Chapter 74: Commanding the Rivers and Mountains

A gentle smile, effortless and serene.

In Wei Cheng’s heart, clarity reigned as moonlight over a great river and the breeze upon a mountaintop. The Mountain-Moving Visualization, refined to sixty percent, gradually unfolded before his mind’s eye—a panorama of towering peaks and surging rivers.

Immersed within this vast landscape, Wei Cheng himself seemed to merge with the mountains and waters. At the stir of a single thought, wild winds would sweep through the mountains, the roars of dragons and tigers melding with the thunderous torrent of the rivers, all in harmony with the Way of Non-Contention.

A mighty inner force surged within him, as powerful as a flood dragon, swift as lightning, subtle as the evening breeze, carefree as the ocean’s expanse, and—when unleashed—capable of shattering mountains and rending the earth.

The awe-inspiring might of mountains and rivers was now held firmly in his grasp.

Yet at this moment, amid the mountains conjured by the Mountain-Moving Visualization, Wei Cheng set about comprehending the Golden Bell Visualization. No longer did he need to form seals with his hands or draw on his inner power; with a mere thought, an immovable golden bell—ten fathoms wide—thundered into existence, weighing a million pounds and manifesting effortlessly within a fifty-meter radius around him.

This was the state of the Golden Bell at its zenith—theoretically the strongest form it could attain, fully empowered by the Mountain-Moving Visualization.

The next instant, Wei Cheng’s thoughts shifted, and he seemed to step forth from the mountains into the world of reality.

As he opened his eyes, golden light blazed from his gaze, runes of gold swirling and transforming, replacing the intricate hand seals he once performed. Simultaneously, a colossal golden bell—ten meters across and thirty meters high—materialized with a resounding boom.

He had succeeded, though the effect was somewhat diminished, more than halved.

With a thunderous crash, the golden bell struck the ground, enclosing all six of them inside. Fortunately, they had been standing close together—otherwise, Wei Cheng could not have guaranteed he wouldn’t have crushed a few under its weight.

“Damn!” he muttered, attempting to stand but finding himself weak. Indeed, this massive bell had drained every drop of his sixty years’ worth of Mountain-Moving inner strength in one go. That must be why he couldn’t unleash the bell’s ultimate form.

But what now? The bell was far too conspicuous.

With a wry smile, Wei Cheng downed fifteen jars of osmanthus wine in quick succession, swiftly restoring his inner strength to its former fullness. He had little choice—now that his inner power had grown in quality, the wine’s spiritual potency could barely keep up. It now took two jars just to recover a single cycle’s worth of Mountain-Moving energy.

He reckoned only two hours had passed. Who knew how long the ultimate form of the Immovable Golden Bell would last?

As he pondered, a sharp, familiar screech reached his ears, and suddenly he recalled the monstrous birds he had encountered while defending Floating Cloud City during the fifth trial.

So, with the third wave of shadow curses, the demon army had evolved yet again?

Wei Cheng looked up. Sure enough, blazing fireballs streaked across the blackened clouds like meteors—but they were no mere stars, but monstrous birds wreathed in roaring flames. Their wings spanned more than thirty meters, and as they flew, even greater wings of fire fanned out behind them.

“Trouble!” Wei Cheng thought. These fiery birds were clearly coming from the ruins of Floating Cloud City. Not only had the demons introduced new breeds, but they had switched from local defense to local assault as well?

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than one of the flaming birds beat its wings with a shrill cry. Instantly, its fiery wings transformed into hundreds of massive spears of flame, arcing through the sky toward Wei Cheng’s golden bell.

Good heavens—the range must have been five kilometers at least, and the projectiles moved at twice the speed of sound. Especially attacking from thousands of meters above—it was almost hopeless.

Even a spirit swallow with ninety years of cultivation would be hard-pressed against such an enemy.

Wei Cheng refused to sit idly by. As the spears of flame hurtled toward them, he activated both the Mountain-Moving and Golden Bell Visualizations at even greater speed. His eyes shone with brilliant gold, mysterious runes swirling and shifting within.

