Chapter 62: Chapter Sixty-Two: Slaying the Strange Snake

“All of it is poison mist?”

Lu Fang frowned.

Wang Teng nodded firmly:

I used righteous qi to dispel the poison mist and barely managed to hold my ground, but the mist inside is thick and viscous—I dare not enter to retrieve the Snake Spirit Grass, let alone confront the Strange Snake lurking in the shadows.

“I’ll go in and try!”

Lu Fang walked straight into the five-colored bubbles; after adapting to the sudden environmental shift, he found thick green mist everywhere before him, obscuring anything beyond three zhang.

No wonder Wang Teng dared not enter rashly—anyone seeing this would feel their heart tremble.

Lu Fang used righteous qi to clear the mist before him, heard the hiss of the Strange Snake’s tongue from afar, then raised both hands diagonally upward and clenched them tightly, beginning to charge the Strong Soul Strike: Azure Dragon’s Crescent Blade.

At the same time, peach blossoms fell from the sky like rain—the Song of Buried Flowers activated.

Found you!

Within the range of the Song of Buried Flowers, Lu Fang possessed special perception and locked onto the Strange Snake’s position.

The Strange Snake hissed in the poison mist, its ten-zhang-long, glossy, patterned body coiled around a withered tree trunk, its cold, vertical eyes glancing down at the “peach blossom ring,” then tightening its body in irritation.

Crack!

The tree trunk snapped.

This area was the Strange Snake’s territory; it had no patience for intruders.

Within the poison mist, even if a human’s presence is strong, prolonged entanglement will inevitably lead to poisoning and consumption.

The Strange Snake raised its flat, pointed head, hissing, its ten-zhang-long body slithering swiftly across the ground toward the human.

Without warning, the Strange Snake’s massive tail swept toward the human—but the human dodged.

Boom!

The tree trunks along its path all snapped.

“Soul Weapon—Azure Dragon’s Crescent Blade!”

Lu Fang’s eyes sharpened; as he retreated, he unleashed his ten-soul-force Strong Soul Strike, slashing forward.

With a sonic boom, the blade qi split the viscous green mist.

The Strange Snake was about to retract its tail but suddenly felt nothing—looked down and saw its body split in two, then only then opened its mouth in a roar of pain.

Clang! A sword’s song rang out.

A hundred brilliant sword lights pierced the poison mist, bathing the Strange Snake’s head…

At the same time, outside the five-colored bubble barrier.

He Zixuan arrived from afar, landing steadily, and teased Wang Teng: “You’re standing here—planning to go in and slay the Strange Snake?”

Wang Teng’s eyes rolled, grinning broadly:

“How could I possibly do it? If anyone can slay the Strange Snake and claim the Snake Spirit Grass, it’s you, Brother He—I know the mist inside is unbearable, not fit for humans, but I believe in you.”

He Zixuan glared at Wang Teng. “You really want me dead! I know better than you what’s inside—I didn’t come to enter. I heard the Marquis of Wenguan arrived here, so I came to see. Where is he?”

Wang Teng chuckled dryly, pointing at the five-colored bubble. “The Marquis of Wenguan is inside—he’ll be out soon. He’s been in for about a cup of tea’s time.”

The moment he finished speaking.

Lu Fang stepped out of the bubble barrier; the sweet, foul stench hit He Zixuan and Wang Teng—the two fat men, big and small—pinching their noses, they stepped back in unison.

“Are you alright?”

“Marquis of Wenguan, do you need a detox pill? I still have some.”

Lu Fang shook his head, walking toward a rock. “No, just some poison mist on my clothes—I’ll change into a new robe.”

He Zixuan gave a bitter smile. “If even you couldn’t handle the Strange Snake, no one can claim the Snake Spirit Grass. What a pity.”

Wang Teng immediately praised Lu Fang: “Only the Marquis of Wenguan could do it—anyone else wouldn’t even last long inside, let alone stay this long—”

His voice cut off abruptly!

Pop! The five-colored bubble shattered.

Wang Teng’s lips trembled; he instinctively dashed away.

He Zixuan reacted faster, already dragging his quivering fat body farther away, terrified of inhaling the poison.

With the bubble barrier gone, He Zixuan and Wang Teng finally saw clearly—uh… both froze. Where was the poison mist?

No!

Not gone—just gathered by the vortex of righteous qi, now swirling upward toward the southern sky as the barrier vanished.

What happened?

He Zixuan and Wang Teng stared at each other, both seeing confusion in the other’s eyes.

“I killed the Strange Snake.” Lu Fang stepped out wearing a deep blue Confucian robe, clenched his fists, and said in surprise:

“The Snake Spirit is truly miraculous—this level of poison could be neutralized instantly, leaving me completely unharmed, and my physique even feels stronger.”

In truth, even without the Snake Spirit’s detox effect, he wasn’t afraid.

The scent of scholarship was a “universal antidote”—consume enough of it, and no poison, no matter how potent, could harm him.

Wang Teng’s face twitched uncontrollably. “Marquis of Wenguan, you were inside only half a cup of tea’s time?”

“About that,” Lu Fang replied offhandedly, glancing curiously at He Zixuan. “Brother He, did you come looking for me? Is there something?”

He Zixuan swallowed hard, forcing a stiff smile onto his round face, shaking his head rapidly. “I was just passing by.”

Lu Fang bowed slightly. “Then if there’s nothing, I’ll take my leave.” With that, he shot into the sky as a streak of light.

Watching Lu Fang depart, Wang Teng shuddered, stunned:

“The Marquis of Wenguan is seventh rank, second stage—and this strong? He slew a Strange Snake in a sea of poison mist, even—”

He Zixuan’s mouth tasted bitter. “He did it in a cup of tea’s time. I knew he was strong—very strong—but this is absurd.”

The two fat men sat dejectedly in place for a long while before finally glaring at each other and going their separate ways.

…

A chaotic scattering of stone pillars stretched for miles—each built from irregular boulders stacked wider at the base, narrower at the top; some had collapsed, littering the ground with small stones.

At the center, a hundred-zhang-wide spatial rift yawned open, shimmering with a network of mysterious light like a gaping abyssal maw.

A young Confucian in blue robes rode the wind toward them, narrow eyes fixed on the entrance to the Ancient Land, his expression hesitant, brow furrowed as he muttered:

“There are bubble barriers formed from traces of ancient human sages—perhaps ancient divine arts lie within.”

The Confucian was Song Ce; when Pei Kuang and others came to bolster their clan’s fortune with the Kun, he chose self-preservation.

Yesterday, from a message talisman, he learned the situation inside from a friend, and his mind churned like a cat’s claws.

“No tiger’s den, no tiger’s cub?” Song Ce made his decision—just as he moved to enter the Ancient Land, a Bagua ball shot toward him.

The Bagua ball dissolved; a young Daoist with a stern expression stepped out. “Is this the entrance to the Ancient Land?”

“Brother Lingxiao,” Song Ce greeted warmly, bowing. “Yes, this is the entrance—but beyond lies the Divine People’s territory, where you’ll be suppressed. Why not travel together? We can watch each other’s backs…”

Lingxiao sneered, ignored Song Ce entirely, and flew into the Ancient Land.