Chapter 929: Overlooking the Splendor of Myriad Realms

After returning, Wei Yuan did not pause for a moment and went straight to see Zhang Sheng.

Zhang Sheng had been quietly reading the Daoist canon in his room; seeing Wei Yuan enter through the door, his face showed no surprise, as if this were merely a daily routine—but the book in his hand suddenly slipped to the floor.

Wei Yuan felt moved, having long seen through Zhang Sheng’s cold exterior to the deep concern beneath; he stepped forward, wanting to say something, yet found nothing worth saying—now seemed the wrong moment for any words.

The two stood in silence; after a moment, Zhang Sheng rose, fetched a robe from the wardrobe, and handed it to Wei Yuan: “Put this on first, to cover yourself?”

Wei Yuan stared in shock, looked down, and realized his entire body was naked, glowing with five-colored light from head to toe.

Only then did he remember: he had escaped through the Molten Dragon’s portal and wandered the void for over a month—how could any of his robes or magic artifacts have survived? Only the [Compassion] could be absorbed within his body, preserving him alone.

Yet instead of dressing, Wei Yuan stepped forward and pulled Zhang Sheng tightly into his arms.

In that embrace, Wei Yuan lost himself, naturally applying force and leaning forward—then he felt Zhang Sheng like a supple stalk of straw, unable to bear any pressure, collapsing instantly beneath him.

With a crash, the floor shattered; the two plunged through it into the basement. The basement floor offered no resistance, shattered instantly, and they fell into the chamber below. Amid dust and thunder, they plunged again, embedding themselves deep into the lowest layer of bedrock before finally stopping.

Earth and stone flew everywhere, dust thickened the air.

Fortunately, Wei Yuan had realized the moment the first floor cracked—he spread his elbows, shielding Zhang Sheng’s fragile body with his arms.

Wei Yuan looked up at the human-shaped holes above and exclaimed: “How many years have passed here? How have the buildings rotted to this state? Your… your cultivation base?!”

Zhang Sheng gave Wei Yuan a withering look, summoned strength to her fingertip, and pinched his ribs hard—but it felt like gripping a slick jade stone, utterly immovable; Wei Yuan didn’t even feel it.

She sighed, releasing a sliver of sword qi that lightly pierced him—yet it only left a faint white mark. She tried a higher-grade sword qi; this time it pierced through. Then Wei Yuan cried out: “What bit me?”

“I stabbed you with sword qi,” Zhang Sheng snapped, then jabbed him again: “Let me up!”

Wei Yuan rose, carefully helping Zhang Sheng to her feet, then prepared to leap to the ground—but as he pushed off, his foot sank straight into the floor; instead of rising, he sank deeper.

Wei Yuan stared at the deep blue-green rock beneath his foot and frowned: “Why has even the realm’s bedrock rotted?” He bent down, grabbed a handful—and it crumbled like mud, turning to dust between his fingers.

Again came the sensation of mosquito bites—he saw Zhang Sheng’s fingertip emitting sword qi, poking and prodding him everywhere. Watching most of the sword qi merely scratch his skin, Wei Yuan finally realized: the problem lay with himself.

Only now did Wei Yuan notice his body had changed drastically since he left. He had spent so long among the Wild Realm and the Li Wu, then daily with the Molten Dragon—a being whose flesh neared immortality—that he had ignored his own transformation. The change had been subtle: from once avoiding sunlight, to now seeking it daily.

Zhang Sheng patted Wei Yuan: “Your spiritual sense seems faulty. Don’t move. I’ll take you up. We’ll talk once we’re above.”

She seized him and leapt upward, finally reaching the first floor—but in that leap, she used seven or eight-tenths of her strength, as if lifting ten thousand jin.

Wei Yuan felt Zhang Sheng was unusually fragile now—like a slender reed, collapsing at the slightest touch, easily crushed by even minor force.

Zhang Sheng looked at the gaping hole in the floor, led Wei Yuan to the main hall—where no underground space existed—and finally asked him about his experiences.

Wei Yuan briefly recounted his past months, then said: “...I finally retrieved the Dao Sword. Your path is now complete.”

He pointed, and the Molten Dragon appeared in the room, holding the Dao Sword, standing still.

Now, the Molten Dragon looked like an ordinary man with a strange, ancient face—nothing else set him apart. The Dao Sword was plain. The Wu was plain.

Seeing the Molten Dragon now, Wei Yuan felt disoriented—he remembered entering the void with him, but he hadn’t looked like this then. Back then… hadn’t he had a dragon’s head?

Yet Wei Yuan’s memory was hazy—he could no longer clearly recall the Molten Dragon’s original form. His heart tightened; he realized this might be because the Molten Dragon’s original karmic ties were dissolving across the myriad worlds.

Zhang Sheng stared at the Molten Dragon, her expression growing grave.