Chapter 507: Yingji Chuan

Half a month later, in Beihao Province, Yingji Chuan—

Mountains and rivers stretched for ten thousand li, majestic and imposing, unfurling like a painting beneath a brilliant sun.

Within this painting rose strange peaks as dark as ink, piled emeralds flowing with crimson clouds, all manner of grand and awe-inspiring forms—truly the work of gods and demons—while several rivers flowed boundlessly, branching into dense tributaries that wove like a net, revealing the marvels of creation.

The interplay of water and mountain, the unity of river and sky, truly deserved the title of exquisite scenery, making one forget all worries upon seeing it!

Beihao Province was the Daoist grounds of Beiji Garden, and Yingji Chuan naturally lay within its jurisdiction.

In fact, Yingji Chuan had once served as Beiji Garden’s main gate for a period in its early days.

That was before the Dao Court collapsed, when, due to the campaign against Tianyi Yan, Beiji Garden’s true immortals led their disciples across the Grand Void, temporarily establishing Yingji Chuan in the north as a base for prolonged warfare.

After Tianyi Yan was imprisoned in the Three Realms Cave and the Eight Sects and Six Clans received lavish rewards for permanently guarding Xudu, Beiji Garden relocated its spiritual cave from Huangyu Heaven to Yingji Chuan.

From then on, Yingji Chuan lost its status as the main gate and became merely an external branch villa.

The current master of Yingji Chuan is Beiji the Old Immortal.

He was always fond of mountains, rivers, flowers, birds, and the pleasures of mortal life; under his meticulous cultivation, Yingji Chuan had become a dazzling tapestry of blossoms and delights, pleasing to the eye and soothing to the spirit.

Now, due to the Dan Yuan Assembly, Yingji Chuan had thrown open its gates, fully accessible—

Cultivators from all directions flooded in; flying boats and cloud rafts, immortal cranes and incense carriages filled the air, countless cultivation lights rose like rainbows spilling radiant hues, splendid beyond compare.

Since Yingji Chuan came under Beiji the Old Immortal’s control, such a bustling scene had never before been seen.

It had turned a proper immortal Daoist grounds into a crowded mortal marketplace.

Visitors came in a continuous stream, shoulder to shoulder; even the once-empty palaces and pavilions were now fully occupied.

So numerous were the guests that Yingji Chuan’s attendants had even retrieved several floating aerial islands from the treasury to serve as lodging.

In a great canyon flanked by two mountains, two cultivation lights clashed repeatedly.

In mere instants, they struck each other over a hundred times, blinding flashes of light that stirred quiet awe.

Thousands watched the duel, for the two combatants were Shen Xingcui of Zhongyi Sword Sect and Yuan Fayan of Beiji Garden.

Both were formidable figures set to compete in the Dan Yuan Assembly, renowned True Persons of great sects.

Such a duel naturally drew attention, and cultivators flocked to watch.

“Is there a betting pool for today’s match?”

On a cloud raft, a purple-robed Daoist elder watched from afar with two child attendants.

Seeing an attendant of Yingji Chuan riding a crane fly by, the elder’s eyes lit up; he quickly sent a voice message to halt the attendant.

“Of course there is.”

The attendant lightly tapped the white crane’s neck, causing it to hover in midair.

Then he subtly extended a finger to signal a number; the purple-robed elder immediately understood and nodded vigorously.

“Then I’ll bet on Shen Xingcui of Zhongyi Sword Sect!”

After hesitating a moment, the elder reached into his sleeve and pulled out a plump silk pouch, carefully offering it.

The attendant nodded and accepted it; upon opening the pouch, he was startled by the sheer quantity of magic coins inside and, forgetting to register it first, offered a kind warning:

“Esteemed elder, such a sum of magic coins is no small matter—why not bet on Yuan Fayan of Beiji Garden? His ranking in the Suidan Evaluation was slightly higher than Shen’s.”

The purple-robed elder shook his head slightly.

Though far away, he dared only whisper his voice message, fearing others might overhear:

“I am also a sword cultivator—I know how formidable the Six Stages of Sword Dao truly are. At this level, sword flight holds mysteries beyond gods and demons. I fear…”

The elder fell silent before finishing, but the attendant understood his meaning.

“All in?” the attendant asked.

“All in!”

The attendant nodded, recorded the bet, then added softly in praise:

“I didn’t realize you were also a sword cultivator—no wonder your eyes gleam so sharply, one dares not meet them!”

“My name is Qian Zhao; I humbly serve as Elder of Minshan Sword Sect. Minshan Sword Sect falls under Beiji Garden’s jurisdiction—we are truly one family.”

The elder chuckled, first forging familiarity, then rubbed his hands and asked:

“If this match ends without a clear victor, may I still reclaim my bet…?”

