Chapter 108: The Starting Point of Fate! A New Xiao

Above, three feet high, the Big Dipper’s stars shine bright.

Starlight gleams, the cosmos bowing as its sovereign.

“The Heavenly Mother’s Heart Mantra, Doumu Yuanjun!?”

All stars in heaven revere the Big Dipper, yet the Nine Stars of the Dipper are the children of Doumu Yuanjun.

In ancient myth, Doumu Yuanjun is the lord of the Dipper Division in Heaven, mother of all stars, ruling the Golden Palace, seated in the Dipper Hall, foremost among the myriad constellations, sovereign of the Northern Pole’s purple qi, commanding eighty-four thousand malevolent stars and demonic Sha to obey her will.

“He actually mastered it?” Xia Weisheng’s eyes brimmed with disbelief.

When she first taught Zhang Fan the Heavenly Mother’s Heart Mantra, it was a prank—though her cultivation was insufficient, chanting it harmed the body, yet even without anyone warning him, the Daoist secrets passed down by Zhenwu Mountain carried clear cautions.

The Heavenly Mother’s Heart Mantra is among the most profound spells in Daoist esoterica, invoking Doumu Yuanjun to summon the Dipper’s stars, repelling and annihilating demons without exception…

When she first cultivated this mantra, she spent countless hours and poured out her heart and soul.

How long has Zhang Fan been off the mountain!?

“The Heavenly Mother’s Heart Mantra… he’s truly a monster!”

At that moment, Po Jie, just arriving at the graveyard, stood afar, sensing the shifting aura, gazing up at the dazzling starry sky, his eyes glinting with unusual brilliance.

“Great merit is near, power boundless.”

“Qi enters the profound, harmonizing with the Nine Passes.”

“All starry demons, strengthen my Dao.”

…

Zhang Fan’s voice grew louder, like sacred chants echoing, shaking the senses; in a daze, starlight from the Big Dipper seemed to descend, bathing him, his inner true yang flowing beneath his skin, glowing with mottled radiance, faintly seeping through his palms into Wen He’s body.

Boom…

At that instant, Wen He suddenly lifted her head—her eyes shimmered with mottled radiance; the Divine Demon Robe came fully alive, her skin’s patterns transforming into mysterious runes…

“Zhang Fan… again him!”

Wang Tao’s body crackled with arcs of lightning, flinging her and Bai Budian far away; she instinctively glanced toward Zhang Fan’s direction, her beautiful face hardening with icy disdain.

Back then, Hai Zhu lured He Fei of the He family at Taoyuan Square, invoking the Great Xiong Dragon’s Fang to refine Dragon Saliva Elixir—only for Zhang Fan to ruin it all.

“Good junior, you really are an anomaly.” Wang Tao’s eyes held only chilling frost.

“Wherever trouble arises, there he is…”

Bai Budian watched Zhang Fan beneath the starlit curtain, a faint smile tugging his lips, his eyes holding a trace of relief.

Since the day Zhang Fan joined Ye Buliang, Bai Budian knew he’d be trouble—but this trouble brought him too many surprises, and even more fear.

“Zhang Fan…”

Even the cold, ruthless Wu Ma’s eyes now flickered with sharp brilliance.

That day, the Shen family’s [Profound Heaven Treasure Mirror] was destroyed by Zhang Fan’s hands; three generations’ ambitions collapsed at the final moment—and even the person he coveted, the Heavenly Talisman Jiang Hu, was spared the Great Ye Buliang disaster because of him.

“When things turn abnormal, demons are near… this brat…”

Boom…

At that moment, a terrifying surge drew every eye.

Wen He tilted her head back, tendons bulging on her neck; with a pained moan, the Divine Demon Robe seemed ready to peel from her skin, crimson blood dripping to the ground.

Originally, Jin Mangri’s powerful soul, combined with the Big Dipper Soul Refining Method, had activated it; now, with Zhang Fan’s Heavenly Mother’s Heart Mantra amplifying it, the robe’s vitality reached unprecedented levels.

“Uncle, you’ve always wanted to see this sect’s treasure, haven’t you?”

Wen He gritted her teeth; amid the brilliant starlight, her face blurred, yet the stubbornness in her eyes never faded.

Jin Mangri stood unmoving, still calculating, peering through endless void and illusion toward the true essence.

Boom…

The flames of the seven lamps reached their peak, exploding violently; brilliant starlight converged into a single point upon the Divine Demon Robe, like a startled dragon bursting from the abyss, striking with lightning speed.

With a sonic boom, the brilliant starlight pierced the sky like a divine swan, piercing straight through Jin Mangri’s body.

Crimson blood evaporated in the brilliant starlight; a gaping hole yawned in Jin Mangri’s abdomen, revealing the scene beyond.

