Chapter 485: Jiang Your Majesty

The next day, near Chang’an’s suburbs.

Wang Family Village.

This unremarkable village lay nearly sixty li from Chang’an’s urban core, nestled against mountains and beside water, its lake shimmering with color.

The village held barely a hundred households, with gray-tiled, mud-walled homes, chickens and dogs heard in proximity, smoke curling gently upward; before the village, a pond floated with duckweed—utterly ordinary.

Yet this village was the ancestral land of the Pure Yang Wang family.

“Morning mist floats over eaves, midnight earth qi glows, subterranean dragon qi surges like spring tide—truly a treasure of the Dao, a wondrous realm for cultivation.”

At this moment, a man in a black robe, thick reading glasses perched on his nose, walked through the village holding a luopan, and could not help but praise aloud.

“Mr. Song, you flatter us.”

Beside him, a middle-aged man spoke.

Wang Ganan, younger brother of Wang Qiankun, the Wang family’s Tian Shi, regarded this Mr. Song from Bai He Guan with a faint, thoughtful gaze.

He gestured for him to proceed, seemingly unwilling to let Mr. Song linger too long on the Wang ancestral land.

Last night, Song Shi Yun had arrived at Wang Family Village and wandered the village entrance for hours.

Now, with daylight fully bright, he was again fiddling with his luopan, openly scrutinizing everything.

Had he not been a disciple of Bai He Guan, such a man would never have left the village alive.

“No wonder Master Chongyang saw potential here,” Song Shi Yun said, as if deaf, still lost in the feng shui’s mystery.

To the north, Turtle Mountain bows its head; to the south, three peaks vie in splendor; to the east, the Dragon’s spine winds; to the west, the Tiger crouches in slumber—perfectly complete Four Symbols. Moreover, a living stream enters quietly from the southeast, swirling into a pool at the village center, like a jade belt encircling the waist, locking all celestial and terrestrial qi within.

Such a feng shui treasure steals heaven’s and earth’s creation; descendants flourish endlessly, each generation producing heroes who elevate the family name and sustain abundant incense.

Precisely because of this, this generation of the Wang family produced Wang Tianwang, such a formidable figure.

“Mr. Song, this way—my elder brother is already waiting.”

At this moment, Wang Ganan urged again, his tone heavy with added gravity.

Even if Song Shi Yun represented Bai He Guan, making a Tian Shi wait was still disrespectful.

“My apologies for the intrusion,” Song Shi Yun grinned, tucked away his luopan, adjusted his glasses, and followed Wang Ganan into the Wang ancestral home.

The courtyard was spacious, nearly the size of a soccer field; Wang family youths had already sat cross-legged on a platform in the corner, basking in the faint morning glow, practicing stillness meditation.

The Wang family’s arts were all child’s foundation work, begun at a young age—no techniques or spells, only stillness cultivation.

“Truly the aura of a Pure Yang master lineage.”

Song Shi Yun could not help but sigh, watching silently as Wang Ganan entered the main house.

“Who’s that guy? Not from our village—how’d he get into the ancestral home?”

At that moment, a young man stepped out from the village canteen beside the courtyard—it was Wang Zhaolin.

“Zhaolin, when did you get back?”

Another young man approached, dressed in loose casual attire, wearing sports shoes, his face flushed, chest rising and falling slightly, breath labored yet deep and sustained.

“Zhaojing, just back from cultivation?” Wang Zhaolin glanced up, asking casually.

“Yes, I went into the mountains to gather qi,” Wang Zhaojing replied respectfully.

Among this generation of Wang disciples, only Wang Zhaolin, Wang Zhaochen, and Wang Qingyi had attained the Da Shi realm—such achievement rivaled the heirs of Daoist famous mountains.

Among them, Wang Qingyi belonged to the Qian lineage and recently suffered a calamity, his cultivation ruined.

In other words, Wang Zhaolin and Wang Zhaochen now stood as the twin peaks of the Wang family; the family’s future incense would likely rest on their shoulders.

Precisely because of this, Wang Zhaolin held immense prestige among the younger generation.

“Who was that man just now? How did he get into the ancestral home?” Wang Zhaolin asked again.

“I heard he’s from Bai He Guan in the capital, here to discuss matters with the clan,” Wang Zhaojing whispered.

“Bai He Guan!?” Wang Zhaolin’s heart stirred.

“That outsider from the Qian lineage came yesterday too,” Wang Zhaojing murmured.

“Luo Sen!?” Wang Zhaolin was taken aback.

He knew that besides Wang Qingyi, the Qian lineage harbored another master, wielding extraordinary arts, unfathomably mysterious, with deep ties to Bai He Guan—though he did not bear the Wang surname.

It was said Bai He Guan had once found this lost bloodline and brought him back.

Wang Zhaolin had seen him only once upon his return to the Wang family; since then, the man had never entered Wang Family Village again.

“Why is he here?” Wang Zhaolin pressed.

“I don’t know—Master Kun has already returned from outside,” Wang Zhaojing knew too little.

After all, he was only at Gao Gong level; outside, he’d be considered a master, but within the Wang family, his path was still long.

“Master Kun returned?” Wang Zhaolin pondered.

Wang Qiankun, a full Tian Shi, returning personally to receive him—this matter must be extraordinary.

“Zhaolin, I’ve recently been cultivating the [Life-Death Illuminating Chapter], and I have a few unclear points—could I ask your guidance?”

At that moment, Wang Zhaojing’s voice rang out again, pulling Wang Zhaolin back from his thoughts.

“Go, go, practice on your own—what can I possibly guide you in?” Wang Zhaolin waved him off.

“Huh!?” Wang Zhaojing froze.

In his mind, Wang Zhaolin was the pinnacle of the younger generation, always confident, always generous with advice when peers sought counsel.

As he himself said: “The Ancestors opened vast paths—when someone rises above, one should rejoice.”

Perhaps, in Wang Zhaolin’s heart, even if he gave freely, no peer could ever surpass him.

His talent was simply too high—he stood like a peak blocking the sky before all others.

But today…

“Brother, if even you can’t guide me, who can?” Wang Zhaojing pleaded humbly: “You’re the top master of our generation.”

“Top master!?” Wang Zhaolin blinked.

These words, once praise, now sounded piercingly sharp.

“What top master am I?” Wang Zhaolin sighed, his mind involuntarily filling with Zhang Fan’s image.

In the depths of Yin Xu, those two demonic assassins—such peerless cultivation, such unmatched Dao arts—those were true peaks of their generation, true summits of the world.

“If you’re not top master, who is?” Wang Zhaojing stared at him strangely.

At this age, already at Da Shi Third Layer—rare even in the world, exceptional even in ancient times.

Such achievement eluded many seasoned elders who had cultivated for decades.

Without exaggeration, someone like Wang Zhaolin was already the benchmark of the younger generation, the goal everyone chased.

“Humble as empty valley—greater achievement brings greater humility, lowering oneself near earth and cloud.”

Suddenly, Wang Zhaojing felt a flash of insight.

“Zhaolin has advanced again—such a person never ceases to improve.”

With this thought, Wang Zhaojing’s gaze toward Wang Zhaolin grew even more reverent and awed.

Wang Zhaolin stared at this foolish clan brother, silent.

Sometimes, ignorance was a kind of happiness.

Sitting at the bottom of a well, unaware how vast the sky beyond—only when you truly saw the sky did you feel that despair…

“Ah!”

Wang Zhaolin patted Wang Zhaojing’s shoulder and sighed deeply.

“Huh!?”

At that moment, he lifted his gaze and saw Song Shi Yun being escorted out.