Chapter 457

Waves rolled in endless layers, tides rising and falling, changing the world.

Sixty years ago!

About sixty years ago…

That year, many things happened.

Chu Chaoran of Zhenwu Mountain entered the Pure Yang Wuji realm and slew the former greatest warrior of the world, the Three Corpses Daoist, atop Mount Dongyue, establishing his sixty-year reign of invincibility.

That year…

A Daoist emerged from Baihe Temple, entered the imperial court of Shangjing, managed state affairs, offered sacrifices to Heaven, founded the Dao Alliance Headquarters, and established branches across the land to oversee all Daoist matters and supervise the mystical sects.

That Daoist’s name was Jiang Your Majesty.

That year…

Zhang TianSheng of the Southern Zhang lineage traveled far to Jinmen to fetch his bride; the Dragon-Tiger Method established a Water Mansion, all northern Daoist sects came to pay homage, mountain-sea spirits and ghosts cleared the path, and ten-directional spirits and demons offered congratulations—never before in a hundred years had Jinmen witnessed such grandeur.

“Sixty years… sixty years… a full cycle of the human world, the landscape of the realm has changed utterly…”

Zhang Fan stood at the bow of the boat, gazing at the undulating waves under the night sky, watching the faintly visible Water Mansion, his eyes dimming slightly.

Sixty years have passed—who still remembers the glory of those days?

A thousand li of river carp formed a red carpet along the path; mountains bloomed like embroidered brocade; Daoist masters, mountain-sea spirits, ten-directional demons, recluses from deep mountains… among the guests even hidden disciples of the Wuwei Sect were present.

The three teachings and nine streams, dragons and snakes mixed together—utterly incompatible, yet astonishingly so.

In all the world, perhaps only a man like Zhang TianSheng could gather such a gathering.

“Such a scene will likely never come again,” Lin Jianyue murmured softly.

She had learned these scattered fragments from the elders of Jinmen.

Such a grand wedding had never occurred before, and never would again.

The world has no one like Zhang TianSheng anymore.

“Didn’t your family ever mention any of this?” Lin Jianyue couldn’t help asking.

Zhang Fan remained silent, only shaking his head.

You watched him build high towers, you watched him feast his guests, you watched his towers collapse.

These glories and pasts, long buried by time, lost their luster with the fall of the Southern Zhang, and now hold no meaning.

Zhang Lingzong suffered great upheaval in his youth, displaced, his family shattered and destroyed.

He bore the blood-deep vengeance of the Southern Zhang; as the last ember of that lineage, one misstep meant total ruin—out of caution, how could he ever casually speak of those pasts!?

“My father’s youth was turbulent, lived a life of cutting his tongue on the blade’s edge, never knowing if he’d see tomorrow,” Zhang Fan said calmly.

“For him, he had only the present—no past, and no future.”

This life of hiding and fleeing honed him, forged him, and shaped him.

Until he met Li Linglong…

“He was with my mother, had me, and lived twelve peaceful years,” Zhang Fan said, gazing at the surging river, his gaze calm.

Twelve years… perhaps hiding for twelve years was already the limit.

Thus, ten years ago, Zhang Lingzong and Li Linglong faked their deaths beneath Longhu Mountain, using the Golden Cicada Escape method to gain another decade of peace.

“After that day, I slept for ten years,” Zhang Fan clenched his hands slightly.

For ten years, darkness never lifted; his Yuan Shen split, his cultivation regressed, and he forgot everything.

To ordinary people, the divine-mortal calamity had risen, the dark night had fallen—he had wasted ten years.

Yet…

Zhang Fan did not think so.

In those ten years, within his body, within his Yuan Shen, some unpredictable transformation must have occurred.

Otherwise, from last year’s emergence from the calamity until now, less than two years had passed, yet he had re-cultivated from an ordinary man to the Zhai Shou realm, a Second-Rank Golden Core.

Such speed cannot be described as astonishing—it is beyond words.

It never happened before, and never will again.

In the world, no inner-core method can achieve this.

When something defies normalcy, there must be a trick.

Especially after establishing the Fan Wang Divine Seat, Zhang Fan had become far more sensitive to the subtle awareness beyond.

Those ten years of unconsciousness were not wasted.

“By lineage, the Pure Yang Xu family should be your grandmother’s natal family,” Lin Jianyue smiled lightly.

“The current patriarch of the third branch of the Xu family, Xu Xuanxiao, should be your…”

“Uncle-in-law!?”

