Severing Ties: The Sect Regrets My Departure

Chapter 239: Proud Plum in Snow, White Jade as Garment

While Gu Xiu was deep within the Mountain River Remnant World, laboring to anchor the Origin Dao Rhyme, the external manifestation of that very law—now belonging to a realm entirely separate from the greater world—underwent a cataclysmic transformation!

The phantom talisman in the sky began a slow, deliberate descent. Unlike its counterpart within the Remnant World, which was homing in on the blank paper in Gu Xiu’s hand, this Origin Dao Rhyme targeted the void itself. It pulsed with a singular purpose, as if it were prepared to tear through the fabric of reality and traverse time and space to find its chosen vessel.

The commotion left the city’s Talisman Masters trembling with envy and wild anticipation.

“It truly is a Divine Invocation! Someone is actually successfully calling the Origin Dao Rhyme. What kind of monstrous existence is capable of this?”

“I’ve just scoured the ancient archives,” another shouted. “The records state that Senior Xu Mozi of the Ink Chill Tower once performed a Divine Invocation of the Origin. Does this mean… a new Ink Chill Tower is about to be born?”

“Regardless of the Tower, the reappearance of the Mother of Rhymes in this world means the bottleneck for all Talisman Path cultivators has been loosened! A new golden age has arrived!”

For the vast majority, this was a tide that lifted all boats. But for the ambitious, it was a bitter pill of inadequacy.

“I failed. I can’t even begin to trace the stroke.”

“I’ve ruined a hundred sheets of premium parchment. I can mimic the shape perfectly, but the spirit is void. It remains a mere horizontal line.”

“A simple stroke, yet it feels like the beginning of all laws. It cannot be stolen. It belongs to that person alone.”

The more talented the Talisman Master, the more they felt the sting of regret. Many had tried to “intercept” the Divine Invocation by copying the manifestation in the sky, hoping to snatch the resonance for themselves.

Without exception, they all failed.

Yin Wenshu and Qin Meran were among the failures. For them, the frustration was twofold: they couldn’t grasp the Origin, and they had gained absolutely nothing from the “Immortal’s Trial” talismans they had purchased from Little Ping’an. They had researched those three first-grade talismans until they could count the fibers in the paper, yet they remained what they were—exceptionally high-quality, but ultimately ordinary, Perfect Dao Talismans.

They didn’t blame the “Immortal,” of course. They blamed themselves. If they couldn’t find the hidden mystery, it was clearly because their own comprehension was too shallow.

But their irritation turned to cold fury when they noticed the shifting atmosphere in the city. The restless hunger of the various factions was reaching a breaking point.

Shadows were already converging on the alleyway of the Listening-to-Rain Pavilion.

“Those wretched curs… they dare to disturb the Immortal’s peace!” Yin Wenshu hissed.

“They are courting death!”

While most were content to meditate on the sky, several hidden forces decided to strike at the root. Cloud Firmament City had never been a place of quiet contemplation. Since the first Homage of Ten Thousand Rhymes, spies from every major Sect—including Azure Mystic—had been lurking in every tavern and tea house.

Until now, they had been cautious, fearing they might escalate a situation they didn’t fully understand. But the appearance of the Origin was the final straw.

In a secluded courtyard, a group of men shed their disguises. Their suppressed auras erupted like a volcano.

“This mystery is finally surfacing. Find them! Even if you have to flip Cloud Firmament City upside down and dig three feet into the earth, unearth this force!”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s the Ink Chill Tower or not. That Sect must never rise from the ashes, nor shall we allow a second version to take its place!”

“Pass the order: stop holding back to avoid notice. Full mobilization! Kill anyone who obstructs us without mercy!”

“Divine Invocation is the moment of peak vulnerability. Even if we cannot kill the summoner, we must sever their connection and break the rite!”

As the command rippled out, the citizens of Cloud Firmament City witnessed a terrifying transformation.

The “Rogue Cultivators” who had been living peacefully for months suddenly changed. A tavern owner stripped off his silk robes to reveal a set of stark white garments embroidered with winter plum blossoms. A street laborer dropped his carrying pole and unsheathed a peerless blade. A courtesan from the pleasure district ended the life of the man in her bed and unleashed a torrential pressure.

They were a sea of white and winter plums. Their momentum was a storm that threatened to swallow the city.

Chaos erupted. They moved like a swarm of locusts, blood staining the streets as they cut through anyone in their path toward the city’s heart.

