Chapter 17: Prelude to Mutation—The Young Celestial Master of Dragon-Tiger Mountain

“Since you’ve already decided, I’ll have someone register it,” the Master of Imperial Sun replied, not saying much more. He called over a junior Taoist, who made a record in the registry. After stamping it with the official seal of the Celestial Master’s Residence, the Free and Easy Abode was formally assigned to Lu Yuan for the next ten years.

But Lu Yuan didn’t care much about that. Ten years? It was already late August; in less than a month, the world would undergo a great transformation. By then, whether this agreement would still mean anything was another matter altogether.

All that mattered was getting hold of the Wordless Stele.

Once Lu Yuan had secured his place of practice, the group headed straight to the Celestial Master’s Residence. As for the Wordless Stele, there was no need to rush—after all, a nondescript stone like that wouldn’t attract attention.

On the way back, however, President Liu and the others walked over to try to talk him out of his choice, saying he’d acted too impulsively in picking the Free and Easy Abode. The place was desolate, neglected, and quite a distance from the Celestial Master’s Residence—surely a loss. Lu Yuan only smiled and didn’t explain.

The Wordless Stele contained an ultimate Daoist power—how could they understand its value?

Before long, everyone entered the Celestial Master’s Residence. The vegetarian meal had already been arranged. After leading Lu Yuan and the others to the dining hall, the Master of Imperial Sun excused himself and left.

It was mealtime, so there were many Taoist priests inside, gathered in small groups, quietly eating. Most Taoist sects had their own rules, but as a branch of the Orthodox Unity Sect, the Celestial Master’s Residence didn’t prohibit meat, so there were dishes of meat in their bowls.

Lu Yuan and his companions lined up for their meal and found a place to sit. After a long, tiring day, everyone could finally rest a little.

But these were all people from the world of business. Having spent the day together, they had grown familiar and soon began to chat idly.

“President Wang, how many days do you plan to stay on Dragon-Tiger Mountain?”

“Probably just two or three days. I have some business to discuss soon—may need to swing by Mount Tai.”

“Mount Tai? That’s a great place, the foremost of the Five Sacred Mountains. Shall we go together?”

“Sure, you’re welcome to join,” President Wang replied.

“You don’t know?” President Liu interjected in a low voice. “Mount Tai is closed to visitors now. I heard that just a couple of days ago, tourists saw a celestial palace appear there again. Not only that, but some people saw a host of ancient figures standing atop the mountain at night, as if performing some kind of ritual.”

“A ritual? Really? How come I didn’t hear about that? Is it just a rumor?” someone asked, curious.

“Wasn’t it debunked earlier as just a mirage?” another chimed in.

“Why would I make it up? I even have a video,” President Liu said, pulling out his phone to show them.

But soon, he frowned and said, “That’s strange. It was on my phone this morning—now it’s gone.”

“Must be fake,” someone scoffed. “I’ve climbed Mount Tai several times and never seen any celestial palace, let alone ancient people.”

“Not necessarily. I’ve heard of all sorts of strange happenings lately, both here and abroad.”

“That’s right. Have you heard about Mount Jiuhua? People online say that every morning when the sun rises, you can hear chanting.”

“That odd? How come I haven’t seen any news about it?”

“No idea.”

The conversation piqued the wealthy men’s interest, and each shared stories they’d heard. Tales came from Mount Taihang, the Hengduan Mountains, the Qinling range, even Kunlun—many famous mountains were experiencing strange phenomena: earthquakes, radiant clouds, and some places had seen snowfall since last month that hadn’t stopped.

In the villages at the foot of the Qinling, residents said that each night they heard wild beasts howling till dawn, sometimes all night long.

Everywhere, it seemed, weird things were happening, though no one knew why.

But one thing was clear to all: none of this had become big news online—it seemed to be deliberately suppressed. So they figured President Liu’s video had probably been censored as well.

Sitting quietly nearby, Lu Yuan listened in silence.

He knew these were the prelude to the coming transformation. In the cities, people might not notice, but great mountains—especially those steeped in myth—were already subtly changing.

Of course, this was only the beginning. Come September first, a great upheaval would sweep the entire world.

Fortunately, he was prepared—he would not be caught off guard.

“Excuse me, may I sit here?” At that moment, a gentle voice sounded at Lu Yuan’s ear. Looking up, he saw a young Taoist priest.

The priest appeared to be seventeen or eighteen, with his hair in a Daoist knot and a mild expression. He carried a tray of food.

“Of course,” Lu Yuan nodded.

“Thank you,” the young priest replied, bowing before sitting down across from Lu Yuan. He didn’t start eating, instead continuing, “I heard you’ve chosen the Free and Easy Abode as your layman’s place of practice?”

Today, Dragon-Tiger Mountain had been closed specifically to receive a few generous donors. It was no surprise that the priests knew about Lu Yuan’s choice.

“That’s right,” Lu Yuan answered, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s not a good place for cultivation,” the young priest said with a smile. “I stayed there a few years ago—the roof leaks, and at night you can hear wild animals outside. Aren’t you afraid?”

“The path of Daoism is about cultivating the mind. Though I am a layman, I know that the more challenging the place, the better for such practice,” Lu Yuan replied offhandedly. He wasn’t going to live there long-term anyway, and with his current constitution, no wild beast could get close to him.

“You have a point,” the young priest nodded, seemingly in agreement.

He didn’t say anything more until after finishing his meal. Then he said, “My name is Chunyang. I hope we can talk about Daoist philosophy together in the future.”

With that, he bowed slightly and left.

Chunyang?

Lu Yuan felt a jolt of astonishment—his expression shifted ever so slightly.

That name had become renowned after the world’s transformation. It stood for Dragon-Tiger Mountain’s Young Celestial Master, one of the most powerful awakened youths of the new era.

“I never imagined I’d meet such a figure,” Lu Yuan thought, quickly steadying his emotions and smiling softly.

In his past life, he had been a minor character, while the Young Celestial Master of Dragon-Tiger Mountain was the most famous young powerhouse in all of China, a figure so mighty he seemed utterly out of reach.

But in this life, everything was different.

He said no more, quietly finishing his meal. When he was done, he joined the others to stay overnight at the Celestial Master’s Residence.

But at his firm insistence, that night he stayed at the Free and Easy Abode.

Only thus would he have enough time and means to claim the Wordless Stele for himself.