Yet he held his power in reserve, poised to unleash it at a moment’s notice. The ultimate form of the Immovable Golden Bell consumed far too much inner strength, draining him dry in an instant—he couldn’t afford to waste it.

In the blink of an eye, the sky was ablaze, the fiery light blinding. Then, in perfect unison, every flaming spear crashed into the Immovable Golden Bell.

A tremendous explosion blossomed, a mushroom cloud rising where they stood. The shockwave swept for miles, earth shuddering and mountains trembling, the shattered ground now a crater hundreds of meters across.

Yet at the bell’s location, it stood tall as a pillar to the heavens—utterly unyielding, as if mocking the onslaught.

Nonetheless, the bell was not unscathed—fine cracks spidered across its surface, threatening collapse at any moment.

Wei Cheng, however, quickly replenished his inner strength, and within a second, the bell was restored as if new. Since its structure hadn’t changed, it only cost him two cycles’ worth of energy—a bargain.

As for the flaming bird in the sky, the result was catastrophic. After its terrifying strike, its flames dwindled by eighty percent; save for its eyes and wing tips, its true form was now exposed.

It could no longer unleash such a devastating attack.

Yet it refused to retreat, screeching as it folded its wings and dove straight at Wei Cheng’s bell, the last of its flames gathering around its talons—still arrogantly confident.

Wei Cheng smirked. What a fine bird.

In an instant, he cast five smaller golden bells, shielding Liu Sui, Xu Shan, and the others—still deep in meditation and oblivious to the chaos outside.

He then reactivated the Mountain-Moving Visualization, his inner power surging atop the mountains, whipping up gales and howling winds, all converging in a chorus of dragons and tigers.

At the same time, the Way of Non-Contention gathered force within him.

Simultaneously, he began to draw his inner power back from the Immovable Golden Bell, deliberately weakening its defenses.

Offense and defense should always be flexible in combat—standing firm without adapting was folly.

And so, in a heartbeat, the flaming bird’s dive brought it near. The fire on its talons had compressed into a strange, violet blaze—clearly capable of piercing the strongest armor and formations.

But at that very instant, Wei Cheng fully withdrew the ultimate form of his golden bell.

Now, nothing stood between them.

Wei Cheng appeared diminutive before the onrushing bird, whose bulk rivaled a fighter jet in a dive—its mere momentum enough to strike terror into the heart.

Yet he was far from powerless: behind him stretched mountains and rivers, all within his command.

His inner force spun wildly, mental energy like invisible hands controlling the boundless strength of the land.

Dragon and tiger roars welled in his chest. Once, he could only utter a single note, but with the Golden Bell perfected, his understanding of the Mountain-Moving method had reached new heights. Now, the true essence of the art came naturally to him.

“Command—the—Mountains—and—Rivers!” Wei Cheng bellowed, his voice thundering as if mountains and rivers themselves stood tall.

In an instant, the illusion of the Mountain-Moving Visualization rose up, pouring infinite strength into his cry, directly confronting the bird’s violet, demonic talons.

A series of sonic booms shattered the strange violet fire, scattering and dispelling it.

Yet the bird itself suffered little harm.

That, indeed, was Wei Cheng’s true aim—the violet flames radiated a sense of mortal peril, like death’s own shadow descending.

Before the bird could react, the Way of Non-Contention surged forth, fully unleashed.

To the flaming bird’s senses, Wei Cheng was no longer a mere insect, but a towering tidal wave—one wave upon another, each overtaking the last, all cushioning its fearsome dive until it landed softly, as if cradled by gentle surf.

The bird itself was momentarily lulled by the gentleness of the waves.

Yet as it regained its senses, it was met by a golden fist the size of a barrel—Wei Cheng had infused both fists with mountain-moving power and leapt atop the bird’s head.

One punch: spring burst into bloom.

Two punches: a peony in full glory.

Three punches: snow swirling through the sky.

So long as the conditions were met, when it came to damage per blow, even the Purple Haze profession would be left calling Mountain-Moving “father.”