Chapter 391

The transmission talisman burned in his palm.

The flame was azure-blue, carrying Yun Hao's unique spatial law aura, yet it was more urgent and scorching than ever before. Wang Ping lowered his gaze to the pulsing light in his palm, and a sense of foreboding welled up in his heart.

Yun Hao never lightly used this emergency transmission talisman. The last time he used it was when the fragments of the Immortal Palace were besieged by the Pure World Court and Nine desperately sent out a distress signal. That time, they had almost been wiped out.

This time……

Wang Ping drew a deep breath and extended his divine sense into the transmission talisman.

In an instant, countless images surged into his mind like a flood breaking through a dam——

Outside the Spirit Realm, in the void beyond Qingyun Province, what should have been a tranquil starry sky glittering with stars was now completely shrouded in a sheet of silver light.

That silver was the color of Order's power, the color of the Pure World Court, the color of death and destruction.

Three Late Void Refinement experts hovered like three silver suns in the midst of the void. Their pressure was substantive; even through the image of the transmission talisman, Wang Ping could feel that suffocating terror. They were peak existences of Late Void Refinement, terrifying powerhouses only a step away from the Unity Stage.

The central figure was burly like a mountain, his body wrapped in countless silver runes that slowly rotated like planetary rings. His eyes were pure silver, without pupils, only endless cold. With a lift of his hand, countless strands of Order's power condensed in the void into silver spears, ready to shoot forth at any moment.

The figure on the left was slender like bamboo, his face withered, his eyes tightly shut, yet a vertical silver scar ran across his brow like a closed third eye. Within that scar, a faint silver light flickered, as if it might open at any moment to release a destructive power capable of annihilating everything.

The figure on the right was of medium build, his face ordinary, yet he made Wang Ping's heart race the most. He bore no circulating runes, no leaking pressure, simply floating there like an ordinary old man. But it was precisely this 'ordinariness' that was most terrifying—being able to completely internalize the terrifying aura of Late Void Refinement showed that his mastery of Order's power had reached the state of returning to simplicity and truth.

Ten mid-stage Spirit Transformation cultivators, like ten silver stars, encircled the three suns. Their auras merged into an impenetrable wall of order, sealing the void like an iron barrel. These mid-stage Spirit Transformation cultivators were each stronger and more refined than the two that had previously chased Wang Ping. Their silver light intertwined, forming a huge light net that slowly contracted, squeezing the living space of the Spirit Realm's defensive grand formation.

Fifty order apostles, each exuding the aura of a perfected Nascent Soul. They stood in neat formations, expressionless, eyes showing only absolute obedience and icy killing intent. These were not ordinary order apostles but the elite of the Pure World Court, killing machines tempered by countless battles. Their silver armor was covered in various runes, traces left by countless reinforcements.

Over a thousand battle puppets, like a silver tide, blanketed the void. They had no life, no emotion, only the purest killing instinct. Arranged in neat battle formations, they awaited orders, ready to charge. These puppets were stronger than any seen before—their cores faintly showed more complex runes, the mark of improved third‑generation battle puppets, each possessing late‑stage Nascent Soul combat power.

Opposite that silver sea lay the Spirit Realm's defensive grand formation.

The light barrier that had guarded the Spirit Realm for thirty thousand years was now trembling violently. It should have been golden, filled with countless runes laid down by generations of sages, but the gold was now mottled and corroded by silver; countless runes were extinguished in patches by the silver light's impact, while countless others were reignited by Jiang Mingyuan desperately circulating his technique.

Jiang Mingyuan stood at the formation's eye.

That Unity cultivator, the master who had guarded Wang Ping since he was seven, now had disheveled white hair, blood‑stained robes, and blood seeping from his seven apertures. His hands frantically formed seals, pouring a ceaseless stream of spiritual power into the formation. Each impact of silver light shook his body violently; each fading rune drained his face a shade paler.

But he did not retreat.

He stood at the forefront, using his body, his cultivation, his life to shield the Spirit Realm behind him.

