Chapter 507: Zhang Fan and Lü Xianyang! Lü Zu Reincarnated, Invincible Under Heaven

Deep night, thick with incense; like waking from a dream of yellow millet, startled.

Do not say immortals and mortals are forever apart; in Lü Zu’s temple, the Dao-heart is passed on.

The great moon hangs solitary, highlighting the cold stars scattered across the vast sky.

The faint scent of incense had not yet faded; inside the dilapidated house, Lü Xianyang kowtowed repeatedly, each bow striking the ground like metal and stone cast upon the heart, thunder flashing through the long night.

“No…”

Faced with this sudden act, Zhang Fan was startled, but before he could stop him, the boy had already performed the full three bows and nine kowtows.

Zhang Fan gazed at Lü Xianyang, whose eyes were clear and filled with quiet expectation, his heart brimming with countless emotions.

This boy’s talent is truly rare.

Especially that unpolished, childlike heart—pure, natural, unstained by dust, his mind empty, bright, and agile, subtly mirroring the wondrous perception of heaven and earth.

Such a root-nature is unparalleled among ten thousand; if refined, even in the Declining Age, he may yet achieve greatness beyond measure.

Thinking of this, Zhang Fan felt a deep resonance.

The two had been separated by a thousand li, with no fate to ever cross paths.

Yet because he had suffered a life-or-death calamity and fallen here, he met this boy, took refuge in this ruined Lü Zu temple, was healed by Lü Zu’s lingering grace, and through unintentional teaching, stirred the boy’s desire to become his disciple.

This meeting, this exchange—it was no ordinary fate; as if, in the unseen, the bond of master and disciple had already drawn them together.

“Your talent is excellent, your nature suited to the Dao—better than mine was at your age,” Zhang Fan said softly but firmly.

He could see that Lü Xianyang, though young, was mature and steady, his character resolute and calm—perfect for Dao cultivation.

By contrast, when Zhang Fan was his age, he had been sharp, reckless, and had taken many detours.

“But alas, I am now caught in a great calamity, fleeing for my life, barely able to save myself; if you follow me, you will only draw upon yourself deadly peril and suffering.” Zhang Fan shook his head with a quiet sigh.

He was now a wanted fugitive of the Dao Alliance, the so-called “sect master” at the center of the Wúwéi Sect’s storm, with enemies scattered across the land, every step ahead brimming with deadly trials.

To bring this pure-hearted, gifted boy by his side would be like casting a pearl into a sea of blood and mud—not only could he not protect him, but he would drag him into endless calamities, perhaps even costing him his life.

“Without enduring a hundred thousand calamities, how can one attain the method of immortality?” Lü Xianyang did not rise, but spoke.

If my master had not endured such calamities, how could we have met? If I had not suffered hardships in my youth and fallen into the sea of suffering, how could I have become your disciple?

Though young, Lü Xianyang’s mind was clear as a mirror, seeing through the world’s changes, perceiving the birth and death of calamities, and understanding how fate arises spontaneously.

Such sensitivity, such clarity, such profound mystery…

“The wisdom of an immortal reincarnated,” Zhang Fan murmured, gazing at Lü Xianyang.

Lü Xianyang, so young, yet untrained, possessed a heart as pure as a child’s, his primordial spirit untouched by ignorance, a faint spark of luminosity unextinguished—like a lamp burning in the heart, just as the ancient legends described of immortals reincarnated, ancestral masters reborn.

“You are young, yet you already understand this truth—your Dao-heart is unshakable. It seems you will not turn back.”

Zhang Fan’s thoughts shifted, and he made his decision, sighing softly.

“Our fate is such; though I am caught in calamity, I cannot bear to see a pearl buried in dust.”

As he spoke, Zhang Fan looked at Lü Xianyang with gentle eyes.

“Above us, three feet, Lü Zu stands witness. From this day forward, you are recorded under my name. When I escape this great calamity, we shall meet again. If your Dao-heart remains unchanged then, you shall be my disciple, Zhang Fan’s disciple.”

These words, once spoken, rolled like thunder, striking the ground with weight.

Lü Xianyang’s gaze was clear as a boundless sky, stars unextinguished, like a thousand mountains and peaks—unchangeable by heaven or earth.

“I humbly remember my master’s teaching.”

