Chapter 659: The Golden-Devouring Spirit Sword

Han Li saw that the two had recognized him, and a strange, indescribable emotion stirred in his heart; after a moment of silence, he finally spoke softly:

"When I left my hometown to seek the Dao, I never imagined the Han family would become a prominent clan. Indeed, the saying 'life is unpredictable' holds true. Rise, both of you. I, your ancestral uncle, have never returned home in all these years—I'm no different to your Han family than a stranger. No need for such formalities!"

"How can you say such things, Ancestral Uncle? It is our fault as descendants for not knowing you still live. Had we known, we would have sent someone to serve you faithfully." The middle-aged Confucian rose and bowed deeply.

"No need for filial service. I came only to look, then leave. I am one who seeks immortality; better to sever ties with worldly affairs." Han Li waved his hand dismissively.

"Ancestral Uncle, you're leaving already? That's too hasty! Please, come to the fortress and meet the other Han clan youths before you go!" The Confucian exclaimed in surprise.

"No need. When I arrived, I flew over the Han Fortress and scanned everyone with my spiritual sense. Alas, though the Han clan is numerous, none possess spiritual roots. No karmic connection remains. Otherwise, I wouldn't have minded taking one or two clan disciples to cultivate." Han Li sighed, a trace of regret in his voice.

"It seems our descendants lack the fortune to gain the Immortal's path through you, Ancestral Uncle." The Confucian's face flickered with disappointment, and he smiled bitterly.

"Possessing a spiritual root is a rarity among a hundred thousand. It's natural that none among hundreds of Han clan members have this talent. Moreover, in my own mind, the Han and Li clans should never enter the cultivation world. The current cultivation realm is unstable—entire clans and sects are wiped out regularly. If the Han family were dragged into such a disaster, it would be disastrous." Han Li shook his head.

"We will follow Fourth Ancestral Uncle's orders." The Confucian, stunned at first, then replied humbly.

"Which generation of Li Li Feiyu's descendants are you? What is your name?" Han Li turned his gaze suddenly to the bearded man.

The man hurriedly bowed his head and replied:

"Your humble servant is Li Feng, eleventh-generation descendant of Ancestor Li Feiyu. I pay my respects to Han Ancestral Uncle."

"I once called Li Li Feiyu brother. You calling me Ancestral Uncle is fitting. I noticed you protected Yun Tianxiao generously—Li family has clearly looked after the Han clan these years. As your Han Ancestral Uncle, I cannot let you go unrewarded." Han Li slapped his storage bag; a flash of white light appeared, and seven or eight small vials of various colors materialized in his palm. He handed them to the man.

The man, overjoyed, thanked him profusely and hastily accepted the vials.

For martial artists, cultivating internal strength may not take decades like cultivation, but achieving even minor success still requires many years. With these pills, Li family would soon produce countless experts.

Seeing this, the middle-aged Confucian, delighted for his friend, could not help but gaze at Han Li with a hint of hopeful expectation.

Han Li noticed this and smiled faintly. Calmly, he unfastened a beast bag from his waist and tapped it lightly.

Instantly, over a thousand tricolor Golden-Devouring Larvae surged out, forming a three-colored cloud nearly ten feet wide, shimmering brilliantly like ten thousand stars shining in broad daylight.

The Confucian and the man stared, dumbfounded, awestruck.

Han Li said nothing, merely pointing at the hovering insect cloud above.

The thousand larvae instantly converged into a single tricolor treasure sword, hovering motionless in midair. Han Li reached out, and the sword emitted a clear chime, then floated into his hand.

This bizarre sight left the two men gaping in utter shock.

Han Li held the sword in one hand, gently stroking its blade, his expression shifting between dark and light.

After a long while, he sighed, exhaled a wisp of green spiritual energy from his mouth, and directed it onto the blade. A flash of green light appeared, and a simple, ancient green sheath materialized around the sword's edge.

Han Li held the sword, sheathed, horizontally before him.

