Chapter 87

Black mist surged like a great demon rising; in the depths of darkness, the wrathful god appeared.

“Zhang Fan!?”

“How is it you? How could it possibly be you?”

Xiong Ba’s yuan shen trembled like a wild flame; his eyes bulged, fixed unblinkingly on the wrathful god stepping from the black mist—he could scarcely believe his own eyes.

He had never dreamed that the wrathful god sealed within the Xiong family ancestral hall bore Zhang Fan’s likeness.

“The Taiyi Dao Line shares the same breath; the day I passed this art to you, it was destined that this meeting would occur.”

Within the black mist, the shadow resembling Zhang Fan flickered like a phantom, its hollow voice echoing through Xiong Ba’s inner landscape.

Upon hearing this, Xiong Ba frowned, puzzled and only half-understanding.

Could it be that the wrathful god who taught him the Taiyi Duwang Art had foreseen this very encounter with Zhang Fan!?

“You… who are you?” Xiong Ba’s yuanshen could not help but press further.

Though this wrathful god looked exactly like Zhang Fan, its aura was utterly different—clearly not the same person.

“Bring him here.” The strange figure within the black mist spoke.

“Who? Zhang Fan?” Xiong Ba asked, wary and uncertain.

Hum…

At that moment, the black mist surged violently, like a tidal wave crashing and dissolving wildly.

“Wait… wait…”

Xiong Ba’s yuanshen shuddered violently, snapping back from the inner landscape.

When he opened his eyes, he was still inside the Xiong family ancestral hall— incense smoke curled, candlelight flickered, and two stretched shadows loomed before him.

Xiong Ba looked up and saw Xiong Qianxing and Ming Chenxuan had also entered.

“Xiong Ba, when did you return?” Xiong Qianxing smiled faintly.

“Just now.” Xiong Ba’s voice was dry.

During the last clan combat, he had suffered greatly at Xiong Qianxing’s hands.

“If you’ve returned, why didn’t you come greet me? Do you not respect me?”

Xiong Qianxing’s gaze hardened, his voice turning icy; he had a fire of malice burning inside him with no outlet, and here was someone offering himself— he would not let it pass.

One always picks the softest melon to squeeze.

“I hadn’t had the chance yet…” Xiong Ba rose, hastily explaining.

“Hadn’t had the chance?” Xiong Qianxing sneered. “I slap you now, then apologize— would that count as having the chance?”

“You…”

Xiong Ba’s face darkened: “Don’t push me too far.”

“So what if I bully you?” Xiong Qianxing laughed. Normally, he wouldn’t have given Xiong Ba a second thought, but today, he needed to vent.

“Bad luck for you, running into me.” Ming Chenxuan looked at Xiong Ba with faint pity.

“Come here…”

Xiong Qianxing’s fingers twisted with a crackling sound, casting a commanding glance at Xiong Ba, his voice low and stern.

“Xiong Qianxing, don’t think I’m easy to bully.” Xiong Ba gritted his teeth, whispering.

“Heh, exactly because I think you’re easy to bully.”

Xiong Qianxing’s eyes turned cold; he formed a seal, opened his mouth, and spat out a gust of dark, turbid wind— unmistakably the Xiong family’s [Dark Wind Infusion].

It was his signature Dao art: this turbid wind, refined from countless corpses and bleached bones, drawn from yin essence— once it entered the brain, it would instantly spawn demonic illness.

“You drove me to it.”

Xiong Ba’s expression darkened sharply; his previously evasive gaze now flashed with ferocity.

These past days, training under Zhang Fan in the Taiyi Duwang Art, his Dao skills had advanced, and his courage had grown— his blood boiled; facing the rolling dark wind, he did not retreat, but stepped forward, striking first.

Boom…

At that moment, a faint gray mist swirled in Xiong Ba’s palm; the air temperature plummeted abruptly. In a haze, the gray mist coalesced and transformed— becoming a blade that effortlessly tore through the dark wind.

“This… is [Gathering Yin into a Demon Blade]!?”

Xiong Qianxing’s face paled; he stared, unable to believe what he saw.

All Xiong family Dao arts were yin-refining methods, including his own turbid wind.

Gathering Yin into a Demon Blade was an extremely advanced technique— by comparison, his turbid wind was nothing but a fart.

