Chapter 95: The Red Eyebrows

At sunset, the Taoist temple was already adorned with lit lanterns, the halls brightly illuminated inside and out. Laughter and conversation filled the air, with cups raised high and maids at hand pouring wine—a true scene of prosperity and wealth.

Before Yi Fan lay a single pot of wine and a plate of meat, nothing more, and no maid to attend him. Others avoided speaking with him, leaving him in quiet solitude.

Soon, Zhou Zijian set down his cup, glancing toward the fading light outside. “My Uncle Chimei should be arriving shortly. Everyone, please refrain from speaking ill of me when he comes, lest you incur his wrath once again.”

Laughter erupted from those below, voices rising in cheerful agreement.

At that moment, a stirring within Yi Fan’s heart drew his gaze outward. He sensed a powerful energy approaching, shifting from distant to near swiftly. Soon, a man with red hair and beard strode in with rapid, purposeful steps, carrying a fierce gust as though a rolling thunderstorm were bearing down upon them.

Instantly, the hall fell silent. All present rose in unison to pay respects, with Zhou Zijian stepping forward a few paces. “Zijian pays respects to Uncle Chimei.”

The man’s cultivation was formidable, undoubtedly at the third stage of “Spirit Communion,” just one step shy of “Returning Elixir.” Yi Fan’s heart trembled at the sight. This Chimei Taoist was the second highest cultivator he had ever encountered—the first, naturally, being Yan Chixia, whose power at the Lanruo Temple had been comparable.

“Hm,” the red-browed man nodded, eyes flicking toward Yi Fan. Striding forward, he cupped his hands respectfully. “I am Chimei of the Hundred Refinements Sect. Greetings, fellow Daoist.”

Yi Fan rose and returned the salute. “A humble wanderer, Yi Fan, greets Daoist Chimei.”

The Chimei Taoist’s eyes briefly scanned the wine pot and meat before Yi Fan, then the wooden stool he sat upon. It was clear to him that Yi Fan was but a solitary cultivator, whose energy, though concentrated, was not unleashed—likely an ordinary practitioner. His cold snort betrayed disdain as he swept a glance over the assembled crowd. “A bunch of useless people, all short-sighted.”

With that, he grasped Yi Fan’s arm. “Come, take the honored seat.”

Yi Fan had no choice but to comply. Passing by Zhou Zijian, who stood frozen by the door, the Chimei Taoist pointed outside. “You sit there.”

Though brief, the command sent chills through the crowd. Zhou Zijian trembled, his face paling and flushing in turn before he gritted his teeth and stepped out to sit quietly on the wooden stool.

The two seated themselves, and the Chimei Taoist raised his cup. “Nephew’s rudeness, please pardon, Daoist Yi.”

Yi Fan understood—the man feared retaliation and was protecting his own kin. He smiled appreciatively at this frank character and lifted his cup. “No need for apologies. Let us drink.”

Surprised, the Chimei Taoist laughed heartily. He had expected formalities, but Yi Fan’s straightforwardness was refreshing. Among high cultivators, pride was paramount; to be insulted by juniors was often met with deadly vengeance.

The two drank freely, the onlookers silent and fearful. Though from different sects, all knew the unyielding hierarchy of cultivation. The Chimei Taoist was notorious for his volatile temper—quick to strike without reason. Suffering such insults, no one dared intervene, lest they draw his ire. The elders of their sects would not trouble themselves with trivialities.

Outside, Zhou Zijian’s remorse was palpable. As a disciple of the Chimei lineage, he had relied on his sister’s connection to the Taoist and his own promising cultivation to nurture a haughty demeanor. Yet when Chimei’s true anger surfaced, not even his sister could shield him. Head bowed low, he avoided the gazes of his fellow Daoists, cursing himself for mistaking a great master for a mere wanderer. He also blamed Yi Fan; had he revealed his true strength earlier, none of this would have happened.

Yi Fan, oblivious to Zhou’s thoughts, enjoyed a lively exchange with Chimei, discussing cultivation doubts and insights. Their conversation was fruitful and joyful.

Unconsciously, the topic turned to Yan Chixia. Chimei’s eyes widened. “You know Brother Yan?”

“Somewhat familiar. On this trip to Jiangxi, I have been tasked with seeking him,” Yi Fan replied sparingly. This stilled Chimei’s heart.

Yan Chixia was a third-generation disciple of the Shu Mountain Sword Sect, exceptionally gifted and highly favored by the second-generation founder, Zhuge Chen. His renown was immense, one of the few with hope of reaching the Immortal Realm.

To be acquainted with such a figure spoke volumes about Yi Fan’s own status.

Chimei cast a discreet glance toward Zhou Zijian outside, growing ever more disappointed. Were it not for Zhou’s sister, he would have long since given him a slap.

But now was no time for such grievances. “I have met Brother Yan a few times and found him agreeable. It is fortunate you also know him.”

A subtle change in address caught Yi Fan’s attention. Though rough and straightforward, Chimei was meticulous and careful in social dealings.

Seeing Yi Fan’s silence, Chimei filled his cup again. “Young friend, your cultivation at such a young age shames old men like myself. Yet Brother Yan has surpassed even that, breaking through Spirit Communion into Returning Elixir. Recently, he slew a fierce demon with his sword, his fame spreading a thousand miles.”

Though Yi Fan’s exact age was unknown, his youthful appearance and high cultivation suggested a powerful background. Few would believe such strength without it.

Of course, Yi Fan was no weakling; he held his dignity. Moreover, the later stages of cultivation advanced more slowly, some unable to break through in a lifetime. Many once-promising talents had fallen from grace.

Yi Fan had long suspected Yan Chixia had taken that step. At Lanruo Temple, Yan had been at the third Spirit Communion stage; with his sharp spirit, breakthrough to Returning Elixir was only a matter of time.

Seeing Yi Fan’s calm acceptance, Chimei grew more certain of his extraordinary background. After a moment of thought, he said, “Young friend, today’s gathering of Daoists has a matter to discuss.”

“Oh?”

“Perhaps you are unaware, but in recent months, demons in the southern regions have grown rampant, slaughtering innocents and attacking cultivators. Countless comrades have fallen.”

Chimei paused, then looked at Yi Fan. “Though we cultivators fear not death, we cannot be slain in vain. The great sects have issued orders, dispatching their strongest to descend the mountains and quell the demonic chaos. This gathering of passing Daoists is for this very purpose.”

Hearing this, Yi Fan understood. Though demon disturbances persisted, they were not beyond control. The great sects sought to seize the opportunity, sending their most powerful to suppress the threat while allowing lower-ranked disciples to gain experience.