“Living Talisman, Life-Extending Art!”

At the same instant, Wu Ma appeared like a phantom beside Jin Mangri; crimson blood surged, shimmering with strange runes, filling the horrifying wound.

“The Ten Thousand Things as Talismans truly defy comprehension,” Xia Weisheng said grimly.

This is a Daoist divine art, a gift from heaven; once awakened, all things may become talismans, forming their method in a single thought.

“Ladies and gentlemen, farewell!”

Wang Tao murmured, retreating to Wu Ma’s side.

“Great Thunder Treasury!”

At the same moment, Xia Weisheng slammed both hands to the ground; surging lightning instantly covered a hundred meters, wild arcs forming a prison that trapped all life.

“Earth-Devouring Silkworm Thunder!”

Wu Ma’s feet trembled slightly; her skin and flesh writhed, and the surrounding lightning arcs surged toward her smooth, pale feet.

“Escape Talisman, Spatial Shift!” Wu Qilu murmured, his cold gaze finally fixed on Zhang Fan.

Before his words faded, the air reversed unnaturally; in an instant, the three vanished before everyone’s eyes.

“No wonder Daoist divine arts are so hard to unravel.”

At that moment, Po Jie arrived, face grim; he stood where the three had vanished, bent down, picked up soil, and sniffed it.

Daoist divine arts are heavenly gifts, not cultivated—they awaken in only one in ten thousand.

If it’s a heavenly gift, it’s undoubtedly a bug.

Remember, Chu Chaoran once awakened a Daoist divine art at thirty—but over the years, as he entered the Pure Yang Ultimate state, no one has seen his art since.

Thud…

At that moment, a dull thud echoed as Zhang Fan and Wen He collapsed together.

The brief moment had drained them terribly; Zhang Fan fared better—his soul was already strong, now merely exhausted.

But Wen He… the Divine Demon Robe was far too early for her.

Had Jin Mangri not activated it with his soul, and had Zhang Fan not amplified it with the Heavenly Mother’s Heart Mantra, she’d now be nothing but a skin.

“Five Thunder Sealing!”

Xia Weisheng leaned down, her right hand slowly resting on Wen He’s heaving chest; lightning surged between her fingers, and upon contact, runes flashed, searing into Wen He’s chest.

Instantly, the still-active Divine Demon Robe calmed, merging once more with Wen He’s flesh and blood.

“Is this even our Daoist artifact? I can only handle it roughly for now,” Xia Weisheng muttered to herself.

She lifted her gaze to Zhang Fan: “Are you alright?”

“Not dead yet,” Zhang Fan grumbled.

Xia Weisheng’s arrival was perfectly timed; without her, tonight, he and Bai Budian would’ve been doomed.

“I suspect you’re here to collect a debt,” Xia Weisheng’s beautiful eyes narrowed, fixed unblinkingly on Zhang Fan.

Previously, Zhenwu Mountain’s Jade Registry transmission ended in failure because of Zhang Fan—even the Zhenwu Jade Registry was fused and taken by him.

Now, Xia Weisheng and Po Jie, representing Zhenwu Mountain, had just descended and helped him again.

If Zhang Fan is a debt collector, wouldn’t Zhenwu Mountain be justified in repaying it?

“Why are you two even chatting?”

Po Jie walked over, surveying the wreckage, the collapsed tombstones, and felt a pounding headache.

“Brother, isn’t cleaning up messes your favorite thing?”

“I’m forced to clean up messes—I don’t enjoy it!”

As a monk, Po Jie couldn’t help breaking his vow and cursing.

He never imagined his first task upon descending the mountain would be cleaning up messes.

If this had nothing to do with Zhenwu Mountain, fine—but Bai Budian is a Zhenwu Mountain outcast, Zhang Fan is now registered under Zhenwu Mountain, and Xia Weisheng? She’s unquestionably Zhenwu Mountain’s heir.

Her reputation outside is even greater than his.

“Hurry and leave—the Dao Alliance is coming,” Po Jie said, gazing at the devastation, helplessly pinning blame on the Wúwéi Demons—it was their doing anyway; if they dared dispute, let them come forward.

“Brother, you’ve worked hard.”

“Thank you, Brother Po Jie.”

“Do well.”

Xia Weisheng, Zhang Fan, and Bai Budian slapped Po Jie’s shoulder, grabbed Wen He, and left without looking back.

…

Back home, it was already 2 a.m.

Zhang Fan had never felt this exhausted—clearly, the Divine Demon Robe had drained his soul immensely.

This time, Zhang Fan didn’t take the sleeping pills left by Zhang Lingzong—he fell into deep sleep.

Hum…

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Within his soul’s inner landscape, the starry heavens still revolved; the celestial fate calculated by the Divine Demon Robe now manifested.