Behind him was Lei Wantiang.

The Lei Yu Valley master, a late‑stage Spirit Transformation lightning cultivator, was drenched in blood. His left arm had been severed, the wound still emitting black smoke—a mark of corrosion by order's power. Yet his right hand still gripped tightly a lightning‑condensed longsword; each swing unleashed countless lightning explosions, slicing the charging battle puppets to pieces.

Beside him was Bingyue Xianzi.

The Supreme Elder of the Profound Ice Palace, likewise a late‑stage Spirit Transformation cultivator, now had a face as pale as paper. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, a faint lunar power swirled around her, its light much dimmed. Yet she fought on; each raise of her hand shot a beam of yin power, freezing an order apostle into an ice sculpture.

Other Spirit Transformation experts were also present—the Heavenly Sword Sect sect leader, the Formation Alliance leader, the Artificers' Guild president, and the Loose Cultivators' Alliance patriarch. Each fought desperately, using their lives to buy time for the Spirit Realm.

Further out, countless Spirit Realm cultivators.

Spirit Transformation, Nascent Soul, Golden Core, and even Foundation Establishment youths. Though they knew they were outmatched, none retreated, for behind them lay their homes and everything they cherished.

Those young cultivators had just entered Nascent Soul or were only at Golden Core. Their attacks on the order apostles were like tickling. Yet they kept fighting, desperately. For they knew that every extra breath they bought gave those behind one more breath to withdraw.

A Golden Core youth was sent flying by a battle puppet's blow, his chest caved in, blood spurting. He struggled to his feet, mustered his last strength, and hurled his flying sword at the puppet. The sword struck the puppet's shell without leaving a mark, but the youth smiled and closed his eyes.

Moreover, a Nascent Soul female cultivator was besieged by three order apostles. Her artifact was shattered, her spiritual power exhausted, yet she still stood before the fleeing low‑level cultivators, using her body to buy them time. In the end, she was struck simultaneously by three beams of order's light, turning into a mist of blood that dissipated in the void.

Those images, one after another, flashed through Wang Ping's mind.

Finally, it froze on Yunhao's face.

The young chief of the Guardians of the Ruined Tomb stood at the edge of the defensive grand formation, locked in combat with a mid‑stage Spirit Transformation order apostle. His long sword had broken; he held an ordinary iron sword picked up from the ground. His body was covered in wounds—some deep enough to show bone, others still emitting silver mist—the corrosion of order's power eating away at him.

But he continued to fight.

The refugees who had fled the Immortal Palace ruins numbered just over three hundred, with fewer than fifty at Nascent Soul level or above, yet each fought desperately. For they knew the Spirit Realm had taken them in, giving them a new homeland; now they must defend it.

Yunhao's sword thrust forced the order apostle back; he glanced over. His gaze seemed to pierce the void, pierce the transmission talisman, and land directly on Wang Ping.

His lips moved, no sound came out, but Wang Ping understood what he meant to say—

"Wang brother, don't come back."

The image ended there.

The transmission talisman burned to ash, turning into a wisp of green smoke that rose from Wang Ping's palm and dissipated into the void.

Wang Ping stood motionless on the spot.

Around him were the broken walls and ruins of the Immortal Palace. The sapling of the divine tree swayed gently in the distance, Jiu'er slept leaning against its trunk. Youying sat cross‑legged on a nearby blue stone, regulating his breath, while Cangxuan and Yuliuli were in seclusion on the opposite side of the ruins.

Everything was peaceful.

But Wang Ping's heart surged with tumultuous waves.

Three late‑stage Spirit Transformation.

Ten mid‑stage Spirit Transformation.

Fifty order apostles.

Over a thousand battle puppets.

Such strength could tear any early‑stage Spirit Transformation cultivator to shreds. Going back would be nothing but suicide.

But…

He recalled his master's final silhouette.

That white‑haired old man, standing at the formation's eye, seven apertures bleeding, yet fighting to the death.

He recalled Lei Wantiang's severed arm.

