Chapter 56: Chapter Fifty-Six: They

Hundreds, thousands, even tens of thousands of human residual spirits appeared in layered stacks, their collective shouts echoing across the heavens.

“Fight for the survival of the human race, fight for the future of our descendants.”

Spots of light!

Each residual spirit’s fortune was no larger than a needle’s tip, yet ten thousand such needles rose like hot-air balloons—how magnificent and awe-inspiring!

Jiu-jiu-jiu…

One by one, the fortunes of the residual spirits merged into the ancestral Kun of the human race, swelling its destiny.

Wu-wu-wu…

The ancestral Kun let out a joyful cry; its body swelled rapidly, growing from dozens of zhang to a hundred zhang in the time it took to drink a cup of tea, far outpacing the ancestral Kun of the demonic barbarians behind it.

Lu Fang swung his arms fiercely—he had done it!

He had saved the human race’s ancestral Kun from being devoured.

“The Fortune Stele!”

Snow Luo Sha, tears glistening in her eyes, pointed forward with a smile.

There, at the center of the ancestral Kun, an ancient weathered stele rose—nine chi tall, three chi wide, its blue stone surface inscribed with the words “Fortune Stele,” and before it stood a grand brush steeped in the aura of time.

“Lu Brother! Try writing the imagery phrase you just used!”

He Zixuan exclaimed excitedly.

Lu Fang had already risen and walked to the Fortune Stele, picking up the grand brush and writing on its surface: “Drunk, I lift the lamp to gaze at my sword; in dreams I return to the camp where horns sound. Eight hundred li of meat is shared among the troops; fifty strings play the sounds of the frontier; on the autumn battlefield, soldiers are mustered…”

The characters were like iron strokes and silver hooks, sinking deep into the stone.

Snow Luo Sha was about to clap and praise—when she suddenly froze.

The imagery phrase Lu Fang had just written faded like a shadow, as if the Fortune Stele rejected it.

“What’s going on? According to the texts, writing poetry, verse, or elegant prose on the Fortune Stele should all strengthen the ancestral Kun!”

He Zixuan said, baffled.

Lu Fang remained silent. He didn’t know where the problem lay—the Tian Dao of the Lesser Upper Realm was incomplete; it shouldn’t have any restrictions!

But why was this happening?

Just as the atmosphere grew heavy.

From behind came the mocking laugh of the Golden-Haired Demon Ape: “Marquis of Literary Crown! You don’t seriously believe any random poem can strengthen the ancestral Kun, do you?”

“If that were true, your human ancestral Kun would’ve been devoured long ago.”

“That fat man must’ve read some absurd record—he’s going to make me die laughing.”

The mockery was spoken.

But the demonic barbarians’ mood grew even heavier.

A group of demonic barbarians gathered before the Fortune Stele, racking their brains.

Originally, they didn’t need the Fortune Stele’s aid to devour the human ancestral Kun—but after Lu Fang summoned the human residual spirits, that was no longer possible.

They must now use the Fortune Stele to swell their own fortune.

A wave of demonic qi severed the surrounding sounds.

“Little Brother Yuan, you’ve been studying this broken stele for days. If poetry and verse won’t work, then what will?”

Baijing Hu—Hu Feng asked.

The Golden-Haired Demon Ape lowered his voice and said:

“According to our ancestors’ records, poetry and verse can be written on the Fortune Stele—but to resonate with this realm, you must write of heaven, earth, and the spirit of your race!”

“The theme must be right!”

“I’ve combed through every classic—there’s not a single record of success.”

“So the above is merely speculation.”

“To use the Fortune Stele to swell fortune is impossibly difficult—some would say it’s utterly impossible.”

Chi Jue frowned: “So you’re saying neither side can devour the other? We can’t swallow the human ancestral Kun at all?”

“Exactly!” The Golden-Haired Demon Ape nodded, smiling lightly. “Don’t be so grim—this is greatly in our favor.”

“How so?”

Baijing Hu asked, puzzled.

The Golden-Haired Demon Ape smiled, sweeping his hand across the surrounding demonic barbarians:

“If neither ancestral Kun can devour the other, they’ll both collapse automatically within fifteen days. Then, with our numbers, we’ll unite and slaughter the humans—their fortune becomes ours.”

With that said!

All the demonic barbarians cheered!

The Golden-Haired Demon Ape glanced ahead slightly and smiled:

“The Marquis of Literary Crown on the human ancestral Kun has written several poems—yet they’ve done nothing. He’s pulling his hair out in frustration. Let’s pick a few loud ones to keep shouting insults—keep him from concentrating…”

The suggestion was immediately met with agreement.

Thus, a scene emerged: teams of over a dozen demonic barbarians gathered before the head of the ancestral Kun, emitting piercing “noise!”

Lu Fang tried blocking it with his righteous qi—but found it couldn’t effectively block penetrating sound, so he withdrew the righteous qi barrier.

Sunset fell, night arrived.

The entire day passed amid the clamor.

The next day’s sun rose high!

The demonic barbarians kept shouting insults!

Lu Fang had pondered all night; overexertion had sunken his eyes and sprouted stubble on his chin. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore—he stormed to the tail of the ancestral Kun.

“Spiritual Soul: Mighty Roar!”

Zhang Yide suddenly appeared.

“Don’t you know you all have halitosis? Your mouths smell like dead fish left for ten days! What? Can’t match us, so you attack with bad breath?”

“Carrying around a big dog’s head—aren’t you happy I’m not cursing you bastards?”

“That monkey! That tiger! And that four-armed freak—you three are the elite of the demonic barbarian clans? Don’t make me laugh. To be blunt—I could take each of you one-on-one and piss on you!”

“Stare all you want—I’ll pluck out your eyeballs and step on them like balloons…”

With the supernatural power of the Spiritual Soul: Mighty Roar, Lu Fang’s shouts drowned out the enemy’s voices with crushing force.

He Zixuan stood dumbfounded.

Snow Luo Sha and Shui Yao also gaped with open mouths.

…The Marquis of Literary Crown of Da Zhou truly stands apart—not only is his combat strength formidable and his literary talent superb, but even his cursing is unmatched.

Every demonic barbarian with a name was personally cursed by Lu Fang.

Instantly, the offended ones joined the shouting ranks—ten or so couldn’t drown out the Marquis? Could four hundred demonic barbarians not drown him out?

Some even went further, gesturing wildly!

Suddenly, Lu Fang fell silent. He grinned, pointed forward with a finger, and sneered: “You’re a bunch of idiots!”

“Hm?” The Golden-Haired Demon Ape frowned, raised his arm, and as the demonic barbarians behind him fell silent, he twitched his ears, then widened his eyes in shock: “No good! He’s deliberately drawing our attention…”

Before he could finish speaking,

The human ancestral Kun flew over a dense forest—when from hidden spots emerged individuals, flying toward the ancestral Kun’s back.

One… two…

Twenty… twenty-one…

Twenty-two people!

Moments ago, the demonic barbarians had grinned, thinking they’d drowned out the Marquis. Now, their faces turned ashen.

They’d thought they’d provoked the Marquis into losing his dignity and shouting like a madman.

They hadn’t realized it was all a ruse.

And they’d been foolish enough not to know it.