Chapter 515: Heavenly Net, Earthly Trap! They

The heavens and earth were vast and remote, the great sun suspended in the sky.

Early winter had arrived; the weather beyond the pass differed utterly from that within.

The north wind howled like a blade, sweeping across the wasteland, whipping up withered grass and dust, leaving the world bleak and desolate.

“Truly a season of turmoil.”

Inside a plain black sedan, a deep sigh echoed softly.

Wei Shangxing, the abbot of Laoshan, gazed out the window with calm, still eyes; the distant mountain ridges stood sharp and hard, like the bony frame of a slumbering beast, crouching silently beneath the gray-blue sky.

Beyond Shanhai Pass, the world before them seemed to have transformed entirely.

In a single day and night, the elite of Dao Alliance’s Four Provinces of Shanhe had converged like an iron stream, pouring forth from the world’s foremost pass.

“First strike—Qiu Long River should not be fully frozen yet,” Wei Shangxing said slowly, drawing his gaze back.

“Uncle, it should be so.”

Beside him, a young Daoist held a map and nodded.

Wei Shangxing turned his head, his steady gaze settling on the map marked with annotations.

“Beyond Shanhai Pass, following the main course of Qiu Long River downstream leads into the heartland beyond the pass.”

“There are only three true main routes.”

“The northern route follows the river straight; the central route passes through Songtao Ancient City; the southern route traverses Heishui Hills. All three converge in the Changbai Mountains.”

Wei Shangxing’s gaze darkened slightly as he spoke firmly: “We took the northern route—no need to pause or linger along the way.”

“Uncle, are you saying the ‘Wuwei Sect Master’ will go to Changbai Mountain?”

The young Daoist beside him frowned, puzzled.

Wei Shangxing’s brow tightened instantly; he shot the youth a glance like twin bolts of icy lightning, heavy with stern authority.

“This is intelligence from the Dao Alliance—follow it. Also…”

“From now on, never utter those four words: ‘Wuwei Sect Master.’”

Wei Shangxing’s voice was low, yet carried the weight of an abbot’s pressure; the young Daoist fell instantly silent.

“When that rumor first surfaced on the [Xiao Dao App], whether true or false, the Dao Alliance should have crushed it at once, publicly refuting it! What happened instead?”

At this, Wei Shangxing’s eyes flickered with disdain.

“Those officials have no idea what they’re doing—they made a grand spectacle, mobilized forces, and now this uproar has erupted. How will they end it?”

As he spoke, a trace of uncontainable anger colored his tone.

Once the banner of “Wuwei Sect Master” is raised in blood, even if it was false, it has become real.

How will all cultivators view this?

The remnants of Wuwei Sect, dormant for sixty years, must be trembling with exhilaration and fury!

Hearing this, the young Daoist’s face twitched—he recalled the recent glory of the “Wuwei Sect Master” before Lü Zu’s Temple in Huangzhou City.

Five Zhai-Head experts, thirty-seven Dao Alliance elites—all slain, their yuanshen obliterated in an instant.

Only seven characters, written in blood, remained on the scene: The Killer Is San Shi Dao Ren.

Merely those seven characters were enough to stir the entire world, to strike terror into every Daoist heart.

Recall: sixty years ago, the transcendent Zhenren Jiazi purged demons atop Mount Dongyue, slaying San Shi Dao Ren—since then, Wuwei Sect vanished underground, silent for a full six decades.

The world had known peace too long; sixty years had passed without anyone daring to defy heaven and earth, to commit such brutal, tyrannical slaughter on such a scale against the Dao Alliance.

Thinking of that hellish scene, of the terror and ill omen behind the name “San Shi Dao Ren,” the young Daoist felt an uncontrollable chill rise from his bones.

He stole a glance at Wei Shangxing, who sat with eyes closed, his aura deep as an abyss, towering as a mountain; the sheer power radiating from the abbot eased his fear slightly.

“That young man truly walks through the mortal world as if it were a furnace, refining his body through every calamity.”

At that moment, Wei Shangxing sighed unexpectedly.

The young Daoist’s heart stirred—he knew his uncle spoke of the legendary, extraordinarily young Wuwei Sect Master.

After enduring the Dao Alliance’s pursuit and trials, if he survives, how far will he rise?

“In the Four Provinces of Shanhe, every two Zhai-Head experts form a team, leading squads along the northern, central, and southern main routes, spreading outward to scan the wilderness, villages, and forests flanking the roads for any trace.”

At that moment, Wei Shangxing suddenly opened his eyes, a flash of brilliance within them; he dismissed the prior topic and issued his command in a firm tone.

His voice was decisive, like a general marshaling troops on the battlefield.

“Remember! If you find his trail, do not act independently—do not alarm him! Report immediately and await unified orders!”

“Yes!”