As this white-clad army swept through, an old drunkard—who usually spent his days wandering aimlessly—did something rare. He stopped drinking. He tied his wine gourd to his waist, his eyes turning cold and sharp as flint. When he saw three white-clad figures heading for the Listening-to-Rain Pavilion, he finally moved.

But before he could strike, a gentle, melodious female voice rang out through the alley:

“Proud plum in snow hides its faint, ghostly light, White jade as a garment reflects the moon’s chill. Talismans born of Heaven startle the gods, The Hidden Tower emerges, peerless and still.”

“May I ask,” the woman said, stepping into the light, “are you Fellow Daoists of the White Jade Tower?”

White Jade Tower!

The name caused the commoners to look on in confusion, but the elders and the well-informed among the crowd went deathly pale.

“The White Jade Tower… they still exist? And with this many experts?”

“When the Ink Chill Tower fractured centuries ago, a branch split off and called themselves the White Jade Tower. They were supposed to have vanished alongside the original Sect! How can their legacy still be intact?”

“They never left. I heard they maintained a hidden lineage in the Central Continent, only acting every few centuries. But whenever they do, the world trembles!”

The three white-clad experts ignored the whispers. They focused their sharp gazes on the woman blocking their path.

“The Young Mistress of the Ten Thousand Treasures Pavilion… Wan Xiaobei?” the handsome scholar in the lead asked with a smirk.

It was indeed Wan Xiaobei. She was not alone. She had gathered a phalanx of the Pavilion’s top experts, all armed to the teeth and blocking the entrance to the alley. Despite her backup, she remained incredibly tense.

“It is I,” she replied, her voice steady.

“The Ten Thousand Treasures Pavilion is surprisingly well-informed to recognize our cipher. That is rare,” the scholar said, his voice turning icy. “But since you know who we are, why do you stand in our way? Do you realize that offending the White Jade Tower is a far more severe sentence than offending a Sacred Land?”

“I have no wish to offend your esteemed Tower,” Wan Xiaobei said respectfully. “However, this alley leads to the residence of our Wanbao Tower Ninth-Grade Enshrinee. I must ask you to be magnanimous and turn back.”

“A mere merchant house thinks it is qualified to block our path?” The scholar took a step forward, his killing intent flaring.

The White Jade Tower had sent a legion. They had been patient, but now was the time for a lightning strike. The Ten Thousand Treasures Pavilion was an ant beneath their boots.

But as the three prepared to attack, a booming, thunderous voice exploded from above:

“Tsk, tsk. The White Jade Tower… an ‘untouchable’ hidden Sect. Young Mistress Wan, after I handle this, you’d better increase my monthly stipend!”

Thoom!

Lu Dongshan—who had spent the last few weeks lost in the city’s pleasure houses—dropped from the sky like a falling star. His presence made the three experts frown. They were elite, but an expert like Lu Dongshan was a legitimate complication.

Just as the tension reached its peak, the sound of marching boots and war cries flooded the street.

“Four Seas Gang, heed my command!”

“Today, the city burns! But we will defend Listening-to-Rain Pavilion to the last man! Not a single thief shall pass!”

“Anyone who dares approach… KILL WITHOUT MERCY!”

Yu Sihai, the Gang Leader, led a massive army of cultivators that poured into the street, forming a human wall alongside the Ten Thousand Treasures Pavilion. They blocked the alley so tightly that even a fly couldn’t pass.

Beside Yu Sihai stood Yin Wenshu in his scholarly robes.

And as the Four Seas Gang locked down the perimeter, another figure quietly emerged from the crowd—a scholar in blue robes.

Yin Wenshu sneered at the newcomer. “Brother Ning, you are quite the brave soul, jumping into these muddy waters alone. I suggest you leave. The White Jade Tower will swallow a lone man like you whole.”

“Who told you I was alone?” Qin Meran, still disguised as Ning Yuan, replied without emotion.

She ignored Yin Wenshu and fixed her gaze on the plum blossoms on the white robes of the intruders.

“The White Jade Tower has infiltrated this territory without cause,” she said coldly. “I wonder, have you bothered to notify the Azure Mystic Sacred Land of your presence? Because if you haven’t…”

She paused, her eyes narrowing. “Your actions here today shall be officially recognized as an act of war against the Azure Mystic Sacred Land!”

The three experts of the White Jade Tower felt a jolt of genuine alarm. They looked at the Listening-to-Rain Pavilion, which remained silent and tightly closed.

They had been undercover for months, gathering intel. They had suspected the pavilion was important, but they never dreamed it held this much weight.

How could an unremarkable rogue cultivator’s residence command the loyalty of a merchant empire, the city’s largest gang, and the protection of a Sacred Land all at once?