Wang Changsheng, hailed as the Supreme Master, who gazes down upon the nine heavens and ten earths, yet what stood before him was a youth brimming with vitality!
Shi Hao was dumbfounded, scarcely able to believe his eyes!
Using his Heavenly Eye, he discerned that this was no illusion crafted by divine arts—this was truly a young man bursting with vigor.
His bones, his flesh—all revealed an eighteen-year-old youth, not some ancient monster in disguise.
The golden ant’s jaw nearly hit the ground. Even it could see that this was no act—the boy’s youthful appearance was genuine.
They were utterly speechless. This was an old demon!
After a moment of contemplation, a chill crept into their hearts, stirring unease and dread.
There was only one possible explanation: Wang Changsheng had reversed aging, possibly living a second life. The thought was terrifying!
After the great upheaval of the world, the essence of immortality had dwindled. All cultivators faced death—no matter how mighty, unless one ascended to immortality, the end was inevitable.
The strongest could live for over a million years, but even their lifespans had limits.
How old was Wang Changsheng? Far beyond a million years, he should have been decrepit, his life flame dimming, nearing its end.
Yet now, he seemed like a rising star, just beginning his ascent!
So young—his bones, his blood, all brimming with vitality, a true youth in every sense!
Legends spoke of those who lived a second life, but they were vanishingly rare, almost mythical.
Now, Wang Changsheng had done it!
“You grow younger with each passing day. In another million years, will you become a child?” the Grand Elder mused, not in mockery but in genuine awe.
At their age, with life waning, the greatest hope was rebirth—to shed the old and emerge anew.
Yet this depended on fate, not strength. Some, weaker in cultivation, might advance further.
Living a second life was not directly tied to ultimate power.
“A good heart keeps one young,” Wang Changsheng replied with a light laugh.
His long, raven hair shimmered, his eyes clear as crystal, flawless, almost innocent.
When he smiled, his teeth gleamed like morning sunlight.
So young—his smile left Shi Hao and the golden ant speechless. Compared to this youth, who was the elder among the Nine Dragons?
“Brother Tianzheng, you’ve toiled too hard these years,” Wang Changsheng said warmly.
His smile was dazzling, like dawn’s first light, his face radiant with vitality, like the boy next door.
Yet this very youthfulness sent shivers down Shi Hao and the golden ant’s spines. This was an ancient demon, terrifying precisely because he lived so young.
Beneath that gentle, harmless smile, both Shi Hao and the Heavenly Horned Ant felt an inexplicable pressure, as if suffocating.
This was a being of unimaginable terror. No matter how bright his demeanor, none dared underestimate him—for he was Wang Changsheng!
“Not quite perfect yet. Your voice still betrays age,” the Grand Elder remarked suddenly.
Wang Changsheng’s smile faded, revealing a trace of youthful melancholy. “True. My transformation is incomplete. My divine embryo is flawed. Some things cannot be hidden, nor do I wish to conceal them.”
Even so, their exchange suggested Wang Changsheng had achieved the extraordinary, extending his lifespan, perhaps by half a lifetime.
The true essence of their pursuit lay in the metamorphosis of the primordial spirit.
For when lifespan ended, it was the spirit that decayed!
Otherwise, the mighty could simply seize new bodies.
“Perhaps this world is not cruel enough. I lack the desperation to unlock my final potential,” Wang Changsheng mused, self-reflective.
“You’ve truly glimpsed something profound,” the Grand Elder said gravely, visibly shaken.
Clearly, he too had discerned certain truths.
Their exchange felt less like confrontation and more like a meeting of old friends, sharing insights.
“Indeed. Both of us foresee it—unless a miracle occurs, this world will descend into an age of decay,” Wang Changsheng said.
“Yet hardship tempers. It may forge sturdier cultivators. The world’s vitality endures; there will always be essence to harness,” the Grand Elder countered.
Wang Changsheng grew solemn. “I foresee a day when the world withers, immortality’s essence vanishes, and the environment turns hostile. Then, the strongest may live but ten thousand years—a miracle by then!”
Worse still, in his view, one supreme talent’s rise would consume millennia of fortune, leaving others stranded in mediocrity.
One’s ascension would doom generations of geniuses, suppressed by the heavens.
“The harsher the trials, the greater the tempering. Had I lived in such an era, I’d have been forced into a true second life long ago,” Wang Changsheng lamented.
Now, though immortality’s essence was scarce, its lingering traces allowed prolonged life, blending with one’s being.
This very fusion dulled the instinct for drastic rebirth, preventing the decisive leap into rejuvenation.
“Brother, your intrusion into my Wang Clan troubles me. Must we feud over a mere boy?” Wang Changsheng’s tone shifted, his challenge clear.
“The world knows he is my last disciple, as dear as kin. Just as the Nine Dragons are to you—if one harmed them knowingly, how would you act?” the Grand Elder retorted sharply.
Shi Hao’s heart swelled with emotion. The Grand Elder’s words moved him deeply, fueling his resolve to rise and repay this debt by vanquishing the enemies beyond.
The Nine Dragons bristled, their auras flaring with immortal light, a collective force unmatched.
“Father, I wish to face Meng Tianzheng!” the Eighth Son declared, a terrifying powerhouse second only to the Ninth.
His eyes held collapsing stars, countless corpses, the underworld’s rise—a gaze that shaped worlds. A true nightmare.
Wang Changsheng smiled. “Brother, will you test them? The eighth or ninth—your choice.”
“Wang Jiu is extraordinary, destined for greatness. He may surpass you,” the Grand Elder praised candidly.
Then he added, “But to face me now? They lack the seasoning. Are you certain? Know that if I strike, I will not hold back.”
“What nonsense is this?” one of the Nine Dragons snapped, bristling at what they deemed a threat.
“Truth,” the Grand Elder replied calmly.
“Then let all nine of my sons face you,” Wang Changsheng said, his smile now laced with killing intent.
The Grand Elder’s expression darkened. Legends claimed the Nine Dragons united were invincible.
Even he, a peerless powerhouse, could not predict the outcome.
“You insist? Then do not blame me if one or two dragons fall. Will you mourn?” the Grand Elder challenged.
“Whoosh!”
Several dragons moved, encircling him.
“Do you think you can kill me?” the Grand Elder asked Wang Changsheng.
“With my nine sons, victory is assured. Add me, and even if you flee with all your might, escape is unlikely,” Wang Changsheng said coolly.
“I came for justice—and blood,” the Grand Elder said icily, unyielding.
“Confident you can defeat us all?” Wang Changsheng asked. To him, Meng Tianzheng was a lifelong rival, their strength near equal. With the Nine Dragons and the Wang Clan’s terrain, victory was certain.
“Face me one-on-one, and I’ll oblige. Let strength decide,” the Grand Elder said. Then, pausing, he added, “But if you gang up, know this: even if this is a sacred land, I will shatter it!”
“Whoosh!”
A scroll unfurled, spanning the heavens!
The encircling dragons were flung back, one coughing blood.
A terrifying aura spread, as if a new world had emerged, pressing upon the existing one.
“Ten Realms Diagram!” Wang Changsheng’s pupils contracted, a sigh escaping him.
Even in this sacred land, guarded by supreme arrays, he tensed, wary.
The Ten Realms Diagram—a treasure rivaling the Cosmos Sack, famed in the ancient Immortal War, its power shaking heavens and earth, slaughtering countless foes.
This was the Wang Clan’s heartland. Though Wang Changsheng had countermeasures, he dared not risk its destruction.
For if this land fell, his descendants would bleed, his sons might perish.
Even the Nine Dragons could fall.
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