Chapter 511: The Three Corpses Daoist of the New Era

The next day, evening.

As the last glimmer of daylight faded, night fell like drenched ink, swiftly swallowing the earth.

In the desolate wilderness, the dilapidated Lu Zu Temple stood alone on a slope, its broken walls and shattered pillars resembling monstrous skeletons in the twilight; around the temple, Dao Alliance masters had secretly sealed the area, invisible qi networks forming a web that cut off all inside from outside.

“Brutal, ruthless, truly a formidable figure.”

At that moment, a cold voice echoed from within the temple, intensifying the oppressive, chilling atmosphere that hung thick in the air.

A few pale beams of moonlight slipped through holes in the roof, like stage spotlights illuminating the scattered, sprawled bodies inside the hall.

A middle-aged man clad in purple-black Daoist robes stood before Zhao Shanhe’s corpse.

His face was square and stern, radiating authority without need for anger; his eyes, when opened or closed, flickered with hidden brilliance, and simply standing there, he exuded the natural dignity of a superior.

Qin Tiandeng, Chairman of the Northern River Province Dao Alliance, a Zhai Shou cultivator with six rotations of his Golden Core, could discern countless details merely from the corpse’s wounds.

Not only Zhao Shanhe—his gaze swept across Zhao Qiming, Liu Ruyan, Huang Sanpo, and countless other high-ranking Dao Alliance members from Huangshan City, all lying on the ground, faces ashen, breaths faint.

Their Nascent Souls were gone, leaving only hollow shells: they breathed in, but not out; even if they somehow survived, they were now vegetative, unaware and unresponsive, their bodies destined to decay over time into walking corpses.

“Siphoning Nascent Souls as the supreme medicine—I once thought the title ‘Master of Wuwei’ was merely an empty facade. But now, this young man… truly cannot be underestimated.”

“At such a young age, how could he possess such cultivation and methods!?”

Qin Tiandeng’s expression grew grave as his gaze settled on Zhao Shanhe’s dantian—the gaping wound was horrifying, clearly torn open by overwhelming force, the Golden Core ripped away.

Such brutality and ruthlessness made even this leader of the Northern River Dao Alliance twitch with unease, unable to remain composed!

“This brat… his wounds have healed!? That shouldn’t be possible.”

At that moment, a well-dressed man beside him spoke; his features were unremarkable, yet his brow carried an air of supreme superiority, now tense, his eyes filled with deep suspicion.

Yuan Baitian, a special inspector dispatched from four provinces, understood Zhang Fan’s situation better than anyone present.

After the battle on Yujing Beach, this boy barely escaped alive from Fan Lingzhou and Yuan Tian’s grasp—that alone was a miracle; logically, he should now be gravely wounded, on the brink of death. How could he still possess such strength?

He kills without mercy, without restraint!!

“Baitian, you came from the capital—you’re well-informed. Just how deep is Zhang Fan’s background? Why does it differ from the intelligence reports?”

At that moment, Qin Tiandeng spoke.

Yuan Baitian, born into the illustrious Yuan family of the capital and nephew of Tian Shi Yuan Tiandu, was himself a Zhai Shou cultivator with six rotations of his Golden Core; logically, his intelligence should be far more comprehensive.

“Could it be… he has a powerful ally nearby?” Yuan Baitian hesitated.

“Qin Tiandeng, what’s there to be surprised about? Don’t you know this brat’s origins?”

At that moment, a figure stepped forward from before the broken statue of Lu Zu; the pale moonlight fell upon his face, revealing a man of exquisite features, his beauty surpassing most women.

Yet this breathtaking beauty was marred by a horrifying scar—a deep gash slicing diagonally from his left temple down to his temple, obliterating the eye that had once been like autumn water, leaving only a hollow, sunken socket.

“What insight do you have, brother?”

Qin Tiandeng turned to the newcomer, his tone softening by three degrees—he clearly treated this man with deference, even though he was Chairman of the Northern River Dao Alliance.

The reason was simple…

Leng Canxiang was a master of Kongdong Mountain.

