Chapter 296: The Great Wilderness Forest

The affairs surrounding the Zheng family's elder ancestor have always been shrouded in mystery, never clearly explained by anyone.

How he opened the Qiling ruins, what he actually did to give rise to chaotic flesh, how he hid for years before staging a grand scheme of seeking immortals across the four directions—none knew.

The same was true of the Bu family.

Why they transformed into demonic seeds, where the Bu family's main lineage had gone—all events were like broken chains, with no cause and no consequence.

When facing the unknown, people are always cautious, hesitant to act, fearing they might lose their lives before gaining any immortal fortune, and thus proceed with extreme care.

But this depends on the circumstances.

For instance, those nearing the end of their lifespan.

Birth, aging, sickness, and death are the natural cycle of Heaven's Dao, as it has always been since antiquity.

At birth, a person arrives naked, carrying not a thread; by old age and illness, they curl their bodies like insects, silently awaiting their final end in the shadows.

Yet cultivators of the Qingyun realm have long resisted death, giving rise to countless secret arts.

Some require sacrificing one's root essence, others cause mental confusion, and some can only feign death to prolong life.

These arts may not be better than accepting death with calmness—they often bring pain and hardship—but they remain a glimmer of hope.

For the longer one extends their lifespan, the greater the chance to break through and prolong life further.

Though humanity has risen for a thousand years, countless have sought immortality, yet most die waiting, their souls returning to Heaven's Dao.

When opportunity truly arrives, even with immense risk, elders facing the brink of death will ignite a fierce desire, willing to pay any price.

For the will to live is the greatest of all worldly desires, yet it unleashes power far exceeding hatred or kinship.

After all, even if they die because of it, that outcome was already inevitable.

As for those unburdened by lifespan limits yet still cautious, unable to remain indifferent to the chance of immortality, they turn their gaze to these dying elders, watching closely, using them to probe…

Thus, from the Bu family affair to the Dongping Mountains, the backs of these dying elders have always been watched by eyes from various immortal sects.

And now, they have entered the ruins of the Great Wilderness Forest.

Whether the Bu family's transformation into demonic seeds is connected to the Great Wilderness Forest ruins remains unconfirmed, but the fact that this ancient forbidden land now seems liberated is itself a major event.

The New Year had just passed; snow had not yet melted.

In the southeast of Qingzhou and northwest of Yongzhou, where the Nujiang and Wujiang rivers met, only a few evergreen trees and pine forests in the southwest held traces of green—all else was white, mountains danced like silver snakes, plains galloped like waxen elephants, covering the entire riverbank.

This barren place had no city nearby, only a small stone town housing a few hundred households, crowded along the eastern shore of the Wujiang.

Such a desolate place naturally had no teahouses or inns—only a single teahut that survived by serving travelers on the Yongzhou official road.

At dusk, as the sun set, the farmer who ran the teahut stepped out of his muddy hut, carrying a steaming teapot into the shed, his breath puffing thick white mist that vanished in the dim red sky.

"My humble shop… it's always run-down, and I have no fine tea."

"Forgive me for my poor hospitality."

As the farmer spoke, he looked toward the group gathered under his teahut.

Since the first day of the New Year, people had kept arriving at this stone town—just like today's group—all dressed in luxury, radiating terrifying aura, making one dare not meet their gaze.

He had never left the stone town and could not guess their identities, so he served them with utmost caution.

Yet these people never spoke to him; their gazes were cold and haughty, as if they saw no farmer at all, instead fixating on the riverbank ahead, scanning endlessly.

The great river surged through winter, muddy waters carrying shards of ice, roaring and crashing through the steep gorges.

Waves churned in the river's center, spewing white foam that was instantly swallowed by the rapids.

At the same time, a mist surged toward the shore, turning into thick white fog under the dry, cold air.

The group finished their tea, then rose one by one, walking downstream along the riverbank, their spiritual light flickering as they flew like wind across a mountain pass, soaring southwestward.

From high above, the entire forest sea lay beneath, its morning mist rising and falling like solidified waves of ink-green.

The mist was not uniformly milky—it was torn into countless wisps by countless tree crowns, clinging like translucent veils around the tips of fir trees.

The group descended in a roar, their flowing spiritual energy tearing through layers of fog as they vanished into the mountains.

The teahut farmer now crouched beside the shed, glancing upward with a sidelong eye—he caught only their airborne silhouettes, then quickly looked away.

Flying through the sky, traversing earth and air—these were surely immortals.

Every autumn he met government officials who came to collect tax silver, claiming it was to offer tribute to immortals and ensure heaven and earth brought timely rain and wind.

Day after day, year after year, he had given nearly half his lifetime's earnings—but this was his first time seeing the legendary immortals.

He hurried into the courtyard, seeing his wife gaze outward with worry; he frowned and whispered for her to come inside quickly.

For days afterward, no one else came—but the people of the stone town kept speaking softly and walking with heads bowed.

Because those immortals had entered the Great Wilderness Forest behind them and never emerged, yet everyone knew they were still inside.

These mortals did not know what the immortal lords were doing, but they knew that such a remote, poor place attracting so many powerful figures must mean something momentous was about to happen.

Meanwhile, deep within the dense fog of the mountains, countless cultivators marched steadily westward through the Great Wilderness Forest.

Treading over rotting branches and fallen leaves, they gradually saw a dark silhouette emerging through the mist.

As they drew closer, parting the veil before their eyes, they beheld a vast, black mountain standing in a lifeless, silent stillness.

It was an extremely strange peak—its entire surface was unnaturally smooth, unlike other mountains with scattered rocks jutting from its body; instead, its layers were seamless, without a single gap.

Looking up from its base, the dark mountain loomed like a towering, crumbling shadow, pressing down with invisible weight.

Nearby this mountain, numerous figures stood silently, watching the surroundings…

Boom—

On one muffled night after another, as thick darkness descended, the lower reaches of the Wujiang were swallowed in gloom.

Especially the Great Wilderness Forest, where mist blotted out all sky-light, now radiated an eerie, lifeless silence.

Near the mountain, countless figures hid in the night—some seated, some standing—fixedly watching a ring-shaped valley.

The elders from the Dongping Mountains had entered through this valley long ago; now days had passed, and none had returned.

What lay inside? Had they died? Were they safe? No one knew.

To investigate, they sent disciples in afterward—but they vanished like oxen sinking into the sea, leaving not a ripple.

This outcome made them even more reluctant to act, forcing them to remain here, stationed in place.