Chapter 497

Mount Zhongnan, secluded bamboo hut.

Moonlight flowed like water through the silent bamboo grove, casting dappled shadows across Meng Qi’s delicate face.

Her hand holding the phone trembled slightly, the screen’s glow illuminating the unmistakable gravity and worry in her eyes.

“The Wuwei Sect Master… Zhang Fan…”

Meng Qi murmured softly, each word heavy as a thousand catties; by the end, her voice had grown unsteady.

The four characters “Wuwei Sect Master” weighed more than a thousand catties, crushing through ten thousand ages.

Anyone linked to that name would face countless trials and purifications; worldly turmoil would follow in succession, and the cultivation world’s calamities would come pouring in.

Only one who endures a hundred setbacks without falling, who bears all hardships without dying, truly deserves to sit upon the throne of Wuwei Sect Master.

“They’re putting him on the fire,” Meng Qi gritted her teeth.

She had never imagined that their journey to the Living Dead Tomb would have such far-reaching consequences—especially for Zhang Fan.

What did this news mean? The aftermath would gradually unfold.

“This is his calamity, and also his destiny. Why are you worried?”

At that moment, An Wuyang spoke. He sat at a distance, slowly filling a cup of clear tea; mist curled around it, obscuring his deep gaze.

“The principles of the world are easy to know but hard to practice. This piece of news alone could be a fatal calamity,” Meng Qi shook her head with a soft sigh.

Since returning from the Living Dead Tomb, they had been confined here, utterly unaware of the current state of the outside world.

Now, thinking of Zhang Fan and Li Yishan, Meng Qi couldn’t help but feel worried.

“That seat is a solitary peak amid the mortal red dust. The world’s gaze is both the flame that tempers and the calamity that kills…” An Wuyang held his teacup, his gaze fixed beyond the bamboo hut.

“Either die in the calamity, or be born from the destiny!”

“This is his fate—or the fate of every Wuwei Sect Master throughout history.”

As he spoke, An Wuyang set down his teacup and rose slowly.

“It’s late. Rest now.”

With those words, he stepped out of the bamboo hut and vanished into the depths of the grove, his figure soon merging with moonlight and bamboo shadows.

“Either die in the calamity, or be born from the destiny!?”

Meng Qi stared at the direction An Wuyang had vanished, murmuring softly, savoring his words.

Inside the bamboo hut, only she remained alone.

Long moments passed, then a barely audible sigh drifted down, heavy with sorrow and worry.

Cold moonlight spilled over her smooth forehead.

Suddenly, a faint, elusive wisp of black qi surged upward, flashing once at her spiritual platform between the brows before vanishing—like a venomous snake buried deep in earth, dissolving into her nascent soul.

…

Mount Luyin, Golden Peak Discourse Platform.

Vast clouds rolled like waves stacked a thousandfold, swallowing and exhaling the purple aura of the rising eastern sun.

Beneath ancient, gnarled pines, a figure sat cross-legged; a radiant light spun like sun and moon at his third eye, while a halo of ethereal light flickered unpredictably behind his head. His long shadow swayed like flame, faintly splitting into two.

“Huuu…”

At that moment, the seated figure exhaled slowly. An unusual medicinal fragrance arose, then he opened his eyes, and all strange phenomena vanished.

“Our [Nascent Soul Merging Technique] is finally complete.”

Two utterly distinct voices emerged from the same body.

Qi Delong and Qi Dongqiang—these brothers were born with a shared nascent soul, a rarity among ten thousand, which made them the heirs of Mount Luyin.

Only they could synthesize diverse teachings and perfect their unique great art upon the foundation of Mount Luyin’s Dao.

This technique would be their foundation for the future.

“Brother, where do you think Zhang Fan is now? Since our parting at Zhenwu Mountain, who knows where he’s stirring up chaos.” Qi Dongqiang’s voice rang out as he picked up a coarse porcelain bowl and drank water, grinning.

Now that their Dao had reached completion, they were full of pride and confidence, eager to test themselves against Zhang Fan and see who had wasted their years.

“To measure Dao by competition is already a lower path,” Qi Delong warned. “But a friendly exchange of insights is still acceptable.”

At these words, their faces softened slightly.

Clearly, this retreat had granted them immense gains—they now stood on the verge of the Zhai Shou realm.

“Senior Brother…”

At that moment, a hurried cry came from afar.

Qi Delong and Qi Dongqiang looked up to see a young Daoist priest sprinting up the clouded steps—an apprentice in charge of external information.

His face was pale with alarm, clutching a phone as if it were a burning iron.

“Senior Brother! Something… something huge has happened!”

“What’s the rush?” Qi Delong asked impatiently.

The newcomer gasped for breath but said nothing, simply thrusting the phone forward.

On the screen was the glaring headline of [Xiao Dao App]: “New Wuwei Sect Master: Zhang Fan!”

Nine bold characters, crimson as blood, as if bearing a sinister curse—making the brothers’ pupils contract sharply.

Crash…

Qi Dongqiang’s porcelain bowl shattered instantly into powder in his grip; the terrifying force even knocked the panting apprentice to the ground.

Yet Qi Dongqiang felt nothing, gripping the phone tightly, staring at the shocking headline, his eyes filled with profound shock.

“Wuwei Sect Master? Wuwei Sect Master? What nonsense! How could Zhang Fan be Wuwei Sect Master? Who the hell is pulling this stunt?” Qi Dongqiang growled.

This title was no trivial matter. Once pinned on him, the entire Daoist world would have no place for him.

“Brother, say something! How is this possible!?” Qi Dongqiang cried urgently.

“Calm down.”

At that moment, Qi Delong’s voice emerged from the same body, exhaling a slow, turbid breath that condensed into mist atop the chilly peak.

“Even if [Xiao Dao App] exaggerates, it never spreads rumors without cause.”

“Don’t forget…”

Qi Delong fell silent. The brothers both fell quiet.

They could not forget: Zhang Fan was not merely Zhang Fan—he was the last ember of the southern Zhang lineage of Longhu Mountain, the son of the King of Daling Sect…

That day, in the Ten Thousand Mountains, they had witnessed this man successfully merge his spirit, forging the Three Corpses Illuminating Fate—and even slain Li Changgeng of Baihe Shrine.

According to Wuwei Sect’s rules, anyone who completes this elixir becomes the Wuwei Sect Master.

In other words, no matter how much distortion or hidden intent lay within this headline, from the moment it was published, their lifelong friend had become the leader of the ancient, millennia-old sect—the greatest enemy of Dao itself.

“Zhang Fan, wherever you are now…”

“Run!”

Qi Delong gazed down at the boundless, misty world beneath the clouds, murmuring softly.

A mountain wind howled past, stirring waves of pine needles, yet could not dispel the heavy chill settling over the brothers’ hearts.

…

Maoshan, Wufu Palace.

Night was deep, yet the side hall burned brightly with light.

Fang Changle, clad in a gray-green Daoist robe, stood by the window, gazing at the heavy darkness outside, his brow locked in unyielding worry.

On his phone screen blazed the headline that had shaken the world.