Chapter 973

Hearing his younger sister say this, the old man of the Fu clan flickered a hint of hesitation in his eyes, thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

“Since the River of Souls page has no effect on you, I won’t force the matter. But I must leave a mark on you. As long as you don’t leave the Southern Frontier, the mark will vanish on its own after half a year. Han Daoist, you don’t object to this, I hope?”

“Fine. My whereabouts are no secret. Do as you please,” Han Li smiled without hesitation.

Upon hearing this, the old man made no pretense of politeness; he raised one hand, formed a hand seal, uttered a few incantations, and shot out a streak of blue light.

Han Li stared intently and confirmed the technique was merely an ordinary mark; he immediately raised his arm and let the blue light sink into his body, vanishing without a trace.

The Fu elder’s expression turned satisfied; he retracted the River of Souls page and addressed the others:

“I’ve said all I needed to. Since Bai Daoist still needs three days to decide, my sister and I will wait here on this mountain for three more days. Yuan Daoist and Han Daoist may leave and prepare in advance. Though the Poison Valley, where the Yin-Yang Cave entrance lies, is filled with poisonous flowers and herbs, they pose little threat to us. Still, Yuan Daoist, please bring a few antidote treasures when you come. Before entering the Yin-Yang Cave, we’d best conserve our magic power.”

“Antidote treasures? Hah! For our Poison Saint Sect, that’s child’s play. Leave it to Yuan. I’ll take my leave now.” The giant laughed heartily.

He then bowed to the others, tapped his spiritual beast bag, released the massive spiritual tortoise, and soared into the sky, enveloped in a swirling gray wind.

Seeing this, Han Li had no intention of lingering; he too uttered his farewells.

He shot away as a streak of green light.

Half a year might be tight for him, but it was enough to at least forge the Three Flame Fan. As for treasures to combat ghosts, he already possessed the Exorcising Thunder and the Ti Hun Beast—no special preparation needed.

His urgency to forge the fan first stemmed from caution: should he encounter unforeseen peril down below, having the fan and the humanoid golem would ensure his safety.

With this in mind, Han Li rode his aura and headed south toward the Silver Snake Mountain in the heart of the Southern Frontier.

More than ten days later, Han Li appeared above a peculiar mountain range.

The range spanned three to four hundred li, long and sinuous like a giant serpent. Yet the trees growing here were all strange, their leaves a pale silver hue.

From high above, the name “Silver Snake Mountain” was indeed fitting.

Han Li did not pause elsewhere; he flew straight toward the head of the “serpent.”

Before he neared, he felt hot winds blowing against his face, carrying a pungent stench of sulfur.

A short while later, several bare volcanic peaks appeared before him, each conical and grotesquely ugly.

What was chilling was that low rumbles occasionally issued from these craters, some even spewing plumes of ash—truly startling.

Yet despite this, colored aura lights flickered around the volcanoes, and numerous cultivators came and went from the craters—dozens of them gathered here.

Most were Foundation Establishment cultivators; Golden Core ones were present too, but only a handful.

This was natural: once a cultivator reached Golden Core, they typically developed their own inner flame and focused on refining their own magic treasures, needing no longer to come here.

As for Nascent Soul cultivators, not a single one was to be seen.

Han Li halted his aura and studied the area from above; suddenly, blue light flashed in his pupils. The entire region’s fire veins became instantly clear within his spiritual sense.

Moments later, he identified the location with the strongest fire vein; a flash of spiritual light, and his aura shot toward a spot between two volcanoes.

When he reached a hundred zhang above ground, his aura abruptly stopped.

He shook his sleeve, and eight or nine golden small swords shot out, circling before him; he formed a hand seal and uttered a low command.

The swords emitted a clear chime, then transformed into massive golden beams of light, slashing down fiercely toward the ground.

Instantly, thunderous explosions erupted; where the blade-light struck, golden radiance blazed blindingly.

When Han Li shifted his expression, the swords circled back; the light faded, revealing a gaping fissure over twenty zhang wide, black and deep beyond sight.

The other cultivators refining their treasures nearby were naturally startled by Han Li’s dramatic display; some even flew over to investigate.

Sensing their approach, Han Li’s face darkened; he instantly unleashed the overwhelming aura of a Nascent Soul cultivator.

A staggering spiritual pressure surged upward, sweeping outward from Han Li in all directions.

