Chapter 52: The Vanguard, Hexagram of Great Accumulation

Ji Ming left the temple, and just as the old ape had said, he was not harassed in the slightest—more accurately, the scholar treated him as though he were invisible.

Outside the temple, beneath the locust tree, the ground was strewn with the headless corpses of crows, utterly motionless, already attracting a legion of ants.

Ji Ming stared, lost in thought for a long while before coming to himself.

“Prophecy! Foundation! Connection!”

It was as if a realization dawned upon him. He examined his own glossy black carapace, segment by segment, and the two rows of hook-like limbs.

The events inside the temple had deepened his understanding of cultivation—profoundly so.

Master Bonimu dwelled deep in the mountains; the monk Dahe lived in seclusion atop Bald Brush Peak; the old ape was none other than the son of the River Lord of the Water Palace.

During peaceful days, such figures lived freely, roaming as they pleased—sometimes even descending into the mortal world for amusement or seeking out fellow immortals.

But once entangled in disputes, especially those involving great orthodox sects, their fates were no longer their own; their freedom vanished.

And for minor spirits with only modest cultivation like Ji Ming, being swept into such matters rendered one as insignificant as a mote of dust.

Unconsciously, Ji Ming found himself at the northern edge of Heng Mountain.

This place was so named because the undulating ridges seemed to cut across a tributary of the Southern Pan River, giving the mountain its title.

He vibrated his thin wings, gliding down the northern slopes, passing over several mountain villages before landing steadily on the riverbank.

Exhaling softly, Ji Ming took in the riverscape before him. The tension brought by the recent encounter with the Daoist Zhenguo eased considerably.

Under the sunlight, the river’s surface shimmered like scattered silver, sparkling as the gentle waves rolled by.

The water was clear to the bottom; pebbles on the riverbed could be seen with perfect clarity.

Wading into the shallows, Ji Ming saw a few small fish darting around his feet and, now and then, a crab or two leisurely climbing among the stones.

At that moment, a wave rose in the center of the river.

Within the crest of the wave, a dark figure appeared. As the wave crashed toward the shore, the figure leapt atop it. Ji Ming focused his gaze—it was none other than the son of the River Lord.

The old ape emerged and vanished among the waves, as nimble in water as any fish.

Standing high atop the surge, he called out, “Little bug spirit, I quite like you. Why not join me in this grand endeavor?”

The old ape’s voice grated on Ji Ming’s ears.

Clearly, the old ape had restrained himself in the temple, but was letting his true nature loose now.

Still, such a forthright character, with a solid background, broad connections, and abundant resources, was certainly worth befriending.

Ji Ming admitted he saw the old ape through a favorable lens—after all, had fate not intervened, he might have spent a century cultivating in the mountains without ever meeting such a river deity.

He didn’t answer directly but instead asked the old ape for his name.

The figure leapt from the wave and approached, water streaming from his fur, and replied cheerfully, “My nickname is Golden Lion Cub, three hundred and twenty-fifth in my family. Call me Golden Lion Ape.”

“Lion?” Ji Ming wondered inwardly.

He couldn’t fathom how such a name suited an ape, but he let the thought pass.

“Golden Lion Ape, if you wish to take that celestial as your disciple, you must have some lead. You don’t plan to search blindly across the Thirty-Six Realms, do you?”

“Come closer!” Golden Lion Ape beckoned Ji Ming and whispered, “I oversee the rivers and streams around Heng Mountain. My ears and eyes are quite sharp. I know there’s a large group of Daoists from Heshan Realm infiltrating this area. Moreover, the disciple of the Four Sorrows Cloud Temple’s altar master, Zhenguo, has just secretly withdrawn here from the battlefield at Guancai Cave.”

Ji Ming’s expression turned odd—his own spies, the Three Ghosts, had only managed to uncover part of this, and not in such detail.

“So you believe the celestial descended in the Lanyin Realm?”

“Precisely. Without a doubt,” Golden Lion Ape replied with absolute confidence. “We must get there before they do and claim the celestial.”

“I…” Ji Ming began, but before he could finish, the old ape seized him and leapt onto the wave, which then dove straight into the river, carrying Ji Ming beneath the surface.

“Your water skills are abysmal,” Golden Lion Ape remarked, casting a water-repelling charm on Ji Ming. “Once we arrive, you’ll go first as the vanguard to part the waters.”

“Agreed!” Since he was here, Ji Ming decided to go along with it. He shouted underwater, “Golden Lion Ape, why not equip me with a dozen or so battle talismans?”