"This sword is forged from my cultivated insects. It can kill enemies on its own. I leave it here in this ancestral hall. If the Han clan ever faces annihilation, let your kin hide within this hall—this sword can grant temporary refuge. But remember: I do not control it directly. Once drawn, it will kill every living thing within ten li, except those inside the hall. Use it with extreme caution. Here is a jade pendant infused with a trace of my essence. Only one who wears it may draw the sword; ordinary mortals cannot even unseal it. From now on, this pendant shall be passed down to each successive Han clan patriarch." Han Li withdrew another translucent, luminous jade pendant and warned them.

"Your humble descendant solemnly remembers Ancestral Uncle's teachings!" The Confucian, having witnessed Han Li's impossible feats, now had not a shred of doubt. He answered eagerly, overjoyed.

Han Li smiled faintly but did not immediately hand over the sword or pendant. Instead, he added:

"One more thing: because this sword is sealed by spiritual energy, the Golden-Devouring Sword can be used only three times. Each use weakens the sheath. After three uses, the sheath will vanish, and the sword will revert to insects and disappear. I believe three chances to save the Han clan from disaster is more than enough. After all, no fortune lasts forever. But to prevent future descendants from misusing it for evil, this sword cannot leave this hall before being drawn. If removed, it will vanish entirely. Even so, using it wisely should ensure the Han clan's prosperity for centuries. Afterward, returning to ordinary life may well be the better path."

Only after speaking these words did Han Li hand over the two items.

The Confucian nodded repeatedly, bowed deeply, took the sword, and carefully enshrined it on the central spirit altar before returning to stand respectfully before Han Li, awaiting further orders.

Han Li, satisfied with the Confucian's deference, thought for a moment, then pulled out two pale yellow vials and tossed one to each man. Smiling, he said:

"The previous items were for the Han and Li clans. You two, as my descendants, have seen me with your own eyes—you have some karmic connection. I must give you something. These pills, though useless to me, still have miraculous effects for mortals: prolonging life, strengthening the body. Take them. They will ensure you both live past a hundred."

"Thank you, Fourth Ancestral Uncle!"

"Thank you, Han Ancestral Uncle!"

The Confucian and the man, holding the vials, spoke in unison, faces radiant with joy. Clearly, this gift meant more than they could express.

Han Li nodded, glanced around once more, then suddenly showed a flicker of curiosity and asked:

"You recognized me at once. You must still have my portrait. If it's here in the hall, show it to me—I'm curious who painted it."

"The portraits are indeed in the upper pavilion. Please wait a moment." The Confucian paused, then replied immediately.

He walked to one side of the pavilion and pressed against an ordinary-looking wall.

A sharp "click" echoed.

A section of the wall flipped open, revealing five or six silk paintings hanging inside.

Han Li stepped forward and stood before one painting, motionless. It depicted a smiling youth of seventeen or eighteen, still bearing a trace of childishness—his own long-ago face.

"This painting, we were told, was passed down from the Li clan's ancestor. Who painted it, we do not know," the middle-aged Confucian said softly, standing behind Han Li.

But Han Li seemed not to hear. After a moment's gaze, his eyes shifted to another painting: his father, dressed as a squire, far older than when Han Li had secretly returned to the village, yet beaming with joy.

A shadow of sorrow crossed Han Li's face. His gaze swept over the other portraits.

The others showed elderly men with white hair. Han Li strained to recognize his brothers' youthful faces among them. A flood of emotions surged within him, and he stood frozen.

The Confucian and the bearded man wisely remained silent, not daring to disturb him.

Yet then Han Li murmured a few words under his breath—too low, too muffled to make out clearly.

As the two men leaned in to listen, Han Li's body suddenly erupted in blinding green light. Startled, they instinctively shut their eyes. When they opened them again, Han Li was gone—but his voice echoed in their ears:

"Though I now possess the power of a terrestrial immortal, I have powerful enemies. Do not speak of today's meeting to anyone. As long as no word leaks, keep the Golden-Devouring Sword hidden from outsiders. Cultivators will never notice ordinary mortals—you can rest easy. From now on, I will devote myself entirely to the Dao of Immortality and will not again involve myself with the Han clan. Do as you see fit."

His voice ceased abruptly, as if he had drifted far away.

The man and the Confucian exchanged glances, then stared at each other in stunned silence.

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