A purple flash flickered and vanished as Meng Qi’s eyes returned to normal. Countless thoughts surged into his mind like a tidal wave, instantly clarifying the cause and effect of everything. Outwardly, however, he maintained a leisurely smile, raising a finger to counter Ren Qiushui’s probing strike that followed closely.
Now, he had to dutifully uphold this segment of history, ensuring that the great figures beyond the “shore” would not “detect” any anomalies.
*I know you will know, but I pretend not to know.*
…
Time flowed like water, years passed, and it was now the 37th year of Tianle in Ningxin City.
The assassin from the Unkind Tower, who had just slain Lin Kang, the leader of the Heaven and Earth Sect, was sprinting toward the window. His stature was unremarkable—neither tall nor short, neither stout nor thin—blending seamlessly into the crowd. Yet, he was utterly confident in his success, harboring no doubt that he might fail.
Suddenly, his pupils contracted. The window before him opened soundlessly, revealing a handsome man in a blue robe standing outside with his hands clasped behind his back. His deep, sea-like eyes shimmered with faint purple glimmers, both unsettling and mesmerizing. The man raised his long, powerful right hand and pressed it against the assassin’s forehead as the latter lunged forward.
*”The immortal touches my crown, bestowing eternal life with a stroke.”*
The low, almost demonic voice carried an inexplicable hint of mockery.
…
In the world of *Journey to the West*, during ancient times, thunder and fire clashed, the heavens shattered, and the Celestial Court was on the verge of collapse.
Meng Qi’s figure lifted his gaze toward the sky, toward the dark crimson expanse, toward the terrifying eyes filled with chaos and indifference!
The eerie eyes seemed to notice him. The irregular whirlpools within them shifted slightly, as if turning to look.
With just a glance, Meng Qi’s heart pounded violently. Every thought, every idea within him struggled to break free.
At that moment, a trace of purple emerged in his eyes—bizarre, unfathomable, and profoundly mysterious, nearly rivaling the gaze of the Heavenly Dao monstrosity. All chaos, all madness, dissipated like smoke.
Their gazes met, their sight clashed, and time itself began to reverse. The tranquil river of time transformed into a roaring, furious sea.
…
Using the concealment of the Seven Slaughter Stele—rather than the more personally distinctive divine weapons like the Peerless Blade or the Human Emperor’s Sword—Meng Qi pinpointed the segments of history within the real world that were connected to him. He subtly planted seeds of the Supreme Heart Demon in the traces he had left in the past, serving as “beacons” to illuminate the boundless Sea of Bitterness when he eventually ascended beyond the shore.
Deep within the ruins of the Nether Emperor, the Seven Slaughter Daoist sat with a sword resting across his knees, eyes closed, showing no interest in Meng Qi’s actions.
The dark, unadorned sword exuded a killing intent nearly unmatched in the world, draining the vitality of all living things around the Seven Slaughter Daoist. Even the “past selves” within the illusory river of time beside him were slain, leaving only traces behind. Every moment, the Seven Slaughter Daoist seemed to die, only to return through the power of the Nether Sea Sword.
*Evil artifacts are hard to control!*
Yet, they possessed strengths that no other supreme treasures could match—just like the filth, strangeness, mystery, and concealment abilities of the Demon Emperor’s Claw.
Suddenly, the Seven Slaughter Daoist opened his eyes, filled with weariness for the mortal world, and murmured, “Has he also begun exploring the occupation of future possibilities?”
…
Above the East Sea, boundless azure waves stretched endlessly, dotted with countless islands.
Ji Xing, aboard a magnificent ship, returned to the place of his birth, surrounded by a retinue of friends and attendants—a testament to his status in the martial world of these waters.
“This island doesn’t even have a name and looks utterly ordinary. Who would have thought it could produce someone like you, Young Master Ji?” a friend remarked with a flattering smile.
Ji Xing gazed at the dilapidated village and the half-ruined mountain peak ahead. Removing his cloak and handing it to an attendant, he said solemnly, “Please wait here, everyone. I must first pay my respects to my master.”
Without waiting for a response, he strode up the mountain path toward the depths of the lightning-scarred peak, where a thatched hut stood—home to the master who had taught him all he knew.
As Ji Xing’s figure vanished down the path, the same friend clicked his tongue in admiration.
“Who could Young Master Ji’s master be? To have trained such a prodigy, he must be among the ranks of immortals!”
Another chimed in, “The lords of the Seventy-Two Islands all treat Young Master Ji with reverence, often inquiring after his master’s well-being. Clearly, they fear the man behind him. If he weren’t an immortal, why would they act so deferentially?”
“For such a figure to remain unknown, living in seclusion on this island—no wonder we’ve never heard of him.”
“True, true. But perhaps in his prime, he once shook these seas with his fame?”