That bold lightning cultivator, who once blasted the silver‑robed leader with a single palm outside the Law Corridor, now could only fight with a mutilated body.

He recalled Bingyue Xianzi's pallid face.

That aloof immortal, who could once freeze the void with a casual yin strike, now could barely stand, swaying on the verge of collapse.

He recalled the young cultivators.

Those Golden Core and Nascent Soul youths, who gave their lives to buy time for others.

He remembered Yun Hao's final mouth shape.

Don't come back.

Those were the words Master had Yun Hao convey; they were spoken personally by Jiang Mingyuan.

Don't come back.

Never come back.

Take everyone and flee; the farther, the better.

But...

Can he escape?

If he escapes, what will Master do? What about those comrades? What about those who guard the Spirit Realm with their lives?

If he escapes, is his heart of the Dao still there?

Wang Ping closed his eyes.

In his mind, countless images flashed by like a revolving lantern——

When he was seven, Master brought him into the Ninth Dao Institute. Master took his hand, pointed to the distant Inquiry Platform, and said, 'Child, from now on that place will be your home.'

When he was thirteen, he first condensed a chaotic spiritual root. Master stood behind him, gently patting his shoulder, saying, 'Good child, your path will be harder than anyone's. But I will always be here.'

When he was thirty, he left the Ninth Dao Institute for the first time to train. Before departure, Master gave him a token, saying, 'Hold onto it. If you encounter danger, activate it. I will come to save you.'

Outside the Law Corridor, he was pursued by three Divine Transformation experts, on the brink of death. Master's junior brother, Jiang Haiyun, crossed realms and came, striking the strong enemy away with a palm. Later he learned that Master, sensing his danger, had not hesitated to expend a century of cultivation, forcefully opening a spatial passage to let Jiang Haiyun rush to his rescue.

On the ruins of the Immortal Palace, before his tribulation, Master's projected will crossed realms and came, heavily injuring a late-stage Divine Transformation expert with a palm, buying him precious time.

There were countless times, countless times, Master silently guarded him from behind.

And now, at his most dangerous moment, Master said to him——

Don't come back.

Flee.

Wang Ping's fist clenched until his knuckles turned white.

His eye sockets grew slightly hot.

But he did not let tears fall.

He opened his eyes.

In his eyes, chaotic-colored light swirled, with unprecedented resolve.

"Come here."

His voice was not loud, yet it clearly reached everyone's ears.

You Ying was the first to open his eyes, rise, and walk to his side.

Cang Xuan walked from the other side of the ruins, hand on his sword hilt.

Yu Liuli cradled her ancient zither and came floating over.

Xuan Gui Zunzhe lay on a stretcher, carried over by Bai Cao Xianzi. His injuries remained severe, but his eyes were bright and alert.

Jiu Er was startled awake, rubbed her eyes, ran over, and hugged Wang Ping's leg.

"Big brother, what's wrong?"

Wang Ping lowered his head to look at her, at her tender face, and a warm current welled up in his heart.

He crouched down and gently stroked her head.

"Jiu Er, big brother is returning to the Spirit Realm."

Jiu Er froze.

On her little face, her smile gradually faded, replaced by fear.

"Big brother…… Spirit Realm…… are there bad people?"

Wang Ping nodded.

"There are many bad people."

Jiu Er's small body began to tremble.

"Then…… then big brother, don't go…… Jiu Er is afraid…… Jiu Er is afraid big brother will……"

She couldn't go on.

Wang Ping gently embraced her.

"Jiu Er, big brother must go."

Jiu Er cried in his arms, saying nothing.

Wang Ping softly said, "Because there, there is big brother's Master. He raised big brother from childhood, taught him cultivation, and whenever big brother encountered danger, he was the first to rush out and save big brother. Now he is in danger. How could big brother not go?"

Jiu Er lifted her head, eyes blurred with tears, looking at him.

"But…… but if big brother goes, he will die……"

Wang Ping looked at her and gave a faint smile.

"Maybe. But if he doesn't go, big brother will never forgive himself for this lifetime."