Endless light and shadow flickered; time returned to that night ten years ago.

Beneath Longhu Mountain, in dark obscurity, a slender figure emerged from the mountains, draped in starlight, treading moonlight—his silhouette bore a striking resemblance to Zhang Lingzong.

At that moment, he bore something on his back.

It was a coffin, barely half the size of a normal one.

Beneath Longhu Mountain, the man set down the coffin; beneath the bright moon before the towering mountain, the coffin slowly opened.

A delicate, pale little hand reached out from within.

Then, a girl slowly stepped out of the coffin, her short hair level with her temples, her eyes ethereal.

“This is…”

Zhang Fan’s nascent soul trembled, unable to believe it.

Boom…

The light and shadows dispersed and shifted again—this time, Zhang Fan recognized it instantly.

Before a dilapidated Daoist temple, a great enemy had fled, riding a white crane, blood staining the sky.

At twelve, Zhang Fan used the Method of Soul Division, amid rolling thunder, with Jiang Lai’s aid, splitting his nascent soul into three. The immense power flung Jiang Lai away, burying him in the wild hills.

That night was destined to be sleepless—countless bones buried beneath Long Hu, countless Dao paths extinguished upon earth.

Stars shifted, the full moon sank west.

The girl slowly crawled out of a deep pit, her ethereal gaze fixed on the direction of the dilapidated temple.

“The Grand Spirit King actually brought out a living person from Long Hu Mountain!?”

At that moment, a fat man walked over, saying nothing, his entire body of flesh trembling.

“Hehe, they fought to the death, never expecting it would end up in my hands.”

As he spoke, the fat man moved toward the utterly weakened girl.

“Mortal, return.”

Suddenly, an ancient voice echoed across the desolate wilderness.

“Huh!?”

The fat man’s gaze sharpened as he looked up—there came an old Daoist priest, shambling like a farmer from the fields.

“Who are you? I am Hai Zhu…”

Before he finished speaking, the old man sighed—and instantly, the fat man fell into boundless hellfire. His skin, fat, bones, organs—all dissolved as if consumed by nameless flames, reduced to ash in an instant.

The girl watched this scene without a flicker of emotion, then turned to face the old man.

“Little girl, what is your name?” the old man asked, his expression gentle.

“Jiang Lai.”

“Come with me.”

The girl hesitated slightly, glancing back toward the dilapidated temple.

“One day, we shall meet again—at the very beginning of fate…”

As he spoke, the old man turned and walked away.

The girl paused briefly, then followed closely behind.

“Grandpa, what’s your name?”

“Chu Chaoran!”

His faint words settled into the nameless wilderness, scattering like dust.

…

In the lands of Zhongtu, mountains and rivers held wondrous sights—in the depths of one great mountain.

Melodious bells rang out, incense smoke curled upward.

Amid the forest, an ancient, simple Daoist temple lay hidden.

Deep within the temple, in a small tower, a sealed room glowed dimly. At its center stood a large round table with thirteen seats. Though empty, twelve of them each held a single candle and three sticks of incense; only the seat at the very top remained cold and vacant.

The rising incense formed twelve animal phantoms—yet the rooster’s phantom was faint and wavering, as if about to vanish at any moment.

“You, You Ji, have failed.”

From the incense of the dragon, a solemn voice rang out, thunderous, shaking the walls.

“Hehe, failed? How could I fail?”

Jin Mao Ri’s voice rose slowly, weak yet tinged with triumph.

“I saw… Zhang Lingzong… and his son… they’re still alive…”

At these words, the sealed room fell silent—even heavy breathing could be heard.

The Grand Spirit King—that man still lived—this was a nightmare for them.

“Moreover, I saw that abomination…”

“Where is he?”

“Zhang Fan—he is that anomaly from long ago…”

Hum…

At once, the incense of the boar and the horse flickered violently, deeply shaken by this revelation.

“So he entered Great Night Unlit—and has not yet escaped his tribulation!”

At that moment, the incense of the rat emitted a mysterious voice, indistinguishably male or female.

“No need to hesitate, no need to fear—even if those two still live, times have changed.”

The rat’s incense swayed faintly, as if bowing in reverence, curling toward the seat at the very top.

“You mean…”

“The Immortal’s seat has hung empty too long.”

“One person, one mountain—that is Immortal!”

No sooner had the words spoken than the candle atop the vacant seat flared brightly.

“Among the Three Teachings, none surpasses the highest; since ancient times, only Dao has been honored!”

Suddenly, a mysterious voice emerged from the dim candle flame—within the rising incense, a human figure began to take shape.

“This age, Wuwei shall rise.”

“Hail Xiao Yuanshen!!”

At once, twelve voices rang out together, chanting that supreme name.

(End of Chapter)