…
The murmurs reached Ji Xing’s keen ears, but he merely smiled, unbothered.
Indeed, had he not encountered his reclusive master here, where else could he have learned such world-shaking martial arts? Far surpassing the “Spark Great Method” treasured by most island lords!
Likewise, without his master, how could he have earned the deference of the Seventy-Two Island Lords, navigating the martial world with such ease?
Before leaving the island, he had assumed his master was a down-and-out martial artist, disillusioned with the world. But as he traveled and broadened his horizons, his understanding of his master deepened daily. The man was unfathomable, towering like a mountain—just when Ji Xing thought he had grasped his master’s strength and past status, new revelations would overturn his assumptions.
In the end, he could only marvel—his master was like a dragon hidden in clouds, revealing only glimpses. It was enough to know he was *very, very* formidable.
With quickened steps and a heart yearning for home, Ji Xing soon reached the thatched hut—a place even he was not permitted to enter without permission. Outside stood a burly, dark-skinned man: the lord of nearby Zhoulu Island, one of the few grandmasters in these waters.
“I’ll accept the gifts. You may leave now,” came his master’s familiar voice.
The island lord beamed as if granted an immense honor, bowing repeatedly before departing in high spirits, pausing only to offer Ji Xing a few encouraging words.
Ji Xing stepped forward, prostrated himself, and kowtowed three times with nine bows, declaring fervently, “Your unworthy disciple pays respects to Master.”
A silence lingered before his master sighed. “Not bad. From what the island lords have told me, though you’ve grown somewhat indulgent, you’ve not neglected martial arts nor strayed from my teachings.”
“Master’s words are etched in my heart—I dare not forget them!” Ji Xing broke into a cold sweat, speaking hastily.
His master’s voice suddenly carried a weight of time. “Since you’ve passed the trial, today I shall formally accept you into our lineage and reveal the truth of our sect… and my true identity.”
“Thank you, Master!” Overjoyed like the island lord before him, Ji Xing’s face lit up with excitement.
With a creak, the door opened. Ji Xing looked up to see the interior of the hut for the first time.
His master, slightly gaunt, appeared untouched by time—still the refined middle-aged man he remembered, though with a few silver strands and weary eyes. His cultivation remained as inscrutable as ever.
“Your master’s name is He Mu. Over the past century in the East Sea, I’ve been best known as… the ‘Heaven-Missing Sword,'” the man said plainly.
*He Mu? The Heaven-Missing Sword?* Ji Xing’s mind reeled in disbelief.
This was the most renowned sword immortal of the East Sea decades ago, said to have reached the Earth Immortal realm even then—and he was *his* master?
Unthinkable!
The unassuming man living in this humble hut was the legendary “Heaven-Missing Sword,” He Mu!
He Mu ignored Ji Xing’s shock and continued, “I hail from the Daoist holy land of a century past—the Jade Void Palace of Kunlun Mountain. Once you pay homage to our patriarchs, you’ll be formally inducted. In time, you’ll meet your martial uncles and seniors.”
Even after a hundred years, the name “Jade Void Palace of Kunlun” carried weight. Ji Xing had heard fragments—its connection to the Myriad World Talisman, its status as a pinnacle sect worthy of the title “Daoist holy land.” Yet it had declined mysteriously, vanishing into history.
To think his master came from there!
To think *he* was now tied to this ancient Daoist legacy!
Collecting himself, Ji Xing rose solemnly and stepped inside.
As He Mu moved aside, two statues came into view. The uppermost bore the inscription “*Yuqing Primordial Beginning Heavenly Lord*,” while the lower read “*Primordial Emperor Su Meng*.”
“Our patriarch is the Primordial Beginning Heavenly Lord. Your grandmaster, the Primordial Emperor, is the second-generation disciple and current sect leader,” He Mu introduced with reverence.
*Primordial Emperor Su Meng?* Ji Xing’s jaw slackened.
This was a name he knew well—the first in recent history to self-verify as a Legend, later ascending to the Creation Realm as a supreme powerhouse who shook the heavens. The Myriad World Talisman was but one of his casual creations, leaving generations in awe.
To someone like Ji Xing, such a grandmaster belonged to realms beyond imagination. That he was now his *grandmaster* felt like a dream—too wondrous to be real!
He had thought having an Earth or Heaven Immortal as a master was extraordinary—evident from the Zhoulu Island lord’s deference. Yet even his mighty master spoke the grandmaster’s name with utmost reverence!
“But… wasn’t the grandmaster said to have fallen?” Ji Xing suddenly recalled.
He Mu replied calmly, “The grandmaster has not fallen. When he returns, the heavens will tremble.”
Ji Xing asked no more. Swallowing hard, he began the initiation rites under He Mu’s guidance.
As both their gazes left the statue of the Primordial Emperor, a flicker of purple emerged in the eyes of the clay idol.
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