More than half of the forty-two Jin Dan True Persons set to compete in the Dan Yuan Assembly had already arrived at Yingji Chuan.

All were rivals, and rare to gather in one place; under these circumstances, they naturally felt the urge to test each other’s strength, seeking to probe their opponents’ limits before the Assembly.

Yet not every duel needed to end in a decisive victory.

Most merely exchanged a few moves, then ceased once they had gauged each other’s abilities.

With no clear winner, the bets naturally became meaningless.

This was precisely why Elder Qian Zhao had asked.

He worried that if Yuan and Shen merely exchanged a few strikes and then withdrew, what would become of his bet?

“Of course, the full amount will be returned! This is under the Old Immortal’s very gaze—who would dare sully Yingji Chuan’s reputation?” the attendant declared with a thump to his chest.

“Is this your first time placing a bet?”

“I saw others betting during the duel between Zheng Jia and Xiang Ji the other day, so I came to try my luck,” Qian Zhao smiled.

“The betting system was the Old Immortal’s idea—only because of his sanction did we dare organize it. Who else would risk angering the Jin Dan True Persons?”

The attendant nodded in understanding and reassured Qian Zhao:

“With the Old Immortal personally vouching, how would we attendants dare embezzle your bets? Rest easy, esteemed elder.”

Hearing the name of Beiji the Old Immortal, Qian Zhao’s eyes brightened; he nodded vigorously, signaling his understanding.

“Who will be the next two Jin Dan True Persons to duel?”

Qian Zhao glanced at the fierce clash of gold and fire deep in the canyon, his heart tightening, then asked the attendant.

But the attendant did not answer; his gaze turned peculiar.

“….”

Qian Zhao paused, then realized his mistake, lowering his head with an embarrassed smile.

These forty-two True Persons of great sects were all renowned figures across the realm.

Unless ordered by their sect elders, who could compel them to duel like common performers?

Thus, betting was merely a gamble—dependent on whether two happened to feel restless, wished to test each other’s arts, and truly sought a decisive outcome, not just a token exchange.

“Which Jin Dan True Persons have yet to arrive?”

Qian Zhao shifted his thoughts and pulled a flask of spiritual wine from his sleeve, offering it to the attendant.

“So you saw others profiting from betting the other day and decided to join in?”

The attendant, catching his meaning, smiled and accepted the wine, then mused:

“Still unarrived are Chen Hang of Yucheng, Yu Huangshang of the Primordial Demon Sect, Chen Bai, Changsun Kuang of Dou Shu Sect, Gu Yi of Hu Zhao Sect…”

After counting on his fingers, the attendant told Qian Zhao:

“When Chen Hang of Yucheng arrives, he will surely duel Gu Yi of Hu Zhao Sect!”

“They’ve been rivals since their Dongxuan days—now they meet again, hah!”

Qian Zhao nodded, committing this to memory, and inwardly marveled.

The unparalleled talents of the Eight Sects and Six Clans had gathered here; many major forces from the Celestial Realms had sent observers—it was truly a rare grand spectacle!

To witness it firsthand was, for Qian Zhao, a source of great pride!

“Our sect’s finances have been tight lately—I wonder if this method might bring a small fortune?”

Qian Zhao muttered under his breath.

As Qian Zhao pondered, several miles away, Yin Wujie and Yin Ruohua stood side by side in a haze of misty light, also watching the duel.

When Shen Xingcui suddenly launched a sword strike, only for Yuan Fayan to sidestep it, Yin Wujie shook his head and said calmly:

“Shen Xingcui has grown shrewd. I thought a mindless sword cultivator like him would fight Yuan Fayan to the death before the Assembly—but he’s holding back? Looks like my bet’s coming back to me.”

Yin Ruohua glanced at Yin Wujie and sighed:

“Isn’t that only natural?”

“The duel between Zheng Jia and Xiang Ji the other day, Ning Fengqi and Lu Tingyun, and the day before that, Tang Xuan and Zuo Pengzong…”

Yin Wujie chuckled:

“Didn’t all those matches nearly ignite real fury—and let me make a tidy profit?”

Before Yin Ruohua could reply, Yin Wujie turned and gazed at a nearby emerald-green flying boat, teasingly asking:

“If Shen Xingcui truly fought Yuan Fayan to the death, who would win?”

Where Yin Wujie looked, only Huang Dalun and a group of Yucheng sub-temple disciples stood, their expressions tense.

Seeing Yin Wujie suddenly turn toward them, the disciples scattered instantly, all turning their backs—leaving Huang Dalun alone, frozen in place, forcing a strained smile.

Beihao was separated from Dongmi by countless thousands of li; for a cultivator of Huang Dalun’s level to travel to Yingji Chuan for the ceremony, he could only come by accompanying his elders.

