Chapter 487

Mount Zhongnan, An Wuyang, known as the “Little Chongyang,” was the sect’s designated heir and had long been regarded by Meng Qi as a rival.

She never imagined that the helper Zhang Fan had brought for this expedition to the Living Dead Tomb would be this very person.

“Sister Meng, what a small world it is.” An Wuyang walked over, greeting the familiar face before him.

He was only one year younger than Meng Qi, yet he had entered the sect far earlier than she had.

“You… he…”

Meng Qi’s expression flickered with shock and doubt, glancing between An Wuyang and Zhang Fan.

“An Dao-brother and I have deep ties, so I asked him to assist me this time,” Zhang Fan said casually.

“Deep ties?” Meng Qi froze.

Zhang Fan and An Wuyang had met fewer than five times in total.

Most crucially, she had heard that months ago, An Wuyang had gone to Maoshan to refine a talisman seal—only for Zhang Fan to snatch the prize, devouring all the incense spiritual power from the two incomplete seals An Wuyang had prepared and stealing the opportunity to ascend the artifact’s potential.

Such “ties” were not merely unfriendly—they were enough to make them mortal enemies.

Clearly, Zhang Fan’s words could not convince Meng Qi.

“I have long been spiritually attuned to An Dao-brother,” Zhang Fan smiled lightly.

“Enough. The secrets between him and me are none of your concern. Let’s move on.”

At that moment, An Wuyang interrupted their exchange and walked straight through the space between them.

His bluntness left Zhang Fan momentarily flustered.

“What secrets do you have with him?” Meng Qi narrowed her eyes at Zhang Fan and stepped closer.

“Don’t listen to him,” Zhang Fan chuckled awkwardly, then turned and hurried after An Wuyang.

“Dao-friend, wait for me.”

Watching their figures recede into the distance, Meng Qi could only sigh and follow.

The three traveled together, delving deep into the Zhongnan Mountains.

…

At dusk, the sun sank behind Mount Riluoxi.

Luoshan lay before them.

Legend says that Master Chongyang once planted peach trees on this mountain and often climbed it in his later years.

The last time the Living Dead Tomb appeared, Li Yi and Luo Sen clashed nearby.

“The Living Dead Tomb must be somewhere around here,” Zhang Fan murmured.

Though they knew the general direction, such a secret realm, like a blessed land or grotto-heaven, had mysterious and unfathomable qi patterns—by modern terms, unusual magnetic fields and shifting frequencies—even Dao cultivators struggled to locate it.

It was like an ordinary person wandering into deep mountains—most would get lost.

“You’ve seen it before!?” An Wuyang suddenly said.

"Yes, unfortunately I couldn't get inside," Zhang Fan sighed.

The Living Dead Tomb was where Master Chongyang had secluded himself for meditation—who among ordinary mortals could possess such fortune?

Yet on that occasion, he had heard Wu Qingnang speak of its mysteries.

The newly appointed head of the Jiangnan Dao Alliance said the Living Dead Tomb was a 【womb】 within the mountains and rivers—the female uterus.

As heaven has sun and moon, man has yin and yang; all creation under heaven finds its reflection within the human body.

Mountains and rivers correspond to the body’s meridians.

Muscles are like hills and valleys; the five viscera store the five elements; joy and anger shift like wind and rain; voices thunder like lightning.

The womb resides within the yin body yet gathers yang essence; yin and yang unite, transformation is accomplished, completing the state of becoming from nothing to something, from death to life.

Life within death, death within life—reversing the secret of life and death, piercing the law of yin and yang.

That was the Living Dead Tomb.

“Womb…”

An Wuyang listened to Zhang Fan’s description, pondered briefly, then nodded: “Wu Qingnang’s feng shui techniques have unique insights, but they’re too narrow-minded.”

“What do you mean?” Zhang Fan couldn’t help asking.

“He speaks of one thing but omits the second.”

“The second?” Meng Qi couldn’t help interjecting.

“Observing the feng shui flow of the Zhongnan Mountains—if the main vein is a [Qian Dragon], the so-called yang dragon, then there must also be a hidden [Yin Dragon].” An Wuyang spoke solemnly.

