Chapter 481

Deep within the Chang’an Yin Xu, a nameless, You dark place.

Vast, flickering light blazed like fire, illuminating this dim underground world; within the hollow valley, flowers bloomed profusely, everywhere revealing the wondrous signs of life and death.

The royal blood of the Da Ling Sect’s King still burned, its flame clear and heart-stirring.

Beneath that radiant light, Zhang Fan walked straight to An Wuyang’s side and gazed at Wang Qiluo, the heavenly daughter of the Pure Yang Wang family.

“Hmm!?”

Zhang Fan’s voice was quiet, yet it drew the attention of Wang Qiluo and Wang Zhaolin.

Especially Wang Zhaolin—his brows furrowed deeply, a flash of sharp light flickering in his eyes.

To him, this was a face he had never seen.

In Chang’an, in Qinxi, every great master left their name on the Wang family’s records.

“Who are you? How dare you speak such arrogance?” Wang Zhaolin sneered, glancing at An Wuyang.

In his eyes, the only one here with the authority to make them pause—only this heir of Zhongnan Mountain.

Yet An Wuyang gazed deeply at Zhang Fan, his eyes darkening, yet said nothing.

Here, he could not speak for Zhang Fan.

Such a subtle gesture, seen by a woman like Wang Qiluo, revealed far more than it seemed.

“Young man, which sect are you from? What makes the heir of Zhongnan Mountain regard you so highly, yielding the scene to you?”

Wang Qiluo looked at Zhang Fan with a faint, ambiguous smile, scanning him from head to toe.

“All ten thousand forms are manifestations of the Dharma-body; a thousand mountains are but temporary names.” Zhang Fan spoke softly, his voice firm.

“Hmm!?”

At these words, Wang Zhaolin’s brows shot up in displeasure, and he growled: “You have an awfully high opinion of yourself.”

Wang Qiluo had personally asked his origin; this man, seemingly his own age, replied with such empty rhetoric.

“When we meet, ask not whence we come—just watch the rivers and seas flow freely!”

At that moment, Wang Qiluo sighed softly, cutting off Wang Zhaolin’s protest.

Her beautiful eyes shifted, as if light flickered and vanished within them, radiant and captivating; her gaze toward Zhang Fan grew even brighter.

For some reason, this young man standing there gave her an uncanny feeling—as if she had met him before, though she could not say why.

Precisely because of this, she had the patience to see where he came from.

“Young man, your wit is sharp, yet it is merely the sharpness of words.” Wang Qiluo shook her head gently.

“This place where the Spirit Treasure manifests is also a realm of great calamity and deadly trials. This thing is not for you to touch.”

“Leave now, and my earlier words still stand—I will not trouble you two youths.”

“Little aunt, waste no more words with them…” Wang Zhaolin could not hold back.

Before he finished, Wang Qiluo raised her hand to silence him. In her eyes, whether An Wuyang or this young man, both carried an extraordinary bearing and exceptional talent—fine seeds for the Dao. A little hardship in youth was good; but if they truly perished here, it would be a terrible waste, a profound loss.

“Elder, your kindness is noted. I shall remember this single thought.”

Zhang Fan spoke softly, his gaze shifting to the [Life Root]—his expression resolute beyond measure.

“But this thing—I will have it.”

Hum…

As he spoke, a fierce wind swept through, scattering petals everywhere.

An Wuyang and Wang Zhaolin’s pupils shrank sharply—the woman had vanished from her spot and appeared before Zhang Fan.

Her figure descended slowly, like a celestial immortal descending from heaven; her slender, pale hand drifted gently downward, pressing toward Zhang Fan’s shoulder.

“To be so stubborn at such a young age is not wise.”

Wang Qiluo’s languid voice echoed in Zhang Fan’s ear.

Yet before her drifting palm touched his shoulder, Wang Qiluo suddenly sensed something—she turned, and Zhang Fan’s gaze had already locked onto her.

In an instant, a primal sense of danger surged forth—like a sudden flash of insight, like a lamp ignited in the heart.

Boom…

Suddenly, Zhang Fan moved.

Wang Qiluo’s form shifted as well.

