Chapter 469

Hongjing Tian, Moyu Continent—

Having set out from Xuhuang Tian, he passed through several gateways, traversed multiple celestial realms, and after half a year, finally arrived at Hongjing Tian, setting foot upon Moyu Continent.

Even during his time in Yuchen, he had heard of this savage celestial realm’s fearsome reputation; now seeing it firsthand, he found the tales well-deserved.

Hongjing Tian consists of four continents: Moyu, Liyang, Sheyin, and Faxi—the most exalted among them.

Yet if one sought the true orthodox Xuanmen lineage, the immortal sects that shielded billions of mortal lives, across all four continents, only one remained: Tianchi Sect, rooted in Liyang Continent, no others.

The other three continents were havens for demonic cultivators, yin ghosts, and monstrous aberrations.

Faxi Continent, once the ancestral seat of the Five-Colored Peacock clan, had long since changed hands after the collapse of the Dao Court; now, its dominion belonged to several distant clans of Heavenly Demon Kings.

In terms of tyrannical cruelty, they surpassed even the Five-Colored Peacocks; even Tianchi Sect dared not directly challenge them!

This was only because Tianchi Sect had recently gained aid from several outer celestial sects, including Yuchen, and after expelling the Southern Sky Demon Kingdom, fully unified Liyang Continent, securing ample spiritual energy and exotic elixirs to nurture its disciples and strengthen its foundation.

Had it been during the time Tianchi Sect still faced off against the Southern Sky Demon Kingdom, this immortal sect had been forced to bow its head to the Heavenly Demon Kings, bribing their envoys with lavish gifts to avoid disturbance.

One could imagine that under such circumstances, Hongjing Tian was a realm of chaotic demons dancing, heaven and earth scarred and wounded.

Even nearby lands and dimensional spaces suffered greatly, unable to escape.

Before arriving at Moyu Continent, Chen Hang had first gone to the nearby Quantu Realm.

He had intended to use Quantu’s gateway to reach Liyang Continent, for Tianchi Sect was now a formidable power, and many Yuchen bloodlines still thrived there.

Xie Yingyuan, who had once assassinated him, had once brought the Xie family’s Ninety-Nine Turtle-Snake Stakes to this realm, shattered the Buddhist demon siege, and preserved the Yuchen bloodlines here, earning him fame.

Given the ties between Tianchi Sect and Yuchen, he assumed that upon reaching Liyang Continent, he could leverage the sect’s power and its Yuchen disciples to inquire about the location of Huiying Mountain, as spoken of by Kongkong Daoist.

After countless changes of sea and land, Huiying Mountain had long since been renamed and altered in appearance.

Or perhaps it had been utterly shattered in past calamities, its records lost.

Throughout his journey, Chen Hang had uncovered not a single trace of this mountain.

Yet upon reaching Quantu’s gateway, before he could proceed to Liyang Continent, he was suddenly surrounded by a horde of ambush-dwelling Heavenly Demon soldiers.

After Chen Hang slew thousands of demons who dared to charge first, the rest finally understood his might; even several demon generals could not restrain their troops, and they scattered in panic.

Later, he captured several demon generals and used Netherworld True Water to cloud their minds, learning that the Southern Sky Demon Kingdom, now backed by the Heavenly Demon Kings, had armed itself and resumed hostilities against Tianchi Sect.

Both sides fought fiercely over the final control of Liyang Continent, and the demons and evil spirits of Hongjing Tian took full advantage, flooding neighboring worlds to slaughter and destroy at will, tampering with the gateways to allow entry but forbid exit, lying in wait to ambush outsiders.

Before Chen Hang could extract more information, another boundless horde of Heavenly Demons surged forth like swarming flies.

Amidst the sky, a thunderous voice boomed, shaking mountains and rivers; when he looked, he saw the sect masters of this realm locked in fierce battle with several Great Heavenly Demons.

After assisting them in exterminating those Great Heavenly Demons and quelling the demonic calamity, he learned the gateways had been destroyed, and from local cultivators that Tianchi Sect had deployed its elite forces, activating the “Chenhuo Yuanji Runyu Great Array.”

The entire Liyang Continent was now shielded by a rigid fire barrier, completely cut off from outside.

After deliberation, Chen Hang decided to use a Dimensional Transit Spindle to pierce through the void; though he encountered several vacuum calamities along the way, he ultimately landed on Moyu Continent.

Now, having gathered his thoughts, Chen Hang gazed at the towering, cloud-piercing mountains before him—vast, jagged peaks, towering cliffs stacked high.

The bizarre, precipitous forms defied description; not a single city or village could be seen, nor even the faintest trace of birds or beasts.

He channeled his magic power, swept his sleeve across his face, and instantly transformed into a massive jet-black eagle.

