Chapter 39

“You say your seventh brother is the Great Sage Equaling Heaven, Sun Wukong?”

Su Chen looked at Mo Cang, who was boldly bluffing before him, barely able to suppress the smile on his face.

He never expected that a random demon king he met at sea would casually claim Sun Wukong as his seventh brother.

Seeing Su Chen’s odd reaction, Mo Cang assumed his reputation had intimidated him, and his confidence surged.

He lifted his head, beaming with pride: “What, scared? Let me tell you, my seventh brother Sun Wukong is a lawless brute! Just recently, he stormed the Eastern Dragon Palace and stole the Ruler of the Sea’s Divine Needle.”

“Now, every dragon clan across the Four Seas dares not cross his path. If you dare harm even a single hair on me, when my seventh brother finds out, he’ll crush you into pulp!”

The more he spoke, the more pleased he became, as if he’d forgotten his earlier groveling plea for mercy.

Yet after waiting a long while, he realized the young Daoist across from him was merely gazing at him with the look of someone staring at a fool.

“What are you laughing at?” Mo Cang’s heart lurched—he sensed something wrong.

Su Chen couldn’t hold back any longer and burst out laughing.

He shook his head, looking at Mo Cang, and said calmly: “I laugh because you’re about to die and still don’t realize it.”

“What do you mean?” Mo Cang’s sense of dread grew stronger.

“You call Sun Wukong your seventh brother—does he even know?” Su Chen asked with a grin. “Shall I ask him next time I meet him whether he agrees?”

“What? You know the Great Sage Equaling Heaven?!”

At these words, Mo Cang’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

But he immediately realized he’d slipped up, pointing at Su Chen and stammering: “You’re lying! My seventh brother is a towering figure—how could he possibly recognize some young, insignificant Daoist like you?”

He refused to believe Su Chen’s words.

In his mind, Sun Wukong was a fiercely defiant being, his powers earth-shattering, even the Four Dragon Palaces beneath his contempt.

How could such a figure possibly know this plain-looking young Daoist before him?

“My journey is precisely to visit Sun Wukong at the Flower-Fruit Mountain Water Curtain Cave. If you don’t believe me, come with me.” Su Chen said to Mo Cang, who seemed to lack basic intelligence. “You two brothers could catch up.”

“Uh… we just saw each other recently—I won’t go.” Mo Cang replied sullenly.

“Then take me to your cave lair,” Su Chen said, not pressing him further.

“Of course! Master Daoist, this way!”

Hearing this, Mo Cang was overjoyed—he knew his life was finally safe.

He scrambled out of the seawater and led the way with utmost reverence, his posture unmistakably that of a servant.

Su Chen followed behind, casting a Water-Repelling Spell, moving slowly and calmly.

Mo Cang’s cave lair lay at the deepest trench of this sea region.

Outside the cave, a natural water-current formation guarded it, while countless shrimp soldiers and crab generals patrolled—its defenses were formidable.

Under Mo Cang’s guidance, Su Chen advanced without hindrance, soon arriving at the cave entrance.

Mo Cang’s cave was indeed built with grandeur.

A Water-Repelling Array enveloped the entire lair, separating it from the sea.

Giant coral pillars formed the entrance, and night pearls the size of millstones hung from the ceiling, illuminating the cave as brightly as daylight.

Inside the cave, it was another world entirely.

Pavilions, terraces, towers, artificial hills, flowing streams—all were present, clearly built with great care.

“Master Daoist, this is my humble cave,” Mo Cang said, bowing obsequiously before Su Chen.

Su Chen’s spiritual sense swept through, taking in every detail of the cave.

He nodded: “Not bad.”

Then he walked straight to the main seat—a throne carved from a single block of thousand-year ice jade—and sat down.

Seeing this, Mo Cang hurried over, standing respectfully beside him like a servant.

“Bring out all the treasures you’ve collected over the years,” Su Chen said, leaning back against the cool jade throne. “Let me see them.”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

Mo Cang dared not delay; he dumped everything he’d hoarded over the years—magic treasures and spiritual materials—from his storage artifact onto the floor.

Soon, a small mountain of items piled up in the center of the hall.

Su Chen scanned them and found the black dragon’s wealth was indeed substantial.

Though none were top-tier treasures, there were many magic artifacts and immortal-grade spiritual materials.

Especially several pieces of deep-sea dark crystal and ten-thousand-year coral—excellent materials for crafting water-affinity magic treasures.

Su Chen made no pretense; with a casual wave of his hand, he took several items he favored into his own storage artifact.

After finishing, Su Chen stood up, looking at Mo Cang, whose face twisted with pain but dared not show it, and said: “My journey truly is to seek the Great Sage Equaling Heaven. Since you’re acquainted with him, I’ll let this slide—I’m taking my leave.”

“Yes! May the Daoist Master depart in peace!” Mo Cang bowed deeply.

Su Chen nodded, said nothing more, and left Mo Cang’s cave, heading straight for the sea surface.

Only when Su Chen’s aura vanished entirely from his perception did Mo Cang dare straighten up.

He stared at the pile of treasures, now reduced by nearly half, and his face twisted in bitterness.

“At least I kept my life,” he muttered. “What kind of divine being is this demon? Thank heavens I invoked the name of the Seven Great Demon Kings to scare him off—otherwise, I’d be dead.”

“I must visit my distant elder brother, the Demon King of the Serpent, more often. Next time, I’ll need his name to survive.”

In truth, Mo Cang was a distant cousin of the Demon King of the Serpent—so his claim wasn’t entirely false.

…

Leaving the Black Wind Sea, Su Chen flew eastward without incident.

After another dozen days of flight, he finally crossed the vast Western Sea and entered the territory of the Southern Jambudvīpa.

The moment he set foot on Southern Jambudvīpa’s soil, Su Chen sensed an atmosphere utterly unlike that of the Western Paradise.

If the Western Paradise thrived with Buddhist and Daoist cultivation, abundant spiritual energy, and coexistence of immortals and demons,

At that time, Southern Jambudvīpa was the zenith of human civilization, thick with mortal clamor.

The air was heavy with the scent of human hearths and an indescribable “human destiny.”

Under the weight of this destiny, Su Chen even felt a faint obstruction in the flow of his immortal energy.

“The torrent of human destiny is truly formidable. No wonder they say even immortals and Buddhas struggle to cross Southern Jambudvīpa.”

Su Chen mused inwardly.

He descended from his cloud, suppressed his aura, and transformed into an ordinary wandering Daoist, walking along the imperial road.

He noticed the common folk of Southern Jambudvīpa differed greatly from those of the Western Paradise.

Though they had no cultivation, each radiated vitality, their eyes filled with confidence and vigor.

Even farmers tilling the fields stood tall and straight-backed.

This was confidence born of a flourishing civilization.