Chapter 119: Daoist Master Songhe

The situation remained dire; escape was impossible. Suddenly, countless butterflies materialized around Long Fei, binding him tightly. He had no choice but to strike out with both palms, creating a defensive barrier that covered his entire body. The butterflies vanished as quickly as they appeared, yet they left no trace on the ground, as if they had never existed at all, dissipating the moment they touched his palm wind.

Long Fei lost track of how many butterflies he had destroyed. Before long, however, he felt his energy waning; such all-out exertion was draining his internal power rapidly. Suddenly, a sharp pain struck his back. He knew he had fallen victim to Abe Matsuo's schemes, but he was helpless to stop it. He could only grit his teeth and endure, his palms moving like the wind. He had no other thoughts now, only a desperate wish for this half-man, half-ghost creature to end the trial quickly.

In truth, Long Fei wanted to beg the old man to stop, but he didn't even have the chance to open his mouth. If he did, some stray butterfly might fly right into him. To an outsider, Long Fei must have looked like a lunatic escaped from an asylum, flailing about in a comical dance. But to him, or to an initiate, he was entirely swarmed by colorful, spectral butterflies.

"Damn it, this bastard is trying to exhaust me to death," Long Fei cursed inwardly. Aside from mentally greeting every one of Abe Haoming's ancestors, there was nothing he could do. "Fine, keep fighting, then. You can't just kill me," he consoled himself.

Suddenly, the butterflies vanished without a trace. Long Fei stopped, gasping for air as he leaned forward, looking toward Abe Matsuo. He assumed the trial was over, but it seemed otherwise.

"Songhe, I knew you were nearby. If I hadn't done this, would you have shown yourself?" Abe Matsuo tucked his hands back into his sleeves. Standing opposite him was an old Daoist priest with white eyebrows and a celestial aura. A long sword was strapped to his back, his hair was fastened with a wooden hairpin, and he wore a Bagua robe with a vermilion gourd tied to his waist—exactly as Long Fei had seen in his dream.

Long Fei was too astonished to speak, though he also felt a spark of anger. It was obvious that his torment at the hands of Abe Haoming was all because of this Old Daoist Songhe. He felt completely and utterly wronged.

"You, you, you—" Long Fei pointed at the priest, unable to utter another word, partly from excitement and partly from exhaustion.

"Alright, young friend, stop talking for now and rest. I will explain everything to you in a moment." Daoist Songhe turned his head and smiled at Abe Haoming, who was still wearing a stern face. "I say, Abe Haoming, why must you keep up this serious act when meeting an old friend? Even if your Onmyodo and our Maoshan Sect have had historical grudges, there is no need to target me. Ha, and if you have issues, take them up with me—why make it difficult for him? You know he is still too weak; can he really handle your illusions? Aren't you afraid of taking his life?"

Abe Haoming no longer wore the smile he had used for Long Fei. While his eyes held a hint of excitement and joy, his expression remained grave. "Rest assured, I will not kill him before he is truly strong. But he is indeed still too weak."

"Hmph. The old rules apply—we meet at the usual place in three days. I am taking him with me now." Daoist Songhe turned and walked toward Long Fei.

As the priest turned away, Abe Haoming finally let his expression soften. He was truly pleased; having fought with Songhe for nearly a century, the two old men, both shouldering the burdens of their respective sects, had long since become intimate friends. Yet, they were destined to continue their rivalry—such was their fate, one no one could escape.

"Fine. Three days from now, at the usual place!"

Abe Haoming’s figure faded into the air. The technique was similar to what Fenghuang used—essentially a form of ninjutsu. Compared to the Five Elements Evasion techniques of ancient Chinese martial arts, it was far inferior, yet it shared a similar underlying principle. In fact, wasn't ninjutsu itself derived from the Five Elements Evasion techniques brought to Japan?

"Was that you who saved me?"

Long Fei had finally caught his breath. He cursed Abe Haoming silently while feeling a grudging respect; the illusion technique was truly formidable. He had thought that after activating his Pure Yang body and seeing his internal power surge, he could go anywhere in the world. But today, after his first encounter with Abe Haoming—or rather, being toyed with by him—he had been defeated so thoroughly and embarrassingly that he felt a bit dejected.

"Young friend, that is a difficult question to answer," Daoist Songhe said with a twinkle in his eye.

Long Fei felt uncomfortable under his gaze. The priest seemed cut from the same cloth as Abe Haoming—smiling, yet making Long Fei feel as though his very soul had been laid bare. Furthermore, judging by Abe Haoming's words, Songhe likely possessed the ability to foresee the future, which only added to Long Fei’s irritation.

"What do you mean by that? Don't you know if you saved me or not?" Long Fei asked, feeling rather gloomy.

Daoist Songhe laughed heartily. "I did not actually intervene to save you. Even if I hadn't appeared, he would not have taken your life. However, if I had arrived any later, I fear you would have suffered much more. You know, he did this to force me out. In that sense, I feel I owe you an apology!"

Seeing the priest offer an apology, Long Fei felt even more frustrated. "Damn it, then why didn't you show up sooner? You made me suffer for so long. Hmm, why doesn't my back hurt anymore?"

He remembered the butterflies stinging his back, yet now, aside from some fatigue, he felt no pain at all.

