Chapter 41: The Judgment of the Cloud-Bathed Temple

Yet, that was not an option now, for the divine order of this mortal realm was in decline, and demonic entities roamed rampant across the land.

Qíngyǔ harbored no wish to emulate the Dao Ancestor by merging her very being with the Great Dao, nor did she desire to constantly oversee matters herself. If she truly wished to savor a life of secluded, ethereal solitude in the future, she first needed to assist in re-establishing the divine order.

From afar, the urgent thunder of hooves resonated, and it was none other than Qin Lu, astride a black horse, a long saber in hand, black smoke around him aggressively rending the curtain of rain.

Upon seeing only a slender silhouette, holding an oil-paper umbrella and clad in a Daoist robe and green shirt, standing at the temple gate, a surge of delight filled his heart.

“—I had been wondering who this ‘distinguished expert’ Daoist Feng spoke of could be, and had even circled cautiously to observe, only to find it was merely a young woman like this?!”

With a death grip, he yanked on the reins, the scoundrel roaring with laughter as he whirled a steel saber, whipping up a gale. His muscles, coiled like earthworms, churned open a fan-like spray of rain through sheer brute force.

In stark contrast, the seemingly frail Qíngyǔ regarded him with an unperturbed gaze. With her hands clasped behind her back, she tucked away her brush, then stepped into the air, effortlessly floating beyond the temple threshold.

“—Mama! Be careful!”

Little Girl watched as her mother, instead of evading, stepped directly into the path of the thundering black horse. Her tiny face was etched with raw anxiety, and heedless of the driving rain, her instincts screamed at her to unleash the spiritual energy within her.

“—It’s alright. Trust me.”

Qíngyǔ glanced back, offering a gentle smile, and from a distance, conjured a soft breeze to gently whisk away the rain clinging to Little Girl.

Witnessing her mother’s serene smile, the girl’s mounting anxiety dissipated by more than half.

“—You brazen wench, how dare you ignore me!!!”

Witnessing the young woman’s utter disregard for him, Qin Lu’s rage surged, smoke practically fuming from his seven orifices. He cast aside any pretense of maintaining formation and spurred his horse forward, leading the charge.

Jí Yào, who had been observing from a tree, sensing the ominous turn of events, felt his palms grow slick with sweat, his throat parched.

It was no wonder this man had caught the Emperor’s eye and been dispatched to the border front; he was, truly, a fierce warrior.

“—Qíngyǔ, be careful!”

Yang Qi, who had hastily led his team out, witnessed the scene unfold. Though he knew the young woman possessed formidable skills, he could not help but cry out.

No sooner had his words faded than Qin Lu, spurring his horse and brandishing his saber, reached the temple entrance. Strands of hair clung haphazardly to his forehead, his savage grin starkly visible.

As the silver gleam of the saber bore down, the heavy rain seemed to freeze in an instant.

“—Possessing power, yet failing to wield it for the righteous path.”

Qíngyǔ cast a fleeting glance at the menacing steel saber before her and spoke with an understated calm. A sudden, clear breeze materialized from the ground, causing everyone’s robes to flutter, and firmly halted the menacing brute before them.

“—Playing tricks! Feigning divinity!!”

Qin Lu exerted every ounce of his strength, utterly unprepared for the sudden emergence of the wind wall. His long saber, momentarily obstructed, let out a prolonged, mournful wail, the clangor ripping through the air.

The immense recoil sent a numbing shock through his hand, rendering nearly half his arm useless.

“—To wield such force, yet wield it poorly; what a regrettable waste.”

Treading on air, the green-clad young woman advanced with an unhurried grace. The sudden gust of wind eerily moved with her, pressing against the still-extended steel saber, forcing the brute before her until his face was flushed crimson and his eyes bloodshot.

As Qíngyǔ advanced step by step, he retreated with each stride. Behind him, his household guards fell into a panic; despite their overwhelming numbers, they cowered, hesitant to advance.

“—You little hussy, what vile curse have you laid upon me?!”

A ruthless resolve hardened Qin Lu’s heart. His furious roar, imbued with internal energy, was meant to inflict harm upon Qíngyǔ, yet it only caused her to furrow her brow slightly.

If the man before her lacked his particular mindset and cunning, and one merely considered his raw physical prowess, he might indeed have made a fine general.

Alas, such heaven-bestowed talent was utterly wasted.

“—A talent bestowed by heaven, yet not employed for virtue.”

Qíngyǔ gazed at the coiling black smoke in the distance, then spoke with a clear, resonant voice. Too disinclined to wait any further, she slowly advanced.

