Chu Chaoran, a living Zhenren of this age, has already attained the Path of Pure Yang Wuji.
In the End of Dharma Era, to cultivators, he is a towering mountain, a star in the firmant, a vast ocean, a living Immortal amongst mortals.
The weight of a disciple under such an existence is imaginable—borne with a gravity beyond words.
Yet, the na Zhang Fan seed unspeakably unfamiliar to everyone present.
Were it not spoken from Master Xuanji's lips, crowned with the title 'Disciple of Transcendent Zhenren', one would have thought him rely a charlatan.
"A disciple of Transcendent Zhenren?"
"He is actually a disciple of Transcendent Zhenren?"
Within the grand hall, waves of astonishnt arose; every gaze now fell upon Zhang Fan, three parts curious, seven parts amazed.
"Chu Zhenren's disciple?" Hua Yixun's eyes narrowed into a single thread, fixing upon Zhang Fan, scrutinizing him as though to see directly through his essence.
"Impossible, I heard Transcendent Zhenren's closed-door disciple is Xia Weisheng..."
At this mont, Gu Jingqiu could not help but blurt out uncontrollably.
"Insolence!"
Before the words had faded, Hua Yixun barked out sharply, his piercing gaze stabbing through the air, forcing the ill-mannered Gu Jingqiu instantly to silence.
Such speech was tantamount to questioning Master Xuanji—already, as a disciple of Lao Mountain, a breach of the utmost propriety.
"Unthinkable... unthinkable..."
With a asured murmur, Hua Yixun's gaze remained unmoved from Zhang Fan for a single breath, as if inscribing his form into mory.
"To be the disciple of Chu Zhenren—is to be a dragon among n."
Hua Yixun also knew, among the ten great Daoist sects, so disciples are renowned, such as Xia Weisheng of Zhenwu Mountain, An Wuyang of Zhongnan Mountain, Qi Delong and Qi Dongqiang of Laojun Mountain; yet, there are also those nurtured in silence, whose nas have never arisen amidst the red dust of the mortal world.
Just so, on Lao Mountain, there are disciples dwelling in the Profound Passage, whose nas have not yet reached the realm of n.
"You've shown your true face now."
Jiang Hu sidled up to Zhang Fan, whispering softly into his ear.
In that instant just now, Zhang Fan had beco the pivot of all attention—such focus in such a place was truly a rare fortune.
"Was it really my face that was shown?" Zhang Fan cast him a sidelong glance, unconsciously looking toward Master Xuanji high above.
He knew well—the reason everyone took such notice was not because of him, but because of Chu Chaoran.
And yet, what Zhang Fan could not understand was why, at just such a mont, Master Xuanji sought to make him the center of all eyes; the introduction just now had seed deliberately telling.
"Open the jar and request the Seal!"
In that instant, the duster in Master Xuanji's hand brushed through the air, his gentle yet resonant call drawing back the attention of all present.
Duster, O duster, you sweep away the endless red dust, open the magic altar, seek the true self, ascend to Heaven's court and taste the immortal fruit.
Buzz...
The resonant peal of a bell sounded; incense curled in the air. At the four cardinal altars, led by Zhong Changming, Daoists ford sealing mudras with their hands, reciting incantations beneath their breath, while before them, long flas leapt skyward, shining forth an undying radiance.
Simultaneously, an ancient earthen jar was carried forth by two little Daoist Children, setting it before Master Xuanji.
Buzz...
Flicking his finger, a spark of fire flew from a red candle, landing upon the talisman sealing the mouth of the battered old earthen jar.
"Supre lays down the teachings, proclaiming the Dharma, all sentient beings may hear the celestial chi. Tonight, entering this sacred gate, Southern stars shine, Beidou gleams bright..."
Master Xuanji chanted incantations softly; suddenly, within the hall, a wind arose from nowhere, causing sacred candles to waver, ghostly scents to swirl. Suddenly, a flash of gold—a treasure box sprang open.
Buzz...
The treasure box before Master Xuanji opened; an ancient, unadorned Golden Seal appeared before the crowd—palm-sized, round and squat, golden radiance subdued, the surface worn by the patina of ages, an aching sense of ti flowing from within.
"Dragon and Tiger Seal... Is this the very [Mighty Spirit Demon-Suppressing Gold Seal] granted by the Dragon Tiger Upper Zhang Family to the Observatory of Profound Mystery in days past?"
Hua Yixun's eyes lit with sudden lustre; as a Lao Mountain Daoist, he had naturally heard of the Dragon Tiger Mountain Seal's mighty reputation, and, moreover, this very [Mighty Spirit Demon-Suppressing Gold Seal] of the Observatory of Profound Mystery.
In this mont, he could clearly sense invisible energies swirling around the ancient Seal, drawing upon the vital currents within the entire hall—every flickering candle seed to turn towards it, and spiraling incense rushed towards this locus, as though revering the Seal's majesty.
"The Mighty Spirit Demon-Suppressing Gold Seal—that is indeed the Seal of Dragon Tiger Mountain."
"A Daoist magical artifact! Dragon and Tiger Seal, acclaid peerless... In nine [Breaking Mountains and Attacking Temples], who knows how many Wuwei Demons were slain, how many Mountain and Sea Demons and Ghosts suppressed and pacified."
"The Dragon Tiger Mountain Zhang Family, crowning the Daoist Sects, an Immortal Family... Since the Daoist Great Calamity eighty years past, that lineage has vanished—never did I expect to witness the Dragon Tiger Seal in my lifeti."
Countless inner voices echoed within the gathered minds, every blazing gaze fastened upon that palm-sized Seal of gold.
A confluence of destiny indeed! For all gathered today in this grand hall, to behold such a Golden Seal was fortune and blessing, fate's favor beyond compare.
Even Zhang Fan's eyes were glued, unblinking, to that Golden Seal.
In that mont, his heart stirred with a strange prescience—a sense of reunion after ages, a wild joy nearly surging uncontrollably.
"Dragon Tiger Mountain Zhang Family... Nigh two thousand years of enduring legacy; aside from the five Ancestral Seals, rely sixty-three Dharma Seals were ever forged, each inscribed with the Heavenly Decree, Imperial Decree of the Supre Lord Laojun, Urgent as the Law."
Gu Jingqiu's hands tightened with trembling force, his eyes fixed unmovingly upon the Golden Seal, spirit stirred so deep he could scarce compose himself.
From ages past, among ten Daoists in the world, nine bore the surna Zhang, and one Li.
This Zhang, refers precisely to the Zhangs of Dragon Tiger Mountain.
To all cultivators beneath the sky, that clan is a mountain immovable, insurmountable—a weight pressing upon the mortal world for nearly two millennia.
Dao was born Innate, but flourished upon the Dragon and Tiger, a lineage unmatched beneath Heaven and Earth.
Only, after the Daoist Great Calamity, eight decades have worn away; the incense of the Dragon Tiger Zhangs is now severed. For the youth of today, this surna is naught but legend: insubstantial, illusory, unknowable, unseen.
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