Chapter Eleven: The Wedding Ceremony

The current situation bore a striking resemblance to the Tiger and Leopard Thunderous Chant described in the ancient texts.

His internal organs trembled ceaselessly, inner force surging within. He did not focus his mind to reinforce himself, but instead allowed the vibrations to alternate and strike his viscera, thereby further strengthening his lungs and organs.

In Chen Yu’s view, the stronger the inner organs, the greater the force they could endure and unleash—and vice versa. This continual rhythm of vibration would endlessly temper his internal organs.

It was a virtuous cycle.

Ordinarily, this kind of tempering required such exertion that few could persist for long. Most would have to stop after a short while to rest, waiting until their organs, muscles, and bones had relaxed before continuing.

But Chen Yu had no such concerns.

The spiritual elixir he carried was ample enough to sustain him through several days of this ordeal without worrying his body might fail.

“I’ll call it the Viscera Rebirth Technique,” he mused.

He named it offhandedly—his third original technique, after the Spirit-Forging Body Art and the Summoning Divine Art.

The original sonic attack method was integrated into it, granting both internal refinement and external assault capabilities. The combination would make the sonic attack even more formidable.

“It can barely be called an internal cultivation secret art.”

In the Daoist sects, such secret arts for internal refinement were almost always closely guarded, their transmission strictly limited to chosen disciples. Rarely did they spread beyond the sects.

Should such secrets ever leak, the culprits could expect nothing less than expulsion or even deadly retribution.

In fact, the Cloud Crane Sect’s “Cloud Crane Art” also contained methods of internal refinement, but upon careful practice, Chen Yu could only shake his head.

Purely gentle force was of little benefit to the organs; the progress was slow. In comparison, the nascent Rebirth Technique’s effect was much swifter—accomplishing in moments what would otherwise take two or three days.

However, compared to the sophisticated arts of the great sects, honed over generations—such as the Viscera Thunder Chant or the Secret Sonic Body Refinement—this technique was still immature and would require Chen Yu’s continued improvement.

Over the past days, he had inquired about these matters and confirmed that the secret techniques from the legends had indeed been mastered by some, though their numbers were few—mostly renowned figures in the martial world.

Most ordinary martial artists still relied on mastering gentle force before tempering their organs and achieving true internal cultivation.

Just as Chen Yu’s thoughts wandered, the Daoists not far away finally ceased their chanting. The resounding clamor gradually subsided. Some Daoists sighed with emotion, others exclaimed in awe; most remained immersed in the spectacle they had just witnessed.

A purification ritual of this scale was rare in Guangyong Prefecture—especially one that could assemble so many from across the region, a scene that had seldom occurred in centuries.

The birds had long since flown away; a profound silence enveloped the area.

The sound of breathing was clearly audible in the quiet.

“With awe-inspiring might, one encompasses all realms. Transforming myriad forms, burning away evil, the demons are banished. Evil is dispelled, the wicked destroyed, and primordial merit shines bright!”

At the center, an elderly Daoist with snow-white hair steadied his breath, then shouted loudly, marking the end of the ritual.

In the next instant, four large leather drums, prepared long before, were struck with a thunderous boom!

Dong! Dong! Dong!

Twenty-four beats in quick succession, and no matter how near or far, all the Daoists turned to face two wooden pillars and bowed deeply.

Chen Yu was not familiar with the procedure, having only gleaned some knowledge from conversations with Daoist Jiang, but following the others, he managed without error.

To outsiders, the purification ritual was anything but quiet—noisy and bustling. Yet for those within, after this cathartic and invigorating rite, there was a profound sense of inner peace and tranquility.

...

With the ritual concluded, the next steps were the rites of Harmony, Purity, and Cleansing, which concerned only the individual Daoists. It was essentially a moment to tidy themselves, restore composure, and collect their thoughts.

Soon, groups of Daoists returned to their quarters, emerging moments later with refreshed faces and gentle smiles.

Chen Yu mingled with the crowd, returning to the altar to help carry the ritual items.

As he was working, Daoist Jiang, wearing his square cap, approached carrying two large baskets. Chen Yu glanced inside—they were filled with talisman papers, cinnabar, and several crimson bottles.

They were packed full.

Nearby, a young Daoist with shifty eyes and mouse-like brows sidled up, waggling his eyebrows mischievously.

“Brother, wasn’t the purification ritual dreadfully dull?”

Chen Yu ignored him. This fellow was Jiang’s junior, a disciple of the same master; while Jiang was older and stern, this one was younger and distinctly mischievous.

They had met at the tea house during a debate, and since then, this junior had always trailed after Jiang.

Though Chen Yu made no move, Jiang could not abide such talk. Without hesitation, he acted—shifting the basket to one arm, he curled two fingers and knocked the junior hard on the back of the head.

Dong!

“Such insolence! If Master were to hear those words, you’d be copying the Meditation Sutra a hundred times at the very least, or even be beaten with the staff!”

The young Daoist grimaced, muttering under his breath but not daring to protest further. As the saying goes, the elder is as a father; the master might refrain from wielding the rod himself, but he could easily have Jiang administer the punishment.

Hastily, the junior took the basket from his elder’s hand, hanging both over his own arm. Carrying a basket on each arm, he trudged ahead, the bottles inside clinking, and he himself swaying with every step.

Dong!

“Ouch!”

Jiang rapped him again, grumbling as he reclaimed both baskets for himself.

Meanwhile, Chen Yu watched the brothers’ antics with amused interest.

After a short while, their group finished unloading the ritual items and assisted others as well.

With the preparations complete, the main ritual to summon the spirits was about to commence. One could see Daoists running swiftly across the grounds, some employing their lightness skill, others standing by to assist.

After a while, when the surrounding torches were lit and smoke drifted through the air, the small ceremony finally began in earnest.

Yet Chen Yu knew well that this was not what everyone awaited—the real anticipation was for the grand debate that would follow.

He, too, was eager; the thought of hundreds of Daoists engaging in open discourse, debating one another, promised a spectacle he was sure would be fascinating.

It was the perfect opportunity to witness the skills of these seasoned cultivators.

He understood well that such an event was rare and would be spoken of for a long time to come.

When ordinary folk gathered, it was a marketplace—noisy, a rabble. But these were the elite of the age: who among those who studied the Dao did not practice martial arts? Who among them was not literate?

Cultivating virtue and discipline, refining body and mind—these were the most advanced thinkers of their time.

Moreover, the debate would not be brief. According to Daoist Jiang, the ceremony would last three days, with two-thirds of the time devoted solely to discussion.

Today was but a prelude; the true gathering would take place tomorrow, from dawn until dusk—nine hours given entirely to them.

And it would not just be these Daoists; news had reached others as well. Wanderers, martial artists, alchemists, and scholars would all be in attendance.

Debating the mysteries, reciting scriptures, composing verses, sparring in martial arts, refining medicines...

A grand medley—a vast crucible.

As countless ideas collided, Chen Yu felt more and more that this journey down the mountain had been the right decision.

“If even a single prefecture like Guangyong can muster such a scene, I can only imagine how magnificent the legendary Grand Luotian Assembly must be.”