Those five words hit like a series of deadly thunderbolts, exploding violently within Mo Fan's skull.
One second ago, he was still immersed in the absolute heroism of "holding all mountains in a single glance," genuinely convinced that his entire being radiated the irresistible mystique of an aloof, peerless swordsman.
In the next second, he felt as if someone had dumped a basin of ice water over his head and cast a max-tier immobilize spell on him, freezing him completely in place.
Lin Dong!
This name was like a rusty key, forcefully picking open the dust-covered memory door deep in the original host Lu Xiaoqi's mind—a door missing most of its details due to the transmigration.
Fragments of memory revived terrifyingly, like a cinematic flashback of a life flashing before his eyes.
During those blurry childhood years before the Spirit Testing Ceremony, among that group of chattering orphans in the servant district, there had been this exact shriveled old man!
Although the current Lin Dong looked more weather-beaten and his hair much grayer than in the memories, those eyes—sunken deep in their sockets and radiating a neurotic fanaticism—were absolutely the same!
Him.
The one who had run his hands over Lu Xiaoqi's bones, confidently placed him on the pedestal of a "peerless genius," and then, the moment the Spirit Testing Stone glowed gray, discarded him like trash!
"Holy shit..."
Stormy waves churned in Mo Fan's heart. Cold sweat slid down his back with a whoosh, instantly soaking his undershirt.
In front of this unfathomable Peak Master, rumored to be a modification maniac, he absolutely dared not make the slightest reckless move.
His proud undead skeletons would likely not even count as an appetizer in front of this old monster.
Flee?
Running away right under the nose of a mighty figure whose cultivation far exceeded his own was tantamount to screaming, "I have a guilty conscience, come catch me!"
As Mo Fan's brain spun frantically like an overclocked CPU trying to find a way out, he stared dead into Lin Dong's fanatical eyes for several full seconds.
Suddenly, Mo Fan froze.
He abruptly noticed an extremely crucial detail—in Lin Dong's eyes, there was only the fervent appreciation akin to a gourmand seeing a peerless delicacy, or a scholar meeting a soulmate!
There was absolutely no flicker of recognition. No "wait, haven't we met?" No "why is a waste Spirit Root doing up here?"
"He... didn't recognize me?"
Mo Fan calculated rapidly in his heart, then let out a long, massive sigh of relief.
Back when Lu Xiaoqi was treated as a lab rat by Lin Dong, he was just a scrawny, malnourished, and tender child.
Now, a few years had passed. Mo Fan had taken over this body.
Not only had he grown a large chunk taller, but under the torment of the Body Forging Record, the Iron Bone Stage, and countless brushes with death, he had forged a physique of lustrous, bronze muscles.
His face was now resolute and cold, and his temperament had undergone an earth-shattering transformation.
If Lin Dong didn't deliberately probe his bone age and origin aura, who would connect this vigorous, tough youth before him with that frail child only fit to be a consumable?
"Since he didn't recognize me, this is manageable."
The heart that had been lodged in his throat dropped back down where it belonged.
In order to quickly extricate himself and absolutely avoid getting entangled with Hundred Forging Peak's biggest source of karma, the Oscar-winning actor within him stepped forward once again.
He took a deep breath, rapidly adjusting his facial muscles, perfectly transforming his previous terror into an aloof, overly confident, and highly punchable demeanor.
"So it is Senior Lin."
Mo Fan smiled slightly, cupped his hands, and performed an extremely standard yet somewhat perfunctory greeting typical of noble clan scions.
His tone was neither haughty nor humble, even carrying a bit of the arrogance of a rich young master:
"Senior overpraises me. This junior merely looked at the magnificent rivers and mountains and the churning sea of clouds, felt slightly moved in his heart, and expressed his feelings."
"It is merely so-so, and absolutely does not deserve the absurd praise of a 'world-shocking masterpiece'."
He paused, his chin lifting a fraction, forcibly fabricating an incredibly bluffing "cultivation nepo baby" fake identity for himself:
"This junior's father is the 'Purple Mountain True Lord,' currently an invited guest at the Azure Cloud Main Peak, discussing the Dao with your esteemed sect's elders."
"This junior felt the old men on the Main Peak were too stifling, so I wandered around to touch grass, accidentally took the wrong path, strayed into this place, and disturbed Senior's rest. I am truly ashamed."
Purple Mountain True Lord! VIP of the Main Peak!
Mo Fan had raised the banner of a tiger he'd invented on the spot.
I've dropped the name. You, a marginalized, eccentric elder, should exchange a few pleasantries and then say "Please do as you wish, esteemed guest," right?
However.
