Chapter Seventy-Six: The Nine Transformations of Heavenly Fire

As the ancient saying goes, “The difficulty of the Shu Road surpasses ascending to the heavens!” These words aptly describe the treacherous mountain paths in the western borders of the Cloud Kingdom, a region known as West Shu. The peaks, shrouded in mist and layered upon one another, stretch endlessly into the horizon.

Steep and towering mountains, veiled in clouds, with rainbows arching across by day, lend this land an air of enchanted mystery, as though it were a celestial realm suspended in the clouds, beckoning the hearts of all who glimpse it.

Within these mountains lie countless wonders, many defying the very laws of nature and inspiring awe in those who witness them. The local inhabitants well know that deep within West Shu are three extraordinary marvels:

The Reverse River, the Spiraling Waterfall, and the Phoenix Rainbow Mist!

These three wonders have convinced the nearby residents that immortals dwell in these mountains. Immortals, by their nature, dislike being disturbed, so the region has long been sparsely populated.

Yet on this day, beside a colossal river within the mountains, appeared a young cultivator astride a cloud tiger beast. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his features not conventionally handsome but marked by a rugged determination. Loose hair streamed behind him in the wind, lending him an air of wild elegance.

This traveler was none other than Qin Feng, who had journeyed for many days, his face weathered by dust. At this moment, Qin Feng had shed his clan attire for a plain blue robe. Though simple, it suited his sturdy frame, making him appear more capable.

The river before him, Qin Feng surmised, was the famed Reverse River. He gazed at its vast, winding expanse with a sense of wonder. For Qin Feng, whose eyes had seen much, to be awed was rare indeed.

This river’s waters were not descending from the heights, but rather ascended against the mountain’s slope, flowing uphill towards higher elevations—a phenomenon that gave the Reverse River its name.

At the river’s end, Qin Feng saw a massive waterfall, thousands of yards wide. Its waters, too, flowed upward. At the summit, the water spun into a gigantic vortex, surging skyward like a colossal pillar. From afar, it appeared as an inverted waterfall twisted by a powerful force, forming a monstrous braid of water—a spectacle both terrifying and astonishing.

The Spiraling Waterfall!

Above the waterfall lay a cascade of colorful clouds, rainbow arching through mist—a vision fit for an immortal’s abode.

“Damn! Shu Sword Mountain truly spares no effort!” Qin Feng exclaimed. Such manipulation of nature was no ordinary feat; it was a power bordering on the miraculous.

Qin Feng knew that above this immortal mist lay Shu Sword Mountain itself. But how was he to ascend? He was no sword immortal, possessed no flying sword. Even if he could leap high, reaching the heavens in a single bound was impossible.

“Heavenly Demon, have you any advice?” With no other options, Qin Feng sought counsel from the demon sealed in his palm.

The demon’s eye opened, surveyed the scene, then withdrew. Its voice echoed in Qin Feng’s mind, “Find your own way. Once you enter Shu Sword Mountain, best not summon me. These so-called righteous sects are all hypocrites and scoundrels. If they see me, you’ll be in trouble.”

Qin Feng was taken aback.

“Hypocrites and scoundrels?” Qin Feng doubted this. The Zhan Bai he’d met was nothing of the sort. Shu Sword Mountain was a bastion of righteousness, the birthplace of virtue, surely opposed to evil. The demon’s prejudice against the righteous sects seemed stubborn and unfounded.

He shook his head and dismissed the demon’s warning.

——

The demon seemed disinclined to help. How was Qin Feng to ascend? Was he to leap into the river and swim? While possible, the force of the current and waterfall would strip his flesh from his bones.

Considering the consequences, Qin Feng shuddered and abandoned the idea.

As he stood at a loss, an older man emerged from the mountain path. Seeing Qin Feng, he grinned and approached.

Qin Feng sized him up. The newcomer sported a thin mustache, a lean face, and shifty eyes, appearing to be in his forties, though Qin Feng suspected he was older. Cultivators often looked younger than their true age, especially those skilled in refining pills to preserve their appearance.

The man wore a colorful Daoist robe, yellow as the base, adorned in vibrant hues, and carried a bamboo sword on his back—a getup reminiscent of folk exorcists.

While Qin Feng observed him, the man’s shifty eyes returned the scrutiny. To Qin Feng’s surprise, the stranger was quite affable. With a twinkle in his eye, he greeted, “My surname is Qiu, but everyone calls me Old Qiu. Young brother, are you here to pay respects to the mountain?”

Qin Feng nodded, but remained cautious, saying little.

“That’s right. I’m here to pay respects as well. This is my third visit. If I fail again, I fear I’ll never attain immortality.”

