My Journey to Immortality Begins with Hunting-Chapter 646 – A Sutra in a Time of Chaos, Wolves of the North, The Celestial Transformation - Part 1

Chapter 646 – A Sutra in a Time of Chaos, Wolves of the North, The Celestial Transformation - Part 1

In the quiet harbor town of Herderton, the Huyan Clan began moving their troops in small groups, quietly heading north.

The Great Zhou had been in decline ever since Emperor Xuan of Zhou, Ying An passed away more than 40 years ago.

Ying An had been a good emperor, diligent and virtuous, but he was never good with domestic affairs. Those matters were largely handled by his mother, Zhen’er. Perhaps he never expected to die so soon, for he hadn’t made proper arrangements for succession.

Fortunately, Ying An had reigned for a long time, and the Eight Pillars had remained stable throughout his rule. Their bonds ran deep, and so his eldest son inherited the throne peacefully.

But then, as if cursed by the ancestral Ji bloodline of Great Zhou, the imperial family began to fall like dominoes.

The crown prince, Ying An’s eldest, reigned for a single year before dying of illness.

Then, over the course of just five years, three more emperors came and went.

Before long, the main line of the Prince of Stars branch of the Ying Clan had all but died out. They had no choice but to broaden the search for heirs.

And so, the fifth emperor to ascend the throne after Ying An could barely be called a direct descendant.

Yet he lived. Oh, he lived, and thereby proved the old saying, The wicked live long.

This fifth emperor was known as Emperor Xi of Zhou.

Somehow, Emperor Xi managed to stay in power for 30 years. And in those three decades, he squandered everything Ying An had painstakingly built up.

The frugality and restraint of Emperor Xuan were nowhere to be found in this man.

Perhaps because he knew his rise had been abrupt, he lived in constant fear of losing the throne. That fear bred paranoia.

He indulged in hedonism, relied on cruel officials, filled the court with sycophants, and focused not on governance but on purging anyone he saw as a threat.

Fortunately, he had the sense or the fortune not to antagonize the military.

On the contrary, perhaps following the advice of some hidden sage, he treated the elite warriors of the Ministry of Martial Arts and the generals of the Ministry of War like his own brothers. That, more than anything, kept the Great Zhou standing even as its ruler wallowed in depravity.

After 30 years of decadence and decay, Emperor Xi finally died.

The new emperor was his nephew, Ying Mo.

Though officially named as a nephew, many whispered that Ying Mo was, in truth, the Emperor’s illegitimate son, born of an affair with his brother’s wife.

But now that Ying Mo sat the throne, who would dare speak such things aloud?

Once crowned, Ying Mo dove headfirst into a lifestyle even more debauched than his uncle’s.

These were not the olden days, no longer could some righteous warrior just march into the palace, sword in hand, and behead a tyrant.

The army was disciplined and absolutely loyal to the Emperor.

Even if you mustered a thousand martial masters, they’d be crushed the moment they crossed swords with the imperial army.

Not to mention the elite cultivators nurtured by the Ministry of Martial Arts, and the hidden agents of the Black-Clad Guard, together, they ensured that not even the jianghu could stir up a storm.

Ever since spiritual energy had dissipated and the Nine-Rank System faded into legend, one truth reigned supreme, The few could not defeat the many.

Ying Mo’s reign quickly surpassed his predecessor’s in extravagance and cruelty.

The imperial treasury, already drained by Emperor Xi, was now bone-dry. So someone came to Ying Mo with an idea, impose a new tax.

One of those new taxes? A horse tax.

For the Huyan Clan, the already outrageous head tax was bad enough. Now, they were taxing horses too? That was the final straw. So they made their decision: leave.

Even so, they had to do it quietly, in groups. As a wealthy yet powerless family, they knew the authorities wouldn’t just let them go. But the officials weren’t eager to push too hard either, not while the old matriarch of the Huyan Clan was still around.

That formidable woman, Zhangsun Sanniang, was no ordinary grandmother. A legend in Herderton, she was a woman of terrifying strength and unmatched skill with horses. Stories about her still floated around, pulling three oxen by sheer force, lifting massive cauldrons with one arm, tales bordering on myth.

But no matter how strong she once was, time showed no mercy. Her twilight had come.

And the Huyan Clan? Without her, they’d become a feast waiting to be carved up.

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙

Two years passed in the blink of an eye.

It was a winter night, just a day or two before the New Year.

Zhangsun Sanniang lay in bed, her body frail and wrinkled, the fire in her eyes dimmed by age. And yet, those eyes still gazed quietly out the window.

Snow drifted down outside.

She found herself remembering so many things. The tumult of her life. The rise and fall of dynasties she had witnessed. Glory, collapse, peace again.

Her hand rested gently over her chest. That terrifying being, the one called Han Feng, had never returned. Perhaps she was dead.

It made sense. These days, all those transcendent beings had vanished. Even someone like her, once considered no more than a speck in the grand scheme, now stood tall in a world where the tigers were gone and the monkeys reigned.

But what about him?

That man...

She suddenly smiled.

No matter what else happened, she had been lucky enough to witness his greatness. That alone was enough for her.

