Volume One: The King's Command Chapter Fifty: Meeting Beneath Millstone Mountain

After waiting a long time for Liu Xiaoyi to return, the group grew anxious. “The snow outside hasn’t stopped, and this is a desolate mountain. Could Fellow Daoist Liu have run into trouble?” Li Jue, whose cultivation was the highest, sensed faint fluctuations of spiritual power in the surroundings.

Millstone Mountain connected all four corners of Yanliang Prefecture, and travelers could often be seen winding along the mountain paths. Inside the cave where they sheltered, traces of last night’s campfire still lingered.

“Why don’t the three of us go out and look for him? It’s freezing out there,” Meng Qiaoqiao said, stepping to the cave's mouth. She shivered from the cold, but, worried that Liu Xiaoyi might be in danger, she gritted her teeth and moved forward.

Just as the three were discussing where to search, the faint rustle of movement came from the woods. A shadow sprang lightly across the snow and swiftly approached—it was none other than Liu Xiaoyi, carrying several plump mountain pheasants on his back.

“What’s this? You didn’t think I’d lose to a few wild birds, did you?” Liu Xiaoyi joked, having deliberately circled down from the top of the cave to allay any suspicions.

The matter mentioned by the master before he left was still unclear to Liu Xiaoyi. Xishui was too distant—a journey on foot would take at least three months. He decided to wait until his next visit to the little monk before heading there.

Guo Shuda breathed a sigh of relief, his nerves set at ease. He was timid by nature, and this area already fell within the sphere of Heavenly King Sect. If they encountered any unfriendly fellow disciples, he wouldn’t be a match.

The Heavenly King Sect specialized in swordsmanship, but Guo Shuda preferred cultivating the Dao. This had so angered his master that he was expelled in a fit of rage; only through the intercession of a senior brother was he finally allowed to return.

This time, Guo Shuda had come back to prove himself, and to show his master that cultivation was as potent as martial practice. So he’d invited his friend Li Jue to help him.

His prized Liuli Lantern was damaged and required half a month of spiritual nourishment before it could be used again, but he still had a trump card: a blade formation disc he’d acquired from a street stall, his greatest reliance for this return.

In martial arts, there were distinctions between weapons, while cultivation relied on magical implements and talismans. Finding such a potent artifact for so little from a commoner had bolstered Guo Shuda’s confidence.

Liu Xiaoyi deftly cleaned the pheasants, took out a box of salt from his bundle, and sprinkled it on the roasting meat. As the smoke curled upward, a mouthwatering aroma filled the cave, making their already empty stomachs ache with longing.

Suddenly, footsteps crunched on the snow outside. This time, the person made no effort to hide their approach—it seemed only one was coming.

Li Jue activated the Golden Light Incantation to shield the cave entrance. The sky was growing dark. Only as the figure drew near did they see—a burly, black-faced man with a thick beard, wearing the robes of the Heavenly King Sect, bloodstains marking his body.

“Brother Wang! What happened to you? Come in quickly!” Guo Shuda recognized him immediately—a senior fellow disciple who had always looked out for him.

Brother Wang’s eyes fell on his own companions, and before he could speak, he collapsed onto the ground. Only after a while by the fire did he slowly revive.

“What are you doing here? You shouldn’t have come!” Brother Wang coughed, his right arm and back bearing several wounds. Liu Xiaoyi applied some healing salve to stop the bleeding.

Guo Shuda, seeing his senior so weak, refrained from questioning further and instead offered him some roasted chicken, wrapping it in snow to cool before feeding it to him. Still, Brother Wang cried out from the heat.

After a few mouthfuls, he found his strength. “A demonic cultivator has appeared halfway up Millstone Mountain, ambushing our fellow disciples. Ordered by the elders, twelve of us set out to clear him out, but we were ambushed and trapped in a chessboard formation. I escaped to seek help.”

Another Daoist? Liu Xiaoyi arched an eyebrow; it seemed the Heavenly King Sect had met a formidable opponent this time. The mountain passes were all blocked—reaching the sect would not be easy.

Guo Shuda was indecisive and glanced at Liu Xiaoyi for guidance.

“How many are there? What techniques does he use?” Liu Xiaoyi asked Brother Wang directly.

Brother Wang glanced at Liu Xiaoyi’s white robe and saw it was a Daoist’s garb—he understood Guo Shuda’s purpose in coming. Their master’s repeated outbursts were all due to Guo Shuda’s devotion to cultivation.

“I only saw one, holding a chessboard. We were trapped by black and white pieces that emitted a strange light. No matter how we struck, we couldn’t break through,” he recalled grimly. The battle had been utterly one-sided. Once caught in the formation, their attacks were useless; twelve men hacking at one spot finally created an opening for his escape.

“Let’s finish eating and go save them,” Liu Xiaoyi said, tearing off a drumstick and devouring it. How could one fight on an empty stomach?

Meanwhile, halfway up Millstone Mountain, ghostly white light crisscrossed a space twenty yards wide, where black and white chess pieces wove an inescapable net around eleven battered men.

These disciples of the Heavenly King Sect were barely standing—three or four could not even grip their blades, relying on their meager internal force to withstand the chessboard’s assault.

The chessboard was controlled by a youth. With each flick of his fingers, the pieces would shift and attack.

“How tedious. The Heavenly King Sect sends only useless trash—what a waste of my effort,” the youth said listlessly. Behind the rock where he sat, several corpses in sect robes lay cold.

“More are coming!” His ears twitched as he caught the sound of movement. Leaping down from the boulder, he called toward the mountaintop, “Will you come in yourselves, or shall I make you?”

The newcomers did not answer. Suddenly, golden light flared—dozens of beams shot toward the youth. Only now did he show interest. “Ah, fellow cultivators at last. This might be entertaining!” With a flick of his hand, the chess pieces swarmed forth, easily blocking the golden light.

Li Jue recognized him at once: “That’s Mo Ran, the Chessboy—a top-tier rogue cultivator, much stronger than any of us. He’s already reached the sixth realm.”

Blocking the onslaught, Mo Ran grinned and spun the chessboard. Black and white pieces surged forward like a tidal wave, threatening to crush the group.

This was the very move that had trapped the senior disciples. Those caught in the formation shouted, signaling the rescuers to dodge.

The golden barrier held the pieces at bay, unable to advance an inch. Li Jue gritted his teeth, straining his power as a small copper mirror hovered above him, strengthening the light.

“Oh? You can block it? Then how about this!” Mo Ran exclaimed, hands dancing with excitement as he flipped the board. The pieces scattered wildly, raining down on the shield.

The barrage pressed Li Jue’s legs into the snow. He had to endure until Liu Xiaoyi was ready—who knew what spell he would use this time?

Suddenly, a wave of icy cold radiated from beside him. Li Jue faltered, the golden light shattered, and the chess pieces surged in—only to freeze in midair, motionless.