’t be forced to stay.

All he could do was respectfully see him off—and hope he would return to Guanzhong again someday.

Crown Prince Xiang Jing himself was preparing to depart northward soon, to intimidate the restless Xiongnu khans.

After leaving Chang’an, the Eastern Yang Hermit Wang Xu, clad in his signature rain cloak, disappeared into the hazy mist and rain.

Ouyang Jingyuan and Fang Junmei, who had come from the Huayin retreat, watched him go. Their gazes met briefly before turning away, both silent, both with heavy hearts.

And they weren’t the only ones feeling conflicted.

Back in the ancestral estate of the Wang Clan of Langya, emotions were even more mixed.

The Eastern Yang Hermit, Wang Xu, had first made a brief but stunning appearance on the northern bank of Poyang Marsh, where he killed the Ninth-Heaven demon—the Flame-Isle Turtle King.

Then, outside the ancestral land of the Li Clan in Suzhou, he formally shook the world. Alone, he drove back both the Vast Void Temple’s abbot, Monk Juexiang, and a mysterious Grand Shaman, killing one and injuring the other. He also swept through the temple’s demon forces and monstrous monks.

His overwhelming strength left the entire Han Realm in awe.

For the rising generation of cultivators, it was their first real glimpse at the legendary brilliance of the Eastern Yang Hermit—his scholarly might that once dominated his era.

True to his name, “Eastern Yang,” he shone like the sun itself, washing out all lesser lights.

Naturally, the prestige of the Wang Clan of Langya soared with him.

Previously, with Wang Xu long absent and few notable members among their ranks, many had begun to question whether the Wang Clan still deserved its elite status.

Now, with Wang Xu’s triumphant return and earthshaking feats, the clan’s reputation was revived.

Yet alongside their pride came troubling news, brought back by Wang Jian and Wang Bujiao.

They had always known that Wang Xu wasn’t close with the clan. But now, his clearly stated stance threatened to shake the very foundation on which the Wang Clan had built its legacy.

And unfortunately, they could no longer ignore his position.

In the past, the clan had leveraged his fame while he turned a blind eye.

But now that he had spoken directly, they could no longer feign ignorance.

Unless, of course, they were willing to officially cut ties with him.

Knowing Wang Xu’s temperament, such a move probably wouldn’t provoke him into retaliation.

But any further hopes of borrowing his influence would be gone for good.

Still, if they truly followed the views of Wang Bujiao and his generation, the Wang Clan would undergo a fundamental transformation—at which point, relying on Wang Xu’s prestige would no longer matter.

The internal conflict was undeniable.

“This is where the world is headed,” Patriarch Wang Yan finally said. “Sixth Brother sees it clearly.”

“We see it too,” he added. “But unlike him, we’re weighed down by attachments we cannot abandon. So we clung to false hope.”

He turned to an elderly man beside him—his own father, Wang Qingbai, the previous patriarch of the Wang Clan.

Wang Bujiao and the others also looked toward their grandfather.

Wang Qingbai remained silent.

“Sometimes it’s better to suffer briefly than endlessly,” Wang Yan said. “Since we cannot resist the tide, we might as well begin preparing now.”

Around them, the Wang Clan elders wore complicated expressions.

The noble clans of the Han Realm were all intertwined by marriage and blood.

The Wang Clan’s internal debates had already reached the ears of others.

Now, with Wang Xu’s public stance, the entire aristocracy was shaken.

Some wavered. Some grew resentful.

But all were affected.

In Qingzhou, within the ancestral estate of the Ye Clan, Elder Ye Yong stood quietly at a window.

A fellow clansman paced anxiously beside him. “Has Big Brother replied from Jiangnan? We need him back immediately to set a course!”

“Big Brother” referred to the current head of the Qingzhou Ye Clan—Ye Zhao.

Back in the battle at Su-Yang, Ye Zhao had taken advantage of Wang Xu’s suppression of Monk Juexiang and the Grand Shaman to strike down the Ninth-Heaven demon Yuanlong, forcing it to retreat.

The Vast Void Temple and their allied demons had lost. But Monk Juexiang remained alive.

Now, as Han cultivators reclaimed lost territory south of the Yangtze, Ye Zhao was still holding the front.

If he were to return to Qingzhou now, it would effectively give the Vast Void Temple room to recover. At the very least, their losses would be far less than expected.

With foreign enemies close at hand, the Han court and its noble clans alike were forced to restrain themselves—unable to make bold internal moves.

What Ye Yong and others truly feared was this: if the noble clans split into chaos, the court would strike them down with ease.

“There’s been a reply,” Ye Yong said softly.

The weight in his tone made everyone around him tense.

He continued, “Big Brother’s message: Prepare for both outcomes. Beyond the Han Realm and its few remaining allies, we must focus on finding distant bloodlines scattered in other realms. Within the Han alone, one tree cannot withstand the storm.”

He looked around and sighed. “Our conflicts with Datong were a waste. The same with the Tang. We could have built something together. But now... it’s too late.”

The others nodded silently.

At this point, of the Twelve Great Clans, excluding the “traitorous” Wang Xu, the strongest was the new leader of the Xiao Clan—Xiao Jing, now in the fourth tier of the Ninth Heaven.

Strictly speaking, Xiao Jing was not of the Han’s Longwai Xiao Clan, but hailed from Datong.

Still, the former patriarch Xiao Xuan had chosen to pass on the mantle, and neither his clan nor others had objected.

If Xiao Xuan, along with Suzhou’s Li Feiyang and Jiangzhou’s Lin Xiaoyi, all reached the Ninth Heaven, then the noble clans of the Han Realm would boast six Pacify-the-World Confucians.

That level of power was nothing to scoff at.