Steel talons, iron feathers, a pair of broad wings, eyes blazing with ferocity, and swirling dark clouds of malevolent energy coiling above his head—clearly a formidable demonic cultivator.

Since Liyang Continent was now inaccessible, and he needed to trace Huiying Mountain’s whereabouts,

his only option was to approach the major sects of Moyu Continent and seek information from its rulers.

Moyu Continent had few human cultivators; most were demonic beasts and monstrous spirits. To avoid drawing attention, assuming the form of a demonic cultivator was most prudent.

Without delay, Chen Hang flapped his wings, shattering the frosty clouds above him, vanishing in an instant.

…

…

Two days later, again on Moyu Continent.

Flowers bloomed lush, seasons mild, rivers and plains clear and spiritually radiant; from all directions came the cries of apes and cranes, a scene of vibrant prosperity.

Above the clouds, Chen Hang slightly spread his wings, pausing briefly in midair, gazing downward.

After two days of travel, he had finally glimpsed signs of life on Moyu Continent.

And earlier,

in that desolate wasteland, all he saw was endless freezing winds and snow, piercing and bone-chilling—nothing like the bright, gentle scenery before him.

“I wonder how powerful the demons of Moyu Continent are? Next, I should investigate the power distribution nearby to plan my next move.”

Chen Hang thought silently, his eyes flashing.

Shortly after he took flight, a commotion erupted on the other side of the mountain.

Shouts, neighing horses, rolling wheels—great bustle and noise—

Over a hundred armored knights galloped through the forest like lightning, gradually forming a circle, like a vast net closing in to capture the fleeing winged black tiger ahead.

The fleeing black tiger, three zhang long, eyes flashing yellow light, its body wreathed in ghastly mist.

Each leap was aided by unseen winds and clouds, allowing it to effortlessly clear mountain streams and ravines, like a shadowy black light, moving with astonishing speed.

Countless soulless ghosts surrounded it, chanting spells, forming hand seals, wielding swords and spears—each with blue faces and fangs, radiating eerie malice.

Yet these armored knights were clearly elite guards of a major power: their mounts were horse-faced steeds with armored scales, their bows radiating demonic energy, their helmets haunted by yin spirits; if they encountered trees or shrubs, they did not dodge—simply charged through, their demonic light tearing the obstacles to shreds.

Under such relentless pursuit, even the winged black tiger, wishing to conserve its essence, had no choice but to spit out several mouthfuls of essence-blood; its wing feathers instantly roared, and in an instant, it vanished into the sky.

Above the armored knights hovered a grand, majestic vessel.

On either side were a dozen smaller flying chariots, like loyal citadels, protecting the three-tiered vessel at its center—impressive in scale.

Seeing the winged black tiger suddenly surge forward as if sacrificing its life, leaving the armored knights far behind, the tall man on the vessel—with a pale, gaunt face and protruding cheekbones—laughed instead of growing angry.

He clapped his hands happily and turned to those beside him:

“Just stepped out for a hunt, and we encounter such a rare beast—isn’t this a divine omen, a sign that Uncle will soon attain the Supreme Heavenly Art?”

At once, those around him echoed his words, showering him with flattery.

Only a slender, bony man with emerald-green eyes in fine robes silently shook his head, saying nothing.

“Xiang Lao, Xiang Lao! You’re skilled in divination—cast another hex, calculate the heavenly signs for Uncle.”

The tall man grinned at an old man with black beard and slanted eyes.

Xiang Lao inwardly grumbled—he understood some Primordial Divine Divination, yes, but it was merely a fringe art, not true Dao; using it imposed severe limitations and drained his lifespan.

Thus, unless his life or fortune were at stake,

he rarely resorted to such methods.

But the man speaking to him was not easy to refuse—

This tall man was Feng Lian, nephew of Feng Wu, minister of Yucang Demon Kingdom; recently brought into Feng Wu’s household for upbringing, and known for his violent temper, prone to cursing and killing at will.

Xiang Lao had descended from the mountains to join Feng Wu’s household as a retainer, merely to secure resources for his cultivation.

Not only would refusing risk angering Feng Lian and causing a scene, but Feng Lian’s status alone was enough to force Xiang Lao into submission.

“Both are nobles’ sons—Feng Lian is such an arrogant bastard, while Ge Ji is cautious and humble; even knowing Feng Lian invited him on this hunt to humiliate him over the previous beast-fighting incident, he still dared not refuse.”

Xiang Lao sighed inwardly, glancing at the emerald-eyed nobleman beside him, feeling a pang of sympathy:

“Because Ge Ji was despised by his own father, though born of noble lineage and aided by his clan, he remains lowly in status.

In this world, one must find a powerful patron!”