“Uh…”

Zhang Fan pursed his lips, unsure what to say.

As a child, his family had no relatives—especially during holidays, while other households buzzed with large gatherings, theirs was always silent and empty.

Now, grown, he realized he still had a host of relatives he’d never met.

“My grandmother was from the third branch of the Xu family,” Zhang Fan mused: “Who else is in the third branch?”

“The third branch of the Xu family has the fewest descendants; the elder generation includes only Xu Xuanxiao, Xu Xuanguan, and the siblings Xu Wenjun,” Lin Jianyue said solemnly.

Xu Xuanguan left the Xu family as a child and never returned, effectively cutting ties.

Xu Wenjun married into the Southern Zhang, but died before the clan’s destruction.

“Xu Xuanxiao has only one son, the sole second-generation disciple of the third branch—named Xu Qiaosheng.”

As she spoke, Lin Jianyue looked at Zhang Fan.

By generation, Zhang Fan should address Xu Qiaosheng as "cousin uncle."

“Xu Qiaosheng has one son and one daughter,” Lin Jianyue continued.

“The daughter is Xu Jiuzhi—the friend I’m about to introduce you to.”

“As for the son…” Lin Jianyue’s expression grew uneasy.

“Xu Jiuli!”

“He is the only male heir left in the third branch; reportedly, he’s not much of a man.”

“His name is Xu Jiuli!?” Lin Jianyue sighed.

“Xu Jiuli!?”

Zhang Fan froze, instantly recalling the Xu youth he’d met on Xiling Mountain.

“So it was him!?” Zhang Fan thought inwardly.

“What’s wrong?” Lin Jianyue asked, unable to hold back.

“Nothing,” Zhang Fan shook his head, unable to help marveling at the strangeness of fate and the wonder of destiny.

So, Xu Jiuli was the third branch’s sole remaining male heir; by lineage, he was Zhang Fan’s distant cousin.

“Jiuzhi’s brother really is useless. The third branch’s lineage is already so thin—it may end with him,” Lin Jianyue shook her head with a sigh.

“Not necessarily,” Zhang Fan said casually.

Boom…

Suddenly, a fierce river wind surged; from afar, a large boat slowly drifted into view through the hazy night.

The boat’s design was ancient, seemingly carved from twisted vine-like wood, glowing with dim yellow firelight, as if a ghost emerging from sealed centuries.

Though many cargo boats still plied the Sancha River mouth, none seemed to see the strange vessel.

Daoist mystical arts rely on using illusion to cultivate truth, recreating the true self within the illusory red dust.

Such techniques are invisible to ordinary senses—unseen, unheard, untouchable… just like the [Water Mansion].

Only by illuminating with the Yuan Shen, transcending the five senses, can one strip away falsehood and perceive truth.

Thus, since ancient times, legends of the strange have abounded along Jinmen’s nine rivers.

“Mommy, there’s a big wooden boat on the river, and there’s fire!”

At that moment, a child on the shore, held in a woman’s arms, suddenly pointed excitedly at the water.

“What big wooden boat? Don’t make things up,” the woman’s expression tightened.

“Right there! There are people walking on it!” the child waved his arms.

“Come back now. Zhongyuan Festival is coming—told you not to wander out at night, yet you insisted. What’s so interesting by the river? People drown here every year, don’t you know?”

The man beside them also looked uneasy, muttering under his breath as he pulled the woman away.

“Children haven’t yet been fully tainted by the red dust; their Yuan Shen hasn’t fully fallen asleep,” Zhang Fan watched the scene on shore and smiled faintly.

Thus, many people see what adults cannot when they’re very young.

Even the Daodejing says the essence of cultivation is to be like an infant—softest, quietest.

“Your friend sure knows how to make a show,” Zhang Fan couldn’t help saying.

“This boat is forged from [Yin Ghost Wood]; it never sinks, no matter how fierce the storm, glides as if on flat ground,” Lin Jianyue explained.

“It’s worth far more than any yacht—if you had one, wouldn’t you flaunt it?”

Yin Ghost Wood is a strange timber, usually growing on mass graves, absorbing earth qi over centuries, nourished by rotting corpses, taking a hundred years to mature.

It is said this wood carries immense yin energy, never sinking, always buoyed by its thick yin aura.

In the past, such wood wasn’t rare—especially during wars and chaos, Yin Ghost Wood was most abundant.