One Person: I, the Dragon Tiger Stall King! I Won!

125: The true inheritance lies not in the classics but in the bloodHe had come.

There was no covering up, no hiding, and certainly none of the pathetic fleeing from three years ago.

He walked upright and openly under the gaze of everyone, each step landing steady and firm, as if he were not climbing a treacherous Daoist mountain, but walking back into his own courtyard.

The two Disciples guarding the mountain turned pale, instinctively gripping the Magical Artifacts at their waists, and shouted sternly, ”Stop! Zhang Xuanyi, you actually dare to come back!”

The voice echoed through the valley, carrying an imperceptible tremor.

That great fire three years ago, that ”Talisman Seller” who had single-handedly stirred up the entire Xuanmen, had long been an irremovable thorn in the hearts of all the Disciples of Mount Longhu.

Zhang Xuanyi stopped, his gaze calmly passing over them to look at the mountain gate archway that towered into the clouds.

He ignored the stern reprimand, simply lifting the crude pottery urn he held in his arms; the mouth of the urn was covered with a piece of burlap, making it impossible to see what was inside.

His voice was not loud, yet it spread with unusual clarity across the entire mountain gate plaza: ”I have come to Repay the Debt.”

”Repay the Debt?” A Disciple frowned, staring vigilantly at the pottery urn in his arms. ”What you owe Mount Longhu, can you even afford to pay it back?”

Zhang Xuanyi smiled; there was no mockery in that smile, only the composure of one who had weathered many storms.

He slowly walked up the last step and came to a stop three paces away from the two Disciples.

He did not move forward again, but instead bent down, carefully and steadily placing the pottery urn in the very center of the bluestone steps.

This action made everyone’s heart jump into their throats.

”Three years ago, I took away a ’debt’ from here,” Zhang Xuanyi slowly straightened up and brushed the dust off his hands. ”Tianshi Mansion says, ’Without rules, nothing can be accomplished.’ They say that Mortals lighting fires is stealing the bounty of Heaven, a grave disrespect. I didn’t understand then, but now, I think I understand a little.”

He reached out and untied the burlap covering the mouth of the urn.

Everyone’s gaze instantly focused on that small opening.

There was no light from a Magic Treasure, no Evil Qi soaring to the sky, only a pile of... miscellaneous items.

Zhang Xuanyi reached out and took the first item from the urn.

It was a piece of charcoal, charred black, with only its outline remaining.

”Wang Laosan, a border guard in the North. In the freezing winter, the outpost’s fuel ran out. He didn’t steal military supplies; he rubbed this last piece of charcoal with his palms to ignite it, providing warmth for his comrades while losing three of his own toes to frostbite. He knew no Spell, only how to shout, ’Even if we freeze to death, we cannot lose our position.’”

He took out the second item.

It was a strip of cloth that had long since dried and hardened, soaked in rust-colored blood.

”Sister Li, an embroiderer from Xichuan. When a flash flood hit, her son was pinned under a broken beam. She didn’t have the strength to move it, so she cried as she lit her own sleeve on fire, using that faint light to dig through the mud and rocks with her bare hands for half the night to save her child, ruining both her hands in the process. She knew no Spell, only how to cry, ’My son, Mother is here.’”

Next were iron nails twisted and deformed by fire, shards of an enamel cup with chipped paint, and dozens of small wooden sticks made smooth and shiny by the rubbing of palms; each one seemed to still retain the warmth of flesh and blood.

”These are fires ignited with their lives by three hundred and twenty-seven people who ’knew no Spell’.”

Zhang Xuanyi’s voice was like a great bell, echoing before the silent mountain gate.

He used no True Qi, yet every word struck at the heart of everyone present.

He pointed at the pottery urn, his gaze sweeping over the pale-faced, trembling-lipped Daoists, and asked, word by word, ”No master to bow to, no letter of introduction to present, no qualifications to enter your mountain gate. But I just want to ask one thing—do they deserve to be called ’Awakened’?”

The entire Mount Longhu mountain gate was silent as death.

That small pottery urn now seemed as heavy as a thousand jun, pressing down until everyone was breathless.

No one dared to step forward, let alone collect this incredibly heavy ”rule.”

The stalemate on the mountain was completely shattered by a storm sweeping across the country below.

Just as Zhang Xuanyi stepped onto the ancient pilgrimage road, a massive holographic projection shot up into the sky in the largest central plaza of the capital.

Su Qingzhu stood beneath the projection, facing the lenses of countless media outlets, and officially launched the ”Fire Registry” campaign.

”We do not need to be acknowledged by anyone; we only need to be recorded!”

Her voice spread in all directions through the internet.

In just three days, over a million authentic records were uploaded to the ”Fire Registry” database.

A farmer in a remote mountain village uploaded a video of himself using fire to ignite straw to keep his crops warm; a courier rushing in the dead of night recorded the moment he rubbed out a spark to light a cigarette to dispel his fatigue; a disabled girl in a wheelchair demonstrated how she used her trembling hands to light the candles on her birthday cake...

The most heart-wrenching scene was an elderly man with white hair, tearfully recounting the story of his father’s final moments.

The old man lay on his hospital bed, critically ill, yet he used his last ounce of strength to rub a faint spark of fire in his palm.

