Chapter 210

"No one else? Did they abandon me and run off, or were they drawn away by something else?" Kang Wuhen muttered to himself, growing suspicious, but after a moment's thought, he cautiously asked the old monk:

"May I ask, Venerable One, how did Master Jialan originally arrange all of this?"

"It seems you still harbor some doubts about me. Very well—I'll explain briefly." The old monk smiled faintly and spoke calmly:

"In those days, Master Jialan, as a Nascent Soul cultivator, had an extraordinarily long lifespan of over a thousand years—but even so, his time eventually ran out, and death drew near."

"He had worked so hard to reach the Nascent Soul realm; how could he bear to abandon everything and fall back into the cycle of rebirth, becoming an ordinary mortal for countless lifetimes?"

"Fortunately, the greatest difference between Nascent Soul and Golden Core is the method of martial liberation—allowing the soul to carry a fragment of true awareness into reincarnation, seeking the possibility of awakening past memories in the next life."

"Thus, before his martial liberation, Master Jialan prepared this secluded realm for his reincarnated body."

"Whether it's me within this realm, or the maps and hidden treasures scattered throughout, all were meant to guide his reincarnated self here, so that all his cherished treasures could be delivered to his future self."

"Then what of the Jialan Key? How could Master Jialan be certain his reincarnated self would enter this realm?" Kang Wuhen couldn't help asking again.

"It's simple: since the Master deliberately chose martial liberation, he could roughly predict the region of his rebirth—otherwise, how could those keys have been so easily discovered by cultivation sects in Great Ming?"

"As for whether his reincarnated self could enter this realm, the Master made some preparations—but I don't know the exact methods. After all, I am merely a fragment of his spiritual imprint. Still, I suspect he also took a gamble." The old monk replied honestly.

"Then how do you know I am Master Jialan's reincarnated self? And what was the purpose of the spell you cast on me earlier?" Kang Wuhen nodded, then asked gravely.

"The spell I used earlier was the Soul-Calling Great Art—a secret technique left by the Master specifically for me. It transmits fragments of Master Jialan's memories stored within my spiritual imprint directly to the reincarnated self, helping it pierce the veil of the womb and reclaim that sliver of past awareness."

"As for how I knew you were the Master's reincarnated self—that's even simpler. Look closely."

As the old monk spoke, he reached into his sleeve once more and pulled out the prayer bead, holding it in one hand, murmuring a few Buddhist chants, then shaking it toward Kang Wuhen.

The next instant, the golden blood droplet within the bead flickered violently, pulsing bright and dim like a golden firefly, eerily strange.

Almost simultaneously, Kang Wuhen felt his blood boil—he flushed crimson, and a blood-marked rune faintly emerged between his brows.

Seeing this, the old monk smiled slightly and retracted the prayer bead.

"So that's it. If I assimilate this, you'll definitely take me to Master Jialan's treasure vault?" After his blood returned to normal, Kang Wuhen stared at the golden blood in the bead, pondered the old monk's words, found no flaw, and could no longer suppress his burning eagerness—he blurted out:

"Of course. Once you assimilate it, you become my master—the true Master Jialan. Everything here was always his." The old monk replied calmly.

"Fine. Give it to me. Tell me how to assimilate it. Life is about taking risks. With such a great opportunity before me, if I hesitate now, why bother cultivating at all? I'm in!" After a moment's deliberation, Kang Wuhen slapped his thigh and extended his hand toward the old monk.

"A wise decision, disciple! It seems I no longer need to wait any longer."

"Assimilating it is simple: crush it and swallow it whole, then activate your cultivation technique—it will automatically trigger your internal qi to assimilate it." The old monk murmured a Buddhist chant, then calmly handed the prayer bead over.

Having made his choice, Kang Wuhen no longer hesitated. He took the bead, brought it to his mouth, and crushed it firmly with his five fingers.

A single drop of golden blood fell into his mouth and was swallowed.

Immediately, Kang Wuhen sat cross-legged on the ground and began assimilating the golden blood.

The old monk stood silently beside him, waiting.

……

In a certain direction of the mountain range, over a dozen disciples from the Thousand Bamboo Sect and the Jin Gang Temple were gathered, attacking a nest of seven or eight beast creatures resembling pangolins.

Though not large in size, each beast was covered in thick armored scales; no matter the spell or artifact striking them, they left only superficial wounds, unable to truly injure the creatures.

Beneath a large tree behind them, several pale silver lingzhi mushrooms swayed gently in the wind.

Whenever someone tried to sneak toward the silver lingzhi, the beasts would charge recklessly, and despite the combined numbers of the two sects' disciples, they could not overcome the beasts for the time being.

A burly Jin Gang Temple monk, wielding a white, staff-like artifact that continuously slashed out white blade shadows at the beasts, suddenly paused, his ears twitching. He turned to a Qing-pao disciple of the Thousand Bamboo Sect and asked: "Brother, did you hear anything?"

"Hear what? I heard nothing," the Thousand Bamboo disciple replied, halting his sword attack, bewildered.

"No, something's approaching from afar—loud and heavy. Oh, I've trained a bit of the Heavenly Ear Secret Art; I can hear sounds from great distances." The burly monk shook his head, then pointed to a direction, his expression grave.

"What could it be? We've already scouted this area thoroughly. Most others have gone deeper into the mountains, and there shouldn't be many demonic cultivators here," the Thousand Bamboo disciple frowned.

Still, to be safe, he formed a hand seal, and wisps of white clouds curled around his body as he shot straight upward.

High in the sky, dozens of zhang above, the Thousand Bamboo disciple gazed toward the direction the Jin Gang monk had indicated.

But moments later, his face turned deathly pale, his lips trembling as he shouted down to the others:

"Run! Dozens of demonic airships are coming—over a hundred of them!"