Chapter 98

A faint, cold incense stirred a clear breeze; a wisp of a soul shattered the heartstrings.

Inside the small courtyard, all suddenly fell as still as stagnant water.

Under the gaze of all, Wang Xuanqing collapsed stiffly, his breath faint as a thread, on the verge of severance.

No one had expected that Wang Xuanqing, so imposing and radiant with Daoist power, had nearly toppled Xiong Ba—yet before this stranger, he fell in a single strike, as if his soul had been extinguished.

“Has he grown stronger again?” Xiong Qianqiu furrowed her brows slightly, unable to help glancing at Zhang Fan.

How long had passed since the Xiong Family Village incident? Now, Zhang Fan seemed different from that day.

She hadn’t even seen what had happened—how Zhang Fan had moved.

“You… you injured his Nascent Soul?”

Wang Xuanfei leaned down to inspect him, her lovely face instantly pale as frost.

In Daoist combat, harming the Nascent Soul is the gravest taboo: minor cases cause mental chaos, worse ones leave one a vegetable, or even cost one’s life.

She hadn’t expected this youth, silent and unremarkable since entering, to strike with such utter ruthlessness, no restraint, no law.

“You dare…” Wang Xuanfei clenched her teeth, her icy gaze sweeping over Xiong Ba and Xiong Qianqiu.

He was their guest; this debt naturally falls on the Xiong family.

“Enough.”

At that moment, Wang Xuansha spoke.

“Third brother…” Wang Xuanfei tried to speak, but he raised a hand to stop her.

“In combat and sparring, he lost—there’s nothing to say. Under the Ancestors’ gaze, he dared draw a weapon; even if he dies, it’s no one’s fault.”

Wang Xuansha stared at the fallen Wang Xuanqing, his voice cold and indifferent.

“Third brother…”

Wang Xuanfei froze, unable to believe her ears.

“Shut up.”

Wang Xuansha shot her a furious glare, then bowed: “Qianqiu, let’s end it here. Don’t see us out.”

Without waiting for Xiong Qianqiu’s response, his cold gaze settled on Xiong Ba.

“Xiong Ba… I remember you.”

“Farewell.”

Seeing the matter was settled, Xiong Qianqiu rose and left.

“Friend.”

Just as everyone reached the door, Wang Xuansha’s voice rang out again.

Zhang Fan turned to see the man staring straight at him.

“I haven’t yet had the honor of learning your name, friend.”

“Zhang Fan!”

No sooner had the words left his lips than Zhang Fan turned and stepped out the courtyard gate.

“Zhang Fan…” Wang Xuansha stared at the empty gate, his gaze sharp as a thread, savoring the name.

“Third brother, how serious is this? Are we just letting it go? That man clearly isn’t from the Xiong family… what are you afraid of?” Wang Xuanfei finally spoke, voice low.

“Foolish… can’t you see?”

Wang Xuansha gritted his teeth, eyes locked on Wang Xuanqing.

If he hadn’t misread it, in that fleeting instant, Wang Xuanqing had used some method to nearly forcibly extract Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul.

“Soul-binding… that’s the technique of the Wuwei Gate.”

Thinking of this, Wang Xuansha’s face darkened further—if this went deeper, it would bring great disaster upon the Wang family. He could barely afford to bury the matter; how could he dare escalate it?

“This idiot… how dare he flaunt it so openly? Has his brain filled with mercury?”

Wang Xuansha shuddered, sweat breaking out—he hadn’t imagined Wang Xuanqing was this reckless and brainless, utterly oblivious to death. One slip of this technique would bring execution—and drag the Wang family down with him.

“Third brother… third brother…”

At that moment, Wang Xuanfei’s voice pulled Wang Xuansha back.

“Do you know who this boy’s been associating with lately?” Wang Xuansha asked, voice heavy.

“I don’t know his circle…” Wang Xuanfei shook her head: “You know—he’s closest to Xuanmiao at home.”

“Wang Xuanmiao!” Wang Xuansha’s brows lifted, his expression deep in thought.

“Third brother, are we really letting this go?” Wang Xuanfei couldn’t help asking.

“Let it end here. Don’t go spreading rumors, don’t go bothering the Xiong family, and don’t touch Zhang Fan.”

Wang Xuansha warned solemnly: “If I find out, I’ll break your legs.”

“I understand.”

Wang Xuanfei frowned slightly, her face filled with confusion, but she nodded.

“I hope that man didn’t notice.”

Wang Xuansha stared at the empty gate, Zhang Fan’s name rising in his mind.

“Time for dinner.”

Just after leaving the Wang family courtyard, Zhang Fan suggested.

“What to eat?” Xiong Ba asked casually.

“Pig’s trotter rice.” Zhang Fan proposed.

