Chapter 572: Try the New Divine Art

Luo Gong’s son had reigned for over a decade, and his time had come to an end.

That day, Lin Jue accompanied Luo Gong to the imperial palace, standing atop the clouds, gazing down.

Lin Jue asked Luo Gong whether he should reveal himself below.

Luo Gong shook his head and sighed.

“The predecessors still live, yet their successors keep passing away. If I appear before them now, the contrast would only deepen their sorrow. I’ll use the Empress’s power to send him a dream, and see him off within it.”

Lin Jue nodded, saying nothing more.

He recalled many years ago, when Luo Gong had shared with him, his old friend, the joy of a newborn son—back then, there was no struggle between emperor and crown prince, only the pure joy of fatherhood.

Even imperial families have kinship.

Especially before leaving that dragon throne.

It was hard to imagine Luo Gong’s feelings now; even “eternal life and long vision” seemed a curse at this moment.

Soon, chaos erupted within the palace below.

Someone shouted the emperor had passed, others rushed to summon the crown prince, some wept loudly, while others noticed the old emperor’s faint look of relief and smile.

Before death, he had murmured, calling out “Father.”

Thus, rumors spread that the founding emperor, who had followed the immortals, had returned to escort him.

This was indeed true—

When distant, faint music drifted on the wind, a procession invisible to mortals passed through walls: hundreds of yin officers, yin officials arriving in person, granting the mortal emperor his final dignity. Lin Jue, Fu Yao, and Luo Gong stood nearby, personally seeing him off—startling the yin officers and officials.

“The emperor is dead; he is no longer ruler. The Dao is clear: all the dead enter reincarnation—that is law. By agreement, a mortal emperor’s merits and faults are erased upon death. Rest easy on your journey.”

The emperor ruled mortals; thus, his merits, faults, fortune, power, and status all belonged to his lifetime. Once dead, all were erased.

The yin officials did not fear the dead emperor.

The gods no longer feared them either.

Yet dignity remained.

The aged emperor boarded the procession; the yin officers and officials bowed to him. He glanced several times at Luo Gong, then passed through the wall and vanished.

“Though this emperor lacked Luo Gong’s iron will, he upheld the realm and legacy you left—your principles, your dignity. He kept your letters, even as gods sent disasters, court intrigue festered, and border rebellions flared. He held firm. He was a worthy keeper of the throne.”

Lin Jue said to Luo Gong.

“Mm.” Luo Gong nodded helplessly. “Growing old makes one sentimental.”

“It’s the same for all.”

“Let’s return.”

“You go first, Luo Gong. While you were sending him the dream, I received a message from Chen Niu—someone is calling me.” Lin Jue smiled slightly. “I must go see.”

“Alright.”

The thundercloud split into two: one carried Luo Gong toward Fengshan, the other bore Lin Jue and the fox eastward.

…

In the war-torn east.

Yin energy and resentment had coalesced into dark clouds, blocking even sunlight. By day, bitter winds moaned; by night, ghosts wailed and wolves howled. Minor demons and spirits emerged endlessly, making life impossible for nearby villagers.

Yet this land was remote and frigid—a place of exile. Its people were either criminals or descendants of criminals, bound to serve and guard here, destined to die here, never to leave.

Local officials and villagers begged high adepts like lifelines. Taoist Master and his disciples were helpless, so they turned to the True Person.

A Chen Niu talisman burned to ash.

Less than an hour later, the heavens shifted.

Amidst the gloomy, hazy sky, a thundercloud appeared—purple-red lightning flickered, thunder roared, and its mere aura shattered the courage of the demons below.

Where had these yin clouds and dark mists come from?

The cloud-dwelling Daoist swept his sleeve—the heavens erupted in gales. Within the gales, pure qi surged, effortlessly sweeping away all yin clouds and dark mists.

Even the proper layers of clouds above were banished.

Part the clouds and mist, and light appears.

Before the eyes of countless local officials and villagers, the clouds parted, revealing the long-absent azure sky. Bright sunlight poured down, brightening and refreshing the entire land. The warmth on their faces stirred a primal emotion—amidst this scene, they were awestruck, their hearts eased, nearly weeping.

The warmth gave a primal sense of emotion; added to this place, this moment, it was both heart-shaking and a relief to their hearts, making them even more moved, nearly to tears.

Lin Jue swept his sleeve again.

Without clouds to block them, the sunlight grew fiercer, its heat rising sharply—even in winter, it carried the warmth of summer, melting the snow.

The world filled with supreme yang and stern energy, rapidly dissolving the yin and resentment.