Dragon veins divide into yin and yang: yang dragons govern birth and growth; yin dragons govern storage and return.

“The Living Dead Tomb must lie at the confluence point of that yin dragon’s qi.” An Wuyang analyzed.

“The terrain here need not be lofty, but it must be profoundly secluded, with undulating ridges like a dragon slithering underground, qi contained inwardly—so vegetation grows unusually lush, likely in a depression or valley.”

“Impressive.”

Zhang Fan’s eyes lit up—An Wuyang’s description matched almost exactly the environment when the Living Dead Tomb had appeared.

“This only narrows the general location. The confluence zone is vast, yet the qi eye is singular. To find the great tomb—and enter it—you’ll have to rely on you.”

An Wuyang glanced at Zhang Fan, his gaze heavy with implication.

“Rely on you!?” Meng Qi also turned to stare at Zhang Fan.

“Let’s go,” An Wuyang urged.

The three continued stealthily forward, crossing the southern slope of Luoshan. Night deepened; stars emerged, and a bright moon rose into the sky.

Suddenly, Zhang Fan halted. Ahead, two ridges curled like a green dragon and white tiger embracing each other; between them, a valley swirled with mist, and a hidden river surged through the mountain ravine.

With his Yuan Shen observing, he saw white mist suddenly rise from the valley in a spiral, like dragon whiskers swaying, converging at the center into a vortex seven zhang wide.

“That’s it.”

An Wuyang stepped forward, his form swift as wind, racing toward the anomaly in the hollow valley.

Zhang Fan and Meng Qi exchanged glances and followed without hesitation.

Moments later, they entered the deep valley and saw where the white mist gathered: a cold pool, anchored by a massive ochre boulder, perfectly round, centered in the vortex, glowing with an amber hue under the night.

The pool’s water was icy, yet the amber glow radiated warmth, dissolving into the swaying, towering white mist.

“Yin Dragon Holding the Pearl!” An Wuyang’s expression turned grave.

“So this is truly it,” Zhang Fan’s eyes gleamed.

Extraordinary places bear extraordinary signs.

Such a spectacle was unseen in ordinary mountains and rivers.

“Yin Dragon Holding the Pearl… this pearl, lodged in the dragon’s mouth, over centuries absorbs the earth’s qi—equivalent to a Daoist internal elixir.”

At that moment, Meng Qi could not help speaking—her gaze fixed on the boulder at the vortex’s heart, burning with fervor.

Wherever dragon veins run, transformation arises.

Just as Zhang Fan had once refined the “pinecone” on Tongluo Mountain, akin to the Daoist niwan.

This pearl, far surpassing that pinecone, was the essence of the Zhongnan Mountains’ yin dragon—like the culmination of life cultivation, forming an internal essence.

“This thing…”

Zhang Fan’s thoughts stirred—he too felt temptation, yet a whisper of unease crept in.

“Absolutely not!”

At that instant, An Wuyang raised his hand, severing both their covetous thoughts.

“The Yin Dragon Holding the Pearl is the feng shui’s pivotal stroke. If you take this pearl, heaven and earth will instantly shift—mountains collapse before you, the ground cracks beneath… these natural disasters are merely the beginning…” An Wuyang said gravely.

“Break this feng shui, and the entire Qinxi Province will suffer. Moreover, this dragon vein in Qinxi originates from the ancestral Kunlun Mountains…”

“Pull one hair, and the whole body trembles. The karmic retribution is beyond your capacity to bear.”

Here, An Wuyang’s gaze sharpened as he looked at Zhang Fan: “Such a treasure, such a transformation—merely taking it invites a cosmic calamity.”

“Besides, you couldn’t take it even if you tried.”

“The Wang family must have come here many times. They are a pure yang lineage—they didn’t take this pearl, and there’s a reason.” Zhang Fan understood.

The moment they disturbed the pearl, the valley would collapse instantly—even a Zhai Shou cultivator could not withstand the power of heaven and earth.

“Dao cultivators who seek outwardly ultimately grasp only flowers in the mirror and the moon in the water; only by seeking inwardly can one achieve fullness and completion,” An Wuyang suddenly said.

Facing this immense transformation, he remained unmoved—having long understood the subtle truth of fortune and calamity.