The Hanging Temple, though grand and ancient in aura, appeared rather modest from the outside.
Each group of demonic tribes followed their respective guiding monks into this millennia-old monastery. The mont they stepped inside, the chanting of sutras enveloped them. Despite the temple's vastness, there were no worshippers to be seen, amplifying its serene atmosphere.
In truth, the Hanging Temple remained secluded year-round, its gates perpetually shut except once every sixty years when the Celestial Jade descended from the heavens.
The water tribe's guiding monk, clad in patchwork robes and appearing rather young, led the way in silence, never uttering a word.
"With so many different tribes gathered here, won't conflicts arise?" Li Mo couldn't help but ask curiously.
"I suppose... they probably will?" Murong Xiao replied, glancing ahead.
"Hm?"
"See for yourself, Brother Li."
Following Murong Xiao's finger, Li Mo spotted a confrontation unfolding before the main hall—a group of avian tribesn and water tribesn stood in tense opposition, both sides bristling with hostility and numbers.
"Our peerless Heavenly Flood Dragon is mighty enough to uproot mountains! That Qingluan Goddess of yours wouldn't stand a chance once he gets his claws on her—hah!"
"Crude and ignorant! Since when have avian tribes relied on brute strength? Our goddess moves like a fleeting shadow—your so-called 'Heavenly Flood Dragon' wouldn't even graze a single feather of hers! Oh wait, do you even have feathers?"
"Personal attacks? You're resorting to personal attacks now?"
"Go ahead, hit ! I'll just lie down if you do!"
"Ptooey!"
The argunt raged fiercely, with the avian tribe's main instigator—a parrot tribesman—spitting out eight insults per second, his verbal barrage relentless.
Even worse, he taunted while simultaneously preparing to feign injury, making him an unbeatable opponent in a war of words.
The water tribe, unable to endure, hastily replaced their debater with a spitting toad tribesman.
The scene quickly devolved into chaos.
"......"
Li Mo, the young Heavenly Flood Dragon, covered his face in embarrassnt and hurriedly tugged Murong Xiao along, eager to avoid drawing attention from either faction.
Entering a side hall, they were t with an entirely different world—a misty lakeside nestled against mountains.
For a mont, it was impossible to tell whether they were still within the Hanging Temple or if the side hall's doorway had transported them to another realm entirely.
Even Li Mo, who had seen much in the Cloud-Spanning Sword City, was awed by such mystical prowess—a testant to the Hanging Temple's profound heritage.
Hmm...
No wonder the Southern Border's demons dared not cause trouble within these walls.
Upon reaching the lakeside quarters, they found Murong Feng, his wife Wu Qing, and a familiar elderly monk waiting inside. The guiding monk stepped forward to pay respects as a disciple.
"Son, you're here."
"Co greet Master Hengyuan."
Murong Xiao froze.
Li Mo glanced at him and spoke first, "Master Hengyuan, it's been a while."
"Amitabha."
The kindly old monk, Hengyuan, smiled in acknowledgnt.
After exchanging greetings, Li Mo fell silent. Through his Heavenly Fate Divine Eye, he had glimpsed Hengyuan's recent endeavors:
[After much deliberation, he seeks to overco all obstacles and take Murong Xiao as his disciple.]
Sure enough, Wu Qing voiced her wish for her son to remain at the Hanging Temple temporarily.
"But I'm already a disciple of the Qingyuan Sect," Murong Xiao protested, scratching his bald head and looking at Li Mo.
"As long as your sect permits it, joining another school is acceptable."
"Hmm..."
Murong Xiao wrestled with indecision.
Li Mo considered the matter and said, "The Hanging Temple is in the Southern Border—you'd be closer to your parents."
The temple was a prestigious institution, renowned throughout the land as a bastion of Zen Buddhism. Moreover, temperant-wise, Murong Xiao was better suited to Buddhist martial arts.
Besides, his half-demon constitution could benefit from the harmonizing influence of Buddhist teachings.
Though Li Mo would lose a potential investnt, he genuinely wished his friend a brighter future.
After much internal struggle—having never envisioned joining the Buddhist order—Murong Xiao finally relented upon learning the temple permitted disciples to return to secular life.
"Let's go."
Wu Qing seed to exhale in relief.
The couple, along with Murong Xiao, followed Hengyuan toward the main hall.
Li Mo, seizing the opportunity, planned to use his Heavenly Fate Divine Eye to gather information before competing for the Celestial Jade.
Thus, the group departed the water tribe's lakeside sanctuary.
Along the way, monks bowed to Hengyuan, while demons regarded him with reverence.
Li Mo pulled out a notebook and jotted down observations:
[Na: Biao Lie]
[Age: 47]
[Root Bone: A trace of Qiongqi bloodline.]
[Cultivation: Late-stage Seventh Rank (Observation Spirit Realm).]
[Fate: Blue]
[Evaluation: Qiongqi tribe, bloodline still dilute.]
[Recent Events: Failed to endure ancestral spirit trials in the Hanging Temple's Demon Pagoda.]
......
[Na: Yu Miao]
......
[Na: Qiu Yu]
......
Nurous demons crossed their path, so boasting formidable innate bloodlines.
As he walked, Li Mo noted those worth future investnts.
"With only one mastered transformation out of seventy-two, acquiring a drop of blood essence from these tribes could grant countless new forms."
If he could assu the guise of a Qingluan, he could infiltrate the avian tribe's domain right now.
Regrettably, transformations were always in short supply when needed most.
What a tantalizing prospect.
Suddenly, Wu Qing paused mid-step.
"Husband, we're back here again."
"Decades have passed in the blink of an eye."
The couple gazed wistfully ahead.
Li Mo followed their line of sight to an ancient verdant tree, its lush canopy resembling an ornate parasol. Countless embroidered pouches dangled from its branches, fluttering in the breeze.
Demons of all kinds attempted to hang their own pouches upon it.
"The Marriage Tree hasn't changed a bit."
Wu Qing had made a wish before this very tree years ago—shortly thereafter, she t Murong Feng.
"Li Mo, why not try? It's remarkably effective."
Murong Feng turned back, offering a pouch.
"When we ca to fulfill our vow, the pouch my wife hung years ago fell right into my hands. Here, take it."
Accepting the pouch, Li Mo shook his head.
"I'm not one for superstitions."
......
Midnight.
The grounds lay deserted.
A shadowy figure slipped out from the water tribe's quarters under cover of darkness, arriving at the Marriage Tree. Finding the area devoid of its dayti bustle, he sighed in relief.
With a light leap, he landed on a branch.
Among the many pouches, a new one now hung—unremarkable yet present.
Pleased with his handiwork, the young Heavenly Flood Dragon dusted his hands and turned to leave.
Plop.
A soft sound.
The freshly hung pouch lay on the ground.
"Huh? Did I not tie it properly?"
Muttering, Li Mo climbed back up.
So ti later...
Staring as the pouch fell for the third ti, the baffled young man scratched his head.
Even a double knot failed?
This defied all logic!
Was he unworthy?
Or was the tree malfunctioning?
By all accounts, pouches only fell when vows were fulfilled!
"One last try..."
Refusing to concede, Li Mo resolved to climb the tree properly this ti—using hands and feet, as per local custom.
Midway up...
A familiar, lodious voice drifted from behind:
"...What are you doing?"
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