When done, the thundercloud drifted away.

Below, officials and villagers were baffled—they knew thunderclouds didn’t appear in deep winter, and that the two Daoists had burned talismans to cause this celestial marvel. They bowed in gratitude, but the two Daoists stared upward, murmuring thanks to the True Person.

The officials and commoners below were puzzled; they knew that in the dead of winter, thunderclouds never appeared, and that the two Daoists had burned talismans to summon this celestial phenomenon, so they bowed in gratitude—but only the two Daoists looked up, staring at that direction, murmuring, “Farewell, Zhenren.”

In the southern droughtlands.

With Cai Lingyu’s current cultivation, he was a rare high adept in the mortal world, especially after ten years of wandering the south, where he had gained renown. It was natural for officials and villagers to beg him for help.

Yet he was no talisman Daoist—he could not commune with spirits, nor did he know any spirits who controlled wind, rain, or water. He had no place to ask, no channel to appeal.

He did know a few spirits, including the Empress, who often visited Fengshan—she was a high-ranking spirit of the south. He had hoped to rely on divine aid, but when he burned incense and begged her, her reply confirmed his suspicion—

He knew several deities, one of whom, Lady Yuanjun, often visited Fengshan—she was a southern deity of high rank. Normally, having a god on your side made things easier, but when he burned incense and begged her for aid, her reply confirmed his earlier suspicion—

“Heaven’s will” had two meanings:

The drought was natural law—that was Heaven’s will.

Such a massive drought required divine power to redirect water, but there was no water to redirect—no rivers, no lakes nearby. To draw water from distant flood zones to balance rainfall would demand the Water Deities of the Nine Heavens—not merely the Jade Mirror Emperor’s spirits, but the highest authorities. Only the Purple Emperor could decide that. So it was Heaven’s will.

Such a massive drought required divine power to redirect water, but there was no water to redirect; everywhere around was dry, so there was no way to draw water from abundant or flood-stricken regions to balance the rain and wind. To pull water from extreme distances would require more than just the deities under Jade Mirror Emperor’s command—it would take the Celestial Water Ministry’s True Gods, and only the Purple Emperor could authorize that—so it was Heaven’s will.

As he informed Chen Niu, he explained the disaster in full detail, including both interpretations of Heaven’s will, and hinted that the Purple Emperor might be suppressing southern spirits to force the True Person’s intervention.

So detailed was his account that Chen Niu looked bewildered, and Cai Lingyu doubted Chen Niu could carry all of it back.

After sending Chen Niu, he waited.

But no reply came.

He began to wonder: perhaps because he had explained everything so thoroughly, Chen Niu had delivered it all—and because the matter was complex and feared the Purple Emperor, the True Person had chosen not to act.

He even began to wonder: perhaps precisely because he explained it in such detail, Chen Niu had taken every word back, and because the matter was complex and feared the Purple Emperor, the Zhenren had chosen not to act.

At that very moment, eight hundred li away, the Wei Shui River suddenly split into a tributary.

The tributary flowed through valleys, crossed lowlands, and passed through barren land between villages. The earth itself seemed to obey it—high ground sank, stones vanished, deep depressions rose, and overly flat areas naturally formed riverbeds.

Eight hundred li—countless villagers and officials were stunned.

Local mountain and land spirits could not stop it; they all reported upward. The Wei Shui River Spirit responded slowly—even when summoned by the Purple Emperor, he did not reply immediately. In one night, Wei Shui’s water reached this land.

Cai Lingyu’s plea for water spread swiftly through the region, even recorded in local histories.

He was slow to react—even when the Purple Emperor summoned him, he did not respond immediately; by dawn, the waters of Wei Shui had reached here.

In the western frontier, a magnificent sunset witnessed a great battle.

Wan Xinrong held a lantern in one hand, a lightning sword in the other. Using the technique “Turn Stone into General,” he nearly demolished half the mountain ahead.

In its place lay shattered rocks and over a dozen stone giants, each towering several zhang high.

Wan Xinrong held a lantern in one hand and the Thunderlight Sword in the other; using the technique “Turn Stone into General,” he nearly tore half of the mountain ahead apart.

A colossal black smoke, like a dragon, surged upward, then reversed, crashing down with thunderous force, hidden by the dusk.

Wan Xinrong inhaled deeply and blew.

The massive black smoke, like a dragon, had just surged into the sky, then reversed direction and crashed downward with a thunderous roar, its form hard to discern beneath the dusk’s veil.

A torrent of fire, equally dragon-like, illuminated the earth, rivaling the western sky in brilliance.