“How is this possible!?” A voice roared inside Xiong Qianxing’s mind.

This marginal figure, who had been his defeated opponent in the clan combat just days ago— how could he now wield such power?

Hum…

Before he could think further, Xiong Ba moved like a ghost, closing the distance; dark wind howled, demon energy surged, and a terrifying force slammed into Xiong Qianxing’s abdomen.

Instantly, he felt as if trapped in an ice crypt— blood gushed from his mouth, his kidneys withered, his essence scattered, and his hair turned brittle and yellow, falling out in an instant.

This was the condition of yin entering the body, demon energy breeding sickness.

Crash…

With a thunderous crash, Xiong Qianxing flew backward, slammed to the ground, spat another mouthful of blood, and turned deathly pale.

“Young Master!”

Ming Chenxuan’s face changed; he rushed forward to support him, his fearful, sidelong gaze locked on Xiong Ba.

He had never imagined such an unbelievable twist in what was supposed to be an effortless beating.

That waste… he was hiding his strength!?

“You… you pretended to be weak to lure me in!?”

Supported by Ming Chenxuan, Xiong Qianxing staggered to his feet, eyes fixed unblinkingly on Xiong Ba.

He had to admit—he had underestimated this waste.

“Xiong Qianxing, who do you think you are? Do you truly believe you can act with impunity?” Xiong Ba, having landed the first blow, instantly gained confidence.

“If you ever try to bully me again, it won’t be as easy as today.”

At that moment, Xiong Ba felt a surge of vindication; the gloom and resentment of past bullying vanished— his spine straightened, his aura subtly transformed.

“Leave.”

In the past, he would never have dared say such a thing— but today, facing Xiong Qianxing who had tormented him, he spoke it with iron clarity, ringing with finality.

Xiong Qianxing’s face shifted through colors; gritting his teeth, he slunk out of the ancestral hall.

“I’ve grown stronger.”

Xiong Ba watched Xiong Qianxing’s retreating figure, then looked at his own hands.

Just now, he had defeated Xiong Qianxing by relying on the demon energy Zhang Fan had passed to him— but he knew it was his months of grueling cultivation that had filled his body with true yang, strengthened his yuanshen, and allowed him to wield such power.

“Zhang Fan!”

Xiong Ba pondered the name, his gaze unconsciously rising to the ancient jar atop the ancestral hall’s altar— then his eyes hardened with resolve; he strode out of the Xiong family ancestral hall.

Faint incense smoke rose, green and thin; all it takes is a spark to ignite the red candle.

Moments later, Xiong Guanchen and Xiong Baoping entered.

Xiong Guanchen, his head white with age, hunched over, stared at the bloodstains on the floor— his cloudy eyes glinted with sudden sharpness.

“Gathering Yin into a Demon Blade… are there such talents outside the Xiong family’s direct lineage?”

“Father…” Xiong Baoping stirred.

Even among the Xiong family’s direct heirs, few could achieve such a level.

“Talent exists beyond the direct line.” Xiong Guanchen spoke gravely.

“Back then, Ming Chengjun only unlocked [Ghost Gate Divine Needle] after leaving the Ming family…”

“And Sanqi… he wasn’t a direct heir either…”

Here, Xiong Guanchen’s aged face trembled slightly, a trace of regret appearing.

“Yin Mountain Ghost King, Xiong Sanqi.”

Once a formidable figure in Yujing City— within three generations of the Xiong family, none could match him; alone, he had subdued all the direct heirs.

“Father, I admit his talent was terrifying, but his temperament—if he’d stayed in the Xiong family, it would’ve been a disaster…” Xiong Baoping gritted his teeth.

Even now, as head of the Xiong family, he had to admit Xiong Sanqi’s power far surpassed his own.

Perhaps precisely because of this reality, he could not imagine what the Xiong family would have become under Xiong Sanqi’s rule.

“Back then, Xiong Sanqi and that group of Nine-Fingered Demon Sealers followed…”

“Enough…”

Xiong Guanchen raised a hand, cutting off Xiong Baoping’s recollection— he clearly did not wish to speak of it.

“That young man just now— his name is Xiong Ba, right?”

“Yes, he was originally training under Gu Yuming.” Xiong Baoping nodded.

