Han Li watched as the two men acknowledged him, feeling an indescribable emotion welling up inside. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke in a calm voice, “When I left my hometown to seek the Dao, I never imagined the Han family would grow into a prominent clan. Truly, the unpredictability of life is no mere saying. Rise, both of you. As your granduncle, I’ve been absent for so many years that to the current Han family, I might as well be a stranger. There’s no need for such formalities.”
“Granduncle, you speak too modestly. It is our failure as descendants that we did not know you were still alive. Had we known, we would have sent someone to serve you dutifully,” the middle-aged scholar said respectfully as he stood up.
“Dutiful service? That won’t be necessary. I’ve come only to take a look and will not stay long. As one who seeks immortality and the Dao, it’s best to have as little entanglement with worldly ties as possible,” Han Li waved his hand dismissively, his tone indifferent.
“Granduncle, must you leave so soon? It’s far too hasty. At least accompany Tianxiao to the fortress to meet the other Han descendants before you go!” the scholar exclaimed in surprise.
“No need. When I arrived earlier, I flew over Hanjiabao and scanned everyone inside with my spiritual sense. Though the Han family is numerous, none possess a Spiritual Root. There is no karmic connection between us. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have minded taking one or two clan disciples to cultivate,” Han Li sighed, a hint of regret in his voice.
“It seems we descendants are fated to lack fortune, unable to follow Granduncle in seeking immortality,” the scholar said with a bitter smile, disappointment flashing across his face.
“Possessing a Spiritual Root, something only cultivators have, is a rarity—one in ten thousand. It’s perfectly normal that none among hundreds of Han clansmen have such aptitude. Moreover, it’s my wish that neither the Han nor the Li families step into the world of cultivation. The current cultivation world is far from peaceful, with entire clans and sects being wiped out. If the Han family were dragged into such conflicts, it would be disastrous,” Han Li shook his head.
“We will abide by Granduncle’s instructions,” the scholar replied after a brief pause, his tone deferential.
“You—which generation descendant of Li Feiyu are you? What’s your name?” Han Li turned his gaze to the bearded man.
The man bowed his head hastily. “This junior is Li Feng, the eleventh-generation descendant of Ancestor Feiyu. Greetings, Granduncle Han.”
“Li Feiyu and I were like brothers in our youth, so I can accept your address as ‘Granduncle.’ Earlier, I noticed how protective you were of Tianxiao. It seems the Li family has indeed looked after the Han family all these years. As the Han family’s granduncle, I naturally cannot neglect the Li family. Here are some medicinal pills that will greatly aid martial practitioners, sparing your Li descendants much of the toil in cultivating inner strength. Take them.” Han Li patted his storage pouch, and with a flash of white light, seven or eight small vials of various colors appeared in his palm, which he handed to the man.
Overjoyed, Li Feng thanked him profusely and accepted the vials. In the martial world, cultivating inner strength, though not as time-consuming as a cultivator’s decades-long practice, still required years of effort. With these pills, the Li family could produce many formidable experts in the future.
Seeing this, the middle-aged scholar couldn’t help but glance at Han Li with a trace of hope in his eyes.
Noticing this, Han Li smiled faintly and unhurriedly took a spirit beast pouch from his waist, giving it a light tap. Instantly, thousands of tri-colored Gold Devouring Beetles surged out, forming a dazzling cloud of insects about ten feet wide, their hum resonating like countless stars appearing in broad daylight.
The scholar and the bearded man gaped in astonishment, marveling inwardly.
Without a word, Han Li pointed at the insect cloud above him. The swarm abruptly condensed into a tri-colored sword that hovered motionless in the air. With a beckoning gesture, the sword emitted a clear chime and dropped into his hand.
The bizarre sight left the two men utterly dumbfounded.
Han Li held the sword in one hand while lightly stroking its blade with the other, his expression shifting between contemplation and hesitation. After a long pause, he sighed and exhaled a wisp of azure spiritual energy onto the sword. A flash of green light later, an ancient-looking green sheath materialized around the blade. Han Li then held the sheathed sword horizontally before him.