“You’ve come twice before?” Qin Feng asked.

“Yes, Shu Sword Mountain opens its gates every ten years to accept new disciples. I’ve tried twice, failed both times. This time, I’m well prepared. Even if I can’t become a formal disciple, I hope to at least join as an outer disciple.” Old Qiu seemed confident, then winked and said, “You must be here for the first time, right? Haha, wondering how to get up there? My first visit, I stood here half a day unable to ascend.”

“Indeed, I’m stumped,” Qin Feng admitted, spreading his hands.

“Haha, lucky for you to meet me. Give me ten low-grade spirit stones, and I’ll tell you how to get up.” Old Qiu’s eyes gleamed green, clearly intent on extorting Qin Feng.

“Ten low-grade black stones?” Qin Feng’s face darkened. He had them, but Old Qiu’s blatant attempt at blackmail was intolerable.

A cold gleam flashed in Qin Feng’s eyes as he stepped forward.

Old Qiu, sensing trouble, swiftly drew his peachwood sword and grabbed a handful of yellow talisman papers, shouting, “Brat, what are you doing? Hand over your storage pouch or I’ll use Nine Yang True Fire to burn you to ashes!”

Qin Feng chuckled. Old Qiu was merely a seventh-tier Mortal Steel cultivator, far beneath him. Qin Feng had suppressed his cultivation, but Old Qiu was brazen enough to threaten him.

More amusing still, Old Qiu dared to play with fire in front of him.

Qin Feng folded his arms and sneered, “What if I refuse?”

“If you refuse, hmph! I’ve killed and disposed of plenty before. You’re unlucky to meet me today—die!” With that, Old Qiu spat fire, igniting the talisman paper, waved his sword, then blew at the flames, sending them surging at Qin Feng.

Qin Feng had meant to watch Old Qiu’s theatrics, but when the fireball flew at him, he narrowed his eyes in surprise.

Interesting.

He dodged aside rather than retaliate.

The fireball split in midair, turning to pursue Qin Feng from both sides. When he evaded again, Old Qiu’s face grew grim.

——

Biting his lip, Old Qiu formed a strange mudra. The two fireballs leaped together, colliding, then transformed into a flaming phoenix. Its heat was palpable even from afar.

Qin Feng was even more surprised. Old Qiu was quite adept at manipulating fire—better than himself in this regard.

The fire phoenix hurtled toward Qin Feng, who caught it in one hand, squeezed, and snuffed it out. He dusted off his hands and strode to Old Qiu, who looked utterly terrified. Qin Feng grabbed Old Qiu by the collar and hoisted him up.

Old Qiu was panic-stricken.

“Don’t kill me! You want to know how to ascend the mountain, right? I’ll tell you, just please don’t kill me!”

Qin Feng smiled, but instead of asking about the method, he changed the subject with interest, “Who taught you to control fire?”

“I—I developed it myself. I’m just a wandering cultivator, with no sect or master. In my youth, I chanced upon a dying immortal and got a beginner’s manual for the Pure Yang Technique, but hit a bottleneck. Unable to progress, I devised some fire tricks over decades. After much refinement, it became my proudest skill.”

“You developed it yourself?” Qin Feng was startled, scrutinizing Old Qiu with renewed respect.

“Are you lying?” Qin Feng’s expression darkened and he raised a fist as if to strike.

“Don’t kill me! It’s true—look, I even compiled it into a book, ‘Nine Transformations of Heavenly Fire.’ It’s in my pocket.” In his panic, Old Qiu wet himself. Qin Feng raised an eyebrow, pulled the book from Old Qiu’s robes, and tossed Old Qiu aside.

He opened ‘Nine Transformations of Heavenly Fire’ and began to read.

The title was bold and grand.

Initially, Qin Feng glanced through it with little interest, but as he read, his calm face belied growing astonishment. The book’s techniques for altering fire’s form were ingenious, and most striking were the later pages, where Old Qiu proposed blurred concepts for fire spells and bold hypotheses for refining fire-based attacks. Qin Feng felt suddenly enlightened, as if new vistas had opened before him.

After a while, Qin Feng closed the book gently.

Now was not the time to study the technique; he would examine it thoroughly when free. Perhaps he could combine it with his own fire skills to develop a powerful killing technique.

Never underestimate mortal wisdom; some may lack talent for cultivation, yet their zeal for immortality cannot be quenched.

Qin Feng always remembered his master’s words.

When Qin Feng turned his gaze back to him, Old Qiu shuddered. Qin Feng curled his lips and said, “I’ll keep this book. Now, tell me how to get up there.”

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