Led by Shangguan Yong, Zhang Ruochen and his group soon arrived at the sacred mountain at the heart of Saint King Que’s Mansion.
As Kunlun Realm revived, the mountain had undergone significant changes. Not only had it grown more majestic, but it now gushed with abundant holy qi, transforming the entire mansion into a rare cultivation haven.
The mountain was lush with dense vegetation, teeming with spiritual herbs and even holy medicines.
Ancient pavilions nestled within the forests, blending seamlessly with the mountain.
Few in the Shangguan Clan were privileged enough to have a cultivation site on the sacred mountain.
The mountaintop was a forbidden zone, the residence of Shangguan Que. Without permission, even Shangguan Yong, the clan leader, couldn’t approach.
“Your Highness, the patriarch is at the summit,” Shangguan Yong said respectfully.
Zhang Ruochen nodded. “Thank you.”
A special anti-flight array covered the mountain, preventing most from flying, but it posed no obstacle to Zhang Ruochen’s group.
They soared upward, swiftly reaching the summit.
Shangguan Yong looked up, watching Zhang Ruochen’s rising figure. He remained, ready to fulfill any orders from the patriarch.
It was noon, the sun blazing, the mountaintop wreathed in mist, like a celestial realm.
In an instant, Zhang Ruochen pinpointed Shangguan Que’s location.
With a flash, the seven landed on a cliff.
A gnarled ancient pine grew at the cliff’s edge, its twisted trunk like a coiled dragon, rooted there for countless years.
Beneath the pine stood a stone table with a tea set. A man sat there, holding a small teacup, faint steam rising from it.
A gentle breeze carried a subtle tea fragrance, soothing the senses.
The man was a white-haired elder, exuding refined elegance and the aura of a great scholar, radiating righteous qi.
His face was ruddy, free of any aged frailty. Though not tall, he emanated a steadiness like a divine mountain.
“Student Zhang Ruochen greets Teacher,” Zhang Ruochen said, stepping forward and bowing.
Eight hundred years later, Shangguan Que was much the same—elegant, kind-faced, with an inherent dignity that commanded respect.
Zhang Ruochen now confirmed that the Confucian Saint King from the Dragon Guardian Pavilion during the assault on Lingxiao Heavenly King Mansion was indeed Shangguan Que.
“Grand Tutor, it’s been years, and you haven’t changed a bit,” Kong Lanyou said, stepping forward to salute.
She, too, had studied under Shangguan Que, another of his students.
After Saint Ming’s fall, Shangguan Que became the court’s Saint King Que, branded a traitor by many Saint Ming remnants. Kong Lanyou hadn’t seen him since, 800 years passing in a blink.
Eight centuries was no short time, and few old acquaintances remained.
Shangguan Que set down his teacup, a kind smile spreading across his face. “Come, sit. Keep this old man company.”
Zhang Ruochen and Kong Lanyou didn’t hesitate, straightening and taking seats at the table.
Mu Lingxi, Mingjiang King, Jin Yu, Luo Chen, and Bao Lie followed, finding seats around the table.
Fortunately, the table was large, with ample seating, or they might have had to stand.
Shangguan Que lifted the teapot, pouring tea for each of them.
Mingjiang King said coldly, “Shangguan Que, you’re living well. The court’s Saint King Que, a lofty status. Unlike us Saint Ming rebels, forced to hide and flee.”
“It’s been 800 years, Your Highness. Why hold such a grudge? This choice wasn’t my desire,” Shangguan Que sighed.
Mingjiang King’s tone remained sharp. “Was someone forcing you?”
Shangguan Que shook his head, unwilling to elaborate, as if hiding something.
Angered, Mingjiang King pressed, “Why shake your head? Speak plainly. At this point, what’s there to hide?”
“Some matters are far more complex than you imagine,” Shangguan Que said gravely.
Mingjiang King opened his mouth to retort, but Zhang Ruochen spoke first. “Uncle, let’s not dwell on this. If Teacher doesn’t wish to speak, we can’t force him.”
Mingjiang King fell silent. Though Zhang Ruochen’s elder, he now deferred to him.
Zhang Ruochen turned to Shangguan Que, serious. “Teacher, we’re here to learn the truth about 800 years ago. I hope you’ll be forthright.”
Shangguan Que sipped his tea, saying softly, “Ask what you wish.”
Despite the midday sun, a cool breeze made the mountaintop pleasant, free of heat.
Zhang Ruochen’s expression grew earnest. “As a Dragon Guardian Pavilion member, you met Father before his disappearance. Do you know where he went?”
“Indeed, before the coup, we pavilion members were summoned by His Majesty, but he didn’t tell us where he was going,” Shangguan Que replied.
Zhang Ruochen frowned. If even the pavilion didn’t know Emperor Ming’s whereabouts, he might truly need to visit Western Heaven Buddha Realm himself.
After a moment’s thought, he continued, “Why did Father order the pavilion to build the altar? What’s its true purpose? Why preserve those holy souls? And where is the altar now?”
The altar, built with Saint Ming’s entire treasury, was no trivial matter.
Zhang Ruochen had only recently learned of it from the Divine Sword Holy Land, but Lu Huaiyu knew nothing of its true secrets.
Shangguan Que stood, walking to the cliff’s edge, gazing at the swirling mists below. “Even I don’t fully understand the altar’s secrets. But per His Majesty’s intent, over centuries, we’ve preserved the holy souls of most Kunlun Realm’s deceased saints in the altar, keeping them from dissipating. Perhaps, under specific conditions, they could be revived.”
“Originally, the altar was at Divine Sword Holy Land. Before Hell Realm breached the Heaven-Earth Altar, we moved it to Yin Burial Mountain Range, following the orders of the two Golden Ni Beast Emperors.”
Kong Lanyou and the others were stunned. Though Kunlun Realm had declined, it still produced many saints. Over centuries, countless had died, meaning the altar held a vast number of holy souls.
If those saints could be revived, it would be a formidable force.
Kong Lanyou had long known of the altar and its soul-preserving function but not its purpose. She’d asked Lu Yuanzhi but got no answers.
Now, it seemed only the two Golden Ni Beast Emperors truly knew the altar’s secrets, trusted by Emperor Ming above all others.
“Yin Burial Mountain Range? Why move the altar there? What’s in that place?” Zhang Ruochen asked, puzzled.