Jiu Er looked at him, at his resolute eyes, at his calm face, and suddenly stopped crying.

She wiped her tears dry and looked at him earnestly.

"Big brother, what can Jiu Er do?"

Wang Ping thought, then said, "You stay here and guard the Building Wood. If…… if big brother can't win over there and needs to retreat, you must use the power of Building Wood to open a path home for big brother."

Jiu Er nodded firmly.

"Jiu Er can do it! Jiu Er will definitely do it!"

Wang Ping smiled and lightly pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Good. Then it's settled."

He stood up, looking toward the others.

Cangxuan was the first to speak.

I'll go.

Only two words, but these two words weigh heavier than any oath.

Wang Ping looked at him and nodded.

Yuliuli was the second to speak.

I'll go too. The Fallen Immortal Clan is in the Spirit Realm, my fellow disciples are in the Spirit Realm. I cannot abandon them.

Wang Ping nodded.

Youying said nothing, merely walked to his side and lightly took his hand.

Her hand was still cold, but she gripped it tightly.

Wang Ping lowered his head to look at her, at her pale face, at the resolve in her eyes, and a feeling beyond words welled up in his heart.

You... your wound isn't healed yet...

Youying shook her head.

I have waited thirty thousand years, not to wait again.

Wang Ping remained silent for a moment, then nodded heavily.

Good.

The Venerable Black Tortoise struggled to sit up from the stretcher.

I too——

Don't move." The Immortal of Hundred Herbs pressed him down, "Are you going to your death?"

The Venerable Black Tortoise glared: "I've lived eight thousand years, that's enough!"

The Immortal of Hundred Herbs also glared: "You've had enough, old woman hasn't lived enough yet! If you die, who will the old woman scold?"

The Venerable Black Tortoise was stunned.

The Immortal of Hundred Herbs snorted, turned her head to look at Wang Ping.

Child, the old woman won't advise you anymore. Go. The old woman will stay behind, look after Jiu Er, and also look after this old immortal.

She paused, a flash of complex emotion crossing her eyes.

Come back alive.

Wang Ping looked at her and bowed deeply.

Thank you, senior.

He turned and strode toward the edge of the ruins.

Behind him, Cangxuan, Yuliuli, and Youying followed closely.

Jiu Er stood beneath the sapling of the Founding Tree, watching their backs, her small hand clenched tightly.

"Big brother, you must come back…"

Her voice was very soft, so soft that only she herself could hear it.

But the Constructive Tree sapling seemed to sense her feelings. Its roots trembled lightly, and strands of azure light began to gather deep underground.

Wherever that light passed, space began to twist.

A spatial passage was taking shape.

When Wang Ping and the others arrived at the edge of the ruins, a huge spatial passage already lay before them.

The passage was ten zhang wide and five zhang high, with azure light flowing within; faintly visible beyond the gate was the starry sky of the Spirit Realm, plus the silver light filling the heavens and the silhouettes of those engaged in fierce battle.

Jiu Er stood at the entrance of the passage, her tiny body trembling slightly. Opening such a huge spatial passage placed an enormous burden on her. Sweat covered her forehead, her face was as pale as paper, yet she gritted her teeth and persisted.

Wang Ping walked up to her, crouched down, and looked at her.

"Jiu Er, enough. Just getting here is enough."

Jiu Er shook her head.

"No…… Jiu Er can still hold on…… Big brother…… go quickly…… come back quickly……"

Wang Ping looked at her, at the tears in her eyes, at her stubborn expression, and a feeling of indescribable heartache welled up in his heart.

He gently hugged her.

"Wait for big brother to come back."

Then he stood up and strode toward the passage.

Behind him, Cang Xuan, Yu Liuli, and Yin Ying closely followed.

The moment the four stepped into the passage, the light flashed and they vanished.

Jiu Er stood where she was, watching the passage slowly close, and tears finally streamed down uncontrollably.

"Big brother…… you must come back……"

Spirit Realm outskirts, battlefield.

