To be honest, Han Li had no desire to linger here and wished to return to Tiannan immediately to lift the Soul-Sealing Curse from Nangong Wan.
However, lending the Void Heaven Cauldron to the silver-robed woman would be nothing short of suicide. That Frost Li the Transcendent was equivalent to a late-stage Great Cultivator, fully capable of mastering the second layer of the treasure-refining technique. With the cauldron in her possession, even if Han Li joined forces with his puppets and the Five Demons, he might still be no match for her.
Such foolishness, placing himself at another’s mercy, was naturally out of the question.
Fortunately, Nangong Wan had already consumed the inner core of the ancient Fire Salamander. Even if it couldn’t completely break the seal, it would undoubtedly delay the curse’s effects, ensuring her safety for at least two or three centuries.
Thus, Han Li had no choice but to abandon his original plan and quietly cultivate here for the time being.
Now, Han Li sat with his eyes tightly shut, his chest barely rising and falling, his entire body as still as death.
Yet, the milky-white mist emanating from the Spirit Eye Spring before him seemed sentient, drifting slowly toward him until he was enveloped in a swirling haze. Eventually, the mist condensed into a dense, milky-white sphere, completely obscuring his form.
Days, months, years—time passed unnoticed. The milky-white spiritual mist continued to gather by the pool, while the white mist sphere remained motionless, as if it had existed there since the dawn of creation.
Cultivation knows no time. In the blink of an eye, eighty years had passed.
On this day, at a harbor on an island in the Chaotic Star Sea, ships of various sizes came and went, while accomplished cultivators flew in and out of the sky. Apart from this single exit, the entire island was shrouded in restrictive barriers, contributing to the bustling activity at the port.
Near the shore, a few scattered hills stood, the tallest of which bore a pale-white pavilion. Though not particularly refined or elegant, its rugged construction of massive stones gave it a unique, imposing charm.
At the top floor of this three-story pavilion, a blue-robed Daoist and a white-robed scholar in a Confucian cap stood side by side, observing the harbor while conversing.
“Senior Brother Ming, I heard the Anti-Star Alliance and Star Palace clashed again near Falling Star Island. This time, a Core Formation cultivator from the Anti-Star Alliance perished. It seems the alliance suffered a minor setback,” the scholar remarked leisurely.
“Alas, in recent years, conflicts between Star Palace and the Anti-Star Alliance have grown frequent again. It seems another major battle is imminent. Strangely, while the Anti-Star Alliance holds the upper hand in territory—controlling over twenty of the Inner Sea’s thirty-six islands—Star Palace has won more engagements,” the blue-robed Daoist sighed.
“Hmph, what’s so strange about that? The Twin Saints of Heavenly Star, having cultivated the Magnetic Divine Light, are nearly invincible as long as they remain near Heavenly Star Island. Didn’t you hear about the last battle, where the Six Paths Demon and Lady Wan San joined forces but were soundly defeated by the Twin Saints near the island? However, the Twin Saints dare not stray too far from Heavenly Star Island for long, lest their cultivation wane. Thus, both sides are restrained, leaving smaller sects like ours to suffer,” the scholar sneered.
“True enough. Being occasionally conscripted by either side isn’t a big deal—we can just send a few low-level disciples to comply. But now, instead of paying tribute to just one faction, we must pay both. Life has become much harder,” the Daoist grumbled, his expression sour.
“Ha! Senior Brother Ming, you’re too sentimental! Such matters are beyond the concern of mere Foundation Establishment disciples like us. Let the elders handle it. As long as our sect’s patriarch remains, neither side will push us too hard. Once our two-year duty here ends, we can return to our caves and focus on cultivation. Speaking of which, since my last seclusion, I’ve felt on the verge of breaking through to mid-Foundation Establishment!” the scholar suddenly boasted with a hint of pride.
“What? If you can advance to mid-stage in just a century, your talent is exceptional! I’ve been stuck at mid-stage for decades with no sign of progress,” the Daoist exclaimed, his face filled with envy.