The young Daoist was struck by realization—he understood fully.

He instantly grasped: Wei Shangxing was laying a heavenly net and earth-bound trap. The abbot himself stood at the front, commanding the whole, advancing steadily like the tightening mouth of a sack, while the many Zhai-Head experts spread out like the open jaws of the net.

Thus, step by step, with no gap left unguarded, they could prevent the enemy from picking them off one by one, ensuring they would not repeat the disaster at Lü Zu’s Temple in Huangzhou, where a single man had turned the tide and annihilated them all.

“Young man, let us see whether your fate is as vast as heaven—or whether our Dao stands higher.” Wei Shangxing murmured softly.

…

On the central route, a white SUV bumped along a rough road.

Inside, a woman sat motionless in the back seat.

She wore a simple green robe, her black hair unbound, cascading like a waterfall, only loosely tied with a wooden hairpin. Sitting there, she resembled a famed blade sheathed in an ancient scabbard—her edge hidden, yet impossible to ignore; should she be drawn, the world would shatter.

Ye Qiu Chan, an abbot-level expert from Laojun Mountain.

As her name suggested: one leaf signals autumn’s arrival; the cicada senses change before others. She perceived truth in subtlety, heard thunder in silence.

Now, she listened quietly to the communicator’s transmission—Wei Shangxing’s deployment orders—and slowly opened her eyes.

“Wei Shangxing is cautious and steady—this arrangement is sound,” Ye Qiu Chan said calmly.

“Auntie, according to the map, five hundred li ahead lies Songtao Ancient City.”

Beside her, a girl in pale blue Daoist robes, her hair tied in two buns, bowed respectfully.

“If that man truly intends to reach Changbai Mountain and chooses our central route, Songtao Ancient City is an unavoidable passage.”

Ye Qiu Chan nodded; her gaze seemed to pierce the window, gazing far ahead.

“So Fan Lingzhou took the southern route—the Heishui Hills path.”

The girl’s eyes brightened with curiosity; she blinked: “Auntie, I heard Fan Guanzhu isn’t just an abbot-level expert—he’s also a favorite of Jiang Zonghui.”

“With such status, why would he personally leave Shangjing and come beyond the pass?”

Ye Qiu Chan’s gaze flickered, as if recalling, then spoke slowly: “Fan Lingzhou is indeed an extraordinary man.”

“He was born poor, with no family or connections. During the great famine that swept several provinces, he was still young—his entire family perished. Yet he walked eight hundred li on bare feet, crossing mountains and rivers, until he collapsed at the gates of Bai He Guan.”

Perhaps heaven did not abandon him—he gained entry to Bai He Guan, and from then on, like a dragon returning to the sea, he soared beyond measure.

“It is said that when he was young…”

Here, Ye Qiu Chan’s voice halted abruptly.

“It is said? Auntie, what is it said?” The girl, entranced, pressed.

Ye Qiu Chan hesitated, but seeing the girl’s curiosity, she whispered: “It is said… even as a youth, he displayed astonishing talent in Dao cultivation, and received guidance from both the Southern Zhang and Northern Zhang masters.”

“Both the Southern and Northern Zhang guided him?” the girl exclaimed.

“Later…”

Ye Qiu Chan did not continue.

She had once heard fragments from her sect’s elders—during the fall of the Southern Zhang, Fan Lingzhou had been in the south.

It was said he was one of their most crucial insiders.

But these matters ran too deep, entangled in too many secrets—unsuitable to reveal to juniors.

“Auntie, what happened after?” the girl asked again.

“All is past dust.”

Ye Qiu Chan waved her hand gently, cutting off the girl’s words, her tone returning to calm: “Enough. Focus on the present.”

As she spoke, her gaze returned to the bleak, boundless landscape beyond the window, her voice carrying a warning.

“Beyond the pass is no ordinary land. When San Shi Dao Ren fled into calamity, he ultimately escaped here.”

“San Shi Dao Ren?!”

The girl’s spirits lifted—she knew the legend well.

The number one in the world—that was the title.

“He… escaped death? And came here?” the girl asked, intrigued.

“True dragons begin in obscurity—even he… was once weak,” Ye Qiu Chan said softly.

“Here, beyond the pass, he met the most important person in his life—the turning point of his cultivation path.”

“Who?” the girl asked eagerly.

“Li Changsheng!”

Ye Qiu Chan slowly uttered the name:

“Li Changsheng?!”

The girl’s face showed blank confusion; she racked her brain, then shook her head: “Li Changsheng? I’ve never heard that name.”

Ye Qiu Chan fell silent, a sigh rising within her.

“Indeed… who remembers that name now?”

“Even though that man was once the greatest cultivator in the world!”

Ye Qiu Chan’s gaze seemed to pierce through the veil of time, gazing toward a lost, glorious age.