My Husband’s Ascension C55 (Part 1)
Chapter 55.1 Claim Alone
Bam!
In a teahouse by Jimo Sea, the storyteller struck the wooden clapper upon the table.
(TLN: A storyteller's wooden clapper/gavel (醒木) serves as a prop to strike the table as a warning to the audience to be quiet or as a means of attracting attention in order to strengthen the effect of the performance, especially at the beginning or during intervals)
“…Last time, we spoke of how the Sect Master of Cloudculm Abode sacrificed herself to slay a demon in order to save her disciple, and how their little Senior Sister temporarily took up the mantle, standing with her fellow disciples to defend the sect. Today, we shall speak of another disciple of Cloudculm Abode.”
A hush fell over the teahouse. The audience leaned forward, rapt with attention.
“You all know, fifty years ago, Demon General Li Ying sent men to ascend Beaconlight Mountain and declared to the world that the little Senior Brother of Cloudculm Abode, Rong Yu, was in fact the long-lost Demon Realm’s Successor. The world was thrown into shock.”
“Their Sect Master, Miss Immortal Tanzhao, however, bound by deep bonds with her disciple, could not bring herself to hand him over. In the end, she single-handedly slew Demon General Li Ying, sacrificing herself in heroic fashion. She chose, in that moment of impossible choice, to preserve both private affection and righteous duty… Yet fate took a cruel turn at the hands of Dao Lord Tianshu—”
At the mention of Dao Lord Tianshu, murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Some sighed in regret; some scoffed; others heaved long breaths, their feelings toward this Dao Lord mixed and conflicted.
“Yes, it is that very Dao Lord who once guarded the Cultivation Realm, Sovereign of All beneath Kunwu, Dao Lord of Immortal Realm of Kunwu, the foremost sword cultivator of the Cultivation Realm—Dao Lord Tianshu.”
“This Dao Lord was once a hero of his age, yet none know when he succumbed to demonic corruption. Perhaps it was his intoxication with power, or perhaps the influence of some forbidden technique. Whatever the cause, on the very day Miss Immortal Tanzhao slew Demon General Li Ying, he, in the presence of the disciples of the Seven Great Sects, slew Lord Tianxuan, an elder of Kunwu.”
The storyteller shook his head, sorrow evident upon his face.
“To be a Dao Lord of the Cultivation Realm, yet commit such callous, cruel deeds… perhaps he knew the Cultivation Realm would never forgive him. He seized the Demon Successor and fled to the Demon Realm, wielding the Successor to command the demons. In merely three years, he seized control of the entire Demon Realm, becoming, in all but name, the Demon Lord—”
“Miss Immortal Tanzhao died so unjustly!” someone in the teahouse cried, righteous anger lacing their voice. “I heard that the Demon Successor was nothing but a child. Miss Immortal sacrificed herself to ensure his safety, and yet Dao Lord Tianshu, in pursuit of supreme cultivation, seized the boy and dragged him back to the Demon Realm. Truly detestable!”
“Supreme cultivation? I heard he did it to eradicate Mount Ling…”
“He even slew Lord Tianxuan! Do you really believe he retains any shred of virtue? He has long ceased to be the Dao Lord Tianshu of old!”
The teahouse erupted in clamor. Spittle flew as arguments broke out, and even several strikes of the storyteller’s wooden clapper upon the table failed to restore order. In the end, he had no choice but to hastily conclude the tale.
Amid the chaos, a small girl placed two spirit stones on the stage.
The storyteller glanced at her, slightly surprised.
She appeared twelve or thirteen, with a strikingly pretty face. Her delicate features, small and finely set upon a palm-sized visage, balanced the line between boyish and girlish charm. She carried a freshness as if a breeze had just passed through the shade of summer trees.
“Well said,” she remarked. “Especially that part about Miss Immortal Tanzhao’s righteous sacrifice. The only flaw is that the story regarding Dao Lord Tianshu was vague. Next time, if you scold him a little more, I’ll double the reward.”
The girl hurried from the teahouse, and only then did the storyteller remember: she wore the colors of Cloudculm Abode.
Judging by her age and bearing, could she be the one who had succeeded her master?
…
After leaving the teahouse, Yao Ling returned to Cloudculm Abode.
Her first act was much as it had been over the past fifty years: she went to report the experiences of her excursions to the resting place of her master.
Where once there had been a simple mound, half a century had passed, and now a flourishing tree with abundant branches and leaves had grown.
Daoist Ming Jue once told her that every branch on that tree, every single leaf, was her master.
When Yao Ling was little, she had always thought this was her grandmaster speaking to comfort her. After all, didn’t adults in the mortal world often soothe children with such tales? That when people died, they became wind, or clouds, or stars in the sky.
In reality… it was all nonsense to coax a child.
But as she grew a little older, Yao Ling finally understood: it was not a lie. Her master was unlike those fragile mortals. She would not vanish into some intangible form. She was here, as this very tree, standing beside them.
The disciples of Cloudculm Abode often gathered beneath that tree.
