Chapter 13: Rekindling the Flame of Hope

Their eyes were hollow and helpless, like fallen leaves drifting in the wind, utterly fragile.

"Look at them, completely untrained; on this Honghuang wasteland, they are nothing but ants at the mercy of others."

Zhou Yi's voice was steady and powerful: "Even stepping over the threshold of the mortal‑immortal gate is a tremendous blessing for them, allowing them to escape the oppression of their own kind; that is the greatest significance."

Yao Yan's heart jolted, and his eyes instantly brightened. Indeed, this is Honghuang, where the strong rule and the weak are like weeds.

The Human Race is insignificant in this realm, ever at risk of being swallowed by a storm. Yet he strives to carve a path of survival for the Human Race; even a faint hope can illuminate the way forward.

Zhou Yi watched Yao Yan's aura surge like a rainbow and a smile curled at his mouth.

Yao Yan's eyes flashed with steadfast light, like the brightest star in the night sky.

Zhou Yi thought to himself, "This kid will surely become the pillar of the Human Race." He suddenly grasped the seniors' sentiment toward power and chuckled inwardly, "Seems my pep talk still works; even Yao Yan is stirred to a boiling fervor."

Immediately, Yao Yan strode to his tribe, issued a command, "Everyone, stand ready." He took the deduced technique, examined it carefully, and began instructing the tribe to cultivate.

Truly worthy of the Flame Emperor!

Yao Yan's revised technique activated, as if awakening ancient power; the Fire Law boiled and surged.

Flames danced wildly in the air, like a flood dragon surfacing, emitting a deafening roar.

Zhou Yi fully understood his situation; the system limited his combat methods.

Aside from relying on the crude Qi flux phantom method, he had almost no other means.

And this technique undoubtedly brought him a new glimmer of hope.

He inhaled deeply, his breath rushing like a river, and infused a strand of Qi into the phantom behind him.

In an instant, the phantom solidified into a tangible form that fell to the ground. The entity was cloaked in golden flames, leaving scorch marks wherever it passed.

The flames raged, devouring everything; the once vibrant green turned instantly into a lifeless black.

Spiritual energy was frantically consumed by the flames, emitting a whistling sound. Zhou Yi hurriedly extinguished the fire, fearing it would harm the helpless.

Sheathing the technique, Zhou Yi looked toward Yao Yan with hopeful anticipation.

However, the scene before him shocked him. Yao Yan wore a furious expression, and the hundred‑plus tribe members practiced cultivation on the clearing under his guidance.

Yao Yan devised a series of movements, hoping to channel spiritual energy through bodily transformations.

But the result was unbearably tragic: some raised their arms sky‑high as if plucking stars, flailing like out‑of‑control windmills; others dropped a leg and could not lift it again. The scene descended into chaotic, comical absurdity.

"Raise your hands, raise your hands," Yao Yan roared, "Don't casually drop your leg, hold on a bit longer."

His forehead bulged with blue veins, filled with regret. He finally understood that talent and comprehension are separate; without insight, even the greatest talent is futile.

Moreover, many of these tribe members were elderly, their innate Qi nearly depleted, making cultivation exceedingly difficult.

Just as Yao Yan was on the brink of despair, he unexpectedly discovered a little girl with an extraordinary talent.

She quickly grasped the movement essentials, her spiritual energy flowing smoothly within, and this sight rekindled Yao Yan's flame of hope.

For the next seven days, he ignored fatigue, devoting himself wholly to teaching. He held only one belief: he must instruct these people. Day after day, Yao Yan forgot his weariness, focusing solely on imparting the technique.

Fortunately, the little girl progressed at a miraculous pace, also inspiring the other tribe members to cultivate.

Yao Yan, overjoyed, accepted her as a named senior disciple and bestowed the name "Xiao Ling'er."

Each dawn, Zhou Yi could see Xiao Ling'er leading the tribe in cultivation. Though her movements were clumsy, everyone gave their all.

They had endured the hardships of Mount Buzhou and knew the cruelty of the Demon Race.

Now that they have a chance to grow stronger, how could they give up easily? They encouraged each other, gritted their teeth, and improved daily.

Zhou Yi watched, feeling gratified yet privately worried: "The numbers are still too few."

He understood that only a thriving population could produce more talents, allowing the Human Race to truly stand its ground on Honghuang's vast lands.

Half a month passed in a blink; Yao Yan gave his all and finally fulfilled the heavy duty of teaching his tribe.

Those once‑awkward movements are now wielded effortlessly by the tribe.

【9】 Among these hundred‑plus people, another gifted youngster named "Shan" emerged.

Among these hundred-odd people, another young man with extraordinary talent named Shan appeared.

His skill, though not matching Xiao Ling'er's, still far surpassed ordinary people; he completed his spiritual energy accumulation just one day after Xiao Ling'er.

Days steadily improved, and the tribe's life gradually fell into order.

Xiao Ling'er led the women to pick wild fruits, while Shan took the men hunting.

Everything was arranged meticulously.

On the other side, Sui Huang and his group set out on a long migration; that temporary shelter was never a long‑term solution.

Zhou Yi's single sentence was like a bright lamp in the dark night, illuminating their path.

Though the road ahead was uncertain, they resolutely took the step, solely to find a new home for over two million tribe members.

Time flew, and another half month later they finally arrived at the foot of Mount Buzhou.

Everything here seemed frozen in that dreadful disaster; the air still carried a faint scent of blood, and the ground was stained a bizarre brown‑red, as if every inch of earth were soaked in fresh blood.

Someone casually jabbed a stick into the soil, and when pulled out, the stick was drenched in dark‑red fluid.

"Demon Race, we Human Race will definitely settle this blood debt," Sui Huang gritted his teeth, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

You Chao stepped forward, patting his shoulder: "Brother, stop hesitating; there are still members of the Demon Race here, and trouble would be bad."

Sui Huang snapped back to his senses and hurried the group to quicken their pace. Their destination lay ahead; scouts reported a large valley, concealed terrain, easy to defend yet hard to attack—a perfect campsite.

But fate opposed them. As they passed Mount Buzhou, the Wu Clan of the Thick Earth Tribe spotted them.

The Wu Clan gave a casual glance, and seeing these insignificant humans, turned away disdainfully.

"Just a swarm of tiny ants, not worth the effort," the Wu Clan sneered.

The Demon Race, however, thought otherwise.

Just as the Human Race's convoy moved smoothly, two figures suddenly descended from the sky, blocking their path. Everyone halted instantly, eyes fixed anxiously ahead.

If Zhou Yi were here, he would surely recognize one of the Jiuselu.

The Jiuselu now stands at the realm of Great Luo Golden Immortal, its aura raging.

Beside it stood a Demon General; the two together resembled two immovable mountains.

Even worse, a large group of Demon Race soldiers quickly appeared on both sides of the troop. They held weapons, wore fierce expressions, and their eyes flashed with greed and cruelty.

In an instant, fear enveloped the entire troop.

As screams and cries rose, chaos spread like wildfire.

"The men are outside, protecting the women and children." Sui Huang shouted loudly, hoping to steady everyone's hearts.