“Senior Brother Ming, you jest! Everyone knows the bottleneck between early and mid-stage is worlds apart. Even if I reach mid-stage, I’ll likely still lag behind you!” the scholar hastily waved his hands.
The Daoist gave a bitter chuckle and was about to reply when a deafening thunderclap, as if from the heavens, shook the entire pavilion violently.
Startled, the two exchanged glances and hurriedly looked toward the distant sea.
About ten miles from the harbor, a vast expanse of brilliantly colored clouds churned in the sky, accompanied by a thunderous roar like ten thousand galloping horses. The sea below surged violently, sending towering waves over a hundred feet high racing toward the shore like a silver-white line.
Chaos erupted at the harbor as ships scrambled to dock, their crews and passengers fleeing ashore in panic. Facing such monstrous waves, staying aboard was tantamount to suicide.
The Daoist and scholar ignored the once-in-a-century spectacle of the waves, their attention fixed instead on the roiling clouds in the distance. Within moments, sweat beaded on their foreheads.
Not just them—every cultivator in the harbor paled, some even losing control of their flight artifacts and plummeting unsteadily to the ground.
The spiritual pressure emanating from those clouds was overwhelming, even at this distance, as if some ancient demonic beast were descending upon the world.
The entire island trembled faintly, the buildings quaking. The Daoist and scholar stood paralyzed, their throats dry.
Suddenly, three dazzling streaks of light shot from the island’s interior, arriving above the pavilion in an instant before descending to the top floor.
The radiance faded, revealing a burly yellow-robed man, a frowning green-robed elder, and an alluring woman.
“Greetings, Senior Uncles!” The Daoist and scholar snapped out of their daze and hurriedly bowed.
“What’s happening?” the yellow-robed man demanded gravely.
“We don’t know, Senior Uncle. The phenomenon appeared suddenly in the sky. We were just about to send a message talisman to inform you,” the Daoist replied hastily.
The newcomers needed no explanation—their eyes were already locked on the distant spectacle.
“What is that? Some high-level demonic beast spewing clouds?” the woman frowned.
“No, there’s no demonic aura. And no beast of such power could appear in the Inner Sea unless it were at the shapeshifting stage,” the elder narrowed his eyes and shook his head.
“Could it be a Nascent Soul senior casting a spell?” the man ventured.
“Unlikely. Aside from a few demonic cultivators, I’ve never heard of any Nascent Soul expert specializing in such unorthodox techniques. It resembles the celestial signs of a treasure manifesting,” the elder said gravely after a deep breath.
“If so, given the scale of this phenomenon, the treasure must be extraordinary. Our sect cannot afford to miss it!” the woman’s eyes gleamed.
The man’s expression also turned eager.
“Treasure? You fools are courting death!” A hoarse voice suddenly echoed through the room.
The three elders stiffened, standing at attention.
A blue light flashed, and a gaunt, sallow-faced man with milky-white eyes—appearing blind—materialized in the room.
“Greetings, Senior Uncle!” the three chorused.
The Daoist and scholar, startled, immediately prostrated themselves. “Greetings, Grandmaster!”
“Hmph! You dare covet such a treasure? Even if it exists, obtaining it would only bring ruin! The ‘Chaotic Demon’ happens to be nearby—he won’t miss this spectacle,” the blind man said coldly, his expression grave as he gazed at the distant clouds.
At the mention of the “Chaotic Demon,” the three elders turned ashen.
“But Senior Uncle, if it is a treasure, surely you could claim it?” the woman pressed.
“If it were a treasure, I might attempt it. I’ve no fear of the Chaotic Demon. But this is likely not a treasure’s manifestation,” the blind man said impassively.
Before anyone could react, a blinding white light erupted in the distance, dissolving the colorful clouds. Everyone but the blind man instinctively shut their eyes.
In that instant, a spatial distortion engulfed half the sky, followed by an even more overwhelming spiritual pressure. A pristine, glowing fragment of a palace-like structure shimmered into view, radiant and ethereal.
When the others reopened their eyes, they gaped in stunned silence.
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