Wang Qiluo’s palm slammed down with the force of dragons and elephants, like a surging sea, crushing toward Zhang Fan’s shoulder; the latter leapt skyward like an arrow loosed from a bow, meeting her head-on.

Within inches, within a single step, their two figures crashed together.

Boom… boom… boom…

Explosive sounds erupted; cracks spread beneath their feet, terrifying forces colliding in midair, the air bursting open, faint sparks of fire flickering within.

Amid the towering dust, their figures crossed, a terrifying aura boiling and spreading through the dark underground world.

“This…”

Far away, Wang Zhaolin’s face turned pale—he could not believe his eyes.

His little aunt was a Zhai Shou cultivator, one who had perfected the Life Meridian—capable of perceiving his movements in an instant and countering immediately. Yet in physical collision, in raw power, she was not even slightly outmatched?

What did this mean?

“Impossible!”

Wang Zhaolin’s face trembled; a bold guess formed in his mind, yet his inner voice roared, refusing to believe it.

“Zhai Shou realm!” Wang Qiluo’s gaze sharpened into a single thread, fixed on Zhang Fan—as if seeing him anew.

Her words shattered Wang Zhaolin’s last lingering hope.

At such a young age, he had entered the Zhai Shou realm?

As a disciple of the Pure Yang Wang family, that was the achievement he dreamed of, the goal he pursued relentlessly. Yet throughout Wang family history, those who had forged the Daoist Golden Core before thirty could be counted on one hand.

In this age, the Dharma has faded—such an accomplishment was nearly impossible.

Even with heavenly talent, how could mere mortals achieve it?

Yet this man had done it.

When the Dharma perishes, the Dao shines brighter—thus does a true sovereign descend upon the mortal world.

“Zhao Jiexuan… young man, your name is Zhao Jiexuan.” Wang Qiluo suddenly said.

At this moment, she was certain—this young man was the powerful cultivator who had visited her shop two days ago.

Boom… boom… boom…

Zhang Fan gave no reply. Suddenly, he formed a hand seal; from his dantian, a radiant light flickered—golden, round, and complete, a terrifying energy brewing and surging.

Then, a pillar of fire shot skyward, like a fire dragon roaring upward, lunging at Wang Qiluo.

“Lu Zu’s Mystery Art, Pure Yang Fire Technique!?” Wang Qiluo’s eyes flared with sudden recognition.

Now, Zhang Fan was no longer the same man he had been. The interplay of Kan and Li generated crimson flame; Long Hu entwined, forming crimson blossoms.

That burst of fire rose like a vast river, sweeping north and south, east and west—its grandeur far beyond what it once was.

“This is fire technique!?”

Far away, Wang Zhaolin’s eyes glowed red from the flood of flames—he saw the fire as a mighty river rushing toward them.

Such terrifying might—he had never seen it in any peer.

“Interesting!”

Facing the roaring fire dragon, Wang Qiluo stood motionless, nodding with a faint smile.

Suddenly, she formed a hand seal, parted her lips, and exhaled a pure qi—fragrant and strange—transforming instantly into a towering inferno.

This flame was no ordinary fire; it boiled like oceans and rivers, hiding within it the mystery of thunder—lightning streaks spreading through the air, intertwining and merging with the true fire.

“Thunder and Fire combined!” Zhang Fan’s gaze sharpened into a single thread.

This technique was no mortal art—it belonged only to the Mystery School’s true cultivation: Thunder as sinew and bone, fire as face and form; yin and yang collide to birth the mysterious origin.

Boom… boom… boom…

Thunder and fire intertwined, shaking the entire dark underground world.

If Zhang Fan’s true fire was a river piercing the sun, Wang Qiluo’s thunder-fire was a Wanli storm of clouds.

Hum…

Wang Qiluo’s bearing was peerless; as she chanted, a supreme technique arose.

Purple lightning and azure flame entwined, thunder and fire fused in one furnace, refining the great elixir; in the crack of thunder, dragons and tigers roared; deep within the flames, tortoise and snake coiled.

In a haze, within the thunder and fire, a radiant light floated—round, golden, complete.

Zhang Fan’s expression grew grave—he knew this woman had grasped the true essence of the elixir method; in understanding and insight into cultivation, she surpassed even him.