“An outsider with such talent— could he be another Xiong Sanqi?” Xiong Guanchen sighed. “Perhaps the Xiong family’s method of cultivating talent is flawed.”

“Father, Xiong Sanqi was an anomaly. In the long term, concentrating resources on direct heirs remains the optimal path for family prosperity.” Xiong Baoping spoke gravely.

The Xiong family had endured for countless generations— they had produced more than just one [Yin Mountain Ghost King]…

Xiong Sanqi was an exception, not the norm— otherwise, he would never have left the family so decisively, nor followed that man across the southeast, conquering seven provinces undefeated, gathering countless enemies.

“Regardless… we should give that young man, Xiong Ba, a slight boost.” Xiong Guanchen said firmly.

He did not want to repeat the mistakes of the past with Xiong Sanqi— any talent, inside or outside, must be cultivated.

“I’ll remember.” Xiong Baoping nodded. “And… the younger ones need to be reined in. With such character, how can they cultivate the Dao?” Xiong Guanchen’s tone turned cold as frost.

Xiong Baoping remained silent, only nodding—he knew the old man was referring to disciples like Xiong Qianxing; such character flaws were surely not rare in a great clan like the Xiong family.

Their status as direct heirs and comfortable lives made them forget their duties as cultivators, breeding arrogant and domineering habits.

“It’s definitely time to clean house,” Xiong Baoping nodded.

…

As evening approached, people gradually emerged from the office buildings in Taoyuan Square, but most floors still had their lights on—after all, companies that don’t require overtime exist only in sci-fi films.

“Zhang Fan, after you clock out, come with me to ‘Zhi Zu Chang Le’—there’s a new girl there…”

Jiang Hu swung his chair over and leaned close to Zhang Fan, lowering his voice.

Budebushuo ， Zhejia 【 Zhizuchangle 】 Zuliaodiankaizaitaoyuanguangchangzhihou ， Shengyiqueshihuobao ……

[107] Budebushuo ， Zhejia 【 Zhizuchangle 】 Zuliaodiankaizaitaoyuanguangchangzhihou ， Shengyiqueshihuobao ……

[107] To be fair, since the “Zhi Zu Chang Le” foot massage parlor opened in Taoyuan Square, business has been booming…

Washing away the dust of the world, offering health to heroes—in just one month, Jiang Hu became a regular there.

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“A new girl?”

“Pretty, skilled, tragic backstory… I’ll only book her from now on,” Jiang Hu whispered.

“Tragic backstory?” Zhang Fan blinked—he felt he’d heard this exact phrase from Li Yi.

“Yes, this girl…”

“A gambling father, a sick mother, a young brother, a sensible girl—who else will help her if not me?” Zhang Fan blurted out.

“Holy shit… how do you know that?” Jiang Hu exclaimed.

“I have a friend. I’ll introduce you sometime,” Zhang Fan rolled his eyes, speaking coolly.

“A friend? What do you mean?”

“Dad’s dad is a demon, dad’s mom is a demon, mom’s dad…”

At that moment, a melodious ringtone sharply pierced the silent office.

Zhang Fan picked up his phone—it was Xiong Ba calling.

“Hello.”

“Is it convenient to talk?”

Xiong Ba’s voice came through the phone.

“Wait a second.”

Zhang Fan glanced around, stood up, left the company, and walked down the corridor before whispering: “What is it? Speak.”

“I…”

Xiong Ba paused briefly, organized his words, then recounted everything he had encountered in the Xiong ancestral shrine.

“A Fierce God!?” Zhang Fan’s brow twitched violently—he instantly recalled the box brought back from the Ming family’s old mansion, and the note inside bearing eight characters:

When night is dark, the Fierce God can resolve it.

“Are you certain you didn’t misread?” Zhang Fan’s expression turned strange.

“Absolutely certain. Your face—even if reduced to ashes—I’d recognize it.”

“…”

“How is this possible? How could there be another me?” Zhang Fan’s brow furrowed into a deep “ Chuan .”

“I thought it was suspicious too, so I called you right away.”

Xiong Ba’s voice came from the other end of the phone.

“How long has this… Fierce God been lurking in your family?” Zhang Fan couldn’t help asking.

“Ten years!”

“Ten years!?” Zhang Fan froze.

Ten years ago, he was exactly twelve.