“This sword was forged from my refined spirit insects and can slay enemies autonomously. I will leave it in this ancestral hall. Should the Han family ever face annihilation, gather your clansmen here, and this sword may spare you disaster. However, remember this: since I will not be the one wielding it, once unsheathed, it will slaughter all living beings within a ten-mile radius except those inside the hall. Use it with utmost caution. Here is a jade pendant containing a trace of my essence. Only by wearing it can the sword be drawn—no ordinary person can unsheathe it otherwise. Henceforth, this pendant shall be passed down among successive Han family heads.” Han Li produced a translucent jade pendant and handed it to the scholar with a stern warning.
“Your grandnephew will remember Granduncle’s teachings!” the scholar replied eagerly, his earlier doubts about Han Li now entirely dispelled by his miraculous display.
Han Li smiled faintly but did not immediately hand over the sword and pendant. Instead, he added, “One more thing: because the sheath is formed from spiritual energy, this Gold Devouring Sword can only be used three times. Each use will weaken the sheath, and after the third, it will dissipate, causing the sword to revert to spirit insects and vanish. Three chances to avert calamity should suffice for the Han family. After all, no prosperity lasts forever. To prevent future generations from exploiting this sword for wicked purposes, know that it cannot leave this ancestral hall before being unsheathed. If removed, it will likewise vanish. Even so, wielded wisely, it should ensure the Han family’s prominence for centuries. After that, returning to ordinary life may not be a bad fate.”
Having said this, Han Li finally handed over the two items.
The scholar bowed repeatedly and accepted the sword, carefully placing it on the central altar before returning to stand attentively before Han Li.
Pleased with the scholar’s reverence, Han Li pondered for a moment before producing two pale-yellow vials and tossing one each to the scholar and the bearded man. As they stared in surprise, he chuckled, “The earlier gifts were for the Han and Li families. But as my descendants who’ve met me in person, you two share some karmic ties with me, so I ought to give you something as well. Though these pills are of little use to me now, for mortals, they can prolong life and strengthen the body. Take them—they’ll ensure you both live past a hundred.”
“Thank you, Granduncle!”
“Thank you, Granduncle Han!”
Clutching the vials, the two men expressed their gratitude in unison, their faces alight with joy.
Han Li nodded, then glanced around once more before suddenly asking with curiosity, “You recognized me immediately, so you must have preserved my portrait. If it’s in this ancestral hall, show it to me. I’m curious who painted it.”
“The portrait is indeed upstairs. Please wait a moment, Granduncle,” the scholar replied after a brief pause.
He walked to one side of the hall and pressed against what appeared to be an ordinary wall. With a creak, a section of the wall flipped open, revealing five or six silk portraits hanging inside.
Han Li stepped forward and stopped before one depicting a smiling youth of seventeen or eighteen, his face still bearing traces of boyish innocence—none other than Han Li in his younger days.
“This portrait was said to have been passed down from the Li family’s ancestors to ours. As for who painted it, we do not know,” the scholar explained softly from behind.
But Han Li seemed not to hear. After a moment, his gaze shifted to another portrait—this one of his father dressed in wealthy attire, his face far more aged than when Han Li had last glimpsed him in the village, yet brimming with joy.
A shadow of sorrow crossed Han Li’s face before he scanned the remaining portraits, each depicting white-haired elders. With great effort, he recognized the aged visages of his elder brothers, and a tumult of emotions overwhelmed him, leaving him momentarily lost in thought.
The scholar and the bearded man wisely remained silent, allowing Han Li his reverie. But then, Han Li began murmuring to himself, his voice too low and indistinct for them to catch.
Just as they strained to listen, a blinding azure light erupted from Han Li’s body. Startled, they instinctively shut their eyes. When they reopened them, Han Li had vanished without a trace, leaving only his voice echoing in their ears:
“Though I possess some abilities akin to an immortal, I also have formidable enemies. Do not speak of our meeting today to anyone. As long as no word leaks out and the Gold Devouring Sword remains hidden, cultivators will pay no heed to mortals like you, and you may rest easy. From now on, I will devote myself wholly to the Great Dao of immortality and will rarely involve myself with the Han family. Farewell.”
With that, Han Li’s voice ceased abruptly, as though he had drifted far away.
The bearded man and the middle-aged scholar exchanged glances, utterly bewildered.
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