When Wang Ping and the others rushed out of the spatial passage, the sight before them made everyone suck in a breath of cold air.

That was not a battlefield.

That was hell.

Silver light covered the sky and earth.

Battle puppets surged like a tide, dense and boundless. Some attacked the great defensive formation, some pursued Spirit Realm cultivators, and some wrought destruction everywhere. Each puppet exuded the terrifying aura of late Nascent Soul; with thousands acting simultaneously, the oppression was enough to make any Nascent Soul cultivator's mind collapse.

Order Apostles were like silver lightning flashing, darting through the void. Their speed was astonishing; each teleportation felled a Spirit Realm cultivator. Fifty Order Apostles were fifty killing machines, working in seamless harmony to reap lives.

Meanwhile, those mid Transformation Spirit beings were fiercely battling the Spirit Realm's Transformation Spirit experts. Lei Wantiang fought two opponents one‑armed and did not retreat; Bingyue Xianzi faced two foes, pale but still fighting to the death; the Heavenly Sword Sect Sect Leader, the Formation Dao Alliance Alliance Leader, the Artificers Guild Guild Leader, and the Loose Cultivators Alliance Ancestor—each struggled desperately, each drenched in blood.

And those three late Transformation Spirit beings were like three silver divinities, hovering above the battlefield.

They did not make a move.

They just watched silently.

Watching this slaughter.

Watching the Spirit Realm's defensive grand formation crumble bit by bit under their pressure.

Jiang Mingyuan stood at the formation's eye, his white hair disheveled, blood flowing from his seven orifices, his hands frantically forming seals. Before him, the golden light shield was covered in cracks, each spreading rapidly. Behind him were countless Spirit Realm cultivators, countless innocent mortals, countless lives he had to protect.

He knew he couldn't hold on much longer.

But he could not retreat.

If he retreated, the Spirit Realm would be over.

Just then——

Four figures shot out from the void.

Wang Ping.

Cangxuan.

Yuliuli.

Youying.

The four appeared exactly before the three late-stage Spirit Transformation experts.

Jiang Mingyuan froze.

The three late-stage Spirit Transformation experts also froze.

Then, the burly Spirit Transformation expert laughed.

That smile was cruel and icy.

"Wang Ping. You've finally come."

Wang Ping looked at him, saying nothing.

The Spirit Transformation expert continued: "Jiang Mingyuan told you to flee, yet you did not. Good. Saves us the trouble of hunting you down."

He raised his hand, and a silver light condensed in his palm.

"Today, you will all die."

Wang Ping still said nothing.

He merely slowly lifted his hand.

In his palm, chaotic-colored lightning was gathering.

Chaos Immortal Lightning.

Stronger than it was three months ago.

The Spirit Transformation expert's smile twitched slightly.

He felt it.

Within that lightning lay power enough to threaten him.

"Interesting," he said coldly, "but do you think that with this little ability you can turn the tide?"

Wang Ping finally spoke.

"Not."

His voice was very calm, calm enough to make one's heart race.

"But I can at least——"

He paused, the chaotic light in his eyes flaring violently.

"To hold you off."

The moment his words fell, the Chaos Immortal Lightning shot forth.

At the same time, Cangxuan drew his sword, sword intent soaring to the heavens.

Yuliuli plucked the zither strings, celestial music wafting.

Youying stood beside Wang Ping; though his cultivation had not recovered, the resolve in his eyes surpassed anyone's.

The four figures faced three late-stage Spirit Transformation experts, ten mid-stage Spirit Transformation experts, fifty Order Apostles, and thousands of battle puppets.

No fear.

No retreat.

Only resolve.

In the distance, Jiang Mingyuan gazed at that familiar figure, his eye sockets slightly warm.

"Silly child……"

He murmured, his voice hoarse.

"Why won't you listen to your master's words……"

But as he spoke, he laughed.

That smile was relieved and proud.

Because that was his disciple.

That was a child he had raised himself.

That was——

The Spirit Realm's future hope.

The great battle erupted.