Longjiang pig’s trotter rice—where men find romance.

“Zhang Fan…”

At that moment, Xiong Qianqiu suddenly stopped and called out.

“What?” Zhang Fan turned.

“Nothing.” Xiong Qianqiu shook her head and walked ahead in silence.

She wanted to ask what had happened just now—but the moment the thought arose, she felt a crushing pressure emanating from Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul, thick with warning, ferocious and tyrannical, utterly unlike his usual demeanor.

At this moment, Xiong Qianqiu dared not utter a word.

…

Evening. Hongfu Garden.

The room was dark, no lights on—only the pale moonlight seeped through the window.

On the table sat a bottle of sleeping pills; beside it, Zhang Fan sat cross-legged on the bed, his breath emitting an uncanny rhythm.

Beneath the ceiling, a figure identical to Zhang Fan hovered in midair, cross-legged, faintly glowing, as if draped in moonlight.

Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul, after consuming the Xiongshen , grew ever more mysterious and elusive.

Hum…

At that moment, Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul formed a seal; a hazy shadow slowly rose, coalescing like mist, taking the form of Wang Xuanqing.

“You… who are you?” Wang Xuanqing’s soul fragment trembled, brimming with terror.

Now, he had none of his daytime arrogance—only trembling fear in his eyes.

“You… you can also bind souls!?”

Seeing Zhang Fan didn’t respond, Wang Xuanqing trembled and asked.

During the daytime duel, he’d been crushed by Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul, and finally, this man had captured this fragment using soul-binding—his power surpassed his by a hundredfold.

“We are kindred spirits. Where did you learn your soul-binding technique?” Wang Xuanqing trembled, trying to flatter.

“Who says we’re kindred spirits?” Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul spoke coldly.

“I don’t know where my method came from, but now I want to know where you learned yours.”

“This…” Wang Xuanqing hesitated, then said: “If I tell you, will you spare me?”

He knew he was the fish on the chopping block—no leverage, only submission could save his life.

“You’ve misunderstood.” Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul spoke.

“What?” Wang Xuanqing’s soul fragment looked confused.

“I never intended to ask you.”

“Then how—”

Boom…

At that moment, a terrifying surge erupted from Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul.

“You… you…”

Then, Wang Xuanqing’s terrified scream rang out—next, a strange chewing sound echoed softly, fading into the quiet moonlit night.

… Midnight.

Yujing City, Fangshan.

The Wang family.

In the cold room, Wang Xuanqing lay on the bed, candles at his head and feet flickering weakly, nearly extinguished.

Standing beside the bed was a woman with a voluptuous figure, wearing denim shorts, silver bells dangling from her earlobes.

“Power can make one strong—and make one foolish.”

“He warned you: this power must never be seen. Yet you dared use it openly.”

Wang Xuanmiao gazed down at the dying Wang Xuanqing and shook her head.

“Can someone with your character cultivate the Dao? If you don’t die, who should?”

As she spoke, her slender, pale hand gently rested on Wang Xuanqing’s forehead—next, the two candles at his head and feet snuffed out simultaneously, and he ceased breathing entirely.

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Throughout, Wang Xuanmiao’s beautiful face showed no expression; she glanced coldly at the lifeless Wang Xuanqing, then stepped out of the room.

“Did you kill him?”

Outside the door, Wang Xuansha stood with arms crossed, leaning against the wall, as if he had been waiting a long time.

“I merely saw him on his final journey. Such a living corpse is only suffering.” Wang Xuanmiao spoke indifferently.

“You were close to him. Who have you been meeting lately?”

“Third brother, what are you talking about?” Wang Xuanmiao remained impassive, offering only a faint smile that made her seem harmless: “I wasn’t close to him at all.”

“Sending him on his way was Father’s wish too.”

“If you want others not to know, don’t do it yourself,” Wang Xuansha said sternly. “You’d better behave.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, third brother.”

Wang Xuanmiao walked past Wang Xuansha, her beautiful eyes sparking with defiance: “If third brother disapproves of me, feel free to teach me a lesson—I’ll take it.”

With these words, Wang Xuanmiao paused slightly, then laughed lightly: “If third brother won’t act, then I’ll take my leave first.”

Saying this, she turned and left, her light, dismissive footsteps echoing down the deep corridor.

…

At this moment, deep within the Wang family mansion.

In a sealed, dim room, the air was thick with the pungent stench of medicine.

Inside a large glass container filled with emerald-green liquid, bubbles rose continuously; at the bottom lay piles of jagged white bones, unidentifiable as any animal.

A broken body floated and sank within the emerald liquid.

It was a man—his lower half long gone, a portion of his lower abdomen missing, his right arm severed, leaving only his left. Dark, pitch-black energy surged and writhed like poison through the wounds.