He severely underestimated the brain wiring of a man who had gone completely and utterly off the deep end for literature.
Mo Fan's ineffective flexing landed on Lin Dong like music played to a deaf wall.
Lin Dong didn't even twitch an eyebrow. He had absolutely zero interest in any Main Peak VIP or Purple Mountain True Lord.
He didn't even bother to send out a wisp of Divine Sense to the Main Peak to verify if such a person existed.
"Purple Mountain True Lord? Never heard of him."
Lin Dong waved a hand with the impatience of a man swatting away a fly, as if the name Mo Fan just reported belonged to some random cat or dog.
"Who cares who your father is! This old man sits withered on this absolute mountain peak every day, watching the sea of clouds roll and unfurl, and my chest also fills with boundless heroism, frequently expressing my feelings!"
He bounded down from the large bluestone in a few steps and grabbed Mo Fan's wrist.
An astonishing light erupted from those deep-set eyes, his enthusiasm radiating off him in waves:
"It is a rare fortune today to meet a talented, broad-minded little friend like you! Let us ignore status, ignore cultivation, and simply make friends through poetry! Wouldn't that be beautiful?!"
"..."
Mo Fan, firmly grasped by the wrist, was sweating profusely.
He was completely and thoroughly trapped!
Refuse? What if this unhinged old man felt he wasn't giving him face and slapped him to death?
Agree?
Mo Fan's inner monologue was approaching total collapse:
"This is a fucking Golden Core elder of Azure Cloud Sect! He sits withered on the mountain peak every day, comprehending the Heavenly Dao and nature." "A poem written by such a figure must absolutely be a masterpiece for the ages, containing the supreme truths of heaven and earth and majestic grandeur!" "I just plagiarized Du Fu's 'Gazing at Mount Tai'; whose poem do I have to pull out next to catch the 'Dao Rhythm' of a Golden Core monster?!"
Just as Mo Fan was waking frantic memory banks of his nine-year compulsory education...
Lin Dong began to recite.
The old man let go of Mo Fan's wrist. With great solemnity, he adjusted his gray robe, which was, upon closer inspection, so tattered it had loose threads.
With his hands clasped behind his back, facing the biting, cold astral wind of the high mountain, he tilted his head up slightly.
His gaze—profound as if it had pierced through a thousand years of time—looked toward the cloud-shrouded Azure Cloud Main Peak in the distance.
The wind blew his grayish-white hair.
The atmosphere, at this moment, was pulled to a perfect ten out of ten.
The old man cleared his throat, drawing Qi from his dantian. His voice even carried a trace of Mana resonance, booming like a great bell, shaking the surrounding sickly bamboo forest until it rustled.
He loudly declaimed his magnum opus, comprehended from years of solitary summit-sitting:
"From afar, the mountain peak is high—!"
First line. Delivered.
"Up close, the large tree is low—!"
Second line. Landed.
Mo Fan held his breath. He frantically analyzed in his heart:
"Although the first two lines use common and straightforward vocabulary, it's the so-called 'The Great Dao is exceedingly simple'! Return to the unadorned!"
"This must be a deliberate technique—build low to strike high! The next two lines will absolutely contain the laws of heaven and earth, an earth-shattering twist!"
Just as Mo Fan was braced for a spiritual revelation...
Lin Dong abruptly swept his sleeve, turned around, and pointed at the mountains.
With an air of supreme, heaven-scorning arrogance, he roared the conclusion:
"In the end, which one stands higher—!" "Turns out, it is I who stand highest!!!"
The lingering echoes surged back and forth in the empty mountain canyon: ...I who stand highest... I who stand highest... I who stand highest...
Whoosh—
A gust of autumn wind drifted across the summit, carrying a few yellowed bamboo leaves.
A mutated crow that happened to be passing overhead—apparently struck dumb by this earth-shattering, ghost-weeping masterpiece—let out a series of deeply uncomfortable "Caw... caw... caw..." sounds.
It flapped away from Hundred Forging Peak with what could only be described as secondhand embarrassment.
The summit fell into a silence like death.
Lin Dong held his pose—sleeve flung wide, one finger pointed at the sky, eyes closed, face arranged in an expression of pure, transcendent bliss.
And behind him stood Mo Fan.
Whose face had, in this moment, completely and catastrophically collapsed.
Every ounce of composure he possessed had been detonated by this absolute, irredeemable doggerel. His celebrated rationality had been reduced to paste.
Mo Fan stood motionless, lips slightly parted. A thousand words, countless sentences churned and collided in his throat, surging upward and then retreating, surging and retreating—
Until finally, all of it compressed into an extremely dry and powerless ellipsis:
"............"