Chapter Sixteen: The Celestial Monastery

Could it be that the jade box is actually the treasure Zhen Yunzi used to traverse into my world? But how did it end up in Lord Hu’s hands, and by such coincidence, was then given to me?

Wang Ling’s expression became exceedingly strange, and for a moment, he was at a loss for words.

Only now did Wang Ling truly understand the origin of the name "Juntian Monastery."

The heavens are ninefold, and the Juntian is the highest!

These books had no titles, but after leafing through them, Wang Ling had already named the collection "The Juntian Monastery Successive Patriarchs’ Handnotes."

They contained the various matters recorded by the monastery’s leaders over the past century.

Wang Ling also found the method for crossing over, as well as records of the jade box.

Of course, the jade box was not called a jade box here, but was named the "Jade Pivot of Two Realms."

It was clear that Zhen Yunzi had been fully confident, and judging by the abundant spiritual energy in the Spirit Pool, enough for one or two crossings, he obviously intended to return.

Thus, he had left many things behind, never expecting the world he entered would be so dangerous.

He had barely arrived before dying.

Wang Ling couldn’t help but feel pity for this fellow.

As a transmigrator blessed with such a profound inheritance, he could have been the favored son of heaven—yet died the moment he crossed over!

Even a dying camel is bigger than a horse; although Juntian Monastery had declined, its legacy was vast, full of treasures.

Had he kept a low profile for some time upon crossing, in a world so rich in spiritual energy, any secret art of the monastery, if cultivated deeply, should have ensured his survival.

It could only be said that transmigrators are often proud and arrogant.

Suddenly thrust from a developed world into a backward one, even if they don’t intend to, subconsciously they view everyone as savages.

A transmigrator without a protagonist’s halo is truly prone to death!

But Wang Ling soon lost interest in lamenting Zhen Yunzi’s fate, for he discovered a far more pressing problem.

He had found a way to return…

The space filled with spiritual energy where Wang Ling had just been was actually a cave-dwelling established by the monastery’s patriarchs—a sort of independent space, akin to a demi-plane.

To cross back, Wang Ling would have to re-enter the Juntian Cave Dwelling, perform a ritual before the Celestial Lotus in the Spirit Pool, and thus borrow the Pool’s and Lotus’s power to traverse worlds.

The problem was, while it was easy to leave the cave, returning was not.

“One must attain the Out-of-Spirit Realm and only then, by invoking the correct incantation, can one enter the cave…”

This condition was no surprise, for the minimum requirement to wield true magical powers was to reach the Out-of-Spirit level.

Only then could one cast spells.

Especially in this world, where spiritual energy was depleted and the laws had shifted, attaining the Out-of-Spirit Realm had become even more perilous.

Fortunately, though Wang Ling hadn’t yet reached this level, Lord Hu had gifted him a luminous pearl that could barely protect him as he projected his spirit to cast spells.

Nevertheless, Wang Ling had no intention of returning so soon.

Curiosity is innate to all, and since he had crossed over, Wang Ling thought, why not go out and see what this world was like?

Such opportunities are rare indeed!

Luckily, though the cave was an independent realm, he had already exited to find himself in a secret chamber within Juntian Monastery.

After a careful search, Wang Ling finally found a hidden door.

Emerging from a cave in a rockery in the courtyard, he realized he was at the back of a Taoist monastery.

All around were towering buildings, blocking out the sunlight, so that even at high noon, the place felt gloomy and overcast.

But that was not the most important thing. What mattered was that the moment Wang Ling stepped out of the cave and into this world, he felt suffocated, like a fish out of water, on the verge of asphyxiation.

Yet he quickly realized it was an illusion—he could breathe, but the spiritual energy in this world was so thin as to be almost nonexistent.

Coming from a space saturated with spiritual energy, it was little wonder he felt this way.

“Damn…”

Wang Ling was stunned, even cursing aloud.

He had imagined Juntian Monastery might be hidden amidst famous mountains or in a secret realm.

Never had he thought it would be in the midst of a bustling city, surrounded by skyscrapers, as if it were a shantytown in the modern metropolis.

Previously, Wang Ling thought he had begun to understand Zhen Yunzi’s choices.

But now, he truly felt it.

The illustrious Juntian Monastery, a sect handed down through generations, with its own cave-dwelling, had fallen to this state.

It was clear that the monastery had once been resplendent; even now, though decrepit, its architecture still showed exquisite craftsmanship and design.

Even the timber—purple sandalwood and yellow rosewood—was of the most precious kind. The carvings and fine details everywhere proclaimed the monastery’s heritage.

But what did it matter?

Time shrouds all in dust; now Juntian Monastery was no more than a nail house in a sunless alley, hemmed in by the city’s steel and concrete.

Wang Ling understood Zhen Yunzi all the more now—having so many powerful arts in the monastery, and yet not cultivating them.

The famed "Nine Heavens Primal Yang Longevity Transformation Diagram" of the monastery Wang Ling hadn’t found, but the cave contained many secret tomes, not inferior to that one.

Yet in this world, with spiritual energy so scarce, cultivation was difficult.

All the powerful, profound arts were neglected, for they were nearly impossible to master, and even if mastered, could not be used.

Thus, Zhen Yunzi, despite possessing a trove of mystical arts, only practiced simpler spells.

Soul-summoning, raising gu worms, illusions—these minor arts, though simple, were effective.

Only such techniques were practical in this low-magic world.

But in Wang Ling’s world, the situation was different. The Daoist arts revealed their might—his was a high-magic world—yet he met his end immediately.

As for the many magical artifacts, they too must have been damaged, their spiritual energy lost as the world’s laws changed.

All the doors of the monastery were tightly shut, and not a single soul could be seen.

Dust lay thick on the brick floors, cobwebs in the corners—clearly, the monastery had been deserted for a long time.