But upon barely reaching Beihao Province, their party was separated from their elders due to attacks by wild beasts of the sea.

Fortunately, Yin Wujie happened to pass by and rescued them.

Along the journey to Yingji Chuan, Yin Wujie and Yin Ruohua had witnessed Huang Dalun’s “Iron-Mouthed Prognostication” more than once, finding it quite amusing.

Now, as Yin Wujie’s gaze fell upon him, Huang Dalun involuntarily trembled, his fat rippling like water.

After a long pause, he gave a nervous laugh and ventured:

“Shen Xingcui?”

“Good!”

Yin Wujie burst into laughter and clapped his hands hard:

“I bet on Yuan Fayan!”

Yin Ruohua covered her lips with a light laugh; Huang Dalun looked embarrassed, forced to pretend nothing had happened as he gazed up at the sky.

Yin Wuji’s booming laughter was utterly unguarded, drawing the attention of several nearby True Persons of Golden Core to this spot.

Zhou Fujia remained expressionless; Lu Rong’s gaze held a hidden sharpness; Pei Zhi’s face was coldly indifferent.

The green bird on Wei Lingjiang’s shoulder twisted its neck listlessly, then slumped back onto his shoulder, half-asleep.

“Among these so-called True Persons of Golden Core, you must be wary of a few—such as Lu—”

Yin Wuji turned toward Yin Ruohua, but before he could finish, his expression suddenly grew solemn.

At that moment, a wind stirred, rising from nowhere.

The talismans at the waists of a group of attendants chimed in unison, like jade pendants clinking melodiously, their clear, pleasing tones ringing out.

“Another True Person of Golden Core has arrived—is it Chen True Person of Yucheng?”

Beside Qian Zhao, the attendant riding the white crane blinked in surprise.

He straightened his robes, about to fly out with the other attendants to greet the newcomer—when suddenly a brilliant golden light blazed forth, shaking rivers and seas, trembling mountains and peaks, stirring the aerial gales into swirling tides, surging wildly, its might so immense it seemed to engulf all the surrounding peaks within a single aura, vast and peerless!

When the golden light and gales dispersed, only a single Daoist remained standing in the heart of the vast cloud vortex—his bearing ethereal and graceful, his robes fluttering in the wind, sleeves billowing.

His eyelids lowered slightly as he swept his gaze downward.

Owing to his presence, the entire scene fell briefly silent—as if a pin could be heard dropping.

Even Shen Xingcui and Yuan Fayan, who had been locked in combat, simultaneously ceased their struggle, slightly retracting their magic power, their faces marked with wariness.

“Chen Hang!”

Yin Wuji smiled inwardly.

…

…

At this moment, mountain mists layered in beauty, the bright sun rode the empty sky.

Since arriving here, Chen Hang had indeed spotted two or three familiar figures at a glance.

He first nodded slightly to Lu Rong, who had risen from his seat; then exchanged greetings with Yin Wuji of Wenhuan Sect and Yin Quan of Jiuzhen Sect; finally, his gaze settled on Wei Lingjiang.

The two exchanged a distant look across the clouds, then bowed to each other in mutual respect.

“What was I just saying to you? Oh—warn you to be wary of a few True Persons of Golden Core.”

After exchanging greetings with Chen Hang, Yin Wuji leaned back with hands clasped behind him, visibly intrigued.

He scanned the faces of those present, noticing several True Persons of Golden Core had already stepped forward to pay their respects to Chen Hang, exchanging polite pleasantries in a lively atmosphere.

He smiled at Yin Ruohua beside him:

“Take those present now—Lu Rong, Zhou Fujia, and of course this Chen True Person, Chen Hang.”

“Surely there won’t be any threat to life at the Golden Core Assembly?” Yin Ruohua shook her head.

“Historically, accidents have occurred. If an opponent’s abilities far surpass yours, or if he possesses an unexpected tactic to catch you off guard, then all bets are off—like Liang Wenxian or Du Ao?”

“Then what should one do?”

“Lu Rong won’t kill you. As for Zhou Fujia, run far away if you see him. But Chen Hang…” Yin Wuji paused thoughtfully.

“What about Chen Hang?”

“I don’t know whether he’ll harbor murderous intent toward you. When you meet him, try pleading softly—see if you can charm him with your beauty?”

Yin Wuji spread his hands.

Yin Ruohua shot him a glance and refused to answer.

At that moment, Yin Wuji suddenly turned his head toward Huang Dalun, who stood frozen on the flying vessel, and smirked:

“If I were to fight Chen Hang, who would win?”

Huang Dalun’s face fell. He hesitated for a long while, then gathered his courage and whispered, trembling:

“O…of course, our sect’s Chen True Person will win!”

Facing this bold defiance, Yin Wuji did not anger; he merely nodded strangely.