“I understand,” Zhang Fan calmed himself slightly, then warned: “Don’t tell anyone about this.”

“I know, Fan Ge. What are you planning to do?” Xiong Ba remembered the Fierce God’s instructions.

“Let me think it through. I’ll notify you.”

“Alright,” Xiong Ba said firmly, then hung up.

“Another me?”

Zhang Fan stared at the glowing screen of his phone, his face filled with confusion. He turned back toward the company, still lost in Xiong Ba’s words.

“Clock’s out. Let’s go.”

At that moment, Jiang Hu’s voice pulled Zhang Fan back to reality.

Meanwhile, Bai Buran had just stepped out of his office, about to leave the company.

“You go ahead—I’ve got something to take care of.”

Saying this, Zhang Fan stood up quickly and blocked Bai Buran’s path.

“Boss, I have something I need to ask you.”

“Work-related? We’re off duty—why discuss work now?” Bai Buran glanced at the time and said: “Talk tomorrow.”

“Not work-related,” Zhang Fan sneered—who the hell would be crazy enough to bother their boss with work after hours?

“Come with me.”

Bai Buran glanced at him, then led Zhang Fan into his office.

“Holy shit? Already getting to work?” Jiang Hu muttered, watching the two enter the office.

“Should we stay late?” Wen He leaned over, thoughtful.

…

Inside the office now.

Bai Buran held his thermos, blew away the floating tea leaves, and took a small sip.

“Speak. What is it?”

“Boss, you’ve cultivated longer than any of us—you’ve seen more. I want to ask you something…”

Among those Zhang Fan could consult as elders—well, at least he’d call them elders—Bai Buran seemed the only one.

After all, in Ye Bu Liang, Bai Buran had the highest cultivation level; he had once driven back the King Taowu of the Hai Zhu with his Five Thunder Orthodoxy.

“Trouble with your cultivation?” Bai Buran smiled lightly.

In his view, Zhang Fan’s cultivation speed was too fast—encountering difficulties was normal, and he should’ve hit a wall long ago.

“Not exactly…”

“...”

“Just some doubts.”

“What doubts?” Bai Buran set down his thermos, asking casually.

“Boss, can a person have two Nascent Souls?”

After a brief hesitation, Zhang Fan finally voiced his doubt.

“What nonsense are you spouting?” Bai Buran raised an eyebrow. “The Nascent Soul is born with you—each person has only one. How could there be two?”

The Nascent Soul resides within the Xuanguan; even the slightest addition or subtraction triggers a chain reaction—mildly, it renders one a vegetable; severely, it causes death and the collapse of one’s Dao.

Such minute changes can profoundly affect the body—how much more so having two Nascent Souls?

“A person possessing two Nascent Souls… that’s pure fantasy. I’ve never heard of such a thing… but I have heard of two people sharing one Nascent Soul.”

“On Laojun Mountain, two disciples were raised—twin brothers named Qi Delong and Qi Dongqiang…”

“They’re said to be born with a unique talent: merging their two Nascent Souls into one, achieving an effect greater than the sum of two.”

Bai Buran spoke of this secret tale with amazement.

Nascent Soul fusion is no trivial matter—the power formed is unimaginable. That’s why the Qi brothers are well-known across the Daoist sects.

“Really not possible?” Zhang Fan murmured, lost in thought. “I see.”

Saying this, Zhang Fan rose to leave.

“But…”

At that moment, Bai Buran shifted tone, pulling Zhang Fan’s thoughts back.

“What?”

“When I cultivated on the mountain, I once heard a strange tale.”

“What?”

“Have you heard of ‘Three Corpses Mirroring Fate’?” Bai Buran replied with a question.

Zhang Fan shook his head, bewildered.

“It’s the supreme oddity among all arts, ranked among the Nine Legends…” Bai Buran’s gaze grew deep.

He knew well that in the past century, only one person in the Daoist world had ever cultivated this art—the legendary Three Corpses Daoist, hailed as the greatest martial master eighty years ago.

“In ‘Three Corpses Mirroring Fate,’ there is a technique… said to split and divide a person’s Nascent Soul…”

“This method is called…”

“The Great Soul-Splitting Art!!” Bai Buran’s voice, low and mysterious, echoed in Zhang Fan’s ears.

(End of Chapter)