All cultivators within dozens of li were startled; those who had intended to investigate hurriedly turned and fled. Some nearby abandoned their refining spots entirely, scattering in all directions—they feared inadvertently angering this senior and inviting calamity.

Seeing the nearby cultivators wisely retreat, Han Li was greatly satisfied; he descended straight into the fissure, his aura flashing once before vanishing within.

Soon after, every cultivator who came to Silver Snake Mountain to refine their treasures learned of a Nascent Soul cultivator here; all became cautious and avoided the area entirely.

A ten-li radius centered on the fissure became a forbidden zone—no one dared step within.

Days passed. At first, the fissure was silent; after a month, low thunderous rumbles echoed from within; after another month, the thunder faded, replaced by clear, ringing tones like phoenix cries from the heavens. Eventually, even those sounds faded, and silence settled.

While Han Li labored to forge his treasure, in a side hall of the imperial palace in Jinjing, over a dozen men and women in varied robes gathered—Daoist priests, Buddhist monks, Confucian scholars—all possessed astonishing cultivation bases above Nascent Soul. Among them, a square-faced man in brocade robes and an old woman holding a golden cane were both Nascent Soul Mid-Stage cultivators.

The old man with the black crown was among them too.

All sat silently on their chairs; some fidgeted, glancing repeatedly toward the hall’s entrance—as if awaiting someone’s arrival.

“Eleventh brother, you’re certain you didn’t mistake the person? It truly is him?” The square-faced man suddenly asked the white-bearded Daoist across from him, a trace of unease on his face.

“Uncle Seven’s appearance is so distinctive—how could I mistake him? Even if the man were fake, Uncle Seven’s treasure, Cold Moon Blade, would never be.” The old Daoist sighed.

“Second brother, don’t worry. Whether he’s real or not, we’ll know in a moment. We’re all here—how could we all be wrong? If he truly is Uncle Seven, it’s Heaven’s aid to our Ye family. If he’s an imposter, even if he’s a Nascent Soul Late-Stage cultivator, he won’t leave this hall alive.” The old woman spoke coldly.

“That’s true, but caution never hurts,” the square-faced man conceded, sighed, and fell silent.

An hour passed. When distant bell tones faintly echoed, a shadow flickered at the door; a tall, thin figure appeared there as if by magic, then took one light step—and instantly stood in the center of the hall.

His appearance was now revealed to all.

His eyebrows were yellowed and scorched, his eyes small, but his skull grotesquely huge—nearly half again the size of a normal man’s, wobbling atop his neck as if about to snap off—utterly bizarre.

Yet the cultivators in the hall, upon seeing this terrifying visage, all rose in shock.

“Are you truly Uncle Seven?” The square-faced man inhaled deeply and asked cautiously.

“Hah! Second brat, three hundred years gone, and you don’t recognize your old uncle? But I can’t blame you. I’ve returned from death—it’s natural you’re suspicious. Still, I have a voice jade from Third brat. Look at it, and you’ll understand.” The strange man laughed, tossing a green jade slip toward them.

The square-faced man stared in disbelief but took the jade and immersed his spiritual sense within.

Only moments later, his expression shifted several times; when he withdrew his spiritual sense, he immediately bowed deeply to the strange man, joyous:

“So Uncle Seven’s death all those years ago was a stratagem arranged by the former Grand Elder. My earlier disrespect—I beg your pardon, Uncle Seven.”

“I’m pleased you acted with caution—how could I blame you?” The strange man waved dismissively.

The other cultivators soon examined the jade slip; shortly after, they all stepped forward in joyous reverence.

“It truly is Uncle Seven!”

“Hail Third Ancestor!”

Greetings poured forth in succession.

“Gah! All of you, rise.”

The strange man was overjoyed and sat without ceremony in the main seat.

“Third brother’s jade said Uncle Seven ascended to Nascent Soul Late-Stage two hundred years ago—is this true?” the old woman asked respectfully.

“Correct. When those great sects secretly moved against me, it was because they feared I’d soon reach Late-Stage—so they set a trap to kill me. Following our clan’s plan, I escaped that disaster and, as you see, fulfilled everyone’s hopes and barely succeeded. Originally, according to the former Grand Elder’s orders, I was not to appear before you unless our Ye family faced annihilation. But Third brat, the only one who knew of my survival, recently came to me, explained your plan, and appealed to me as the current Grand Elder to lend aid. After much thought, I realized this matter concerns our family’s very survival, so I came to assist you.” The strange man’s expression turned grave.

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