Chapter 440: The Dao Has No Name! Born of Heaven, Nurtured by Earth, the Dantian Gestates

Night fell; looking up, only a dim moon hung high.

Inside the ancient, solemn hall stood towering figures, hidden amid curling incense smoke, each before them a spirit tablet—like immortal deities left behind in the mortal world, like clay idols in a temple, towering and awe-inspiring, feasting on incense, omnipotent.

“The Ancestors show no mercy; no name, no identity!”

A cold voice echoed through the grand hall; countless gazes turned toward him—cold, solemn, compassionate, even mocking…

“Why? Why? Why won’t the Ancestors open the Dharma gate and enshrine me as a god?”

After a brief moment of daze, the urgent voice rose again, thick with deep resentment and fury.

He stared at those figures amid the ethereal, insubstantial incense, fists clenched, letting out a low roar.

Once, in this cold hall, before the mysterious altar of divine enshrinement, another had stood just like him, denouncing fate’s injustice, pouring out his anger and despair to the Ancestors.

“Insolent!”

A cold rebuke erupted like rolling thunder, carrying unchallengeable authority that pressed upon the spirit.

At that rebuke, the defiant head slowly bowed.

“The Ancestors show no mercy; this fate is sealed. From now on, you must hone your mind and spirit—do not follow the example of those in the past…”

“Like the madman Zhang San!”

The cold voice echoed through the solemn hall; the towering figures above resembled clay idols of immortals in a temple.

“Disciples humbly remember!”

A chorus of voices rang out; heads bowed in worship, yet eyes remained fixed upward, gazing at the towering forms amid the incense, refusing to lower their gaze.

Without divine enshrinement, the Immortal Path is forever out of reach.

There, one must bow the head, feign ignorance, remain a coiled dragon hidden in the abyss, unseen by sun and moon, destined to sink into obscurity.

“Only with divine perception does one know the Dao is not empty; mortal years reflect faded red. Where is the mountain gate after a thousand years? Who escapes the calamity?”

Suddenly, a mysterious voice drifted through, like a beam of heavenly light piercing the dantian—suddenly, heaven and earth were clear, the mountains and rivers vast.

“Who?”

“All are caught in calamity, yet all may attain immortality—only they hold the elixir of eternal life and do not know it…”

The mysterious voice echoed again.

“Once the Nascent Soul awakens, one’s fate may rise higher than heaven…”

“Your achievement will surpass every ancestor of the Zhang family—above and below heaven and earth, you alone shall reign supreme…”

“So what if you’re never enshrined as a god?”

The mysterious voice continued, steeped in the weight of ages, hiding the great secrets of cultivation.

“So what if you have no name, no identity?”

“Remember this!”

“The Dao has no name!”

Boom…

Suddenly, a terrifying phenomenon surged into the sky.

In the Copper Bell Mountains, the figure sat cross-legged in the empty valley, hair standing on end like a mad demon—but at this moment, he awoke from the chaotic visions and illusions.

His Nascent Soul surged skyward, strange ripples spreading wildly around him.

The Cangyun stirred, wild winds raged like ghosts wailing at night, obscuring the cold moon.

“Zhang Wuming!?”

Amid the vast night, Zhang Fan walked forward, watching the scene before him; his usually calm face now showed astonishment.

“His Nascent Soul…”

Zhuang Yumian followed close behind, her beautiful face etched with deep shock as she stared at the sight.

Before them, Zhang Wuming’s Nascent Soul was boundless and unfathomable—like a great river, like a mighty stream, wild waves churning, surging without end.

Layer upon layer of Nascent Soul ripples spread outward, covering the wasteland, shaking mountains and rivers.

Even from this distance, she felt profound fear and trembling.

“What technique is this!?”

Zhang Fan frowned, his gaze deep; even with his knowledge, he could not discern Zhang Wuming’s true nature.

Know that Zhang Fan cultivated the Divine Demon Holy Embryo and had touched the Three Corpses’ Fate Reflection.

Of the Nine Methods, only these two involved the secrets of the Nascent Soul.

Yet now, Zhang Wuming’s Nascent Soul state was strangely peculiar.

“What happened to him?” Zhuang Yumian couldn’t help asking.

“It seems out of control,” Zhang Fan’s gaze darkened slightly.

Zhang Wuming’s Nascent Soul was strange—extremely wild, insane, yet also profoundly clear, enlightened. These two extremes coexisted on him; if sustained, it would surely collapse.

“It’s growing more terrifying,” Zhuang Yumian frowned.

Zhang Wuming’s Nascent Soul was like ice and magma fused together—the colder the ice, the fiercer the magma, the stronger their combined ripples became.

At this moment, even she dared not approach even a step closer.

“Enough!”

Zhang Fan’s gaze flared; he stepped forward, his Nascent Soul exiting his body.

Instantly, Zhuang Yumian’s expression froze—her eyes saw darkness, the earth vanished, heaven and earth dim and chaotic, not a trace of light remained.

Only that Nascent Soul appeared suddenly, like a abyss descending.

Boom…

Zhang Wuming’s Nascent Soul sensed danger; like a tidal surge, terrifying ripples piled upon ripples, each one wild and overwhelming, like crashing waves, relentlessly striking Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul.

Under this force, even the Great Bodhisattva’s Light would shatter; all Nascent Souls would be thrown into chaos.

“Damn, you’ve been hiding deep—what technique is this?”

Zhang Fan’s eyes widened in surprise, yet those terrifying ripples struck his Nascent Soul like stones dropped into the ocean—no ripple, no disturbance.

Hum…

Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul, like an abyss, swallowed the layers of ripples, then enveloped Zhang Wuming’s Nascent Soul entirely, tightly, completely…

Gradually, the surging ripples calmed; Zhang Wuming’s Nascent Soul shifted from a raging ocean to a still, placid lake.

Finally, within that endless, dark abyss, his Nascent Soul returned to its original state—unprecedented peace.

“Ah…”

A weak, exhausted sigh sounded.

“How are you?”

In the dark abyss, Zhang Fan’s voice echoed; his thoughts intertwined, constantly observing Zhang Wuming’s condition.

“I’m fine. Let go of me.”

Hum…

The external vision of the Nascent Soul dissolved; the chaotic abyss vanished. Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul stepped out and returned to his body.

Zhang Wuming’s Nascent Soul, like one escaping death, broke free from confinement and returned to its dantian.

Cool mountain winds blew, scattering the clouds, revealing the bright moon.

Beneath the gentle moonlight, Zhang Wuming sat cross-legged among wild grass, hands hanging limp, gasping for breath, sweat drenching his clothes, his scorching body heat evaporating the sweat into a mist.

“What happened to you?”

Zhang Fan hurried over, supporting the weak, swaying Zhang Wuming.

“Hm!?”

Zhang Wuming lifted his gaze slightly, seeing Zhuang Yumian behind him, his expression instantly wary.