Walker Of The Worlds

Lin Mu was now seventy-five years old, while Meng Bai had reached the age of twenty-four.

In terms of a cultivator's life, this gap was little more than a ripple in a vast river—merely different phases on the same journey. But when viewed through the eyes of a mortal, the difference was glaring. They could easily have been grandfather and grandson. Yet to most who laid eyes on them, the two resembled brothers—perhaps one more reserved, the other mischievous.

Meng Bai had grown into a striking young man. His features were sharp and well-defined, his posture that of a proud disciple, and his robes always worn with an intentional flair. But much to his dismay, the one thing he still lacked was a beard.

Not even a trace of stubble dared bless his chin.

He often glanced longingly at Lin Mu, whose majestic beard flowed like a waterfall of spiritual silk, glistening faintly with traces of condensed Qi. Meng Bai had once tried coaxing his facial hair to grow with spiritual herbs, but to no avail.

"Perhaps it's time," Lin Mu had once offered, half-smiling, "to try the Hair Growth Pill. It may help."

Meng Bai's eyes had lit up with hope, but Lin Mu added with the calm solemnity of a master warning a disciple, "That said… you may end up looking like a furry ape. The side effects are, shall we say, enthusiastic."

In the end, Meng Bai spent half an hour studying his own reflection in a polished mirror before sighing dramatically.

"Aish, the sacrifices I have to make," he lamented, gently brushing his smooth jaw. "Alas, I still wish to mingle with the fairies of the immortal world and cannot rob them of my handsome visage."

From his place by the window, Lin Mu rolled his eyes.

'He's learning more and more from Daoist Chu… and that man isn't even here anymore,' Lin Mu thought, lips twitching with amusement.

Though it had been years since Daoist Chu had departed, his lingering influence remained alive in the younger generation—particularly in Meng Bai's flamboyant mannerisms and casual wit. Lin Mu didn't know whether to laugh or sigh at this legacy.

As for Daoist Chu himself, there had been no sign of his return yet. Every now and then, a letter would arrive bearing news of his investigations. Progress, unfortunately, was minimal. They remained no closer to uncovering the fate of the Thunderfall War Emperor, and the trail of clues had all but vanished.

The last message had stated that Daoist Chu had been taken off the mission and would be returning. He merely needed to cross the vast distances separating him from the Silent Lotus World—no simple feat, even with teleportation arrays. The letter had arrived a year ago, and by Chu's own estimation, it would take two more years to return.

Lin Mu kept the letters neatly stored in a small wooden box, occasionally rereading them when he missed his old friend's rambling tone and absurd metaphors.

But his thoughts had long since shifted to something far more troubling.

Strange cultivators had begun to appear within the Silent Lotus World. Their auras were warped, their actions erratic, and their minds clouded by something unnatural. They attacked settlements without reason, defiled sacred sites, and collapsed in exhaustion—only to awaken with no memory of their deeds.

Lin Mu had encountered several of them personally.

Their Qi was tainted by something foul—an energy that gnawed at the soul. Cursed, most likely, though unlike any curses he had seen before. He initially suspected ties to the Withered Spirit Daoist, or perhaps the unknown forces behind her, but dismissed it soon after. The scope and method of the corruption didn't match her style.

The Abbot, when consulted, had shared his own grim recollections. Long ago, before peace had spread across the Silent Lotus World, such incidents were not uncommon. Malevolent sects, rogue Daoists, and hidden cults had once plagued the land.

Though long thought extinct, the Abbot was not naive.

"They were not destroyed," he said, voice steady, "only scattered. Waiting. Patient. Like rot in a tree's hollow."

What disturbed Lin Mu most was the nature of the corrupted cultivators. They were not demons. Not madmen. Just ordinary people—farmers, wanderers, minor disciples. They had no memory of their actions, no desire to harm. The corruption had been forced upon them, like smoke forced into a vessel.

When Lin Mu healed them, their confusion was genuine. They wept, horrified at what they had done, terrified of what had possessed them.

The elders debated for weeks. The Abbot consulted old scrolls. In the end, one truth remained: someone—or something—was testing the waters. Probing. Planting seeds of chaos to see what would grow.

And so the decision was made.

Lin Mu would investigate.

The Abbot and the elders could not move openly. Their authority within the Silent Lotus World was immense, and any direct intervention might provoke a full-scale conflict. But Lin Mu, still technically an unaffiliated cultivator, could travel without attracting suspicion.

By now, the legends surrounding his rise had faded into near-myth. The Heavenly Phenomena from years past had become bedtime stories for sect children, and those who once clamored for his favor had long since backed away—particularly after a series of politely stern letters from the Abbot.

That suited Lin Mu just fine.

He stood by the window now, watching as Meng Bai busied himself with packing.

"Alright, I got everything," the young man announced, snapping his storage pouch closed.

"Very well," Lin Mu said calmly, brushing dust from his robes. "Let's head out."

Outside the courtyard, Monk Hushu was already waiting.

"I shall pray for your safety," the monk said with a small bow.

"You really won't come with us?" Meng Bai asked, slightly disappointed.

"I wish to," Monk Hushu replied, "but if I travel beyond these grounds, the temple may be drawn into the conflict. It is not yet time for that."

"That's fair." Lin Mu nodded. "We'll stay in contact. If things escalate, I'll send Shrubby."