Daoist Songhe laughed again. "That is what you don't understand. The butterflies he conjured are powerful, but they cannot truly harm a person's life; they only cloud the mind. To put it clearly: if your focus were strong enough, you would not be deceived by them."

Long Fei was stunned. "You mean to say those butterflies weren't real? They were all in my head?"

"One could say that. But they weren't entirely non-existent, either. They were an illusion—invisible to everyone but the victim and those of us who practice such arts." The priest found the concept difficult to explain; it was a matter of different worlds.

Long Fei realized, "So, if I had just closed my eyes, none of this would have happened?"

He thought he was being clever, but the priest shook his head. "These butterflies weren't in front of your eyes; they were in your heart, in your mind. Closing your eyes would have made no difference. Unless—"

"Unless what?" Long Fei asked, staring eagerly. This was the crucial part. If he didn't learn a few tricks from this master, he would have no choice but to flee next time he encountered Abe Haoming.

"Unless your spiritual power is strong enough. Then, you would not be affected by his illusions," Songhe smiled.

Long Fei’s eyes widened. "What did you say? Spiritual power? Does such a thing really exist in this world?"

He had only ever read about the concept of spiritual power in novels and assumed it was mere fiction. Hearing the master mention it, he nearly shouted in surprise.

Spiritual power was a treasure. According to books, if honed to a high level, one could peer into the thoughts of others or even gain X-ray vision. Long Fei’s imagination began to run wild—if he mastered this, he could use it to woo women! He imagined seeing a beautiful woman on the street and, without a word, using his spiritual power to see through her clothes. He couldn't help but grin.

Songhe frowned. "Why are you grinning so lewdly?"

Long Fei denied it immediately. "Lewdly? I think your eyes are failing you, old man!"

"Though I have lived for over a hundred years, I believe I am not yet as old as you claim," Songhe said, stroking his thin beard with a laugh.

Long Fei was shocked. The man looked barely fifty or sixty. "Old Daoist, you aren't pulling my leg, are you? You’ve lived over a hundred years?"

Songhe nodded. "That is not important. What matters is that you must understand what spiritual power is. It is real, though few in this world understand it. Aside from our Maoshan Sect, perhaps no one else knows how to cultivate it."

Long Fei was overjoyed. "You mean you can teach me? If I train it to a high level, can I read minds or see through things? Oh, I mean, if I learn it, it would be convenient for finding antiques..." He realized he had exposed his base desires and tried to recover.

Songhe shook his head. "You still don't grasp the concept. Do not believe the novels. Spiritual power is somewhat similar to the internal energy you practice. Internal energy mines the potential of your physical body to its limit, while spiritual power focuses on mining the spiritual energy of your brain. In short, one mines the body, the other the mind. The method of cultivation is similar—both rely on meditation. While you look inward at your Dantian to cultivate internal energy, you look inward at your brain to cultivate spiritual power."

Long Fei nodded, beginning to understand. "I think I get it. But besides improving one's intellect, what else is it good for?"

"I already told you: if your spiritual power is strong enough, Abe Haoming's illusions will be powerless against you. It also prevents the intrusion of external evils and allows for proactive counterattacks. For instance, if your spiritual power were strong enough today, you could have seized control of his butterflies and turned them against him. Of course, reaching that level won't happen overnight. There are benefits I cannot fully describe; you will have to discover them yourself."

Long Fei was delighted. It seemed the priest was willing to teach him. He had to learn it, if only to deal with Abe Haoming's illusions. Besides, Abe Haoming had mentioned a prophecy.

"Can you teach me?" Long Fei asked with a sycophantic, greasy grin.

Songhe agreed readily. "Very well, I can certainly teach you."

"Then do I need to become your disciple?"

"Forget it. I could not bear that kowtow. Ha! I will be direct: I came to find you today specifically to pass on the methods of cultivating spiritual power. It is my mission. I hope this art can be passed down. However, it is not for ordinary people. One must understand authentic Maoshan Daoism and practice for at least sixty years before—"

"What? No wonder you won't take me as a disciple! You're playing me!" Long Fei interrupted. He had no interest in learning Maoshan Daoism, and waiting sixty years meant he would be eighty—what use would it be then?

Songhe frowned. "Let me finish. Of course, it would be better if you learned my Daoist arts, but you can cultivate it even without them, provided you possess a Pure Yang or Pure Yin body. Do you understand?"

Long Fei scratched his head and chuckled. "You should have said that earlier! You had me worried for nothing. My apologies, then. Wait—you said this is your mission? Do you have some ulterior motive?"

"I have lived over a hundred years. If not for you, I would have long since vanished into the mountains to another world. What motive could I have?" Songhe shook his head, unoffended.

Long Fei watched him closely. He felt that Songhe and Abe Haoming were truly cut from the same cloth—not only were they masters of the supernatural, but they possessed a patience and composure rare in ordinary people. He had never seen the priest get angry, just as Abe Haoming hadn't lost his temper even after being ambushed.

Suddenly, he thought of Chen Xin, who also possessed rare composure. Recalling the time he had pulled down Chen Xin's trousers, Long Fei couldn't help but giggle inwardly. He began to fantasize about what would happen if he pulled down the trousers of Abe Haoming or Daoist Songhe. Would those two finally lose their cool?