Golden Lion Ape burst out laughing as they swam, “You think I run the Southern Pan River Water Palace? A dozen talismans! I only have one wave-cleaving blade, and that was handed down from my elder brother!”

“Oh, right!” Remembering something, he spat out three azure command flags, which planted themselves firmly into Ji Ming’s carapace.

“As a vanguard, you must bear three flags. Each contains the spirit of a water beast. Use them well.”

With the three command flags, Ji Ming’s spirits soared—there was a distinct thrill in being carried along by a powerful ally.

As a vanguard, did this mean he’d command shrimp soldiers as well? Was he now officially part of an organization, with rank and file under his command?

The happiness was so sudden, it rivaled even the shock he felt at transformation.

Dragged along, Ji Ming scanned the underwater world. Though he’d spent years below the surface, he’d never traveled this way before.

The grandeur of the great river was incomparable to a small pond.

Sunlight filtered down from above, weaving a mesmerizing tapestry of light and shadow. Ji Ming and Golden Lion Ape seemed to glide through shimmering veils.

Occasionally, a flash of silver swept past—that was a great fish twisting its body, scales glinting.

Ji Ming’s gaze swept from the green water plants, to the golden sand, to the gray-white rocks on the riverbed.

With a splash, Golden Lion Ape pulled Ji Ming back onto the wave’s crest.

Stepping onto the rolling water felt like treading on soft mud. Ji Ming stamped a few times to make sure it was stable, then peered ahead.

“What mountain is that?” he asked.

Before them, a series of mountain shadows loomed.

Standing atop the wave, Golden Lion Ape didn’t answer directly but instead recited a prophecy with great confidence.

“Six times six is the great rebellion, corresponding to the hexagram of Great Storage. Storage means accumulation and reserve. That person possesses the Way but lacks virtue, which fits the warning in the hexagram: he must amass great virtue. Moreover, it is situated between Heaven and Mountain, symbolizing Heaven’s power contained within the mountain—the sky’s energy stored and enveloped by the peaks. That is the meaning of great rebellion.”

Leaping up from the wave, Ji Ming swept a gust of black wind into the air, quickly surveying the landscape and grasping the old ape’s meaning.

The mountains formed a great ring, with clustered peaks encircling a vast, low-lying valley shrouded in thick mist.

“Incredible,” Ji Ming exclaimed, landing back on the wave, his opinion of the boisterous River Lord’s son greatly improved.

“Ha!” Golden Lion Ape laughed, thumping Ji Ming on the back. “I’m not bragging, but back at the Thousand Sons Cavern of the Southern Pan River Water Palace, my head was always the brightest.”

Ji Ming couldn’t help but sense the old ape’s relish in finally showing off, which made him question the validity of his interpretation.

“These mountains are vast—are we to search each peak one by one?” Ji Ming asked.

“We’ll seek out the local mountain spirits!” Golden Lion Ape answered, riding the wave and dragging Ji Ming into the streams winding through the mountains.

For some reason, Ji Ming had the distinct impression that the old ape was holding onto him as though afraid he’d take off into the sky and steal his thunder.

The thought made his favorable impression wane somewhat.

He also felt a trace of worry—if the Daoists from Four Sorrows Cloud Temple or that scholar arrived as well, would his own “flowery but useless” skills drag them down?

At the base of a mountain waterfall, deep in a pool, the rolling wave finally came to a stop. Golden Lion Ape turned his back to Ji Ming, his energy apparently depleted.

Controlling the wave for an hour or two must have taken its toll. Ji Ming guessed the old ape didn’t know the cloud-riding arts, or he surely would have shown off by now.

At that moment, a ridiculous thought flashed through Ji Ming’s mind—perhaps Golden Lion Ape was keeping hold of him to prevent him from soaring skyward and stealing the limelight!

With that, the old ape’s aura of awe diminished considerably.

“Wait here,” Golden Lion Ape instructed, glancing at the flags on Ji Ming’s back and adding, “Remember, only use them in dire need.”

With that, he dove into the depths of the pool.

Ji Ming sat beneath a tree at the water’s edge, three command flags planted in his back and a monk’s robe draped over his shoulders, looking for all the world like a minor patrol spirit.

He turned his head to look at the flags, then promptly ignored Golden Lion Ape’s warning. Channeling his spiritual energy, he summoned the flags, which flew out to stand before him.

As patterns flickered across the fabric, three water beast spirits leapt forth and began to hop about in front of him.

“This…”