Her breath was thin, barely there. Her vision blurred as the end approached.

She called Huyan Bao to her bedside, and with trembling hands pulled out a scroll hidden deep within a secret compartment.

Huyan Bao unfurled it. Painted in vivid detail, full of life and spirit, was a young man.

“Mother, who is he?” he asked.

Zhangsun Sanniang said softly, “Bao’er, haven’t you always wanted to know where I came from? Your father wanted to know too. But I never told him. Heh... And before I could, he left this world before I did.”

Huyan Bao knelt silently by her bed. He knew, in his heart, this was her final night.

Her voice grew weaker, eyes unfocused, drifting between worlds. She murmured, “Today, I’ll tell you the truth. This secret...you must remember it with reverence. Wait for him. Wait for his return.”

“Him?” Huyan Bao glanced at the portrait again. “Who is he?”

For a long time, she said nothing. He feared she had already passed. Then her lips moved again, faint and slow.

“He is the Primordial Emperor, the last myth of that forgotten era you all stopped believing in. He...was also the greatest benefactor of my life. My son, this story may sound strange, even ridiculous, to your ears. But I lived it.”

Outside the window, fireworks hissed into the sky, bursting in vivid color against the snow-filled night, brilliant, fleeting, and gone.

From beyond the window’s veil came the faint sounds of children playing by lantern light, their laughter drifting in the snow.

Inside, the flickering candle cast a dim, cold glow, its warmth pale and lonely against the night outside.

The old woman’s face was like the bark of some ancient tree, dry and furrowed with time. Yet, in her eyes, a final spark lit up, one last flare before dusk. She let Huyan Bao clasp her hands, her lips curling into a faint smile as she murmured.

“Back then, I was just a silly little girl. I remember...my home was in Water Deer Village, up along Cloudpeak Province. I remember the sunsets there were beautiful. And that...is where the story begins.”

Clouds shifted in the sky like white-robed spirits, transforming in a blink into dogs of dusk.

From her tale, Huyan Bao heard the rise and fall of empires. He heard wonder, magic, and the echoes of a vanished world, an age so far removed from their own it now lived only in fragments passed down by the old.

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙ 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

Time passed, and then passed again.

Zhangsun Sanniang’s hand fell limp.

Huyan Bao let out a long sigh. He wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes, then summoned the core members of the clan.

One by one, the pillars of the Huyan Clan came and knelt before the matriarch’s body, lowering their heads in reverence.

“The old matriarch left behind a final wish,” Huyan Bao then said.

Everyone stilled, their faces solemn.

“She said on New Year’s Day, we must set a table inside the house, but only place one seat,” Huyan Bao said.

Confused murmurs followed, but Huyan Bao knew the reason. She had told him,

“That year, he left during this very season. My only regret was not seeing him one last time, not keeping him until the new year.”

Then, a scholarly-looking man in the group asked, “Patriarch, now that the old matriarch has passed, how should we handle the funeral?”

Everyone looked up.

Her death hadn’t come as a shock. Most of them had seen it coming, and though there was sadness, it was measured, quiet. As for the request to set a lone seat at New Year’s, they figured it was some lingering attachment, none dared probe further.

What truly weighed on their minds was the uncertain future.

While she lived, the old matriarch’s reputation had been like a protective wall. Many forces in the region had feared her. Now that she was gone, what would become of the Huyan Clan?

Huyan Bao paused in thought, then spoke with clarity and force.

“We do not announce her death. We leave quietly. The entire clan will travel by sea from the east coast, heading straight for Swallowcloud Province, then deeper,into the Great Wasteland. As for the horses still here, sell them off cheaply for gold and silver. Then we vanish.

“Our strength has never been in these horses. Our strength lies in the Huyan Clan’s ancient art of taming them. In the wolf-training art the old matriarch left behind. As long as we preserve these, we will rise again, stronger than ever, on the northern plains!”

There was no hesitation in his voice.

The truth was, their finest horses had already been smuggled north in recent years. What remained were ordinary stock, useless baggage at best.

Suddenly, a burly man asked, “Brother, the matriarch said someone must remain to guard the old home. What should we do about that?”

Huyan Bao looked around. These were his people, loyal, steadfast, and bound to the family’s fate.

After a moment’s thought, he said, “Guard it? If we leave, the authorities will seize every inch of Huyan property they can get their hands on...”

How could the old estate possibly be defended?

But if they didn’t leave, then the Huyan Clan’s future would be severed at the root.

Huyan Bao let out a long sigh. “So no, we won’t leave anyone behind. The old house can’t be held, even if we tried.”

He paused, then added, “Still...the old matriarch didn’t say it outright, but I’ve long suspected that this estate hides a great secret.”

“You are all pillars of our family,” he said, scanning the room. “We’ll find that secret together, and we’ll bring it north. It’ll be our trump card, the legacy that helps the Huyan Clan rise again.”

The words went against the old matriarch’s final wish, but no one objected. What mattered was the clan’s survival. And perhaps this was what she had truly intended all along.

So they kept her death secret. Preserved the body with ice and cold jade beneath the tongue. And immediately began searching the estate.

It didn’t take long.