With every step she took, Qin Lu was compelled to retreat a corresponding measure. The horse beneath him shrieked mournfully, its forelegs flailing uselessly in the air.

Releasing the reins, he braced the saber with both hands, the veins on both his arms bulged grotesquely. On his savage face, it was impossible to distinguish between streaks of rain and rivulets of sweat.

“—You…” The brute gasped, sucking in ragged breaths, forcibly suppressing a dry, rusty sweetness that burned in his throat, determined to withstand the wind wall through sheer force of will.

“—Without Dao, without benevolence, without virtue…”

Qíngyǔ cast one final, cold glance at him, then extended her hand, drawing forth a strand of divine light, which wavered before descending upon his form.

“—What demonic sorcery are you employing!”

A mouthful of black blood, finally unable to be suppressed, began to seep from his throat and trickled down, mingling with the rain.

“—There is no demonic art or immortal spell, merely a plea to the wind.”

The young woman’s voice carried, loud and clear, deliberately intended for Little Girl in the courtyard to overhear.

“—The one lurking behind you still hasn’t revealed themselves. To be so timid, like a mouse, yet still dare to harm others?”

Qin Lu clung desperately to his stance. Suddenly, his body slackened, but before joy could register, he felt black smoke erupt from his form, transforming into a joyful, clear breeze that danced away into the rain.

“—As for you, Master Yang spoke truly.”

Qíngyǔ waved her hand, sending the smoke soaring towards the horizon, where it ascended into the ominous clouds above.

The brute’s consciousness swam in a daze; he only registered the final words.

“—Without Dao, without benevolence, without virtue, and without self… You did not even have time to inflict harm. Consider it a boon then, to be cleansed of your wicked aura. Go, reincarnate.”

The ‘Judgment’ descended for the second time in this realm, effortlessly plucking away Qin Lu’s remaining life and transforming it into a gentle breeze.

Watching the man who, moments ago, had been baring his fangs and brandishing his claws, now transformed by Qíngyǔ’s spell into black smoke and a clear breeze, effortlessly carried away, the surrounding onlookers felt a profound sense of disorientation.

Upon witnessing ‘Judgment’ take effect, Qíngyǔ finally exhaled a long, silent breath of relief. Her repertoire of lethal arts was indeed sparse; the earlier invocation of wind had merely been a display of practiced skill, barely managing to hold the situation together.

Had ‘Judgment’ failed to take effect, she would have been forced to summon Jí-brother from his perch in the tree to hastily descend and dispatch the man.

Now, however, it was no longer she who would be panicking.

The young woman’s thoughts swirled, yet her face maintained its serene composure. She cast a distant glance at Daoist Feng, who had transformed into black smoke and was hiding, sending another jolt of panic through his heart.

Heaven and earth bear witness, to hell with demon lords and evil ancestors—how could such an utterly bizarre spell exist in this world!

Daoist Feng, who had lived for so long, styling himself a master of ‘wind and whispers,’ was encountering for the very first time someone who could, with a mere casual remark, shatter his calamity-inducing spell.

A profound desolation settled in Daoist Feng’s heart.

‘If only I were still playing chess with that old man right now, how wonderful that would be.’

This was the first time in his demonic life that he had felt such suffocation.

Yes, suffocation.

The most terrifying aspect was not the green-clad immortal’s spell, but that even at this moment, Daoist Feng could not detect a single trace of spiritual energy emanating from her.

Not even a drop of rain could approach her, even—that eerily erected wind wall remained steadfast.

“—What, are you still not retreating?”

Qíngyǔ swept her gaze over the household guards, who were already utterly terrified, her tone unwavering.

Her voice, clear and even carrying a hint of girlish innocence, now sounded to these men like a death-knell, a malevolent curse.

It was unclear who started it first.

A steel saber, a piece of armor, a long bow…

Various weapons and equipment clattered to the ground.

Before long, the once menacing, dense throng of enemies had been reduced to captives, prostrate on the ground, letting the rain soak their bodies, daring neither to flee nor to stay, only able to kneel and beg for mercy, not even daring to breathe loudly.

“—We… dare not retreat.”

A trembling voice emerged, initially from just one man, but soon dozens echoed in unison.

The young woman stood suspended in mid-air a short distance away, not intending to personally deal with these men. She drew her writing brush from her sleeve once more.

“—Indeed, this humble Daoist still has one matter to attend to.”

Speaking thus, she paused, then turned to look at the small temple.

“—Since there is rain today, I shall name you—Cloud-Bathed Temple.”