Kongdong Mountain was one of the Ten Great Dao Mountains of the world, always mysterious and low-key; moreover, Leng Canxiang was a Zhai Shou cultivator with seven rotations of his Golden Core—among those present, none could match his cultivation.

“Can’t you guess, brother? This boy’s surname is Zhang…” Leng Canxiang said gravely.

“Zhang!?” Qin Tiandeng’s brow twitched, a wave of shock rising in him.

The Dao Alliance’s circular notice had never mentioned this Zhang Fan’s origins.

Zhang?

Leng Canxiang’s simple remark carried far too much meaning.

“He’s the son of the Great Spirit Sect King!”

Each word seemed to spit from Leng Canxiang’s teeth, voice like ice shards grinding together.

He raised a hand to trace the grotesque scar on his face; his one intact right eye flashed with bone-deep coldness.

Upon hearing this, Qin Tiandeng’s brow leapt again, his eyes filled with astonishment; all others turned their gazes toward this master of Kongdong Mountain.

When the Southern Zhang were eradicated, the Dao Alliance headquarters once mobilized masters from all regions to hunt down the Great Spirit Sect King—the scene bore eerie resemblance to the current manhunt for Zhang Fan!

Leng Canxiang had been one of those involved.

Once a famed beauty of Kongdong Mountain, a handsome Daoist priest, he had lost his face and one eye during that brutal pursuit.

Since then, his obsession had taken root; his hatred for Zhang Lingzong and the shadow of that failure became a heart demon, entwined with karmic chains, and after barely twenty years, he had forcibly broken into the Zhai Shou realm.

Originally, with Leng Canxiang’s talent, he could never have reached the threshold of Zhai Shou—let alone after such a catastrophe, with obsession born and his spirit-soul agitated.

For ordinary people, once obsession takes hold, it becomes a heart demon; the Nascent Soul sinks into karmic obstruction, cultivation regresses, and one may even plunge into eternal darkness.

Yet obsession is both a great trial of cultivation—and a great medicine for it!

Aside from the legendary Divine Demon Holy Embryo, only one in ten thousand could transmute demons into Dao, shattering the chains of obsession to achieve breakthrough.

Leng Canxiang was one such rare soul.

Precisely because of this, when he happened to be visiting the Northern River Dao Alliance and heard this news, he willingly followed Qin Tiandeng.

“So he’s a remnant of the Southern Zhang? Their lineage’s fortune is truly vast—first they produced the Great Spirit Sect King, now this monster.”

At that moment, the final figure emerged from deeper shadows.

Tall and gaunt, his complexion was an unhealthy, extreme pallor—as if he had never seen sunlight, just stepped from an ice cellar; a faint chill radiated from him, making the air grow cold even at a distance.

Feng Qinghan, Vice Chairman of the Southern River Province Dao Alliance, a Zhai Shou cultivator with five rotations of his Golden Core.

Four masters gathered in the Lu Zu Temple.

Less than twenty-four hours had passed, yet these four masters had already arrived from all four provinces, swiftly analyzing the situation and the opponent’s condition.

“Special Commissioner Yuan, even if this boy’s wounds haven’t healed, he likely still has other powerful allies. I must ask: is the Master of Wuwei truly real?” Feng Qinghan said gravely.

Though he himself did not believe such a youth could ascend to the position of Master of Wuwei, the Dao Alliance’s massive mobilization suggested this could not be explained away as merely a remnant of the Southern Zhang.

If he truly had ties to the Wuwei Sect, they would not merely be facing this young man.

“So what if he is? What if he isn’t? This boy’s nature is already demonic! If we leave him unchecked, he will become a great evil to the world! Our duty is to act as Heaven’s instrument and eradicate him!”

Yuan Baitian spoke, his tone carrying the casual arrogance of a noble scion, laced with a barely perceptible coldness.

Feng Qinghan fell silent for a moment; a faint chill rose on his pale face: “Then let our four masters unite, pursue him with full force—he cannot have fled far.”

At these words, all fell silent.

Feng Qinghan’s words carried personal ambition.

The current Chairman of the Southern River Dao Alliance was about to retire; if he could secure major credit in this capture, his promotion to Chairman would merely be a formality.