Such a being could no longer be called human; any ordinary person would have died long ago.

“You’re here again.”

At that moment, a figure stood before the glass container; the broken body inside spoke in a hoarse voice.

“I came to see you.”

The middle-aged man, his face stern, stared at the glass container filled with emerald liquid and spoke gravely.

“Now that you’re master of the Wang family, you rarely come to see me.”

The hoarse voice spoke again, laced with mockery.

Wang Zhenyu’s gaze sharpened slightly; after a brief silence, he said: “Among the Wang family’s third generation, you were the most gifted. Had you not chosen the wrong side back then, you might have become like Xiong Sanqi…”

Wang Zhenhuang—once a formidable name in Yujing City—now, who still remembered his name!?

“Old history—why dredge it up? That man spared my life, which proves he’s still human…”

“As long as he’s human, he has flaws.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the lone remaining eye of the broken body inside the glass container slowly closed, his thoughts instantly returning to the first time he met that man.

That year, he led several fellow Wang clan members and disciples of the Xiong family to Xijiang Province, among them Xiong Sanqi.

Back then, Xiong Sanqi was an obscure, unknown branch disciple—little more than a bag-carrier.

They crossed provinces, climbed countless mountains and rivers, slaying demons and ghosts along the way, their cultivation advancing steadily—he stood out as the brightest among them, unmatched in reputation.

Until one day, the group arrived at an unnamed small mountain. After winding paths, they discovered an ancient, rustic Daoist temple.

The place was utterly deserted, with no incense offerings.

Inside the temple, only three sticks of incense burned; the altar did not enshrine the Three Pure Ones or the Jade Emperor, but an unnamed clay statue—two faces on its head, formless and shapeless, hands in seal, blending with Grand Void.

“What god is this? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Someone voiced their confusion.

“Could it be a heretical cult?”

In ancient times, demons and monsters would impersonate gods, establishing heretical cults to steal human incense offerings.

This temple hidden in the mountains, untouched by human presence, was indeed suspicious.

“In this age, where are such demons?” Wang Zhenhuang shook his head.

Born into a great family, he possessed exceptional insight: ordinary demons and monsters could not withstand human incense, let alone impersonate divine beings.

In Daoist tradition, there’s an old saying: If it claims to be a god, it’s not of this world.

Now, in the Decline of the Dao, even Pure Yang had become legend—how could such demons still exist?

“That’s the Great Spirit Sect King.”

At that moment, a light, casual voice came from the corner.

Everyone turned to see a young man in a Daoist robe, his skin slightly dark, emerge barefoot—like a wild man of the mountains—yet his eyes glowed with an unusual brilliance.

“Who are you?”

“I’m the temple keeper,” the youth scratched his head, as if just waking, and replied calmly.

“Do you cultivate?”

Seeing him, the others laughed. Each of them came from cultivation great families, naturally feeling superior; to them, this mountain hermit was like a top-tier scholar encountering a graduate from a third-rate college.

“Daoist, who is this Great Spirit Sect King? I’ve never heard of him.”

“Lord of all spirits, Origin of all methods!” the youth gazed at the clay statue and said calmly.

“Huh!?”

Everyone froze, expressions filled with confusion.

“Gentlemen, entering here is fate—please donate some incense money,” the youth said, drawing another round of laughter.

“You can’t fool anyone with a fake god in this place.”

“Daoist, what’s your name?”

At that moment, from among the crowd, Xiong Sanqi—who had always been silent and unnoticed—spoke up.

“Name!?”

The youth paused slightly, then parted his lips and uttered four words.

“Great Spirit Sect King!”

Hum…

The past light faded; the broken body inside the glass container slowly opened its eyes.

“You didn’t come just to chat, did you?”

“The Wuwei Sect has risen again. Perhaps someone among my Wang family disciples…” Wang Zhenyu hesitated.

“Fated misfortune… those madmen of the Wuwei Sect couldn’t bear their loneliness after all.”

“Back then, when we hunted that man, Wuwei Sect’s experts were there too… I want to know what secret you revealed to them about him…”

“Why did he treat you like this?” Wang Zhenyu said gravely.

This was a past event: the Wang family’s once-great genius had once followed that man’s path—but at the most critical moment, he betrayed him, revealing the man’s greatest secret.

“After so many years, I might as well tell you.”

Inside the glass container, the broken body gritted its teeth and grinned: “It was a secret of cosmic scale—related to that man’s life and death…”

“Ten years ago, he was about to enter his fifth Eternal Night Tribulation.”

“That was the perfect chance to kill him!”

No sooner had the words ended than a shrill, mad laugh erupted from the giant glass container, causing the emerald liquid to boil violently.

(End of Chapter)

(End of chapter)