However, Abbot Xinguan of Xuantian Temple, Pan Hailin of Longhu Mountain, and Chen Lingfeng of the Shushan Sect could also reach that level at any moment.

And of course, the court's top three figures—the Emperor Xiang Chengyuan, Crown Prince Xiang Jing, and Wang Xu—stood above all.

For the Ye Clan and others, the outlook was grim.

Had the Five Great Clans of Datong endured, things would be different.

If they had allied early with the Tang and other realms, shared intelligence and strategies, and united like the Buddhist sects of Mount Sumeru...

Then everything might have changed.

Datong had always been the ideal hub for such connections.

But now it was too late.

Rumors from other realms were bleak.

Even if they wanted to recover now, there might be no more chances.

Otherwise, Ye Zhao wouldn’t have given such a disheartening order.

All Ye Yong and the rest could do was face the harsh truth.

“One reason Big Brother may have said this,” an elder muttered, “is the Li Clan’s stance.”

The others nodded gravely.

Ye Zhao had worked closely with the Li Clan for a long time. He knew their inner workings well.

Wang Xu had saved the Li Clan in Suzhou, preserving their ancestral home—a debt of immense significance.

But when it came to the Li Clan’s long-term survival, gratitude was only one factor.

What mattered most was what the Li Clan intended to do next.

Their future would hinge less on the current patriarch—and more on Li Feiyang, the rising star already poised to inherit leadership.

He was also one of the few cultivators in the realm likely to reach the Ninth Heaven soon.

If his views mirrored those of Wang Bujiao, then the Li Clan’s path forward would become very different indeed.

Ye Zhao hadn’t said it outright, but judging by his tone, things weren’t looking good…

“Per Big Brother’s orders, let’s make preparations at once,” Ye Yong said at last. “And keep a close watch on the other clans.”

Everyone acknowledged the command.

Despite all the chaos and speculation he stirred across the Han Realm, the “Eastern Yang Hermit” didn’t stay there for long.

After leaving Chang’an, Lei Jun quietly returned to the Tang Realm—then from there, made his way back to Penglai.

By now, more disciples from the Tianshi Mansion had arrived on Penglai under arrangement, continuing to develop the myriad islands of the Vast Eastern Sea under Chu Kun’s guidance.

“Senior Brother, you cut through the mess like a blade. The entire situation in the Han Realm has shifted,” Chu Kun said after hearing Lei Jun’s account.

“It’s still too early to say,” Lei Jun replied.

Chu Kun thought aloud. “So, what we can confirm is that Kongsang’s shamans were already at work in the Han Realm years ago. And the one behind it…”

He lowered his voice slightly.

“...was a being above the Ninth Heaven.”

Lei Jun nodded. “Yes. Otherwise, Mister Wang wouldn’t have died so early.”

“If it’s as the Emperor said,” Chu Kun mused, “then the Tianjing faction answers to the Witch King, while the Dedu faction seeks to stop his descent.

That would make Han’s Longhu Mountain a hindrance to Tianjing—especially if there’s truly a Talisman Sect ancestor hidden there.

But with their senior sister retreating, Longhu effectively vanished—so maybe they unintentionally helped Tianjing and the Witch King?

And that’s why Dedu mistook us for enemies, attacking Senior Sister Tang in the foreign Khanate?

I’m not so sure anymore…”

Lei Jun said, “To the Dedu faction, Longhu Mountain is important. But that doesn’t mean we’re enemies. It’s also possible they see us as obstacles to Tianjing and the Witch King. So we can’t conclude they attacked Little Sister Tang. Not yet.”

Chu Kun speculated further. “From what we’ve seen of the Witch King, it seems even beings above the Ninth Heaven can’t directly descend into the mortal realm. That applies to the Sage of Wisdom, the ancestor of Longhu, and the saint from Saha—they can exist in the heavens, but not in the mortal world?”

“It varies,” Lei Jun said. “Otherwise, that Saha saint could have come directly to Penglai—which is itself one of the heavens.”

Chu Kun grinned. “Then if the Golden Khan of the Northern Khanate or our Empress of the Tang ascends to sainthood, they’ll be in the same boat?”

“We’ll know more once Her Majesty returns from her journey,” said Lei Jun. “For now, let’s focus on our cultivation.”

“Yes, Senior Brother.”

Lei Jun spent some time stationed in Penglai before returning publicly to the Tang Realm, resuming his position at the Tianshi Mansion of Longhu Mountain.

There, beyond teaching his disciples, he continued his own path of cultivation at a measured pace.

From Primal Spirit Qi to Three Alchemical Essences, and then to the Five Elemental Breaths, he progressed step by step.

Along the way, Lei Jun sorted through his insights from impersonating a Confucian Grandmaster with the help of the Haoran Mystic Jade.

That experience deepened his understanding and inspired refinements to his own techniques.

He had mimicked the Divine Aurora Arrow of Confucian archery.

He had faked the Yin-Yang Star Radiance of poetic invocation.

He had altered his Dao Domain to resemble the Nation-State Realm.

Even his Heart-Thunder of the Nine Heavens had been reshaped into a physical arrow.

Each insight was a gain.

As time passed, fellow Daoists at the Tianshi Mansion who had been in secluded cultivation also began to make breakthroughs.

First was Ke Sicheng, who had long been challenging the trial between the Sixth and Seventh Heavens.

Now, at last, he succeeded—becoming a new high elder of the Upper Three Heavens.

He was nearly a hundred years old.

Looking back, his heart was full of emotion.

Compared to those who had died young—or fallen at the heavenly chasm—he felt incredibly fortunate.

Only he knew the full weight of it.

“Congratulations, Senior Brother Ke,” said Lei Jun, bestowing the Talisman Seal as Grandmaster of the Mansion.

“My thanks, Sect Leader,” Ke Sicheng replied solemnly.