In the first year that the tree had grown, they noticed small insects crawling on its trunk. Thinking them unpleasant, they decided, after their daily lessons, to remove the pests together.
One disciple, the fattest of the lot, climbed too high and fell from a branch. Terrified, he cried loudly, convinced that he had broken the master’s arm, and swore from that day forth to eat only two bowls of rice.
It was only later, when Daoist Ming Jue explained that the tree felt no pain, and even if a branch broke, it would grow again, that the little fatty was pacified. Quietly, he retracted the vow he had made.
Autumn brought new troubles. As the leaves turned yellow, the wind scattered them across the ground, and the disciples fretted once more.
“Could these be Master’s hair?”
After some discussion, they decided it made sense. They sent the youngest, least punishable disciple to Daoist Ming Jue’s alchemy chamber to secretly borrow a vial of his hair-growing elixir. For several days, they watered the tree with it.
Soon, the once-bare trunk sprouted a dense tangle of black hair. When the wind blew, it resembled a faceless female ghost, frightening an untold number of little disciples into tears.
In the end, the disciple who had dared to steal the elixir received a sound thrashing—administered personally by Daoist Ming Jue.
Winter, however, was the hardest to endure.
The harshness of winter was not in the cold or biting winds, but in the foolishness of a certain disciple who had the ‘bright’ idea of lighting a ring of fire around the tree, worried that their Sect Master might freeze in the snow.
That night, he dozed off. Winter was dry, the kindling tinder-dry, and a single spark from a brushing branch set the tree ablaze.
Thankfully, he was woken by a sudden slap from a spiritual current.
“Go fetch water and put out the fire.”
A reflection in the water mirror above revealed a figure draped in black fox fur. Only half of his face was visible, the voice gentle and warm, yet bone-chilling in its authority. “If even one more branch burns, I will come and personally kill you.”
The young disciple, barely more than a child, could hardly withstand such intimidation. Rolling and crawling, he melted the snow with his spiritual power to quench the flames.
When the fire was extinguished, the figure in the water mirror vanished. The disciple scratched his head, convinced he had imagined it.
Trees grow unlike flowers. Year by year, subtle changes occur, invisible at first glance.
The first batch of disciples Zhao Zhao had recruited into Cloudculm Abode had grown up. Every ten years, the Cultivation Realm held a grand competition, and when Cloudculm Abode’s disciples appeared for the first time, they achieved notable success.
By the third and fourth competitions, Yao Ling’s talent became undeniable. In just a few decades of cultivation, she had surpassed countless sword cultivators who had trained for centuries. Her future was boundless.
Everyone said the Sect Master’s eldest disciple was a prodigy, perhaps destined to surpass all predecessors and claim the title of the foremost sword cultivator.
At moments like these, Yao Ling would record everything with a Recording Pearl (留影珠).
So that when Master awoke, she could, as in her childhood, climb into her master’s fragrant bed and share all the joyful happenings of the day.
However—
Fifty years had passed in the blink of an eye, and the day her master would awaken remained a distant dream.
Li Feng had once gestured to her, “Resurrection is never so simple. Moreover, she has transformed from human into an Immortal Wood-Spirit Physique (木灵仙胎之身). That will not be an ordinary tree, when this trunk reaches such girth, I reckon she will have awakened.”
Yao Ling watched as he stretched his arms wide, indicating a size that would require at least five people to encircle. She thought perhaps it would have been better not to ask at all.
…
The wind swept through the treetops, the leaves rustling softly. Yao Ling pressed her palm against the bark. “Master, I’m about to depart for the Demon Realm.”
The girl, so proud in front of others, bowed her head only in the presence of this tree. “Though the old man never admits it, we all know his health seems to decline day by day. Sometimes when he sleeps, he does not wake for three or four days. At this rate, I fear he may not live to see your return.”
“Longevity pills are scarce. Rong Yu said the Demon Realm might have the materials to produce one. I want to see if it is true, and also to check how he is faring over there.” Yao Ling slowly crouched, leaning gently against the tree, just as she had leaned on Zhao Zhao when she was a child. “Rong Yu was taken to the Demon Realm by that cursed Dao Lord. Li Feng has returned temporarily to the Yao Realm to attend to family matters. And Master, you’ve become a tree… when will we ever be together again like before?”
No one answered. Only a single leaf fell from the tree, brushing lightly against her cheek, as if to gently awaken her.
She held the leaf and, after a moment, smiled faintly. “Master must think I’m being sentimental… perhaps I am.”
Rising, she brushed the soil from her robes, and, opening her arms, embraced the tree trunk. Her gaze regained its usual determination.
“I’m leaving now. Master, stay well here. I will return to see you again.”
This journey to the Demon Realm, Yao Ling told no one. Only Zhongli Shun received a message explaining her destination.
Over these fifty years, he had borne half of the sect’s burdens; even in her absence, he would ensure its protection.
With ample healing pills and protective artifacts and armor, Yao Ling took up her sword, mounted the celestial deer, and rode toward the Demon Realm, her heart resolute in the face of death.
