Chapter Ten: The Dharma Assembly

At night, the heavy clouds unexpectedly dispersed. Moonlight poured down, erasing some of the cliff’s darkness and leaving only a deep silence.

Ying Chen rode the ghostly steed, following Chen Chang as they crossed half the length of the Crimson River Cliff, finally stopping before a grand hall.

The entire structure was an ashen white, and its columns, beams, and railings all differed in shape—at first glance, it seemed as though the hall had been built entirely from white bones.

Peering inside, Ying Chen saw only a yawning blackness, like a gaping maw stretched wide open, with nothing of a ceremonial gathering within.

Chen Chang dismounted, dismissed his ghost steed, and approached the hall’s entrance. Noticing Ying Chen hadn’t moved, he turned back, confusion in his gaze.

Ying Chen hesitated for a moment before sliding down from the steed, shaking the locustwood talisman. At once, the ghost horse dissolved into a wisp of blue smoke, returning to the charm.

He weighed the talisman in his hand with satisfaction. Chen Chang rolled his eyes before turning away and heading inside.

Ying Chen followed at a measured pace, quietly alert to any changes around him.

Led by Chen Chang, they passed through a pitch-black corridor and stopped at a hall’s threshold, where a soft light finally shone through. Ying Chen lifted his eyes, taken aback by the sight.

Suspended above the hall was a bright, full moon.

Scores of women in palace robes floated gracefully around it—some cradled instruments, some danced with slender swords, and others twirled in elegant movements. No matter where one looked, the scene was captivating, like immortal maidens from the Moon Palace.

Yet neither the moon nor these fairies belonged in this hall.

Carefully observing, Ying Chen soon discerned the truth: the moon was but a paper cutout, and those celestial maidens no more than dancing paper figures.

But such illusionary artistry was all the more impressive, the handiwork of someone deeply skilled in the arcane.

“Come on,” Chen Chang’s voice dropped to a hush as he led Ying Chen into the hall.

Bathed in moonlight’s gentle glow, Ying Chen saw several long tables, each set with drinks, food, and incense burners. Numerous figures sat in small groups, speaking quietly, laughter threading through the air.

It was indeed a gathering of the arts, though far more refined than any Ying Chen had ever attended.

Chen Chang guided him to the end of a long table, where they sat cross-legged. He said in a low voice, “I’ll go find Senior Brother Yu. For now, sit and help yourself to food and drink—but don’t get drunk. You’ll meet Senior Brother Yu soon.”

Ying Chen caught his sleeve and spoke slowly, “Since we’re here, shouldn’t you tell me a bit about this ‘Senior Brother Yu’?”

Chen Chang hesitated, then leaned in and whispered, “His full name is Yu Daojing. He joined a year before us.”

Ying Chen nodded slightly; Yu Daojing—now that sounded like a name from the Immortal Sects.

“But don’t think he’s just one year ahead,” Chen Chang continued. “Of the disciples from the previous intake, only a handful have reached the peak of the Qi Refining stage—Senior Brother Yu is one of them!”

“What?” Ying Chen’s eyelid twitched.

The peak of Qi Refining! The previous intake—so in less than ten years of cultivation, he had already reached such a level.

Qi Refining consisted of twelve layers, with a hurdle every three. Even among the solid mid-tier disciples of their own year, many had reached the fourth layer, but in five more years, not half would cross the seventh, let alone the tenth, and certainly not the peak.

For Yu Daojing to reach the peak in under ten years—such talent all but guaranteed his entry to the Inner Sect. His status at Crimson River Cliff was obvious.

Ying Chen glanced at Chen Chang, his opinion of the short man shifting. To borrow a talisman tool from someone like that, and even try to make a profit—if he wasn’t a fool, then he certainly wasn’t simple.

“Anything else?” Ying Chen asked. “Go on.”

“What more is there?” Chen Chang replied. “Even the most senior disciples at Crimson River Cliff would give him face. So, be extra careful not to offend him.”

With that, he hurried off.

Ying Chen picked up a piece of fruit, his gaze following Chen Chang’s movements.

Chen Chang jogged to the front of the hall, where several low tables stood apart. Few people sat there, their faces obscured. Ying Chen saw Chen Chang bow deeply and speak to one of them while the others teased him, forcing a strained smile from him. Only after a long while did Chen Chang return.

He exhaled in relief and said, “It’s fine. Senior Brother Yu won’t hold it against you. Come with me to meet him.”

On the way, he whispered, “If the senior brothers scold you, just keep your head down and listen.”

Ying Chen merely nodded, quickly following Chen Chang to the hall’s front. Even before drawing near, a faint fragrance greeted him, calming the mind.

He glanced up and saw a censer on the table, half a stick of incense burning. He couldn’t help but tug at his mouth.

It was Incense of Focus—a great aid for cultivation retreats. New disciples received just one stick per monthly assessment, yet here it was, burning amid laughter and conversation.

“Senior Brother Yu,” Chen Chang bowed, “this is Junior Brother Ying.”

Ying Chen immediately felt several gazes fall upon him—some sizing him up, some amused, some unreadable.

He didn’t look around but stepped forward from behind Chen Chang, hands clasped in greeting. “Greetings, Senior Brother Yu.”

Yu Daojing’s hair was unbound, falling over his shoulders. His face was handsome, his brows slanted but not effeminate.

He sat at the chief seat, his presence not overtly commanding, yet he was the natural focus of the room—innately more distinguished than those around him. Only the man in white at his left seemed not diminished by comparison.

The man in white seemed uninterested in Ying Chen, quietly sipping his wine.

Yu Daojing’s gaze was calm, unreadable. “Ying Chen?”

“Yes,” Ying Chen replied. Yu Daojing nodded thoughtfully, then, to everyone’s surprise, gestured to a seat. “Sit.”

“Hm?” At his words, the man in white looked up again, raising his brows at Ying Chen.

The others sitting nearby were surprised as well, eyes flicking between Ying Chen and Chen Chang, some breaking into laughter.

Chen Chang was stunned, opening his mouth but unable to speak, only glancing at Ying Chen. Unexpectedly, Ying Chen simply bowed and said, “Thank you, Senior Brother,” before sitting cross-legged at the end of the table, nodding politely to those beside him.

Next to Ying Chen sat a senior sister with almond-shaped eyes. She studied him for a moment, then burst out laughing. “No need to be so formal, junior brother.”

The atmosphere seemed to lighten at once—only Chen Chang still stood awkwardly with hands at his sides.