He smiled contentedly at his children and grandchildren, his last words being: ”This is good... later, when the power goes out, you won’t have to trouble yourselves to light a lamp for me anymore.”

The dam of public opinion had completely collapsed.

Even the ”Xuanmen Daily,” which had always considered protecting the orthodoxy of Xuanmen its duty, published an unprecedented editorial with a shocking title: ”The True Legacy Lies Not in Scriptures, But in Bloodline.”

At the same time, beside thousands of fire pits on the southwestern frontier, Cui Wujiu was conducting his final patrol.

He walked through every village, no longer checking the vitality of the fire pits, but simply sitting quietly, watching the old, the young, and the women skillfully ignite their cooking smoke with their own body heat.

In the last village, he unhooked the bronze fire-starting bell that had accompanied him for decades from his waist and hung it on the oldest tree at the village entrance.

The villagers were confused, to which he only said, ”From now on, the wind will watch over you for me.”

That night, a storm raged with thunder and lightning.

The villagers were terrified to discover that the bronze bell was emitting a clear, melodious ringing sound in the wind and rain, and even more eerily, its entire body turned red, radiating a scorching heat that illuminated the entire old tree as bright as day.

The old village chief led the entire village in kneeling and kowtowing, calling it a miracle.

But after the worship, he shook his head and said to his descendants, ”Remember, this is not a divine manifestation. It is because we people, over these years, have burned our fires with such sincerity that we have burned a piece of iron to life.”

On a distant mountain peak, Cui Wujiu looked back at the unquenchable red light in the storm and whispered, ”Fire no longer needs a night watchman.”

He took off his heavy hemp robe and tossed it into the stream at his feet, letting it be swept away by the rushing current.

Then, he turned around and walked into the deeper, thicker mist without looking back.

Beset by internal and external pressures, the Tianshi Mansion of Mount Longhu finally convened a special meeting of the highest level.

The next morning, a gold-bordered edict was hung high outside the mountain gate.

The edict announced: effective immediately, the draft of the ”Strange Fire Management Regulations” is abolished, and the ”Ten Thousand People Fire-Passing Plan” is officially launched.

The plan includes opening transcripts of some secret scriptures to the public, establishing civilian Fire Cultivator academies across the country, and officially acknowledging that all Awakened who are not from established Schools possess equal ”Heart Fire Qualifications.”

After the edict was read, the Sect Head of the Tianshi Mansion, surrounded by Elders, walked down the mountain gate steps in person.

He walked up to Zhang Xuanyi and, amidst countless shocked gazes, bowed deeply to this ”peddler” who had been wanted by the entire mountain three years ago.

”The Ancestral Master’s teachings state that fire belongs to the world, not the private property of one family or clan. Mount Longhu has held the reins for a thousand years, and only today do I realize this.” The Sect Head’s voice carried a hint of fatigue, yet it was incomparably sincere.

Zhang Xuanyi stepped aside, not accepting the full bow, and simply waved his hand. ”Don’t thank me; go thank those who refused to freeze to death in the winter.”

After saying this, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tattered piece of yellow paper that had been rubbed until it was yellowed and curled at the edges; it was a photocopy of a talisman.

He stepped forward and neatly pasted this cheap, almost laughable piece of yellow paper next to the magnificent edict.

”This is the most expensive talisman I have ever sold in my life,” he said softly to the crowd. ”It only has three words written on it—’You Can’.”

On the day of the Spring Equinox, all things revived.

The old locust tree at the foot of Mount Longhu, which had lived for who knows how many years, sprouted its first hint of new green.

Zhang Xuanyi, Su Qingzhu, and countless people who had spontaneously arrived from all directions gathered under the tree.

They held no ceremonies and chanted no incantations, simply sitting quietly in circle after circle, silently passing ordinary wooden sticks from hand to hand.

It is unknown how much time passed, nor who started it, but when the first faint flame rose among the crowd, it was like a signal.

In an instant, the wind and clouds in the sky changed color, and a gentle red pillar of light descended from the sky, precisely enveloping the entire old locust tree.

Immediately after, the earth trembled slightly.

The red jade, which legend said was buried deep beneath the foundation of the hall by the first Ancestral Master of the Tianshi Mansion to suppress the Luck of the mountain range, slowly floated up from the ground.

It hovered above everyone’s heads, spinning quietly, its radiance flowing like a gentle, pulsing miniature star.

No one cried out in surprise, and no one greedily reached out to snatch it.

Everyone simply looked up, quietly watching this legendary divine object, as if looking at something completely ordinary.

After a long while, a little girl with pigtails was lifted onto her father’s shoulders.

She looked curiously at the red jade, stood on tiptoe, and gently blew a breath toward the ball of light.

As if responding to her innocence, the firelight on the red jade flickered gently, dividing into thousands of threads of warm light like willow catkins, which drifted down, landing on everyone’s shoulders before quietly merging into their bodies.

Zhang Xuanyi stood up, stretched, and looked at the new green covering the mountains and plains, and at the people with faces brimming with calm joy, smiling.

”Now, it’s really time to pack up.”

He turned and walked down the mountain, his figure quickly merging into the crowd heading down.

The gathering, in the end, did not disperse.

For when the first person chose to stay, this was no longer the end, but the beginning.