Chapter 506: The Incense of Lu Zu! Master and Disciple

The blue sea and green sky end the long night; suddenly, the Dao of Lu Zu manifests.

Above his head, three feet away, the temple gate lay ahead, and Zhang Fan’s expression grew dreamy.

He had never imagined that, fleeing for his life across the world, he would stumble upon a temple of the Pure Yang Lu Zu in this remote place.

Speaking of it, since he began cultivation, his divine abilities and martial attainments were deeply tied to Lu Zu, and the text he had studied most often was the [Great Yi Golden Flower Master Plan] passed down by Lu Zu.

Though later generations claimed this book was not written by Lu Zu, but forged under his name.

Regardless of its truth, the heart of transmitting the Dao and the sincerity of saving the world were as vast and boundless as Lu Zu’s own transmission of power, transcending inside and outside, self and other.

“Big brother, let’s go in.”

At that moment, Lu Xianyang’s voice rang out, pulling Zhang Fan back to reality.

Pushing open the temple gate, which seemed ready to crumble at a touch, a scent of decaying wood, damp earth, and faint incense ashes surged forth.

“It’s been abandoned for a long time indeed.” Zhang Fan looked around and sighed.

Compared to the outside, the interior was even more dilapidated.

Roof tiles were missing, revealing several large holes through which the cold moonlight shone like searchlights, illuminating the scattered debris. Spiderwebs hung like gray-white funeral banners between beams and pillars.

The statue of Lu Zu enshrined at the center had long since lost its painted clay surface, revealing dark yellow clay beneath; one arm had broken off and was lost somewhere in the corner. Only the faintly recognizable relaxed seated posture and the lingering compassionate face still barely preserved a trace of its former solemnity.

“Big brother, the place is a bit ruined, but it’ll still keep out wind and rain.” Lu Xianyang scratched his head, slightly embarrassed.

Zhang Fan said nothing. He stood silently amid the ruin and stillness, his gaze sweeping over the leaning pillars, the dust-choked offering table, and finally settling on the broken statue of Lu Zu.

A profound, indescribable emotion stirred within him.

In this age, the Final Dharma has arrived; the scriptures are being buried; hearts are restless, desires rampant.

People flock to the bustling temples of the God of Wealth, not worshipping gods, but their own endless cravings.

As for Lu Zu—who once slew demons with flying swords and transmitted scriptures to teach all beings—his deeds of saving the world, his grace in transmitting the Dao, how many still remember him in this swirling sea of worldly pleasures and sensual distractions? How many hold reverence?

“Time changes, the Final Dharma continues—how shall our Dao be passed on? One day, even gods will vanish from this world, and perhaps even the very notion of cultivation will be forgotten.” Zhang Fan sighed, a deep sorrow and pity rising within him.

Thinking of this, Zhang Fan walked to the broken statue of Lu Zu. No incense, no offerings—only following ancient rites, he bowed deeply three times before the divine image.

Not to seek anything, but for the transmission that crossed time and space, for the Dao-heart that once illuminated millennia.

“Little Lu, let’s clean this place up.” Zhang Fan suddenly said.

“Uh… okay!”

Lu Xianyang nodded. He thought Zhang Fan disliked the place’s decay and said nothing more, joining him in cleaning.

After a flurry of labor, though they could not restore the temple to its former glory, they gathered scattered bricks and stones, wiped thick dust from the offering table, cleared weeds and spiderwebs from the corners, removing some accumulated decay and revealing a rare tidiness.

At least, the statue of Lu Zu had been wiped clean of surface dust; under the moonlight, the broken clay form seemed to gain a touch of quiet dignity.

“This looks much more comfortable.”

Zhang Fan exhaled slowly, then lit the three incense sticks Lu Xianyang had given him earlier, respectfully offering them before the statue of Lu Zu, and bowed again.

Seeing this, Lu Xianyang imitated him, bowing behind Zhang Fan.

“Little Lu, it’s late. Rest now.” Zhang Fan said firmly.

His injuries had not yet healed; he could no longer go without sleep as he once had.

“Alright, big brother, follow me.”

Lu Xianyang led Zhang Fan to a room—the cleanest and neatest in the entire ruined temple.

Though it couldn’t compare to a hotel, or even his home in Hongfu Huayuan, for Zhang Fan, who had slept in caves and mountains, it was already far better.

“Such rare quietness.”

Zhang Fan exhaled and collapsed onto the old, broken bed.

Suddenly, at the moment he lay down, his heart jolted violently!

Not from outside noise, nor from a hidden enemy— but a warm, vast sensation arising from the depths of his spiritual awareness!

Fortune arrives with the heart; disaster arises with the spirit.

Zhang Fan immediately rose, his Yuan Shen observing.

Suddenly, he saw deep within the great hall—the statue of Lu Zu he had just bowed to.

Above his head, three feet, a cloud of mist churned, golden flame surging, flickering, arising and perishing, transforming…

This strange mist was invisible to the naked eye, beyond full perception by spiritual sense.

Yet now, within this seemingly dead, forgotten ruin, within the broken statue and the empty space around it, a power so vast as to be unimaginable, so pure as to be unbelievable, manifested fully before Zhang Fan.

“Incense spiritual power!?” Zhang Fan’s eyes flashed bright.

This intense incense spiritual power was not newly generated, but accumulated over countless ages, left behind by countless generations of sincere believers who had once knelt here in devotion.

They had not dispersed, nor been drawn away by the clamor of the God of Wealth’s temple—like amber in slumber, sealed within this ruined temple, merging with Lu Zu’s lingering divine intent, waiting…

Waiting for a chance, or for a destined one.

Perhaps now, because Zhang Fan’s sudden compassionate Dao-heart, or because he and Lu Xianyang had cleaned the temple, this slumbering power had awakened.

“Lu Zu…”

Facing this sudden opportunity, Zhang Fan did not rejoice wildly—he grew dreamy instead.

Boom… boom… boom…

In an instant, the dense incense spiritual power, dormant for countless years, surged forth like a dammed river breaking free, or drawn by the faint pulse of the Pure Yang lineage—flowing freely, overwhelmingly, rushing toward Zhang Fan.

The light was warm, peaceful, as if holding boundless purest thoughts—like Lu Zu’s blessing—it gently enveloped Zhang Fan’s weary, scarred body and Yuan Shen.

Zhang Fan sat motionless, feeling the vast, ocean-like yet gentle power flow into his body, nourishing his parched dantian, soothing his cracked Golden Core, moistening his nearly exhausted Yuan Shen…

This tangible, intense sensation finally brought him back to himself.

In this dire plight, in this forgotten corner, he had found such a vast “nourishment”!

A ruined temple, a broken statue—yet containing the cosmos!

Hope always emerges from utter despair.

“Good! Good! Good!”

Zhang Fan’s eyes flashed bright, spitting out three “good” words in rapid succession.

As the vast, pure ancient incense spiritual power enveloped him, he dared not delay a moment—he immediately gathered all his spirit, discarded all distractions, and activated the Divine Demon Holy Embryo.

“Everyone holds the elixir of immortality, yet fools foolishly cast it away. At the end of the road, heaven and earth unite—where golden light shines, Divine and Demon entwine!”

Above his head, his Yuan Shen seated, black and white Qi merged like water and fire; the dense incense spiritual power seemed to dissolve between day and night, and under the pressure of Divine and Demon standing side by side, it gradually transformed into the purest, most mysterious thread of golden light…

In the void, countless subtle Dao sounds seemed to echo.