“My lord, this old man—” Xiang Lao gathered his thoughts.

But before he finished speaking, Feng Lian grew impatient, pulling a glowing spiritual pearl from his sleeve and hurling it down, barking:

“You say Uncle’s cultivation is too high for your level to discern accurately, and your divination drains your lifespan? I’ve heard this old drivel until my ears are calloused—why keep repeating it?”

Xiang Lao frowned, a flicker of annoyance rising.

But seeing the pearls bouncing at his feet, his anger vanished instantly; he quickly called his disciples to bend down and collect them.

“Is that not enough? Lifespan loss? What’s that? I’m always generous—I won’t shortchange you.”

Feng Lian laughed loudly:

“Whether you’re accurate or not, I don’t care—it’s just for novelty, to entertain everyone.

Ge Ji, I hear you were raised by servants since childhood—surely you’ve never seen such an interesting art, have you?”

Ge Ji forced a smile but said nothing.

“….”

Xiang Lao cursed inwardly, then cleared his throat, smiling broadly at Feng Lian:

“My lord, you know my divination requires living flesh and blood as offerings, correct?”

Feng Lian paused, his eyes shifting thoughtfully.

The guests around him, who had been watching the spectacle, suddenly fell silent, each holding their breath.

“Enough, enough—I’ve kept you all these years, there’s still some bond. Today I’ll spare you. Return to the mansion, and I’ll let Xiang Lao perform his art then.”

Feng Lian sighed, then, as the guests bowed in gratitude, his face lit with satisfaction.

Meanwhile, the armored knights had caught up to the winged black tiger; under a barrage of arrows, even its might could not save it—its soulless ghosts were extinguished one by one, and soon it bled profusely, barely clinging to life.

“Think you can escape with your primordial spirit? Not so easy!”

Feng Lian sneered.

He reached out, took a carved bow from a guest, aimed loosely, and a dark bolt shot forth like lightning, pinning the black tiger’s primordial spirit to its corpse.

Amidst cheers, Feng Lian suddenly felt bored.

He turned to look at Ge Ji, a plan forming in his mind—when his peripheral vision caught a streak of black light.

He spun around instantly and saw a giant eagle slicing through the clouds, swift as lightning.

“You’ve just walked right into my hands.”

“You’ve landed right in the young master’s hands.”

Feng Lian muttered under his breath, drew his bow like a full moon, and fired an arrow—but the giant eagle effortlessly dodged it.

“Impossible!”

Feng Lian fired another arrow, still to no avail.

He was just about to order his mounted knights to draw their bows together when he suddenly felt a chill at his neck, then the entire world flipped violently.

In shock, he caught a glimpse of his own headless corpse standing motionless not far away—then his vision plunged into utter darkness.

This turn of events was faster than lightning, leaving everyone too stunned to react!

From Xiang Lao and Ge Ji’s perspective, Feng Lian had barely fired two arrows when the giant eagle struck him down with lightning speed.

He died miserably without even using a single technique.

“Damn it, damn it!”

Xiang Lao’s soul trembled in terror—now that Feng Lian was dead, everyone here would likely suffer his wrath once Feng Wu emerged from his seclusion.

To lessen their guilt, they could only…

Xiang Lao’s gaze sharpened slightly; he had just summoned several skulls and was about to chant a spell and test his strength, when Feng Lian’s guests and the mounted knights struck first.

In an instant, a hundred or more beams of colored light surged forth, fierce and interwoven like shuttles.

Chen Hang swept his gaze across them; facing such an assault, he needed no divine technique—merely shook his body and charged forward as before.

Suddenly, a furious wind roared, scorching heat pressed in, and dark flames slashed through the air, shredding the clouds into tatters.

“…”

At his side, Ge Ji felt his limbs turn icy cold.

He froze for a moment, then bit down hard on his tongue; just as he prepared to leap away from the chaos, a chill crept up his spine.

Without warning, all sound had vanished; the ground was littered with corpses, blood flowing like a river.

When his gaze fell upon Xiang Lao’s former sword, Ge Ji’s scalp prickled, nearly making him

jump out of his skin.

He knew Xiang Lao’s abilities—this man, like himself, was a rare human cultivator from Mo Wu Luzhou, skilled in swordplay and divination, which was why Feng Lian always kept him close and never treated him as mere food.

Xiang Lao clearly had no intention of dying for Feng Lian—he’d planned to fight a few rounds, then slip away cleanly once he had an excuse.

Yet even his prized flying sword had not been summoned before this demonic cultivator had his head effortlessly severed.

“F-Forefather…”

Ge Ji forced a smile, begging for mercy.

Chen Hang’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, then turned eastward; suddenly he snatched up Ge Ji, spread his wings, and soared into the sky once more.