The black smoke and infernal flame collided and dissolved each other.

A stench of blood filled the air.

At that moment, more black smoke gathered behind him, forming several wolf-bear shapes, again hidden by dusk, lunging at Wan Xinrong.

They expected surprise—but Wan Xinrong, holding his lantern, turned as if seeing behind him. Golden light erupted from his body as he spun, swinging his left lantern first—smashing one black wolf into dust. His right short sword, crackling with lightning, slashed at the black bear’s claw.

At that moment, more black smoke gathered behind him, coalescing into the shapes of several wolf-bears, also hidden by the dusk, lunging toward Wan Xinrong.

The sword struck only the claw—but lightning surged along it, racing across the black bear’s body, outlining its shape.

Boom! The bear shattered into dust!

As the remaining wolf-bears lunged and the dragon-black smoke charged again, Wan Xinrong plunged straight into the earth.

The short sword struck only the claws, but the lightning surged along the black giant bear’s claws, flashing across its body and outlining its silhouette.

The stone giants marched forward, smashing each black shadow with a single hammer blow. Only when they saw blood on the giants’ fists did they realize: these shadows were not beasts, but swarms of tiny black insects—crushed, they bled.

Another dragon-black smoke roared toward them. Even the stone giants, if struck, shattered into rubble.

No matter—there were stones everywhere, and half the mountain still stood. He could gather more.

This was, in essence, a mortal confronting a god.

But mortals were still mortals—

When the demonic cultivator in this land erupted in rage, the sky filled with blood-red smoke, blood insects swarmed, the stench overwhelmed, and the earth trembled, oozing dark blood. Though not as mighty as the Eastern Queen Mother’s power, it was beyond Wan Xinrong’s strength—even earth-diving could not save him.

This was, in effect, a mortal confronting a deity.

Wan Xinrong had no choice—he used the Unbound Technique, transforming into a breeze, dancing through the air, dodging black smoke strikes, occasionally manifesting to blow sparks into the sky, colliding with countless blood insects.

Suddenly, a massive hand formed from blood insects descended—vast as a cloud.

“Peng…”

Wan Xinrong could only invoke the Unrestrained Art, transforming into a gentle wind that danced through the air, now dodging impacts from black smoke, now manifesting to blow forth a sky full of sparks, colliding with countless blood worms.

Suddenly, a giant hand formed from blood worms slammed down, as vast as a cloud.

Wan Xinrong was blasted out of the wind and landed on the ground.

The palace lantern and thunder sword both fell from his hands, one glowing with sparks, the other flashing with lightning.

“Some skill…”

Wan Xinrong wiped blood from his lip and rose again from the dark, blood-smeared earth: “But compared to the Eastern Queen Mother, you’re still far behind!”

The wind howled through the air as the blood-red hand struck down once more!

Wan Xinrong’s entire body turned to stone, protected by golden light, while both the palace lantern and thunder sword flew up and returned to his grasp.

Countless sparks shot upward like a fallen galaxy, like the most brilliant fireflies in the world; all the thunder accumulated within the thunder sword was released at once, illuminating the earth in alternating hues of yellow and bluish-white, blending with the dreamlike, shifting auroras on the horizon to form a wondrous scene of the Western lands.

On the wasteland, a lone wolf lifted its head, gazing toward this place; as it puzzled, its eyes turned again and saw a sacred, graceful seven-tailed white fox stepping through the sky from afar.

Lin Jue arrived first, riding the thundercloud.

The demon below had grown fierce, silent, and launched a massive black smoke directly at him.

“Go.”

The thundercloud vanished instantly.

The Daoist did not dodge or defend—he simply stood where he was.

The black smoke surged forward, arriving in the blink of an eye.

This black smoke drained the demon’s full strength; as it swept over Lin Jue, even a body that had achieved true enlightenment was swiftly worn away to nothing.

In less than a breath, the Daoist was reduced to ashes.

“Hmph!”

A scornful cold chuckle echoed from the distant mountains.

“True Immortal?”

“Hm?”

Wan Xinrong and the fox were both startled and doubtful.

Before the next instant, the Daoist reappeared in the same spot, as if returning from annihilation; whether the attack had been weaker or stronger, it made no difference to him.

The profound mystery of the Dao in that instant was sensed by the demon in the distant mountains, and just that one moment made him deeply wary.

The Daoist simply pulled out twelve beans and tossed them casually, transforming them into twelve flying swords:

“Go, cut him down.”

Thin threads of sunset light suddenly slashed through the night sky.