Upon hearing his junior sister’s words, the elderly Fu Xing showed a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. After a moment’s thought, he nodded in agreement and said, “Since the Nether River Page has no effect on you, I won’t press the matter further. However, I must leave a mark on you. As long as you remain within the Southern Border, this mark will vanish on its own in half a year. I trust you don’t mind this, Fellow Daoist Han?”
“Certainly. My whereabouts are no secret. Feel free to proceed,” Han Li replied with a smile, agreeing without hesitation.
The old man wasted no time. With a single-handed seal and a muttered incantation, he sent forth a streak of blue light.
Han Li observed carefully and, confirming that the technique was indeed just an ordinary tracking mark, raised his arm and allowed the blue light to vanish into his body without resistance.
Pleased, Fu Xing stored away the Nether River Page and addressed the group, “I’ve said all I needed to say. Since Fellow Daoist Bai requires three more days to consider, my junior sister and I will wait here on this mountain. Fellow Daoist Yuan and Fellow Daoist Han may leave to make preparations. The entrance to the Yin-Yang Cave lies within the Valley of Ten Thousand Poisons, where toxic flora abound. Though they pose little threat to us, I suggest Fellow Daoist Yuan bring some poison-resistant treasures. Before entering the cave, we should avoid unnecessary expenditure of spiritual power.”
“Poison resistance? Heh, that’s child’s play for our Poison Saint Sect. Leave it to me,” the burly man laughed heartily. With a cupped fist to the others, he summoned his spirit beast—a massive turtle—from his spirit beast pouch. Riding atop it amidst a swirling gray wind, he soared into the sky and departed.
Seeing this, Han Li had no intention of lingering either. After bidding farewell, he transformed into a streak of azure light and shot into the distance.
Half a year might be tight, but it should be just enough time to forge the Three Flames Fan. As for tools to deal with ghosts, he already had the Divine Devilbane Lightning and the Soul-Crying Beast—no additional preparations were necessary.
His urgency in forging the fan stemmed from the principle of “better safe than sorry.” If he encountered unforeseen dangers in the cave, having both the fan and his humanoid puppet would ensure his safety.
With this in mind, Han Li steered his escape light toward Silver Serpent Mountain in the heart of the Southern Border.
Over ten days later, he arrived above a peculiar mountain range. Stretching three to four hundred li, the range was long and sinuous, resembling a giant serpent. Strangely, the trees here bore pale silver leaves, making the name “Silver Serpent Mountain” fitting when viewed from above.
Without stopping elsewhere, Han Li flew straight toward the “serpent’s head.”
Before he even drew close, scorching winds laden with the pungent scent of sulfur assailed him. Soon, several conical, grotesque volcanic peaks came into view, some rumbling ominously while others spewed plumes of ash.
Despite the danger, cultivators flitted in and out of these craters. Dozens of them—mostly Foundation Establishment cultivators, with a handful at Core Formation—gathered here.
This was unsurprising. Once a cultivator reached Core Formation and acquired their own core flame, they typically focused on refining their own treasures rather than coming here. As for Nascent Soul cultivators, none were present.
Halting his escape light high above, Han Li surveyed the area. A blue glint flashed in his pupils as he mapped out the fiery veins beneath the earth with his spiritual sense.
Moments later, he pinpointed the most intense fire vein. His escape light flashed as he descended toward a spot between two volcanoes.
Stopping a hundred zhang above the ground, he flicked his sleeve, releasing seven or eight golden flying swords. They circled before him, and with a hand seal and a low chant, the swords elongated into massive golden beams, slashing violently into the earth. A thunderous explosion followed, and a twenty-zhang-deep chasm split open below.
The commotion naturally drew the attention of nearby cultivators, some of whom flew toward him to investigate.
Sensing their approach, Han Li’s expression darkened. He unleashed the overwhelming aura of a Nascent Soul cultivator, sending a crushing spiritual pressure radiating outward.
Every cultivator within dozens of li recoiled in shock. Those who had been approaching hastily retreated, while others abandoned their forging sites altogether, scattering in fear of provoking this formidable senior.
Satisfied, Han Li descended into the chasm, his escape light vanishing into the abyss.
From then on, all cultivators at Silver Serpent Mountain knew to avoid the area within ten li of the chasm, treating it as forbidden territory.
Days passed in silence within the chasm. After a month, thunderous roars occasionally echoed from within. Another month later, the thunder gave way to clear, phoenix-like cries before fading into complete silence.
Meanwhile, in a side hall of the imperial palace in Jinjing, over a dozen cultivators—ranging from Daoists and monks to Confucian scholars—gathered. All were at least at the Nascent Soul stage, with two—a square-faced man in brocade robes and an old woman wielding a golden staff—at the mid-Nascent Soul stage. The black-crowned elder was also present.
They sat in silence, some fidgeting as they glanced toward the hall’s entrance, awaiting someone.
“Eleventh Brother, are you certain it’s really him? I witnessed Seventh Uncle’s death three hundred years ago,” the square-faced man asked a white-haired Daoist, his tone uneasy.
“Seventh Uncle’s appearance is unmistakable. And even if someone could mimic him, his Frostmoon Blade couldn’t be faked,” the old Daoist replied with a bitter smile.
“Second Brother, there’s no need to worry. Whether it’s truly him will be clear soon. With so many of us here, how could we all be fooled? If it is Seventh Uncle, it’s a boon for our Ye Clan. If it’s an imposter, even a late-Nascent Soul cultivator won’t leave this hall alive,” the old woman said darkly.
“True, but caution never hurts,” the square-faced man sighed, dropping the matter.
An hour later, as distant bells tolled, a gaunt figure appeared at the entrance. With a single step, he materialized at the center of the hall.
His appearance was bizarre—yellowed eyebrows, narrow eyes, and an abnormally large head that swayed precariously on his neck.
Yet the cultivators in the hall rose in shock.
“Are you truly Seventh Uncle?” the square-faced man asked cautiously.
“Ha! Second Brat, has it been so long you don’t recognize me? But I suppose my resurrection would raise doubts. Here—Third Brat’s voice transmission jade slip will explain everything,” the odd man laughed, tossing a green jade slip.
The square-faced man took it, immersing his spiritual sense within. His expression shifted repeatedly before he bowed deeply. “So Seventh Uncle’s death was a ruse arranged by the previous Grand Elder! Forgive my earlier disrespect.”
“Your caution pleases me. No offense taken,” the man waved dismissively.
After the others examined the jade slip, they too greeted him excitedly.
“Seventh Uncle!”
“Greetings, Third Granduncle!”
The hall buzzed with reverence.
“Enough, enough,” the man chuckled, seating himself at the head of the hall.
“Third Brother’s slip mentions that Seventh Uncle reached late-Nascent Soul two centuries ago. Is this true?” the old woman asked respectfully.
“Indeed. The great sects targeted me precisely because they feared my advancement. After faking my death per the clan’s plan, I succeeded in breaking through. According to the previous Grand Elder’s arrangements, I was to remain hidden unless the Ye Clan faced extinction. But Third Brat, the only one who knew of my survival, recently sought me out. As the current Grand Elder, he pleaded for my aid in your scheme. After careful consideration, I agreed—this matter concerns the very survival of our clan.”
His expression turned grave.
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