Then he let out a loud laugh, swept his sleeve, and summoned a furious wind that shot straight into the clouds, his voice booming:

“Chen True Person, it’s been many years—shall we test our skills?”

His voice rolled out, echoing across the mountains like a great bell’s toll!

The cultivators on both sides of the gorge were struck by the overwhelming aura; their faces paled instantly. Many young cultivators who had come to observe felt their eardrums swell with pain and hastily covered their heads.

“Chen True Person, beware—this man is no easy opponent!”

Yin Quan, who had once met Chen Hang in the Dragon Palace of the Eastern Sea, gave a serious warning, his eyes flickering with wariness.

Chen Hang nodded in thanks, said nothing more, and simply spurred his sword light, flying out in response.

“Please!”

The two faced each other for only a moment before striking simultaneously—each releasing a wispy mist from their bodies, raising their palms forward in unison.

Instantly, a thunderous crash echoed through the air—as if the heavens had torn open, and a torrent of floodwaters roared down!

Moments later, violent energy surged, gales shattered, boundless thunder and star-dust crisscrossed, spreading over nearly a hundred li, shaking the very heavens!

A nearby peak was grazed by lightning and instantly shattered, rocks exploding like rain—yet before they could fall, star-dust tore them into fragments, crashing into the river below with a roaring splash.

“This is bad!”

Surrounding cultivators scrambled to retreat, desperate to avoid being caught in this chaotic celestial spectacle, lest they be reduced to dust.

Only after half a quarter-hour did the thunderous roar finally subside.

Many cultivators strained to look upward—deep within the swirling clouds, Chen Hang and Yin Wuji stood facing each other, untouched by dust, their expressions calm as ever.

“So this is that technique?”

Chen Hang slowly lowered his palm, drawing it back into his wide sleeve, smiling faintly inwardly.

He said nothing more, merely murmured, “Your courtesy,” then turned his sword light, calmly piercing through the clouds, vanishing in an instant.

“...”

Far away, Yin Wuji also lowered his palm, frowning slightly.

In that palm clash, they had not merely tested their magic power and techniques—they had also probed each other’s spiritual perception.

After a prolonged exchange, to the discerning eye, Yin Wuji had gained no advantage—only a stalemate.

Yet Chen Hang did not press on; he merely smiled and left. To the young cultivators, this seemed like an attempt to conserve his energy, avoiding excessive damage—perhaps even avoiding battle?

“Has he sensed my true nature? That’s absurd—how long did we even fight?”

After standing motionless for a long while, Yin Wuji raised a finger, summoned a vast gale, and departed coldly, ignoring the cultivators below.

Only after both had vanished from sight—

did the crowd erupt in loud, ceaseless chatter, rising and falling in waves.

“No way? This is real? I know my Huang family ancestors weren’t demons or evil spirits—so how did I end up with such a talent for flattery?”

Huang Dalun stood frozen, slapped himself twice hard, then looked uncertainly at his companion, dazed:

“My eyesight isn’t that sharp…”

“Who won that palm clash—Chen True Person or Yin True Person?”

And while this scene buzzed with excitement—

on another side, under the guidance of the Yiji Mountain attendants, Chen Hang had halted his sword light before a spiritual peak.

Looking out, the mountains layered endlessly, towering to meet the earth’s dragon veins; dozens of spiritual peaks rose majestically, crowned by shimmering clouds and mist, their interiors filled with golden palaces, jade halls, pavilions, and flower terraces.

Clearly, this was the residence of the forty-two True Persons of Golden Core—everywhere exquisite, like the celestial palace of a divine capital.

“True Person, please rest here on this spiritual peak. The female attendants and laborers within are at your disposal. In seven days, the adjudicators and senior elders from the Eight Sects and Six Clans will arrive.”

“At that time, our Old Immortal will personally host a banquet to welcome all the True Persons of Golden Core!”

The guide, a sharp-witted attendant, added a stream of lavish praise after speaking.

Only when Chen Hang casually handed him a vial of pills did his smile deepen; he bowed repeatedly as he accepted it.

“True Person, do you know our Old Immortal is a kind soul who nurtures the young—just like the late Ancestor Fu Can. They were close friends.”

The attendant whispered:

“At that banquet, it won’t be just wine—our Old Immortal may bestow great rewards!”

Chen Hang nodded slightly, signaling he understood.

Yet as he took the talisman and was about to step onto the peak, he paused, glancing around thoughtfully.

He looked toward the two spiritual peaks flanking his own cave dwelling and asked:

“Who are my neighbors on either side?”

The attendant replied quickly: “To the left is True Person Wei Lingjiang of the Red Light Guard. To the right is True Person Gu Yi of the Hu Clan.”

Chen Hang’s step halted, his body stilling.

“Whose order was this?”

“The Northern Pole Old Immortal.”