Lü Xianyang understood that Zhang Fan’s words were meant to protect him, to prevent his premature end; he immediately kowtowed again, bowing deeply in reverence.

“I never imagined that at my young age, I would already have a disciple—this fate, as if guided by Lü Zu himself!!”

Zhang Fan sighed inwardly; how could he have foreseen that on this flight for his life, in Lü Zu’s ruined temple, he would gain a disciple?

“The path of cultivation has always followed a steady progression; even those with supreme talent cannot achieve it overnight—unless, like the great sages of history, they do not cultivate techniques or arts, but only comprehend the Dao, awakening to truth morning and night, and thus become sages in a single step.”

Zhang Fan looked at Lü Xianyang and spoke softly.

Throughout history, the great sages never cultivated divine arts or techniques; to them, these were mere minor paths.

What they contemplated, what they realized, was the true Dao, the true principle—aligned with human existence, harmonized with nature.

They heard the Dao in a morning or evening, became sages within the space of a single thought.

Yet such great sages, across the long river of time, are few and far between.

Ordinary cultivators, even those with prodigious talent, must still progress step by step.

“But the times are different now. Your foundation is shallow, and now that you’ve become my disciple, if you do not grow strong quickly, you may never live to see that day,” Zhang Fan sighed.

To become his disciple means destined calamities, enemies approaching; without sufficient strength, becoming ashes of calamity is merely a matter of time.

This is Lü Xianyang’s choice—and thus, his fate.

“I will give you a calamity,” Zhang Fan suddenly said.

“Calamity?” Lü Xianyang paused.

“Didn’t you just say? Calamity is death, yet also the elixir of immortality—the greater the calamity, the greater the fate. If you can endure this calamity, you will surge forward in a short time.”

“This is stealing the mechanisms of heaven,” Zhang Fan’s gaze turned cold as a frozen pool.

Stealing the mechanisms of heaven—within the roaring tide of death, seizing that single thread of life, achieving wonders beyond creation.

“Are you afraid?” Zhang Fan asked.

“Afraid? And not afraid,” Lü Xianyang said solemnly.

“What does that mean?” Zhang Fan asked.

“With my master’s protection, I have nothing to fear—that is why I am not afraid.”

“But I fear this calamity may not be great enough—that the turning of fate may not be strong enough.” Lü Xianyang’s eyes were clear and fearless, each word striking like a stone.

“Good boy.”

Zhang Fan’s eyes brightened; his fingertip quietly gathered a thread of golden substance, finer than a spider’s silk, yet dazzlingly brilliant, as if containing boundless creation and pure intent.

This golden thread was the residual essence he had refined from the incense spiritual power—originally meant to be used as a last resort for survival.

Hum…

Zhang Fan’s hand slowly reached out, settling upon Lü Xianyang’s crown.

The immortal touches my head; I tie my hair and receive immortality.

The thin golden substance, like a spirit serpent, slipped into Lü Xianyang’s third eye, the ancestral aperture.

Instantly, Lü Xianyang’s body trembled violently, his face twisting with pain and struggle.

His spiritual platform shook, his primordial spirit leapt wildly; intense energy nearly drowned him, and the newly formed fire-dragon image let out a deafening roar.

The golden substance was the essence Zhang Fan had extracted from the vast incense devotional power using his [Divine Demon Sacred Embryo]—a substance defying heaven itself.

It contained the purest form of devotional intent; for cultivators, it was both supreme medicine and terrible calamity. Those with weak wills, upon its touch, would have a single thought ignite a thousand chaotic thoughts, demonic forms would arise, karmic burdens would transform into calamities; a single misstep, and they would sink into [Eternal Dark Night], forever lost; some even saw their primordial spirit consumed entirely within the golden substance.

“Roar…”

Lü Xianyang emitted a strange, guttural cry—filled with rage, terror, agitation…

At the same time, his body seemed to burn; his life force was being drained and incinerated by the golden substance; at his spiritual platform, the primordial radiance nearly shattered, plunging him into utter madness.

“Your life hangs in the balance. To touch this golden substance, your primordial spirit will sink—you will die.”

“You have never studied the Divine Demon Sacred Embryo—you should never have touched it…” Zhang Fan watched Lü Xianyang, his expression cold.