“Master!” Yang Hao watched as a golden, radiant glow, so dazzling it was almost impossible to keep his eyes open, flew out from his dantian and floated slowly toward the dragon. This was the first time Yang Hao had ever seen the physical form of Hun Yuanzi’s soul—and likely would be the last.
This golden hue, this majestic and awe-inspiring golden light, was extremely rare even among cultivators, and even among the immortals who had ascended to heaven. Only truly pure and powerful experts could possess such radiance.
Tears surged from Yang Hao like a tide. He felt as though a large piece of his heart had been hollowed out, leaving behind a void and pain that nothing could ever fill again. His entire body felt weak, all his strength draining away in an instant like soil eroded by water.
“Master!” Yang Hao knelt helplessly, crying out bitterly, “Please, say just one more word.”
“Life… is like snow.”
What an understatement. For Hun Yuanzi, life had been lonelier than snow itself. Long ago, he had watched helplessly as his sect and his beloved were destroyed. He had carried the burning desire for revenge, only to be nearly obliterated in body and soul.
Thousands of years ago, in the prime of his youth and vigor, he had now become so old and weary that even his friends had vanished without a trace.
He could only survive by hiding inside the body of a young man, secretly reminiscing about his youthful ambitions.
Hun Yuanzi’s smile, just like his weeping, was as lonely as falling snow.
Then, that golden light vanished into the depths of the dragon’s throat, disappearing like something swallowed by an endless, black night, leaving no trace behind.
The wind ceased. Yang Hao’s body no longer felt pain. Silence surrounded him, as if nothing had ever happened.
Yang Hao stopped sobbing and looked around in confusion. The dazzling, dreamlike scene from moments ago had left no trace. His fingers trembled as he touched the skin over his dantian—no burns, nothing, just the same as always.
Had it really happened? Yang Hao could hardly be sure.
But deep within his soul, it felt as though a large part of him had vanished, leaving only a single inner elixir floating inside his body, continuously emitting waves of power.
At that moment, Yang Hao knew—he had truly lost his master, the ever-present, ever-chattering presence.
Someone closer than family, like a part of his own body.
Someone who had barged into his life uninvited, and now had left without a word.
Gone for real. Vanished. Sacrificed.
Yang Hao felt bitter, but no tears came. He simply sat there, dazed, feeling the wind blow past him, lifting the edges of his robe, while loneliness wrapped around him like a bitter wine, one he would spend the rest of his days savoring.
It was hard to believe that such a vivid voice had now fallen silent in his ears.
Just as Yang Hao was drowning in sorrow and despair, the Cadeath dragon appeared rejuvenated. The Cadeath dragon clan, which had lived here for thousands of years without tasting a fresh source of power, now felt invigorated after consuming such a delicious energy core. Though it hadn’t fully digested it yet, the dragon already felt a surge of strength and vitality.
At this moment, the dragon finally deigned to look at Yang Hao properly, realizing how pathetically weak he was now that he had lost his energy core.
The dragon didn’t bother exerting much effort. With a mere sweep of its consciousness, it flung Yang Hao aside, sending him crashing into a pile of human bones. Clearly, it intended to do as it always had—killing Yang Hao slowly with its dragon breath, not sparing him even though he had provided such a powerful energy source.
If there was one thing Hun Yuanzi had truly taught Yang Hao, it was probably not alchemy.
It was the ability to adapt in times of crisis—the so-called “crisis teachings” that Hun Yuanzi often emphasized. Yang Hao had once hated it deeply, but now he missed it terribly.
As the dragon flung Yang Hao aside and rose up like the night itself, its massive body looming over him, Yang Hao suddenly snapped out of his grief.
“Survive!” A voice seemed to scream in his ear.
Survive! Yang Hao repeated it numbly, and by the third time, his eyes regained their luster. With a voice clearer and more determined than ever before, he roared, “Survive!!”
That’s right! Yang Hao finally understood. At this point, Hun Yuanzi was already dead. The only hope his master had sacrificed his thousand-year existence for was for Yang Hao to live.
If he continued to wallow in despair and failed to carve out a path to survival, then Hun Yuanzi’s sacrifice would truly be in vain.
Survive. That was now Yang Hao’s only choice, and the shared hope of both himself and his master.
But easier said than done. What Yang Hao now faced was no easier than the sacrifice Hun Yuanzi had just made.
He was surrounded by piles of cold, lifeless bones, with the stench of death all around. And in the air directly in front of him, the dragon that had just devoured Hun Yuanzi was staring at him coldly. Soon, it would unleash a torrent of dragon breath.
Yang Hao tried desperately to recall Hun Yuanzi’s last words. The old ghost had mentioned something about this twisted dragon raising humans like sons, nurturing them with dragon breath—only to end up killing them all.
Dragon breath—the key to everything. Yang Hao could already see the mist forming inside the dragon’s mouth.
Green. It was green dragon breath.
Green dragon breath symbolized both life and separation. Yang Hao had already experienced separation, and now this breath was coming to take his life.
There were things Yang Hao didn’t know, and things Hun Yuanzi hadn’t had time to explain. The meaning behind dragon breath was far more complex than he understood.
In legend, dragons were a race of immense vitality, fundamentally different from humans. They nurtured their offspring and passed down their power through dragon breath.
Dragon breath was more than just a dragon’s exhalation. True dragon breath was itself a form of life, possessing the power to be born and to die.
If a young dragon received a breath from its parent, the transformation could be more painful than death itself. But after the purification of marrow and bones, the young dragon’s power could increase manifold.
Other life forms, if they were fortunate enough to receive a breath of dragon breath and could absorb its power without dying, could undergo a transformation akin to a dragon’s ascension, gaining power far beyond their kind. In ancient legends, the transformation of a fish leaping through the Dragon Gate into a dragon was made possible by the nurturing power of dragon breath.
Yet such cases were extremely rare—so rare that perhaps only one such instance occurred every hundred thousand years. For the power contained within dragon breath was so immense that even young dragons of the same species often struggled to endure it, let alone other, weaker races.
Thus, throughout history, countless beings had been struck by dragon breath, but only a handful had survived and transformed into beings of extraordinary power.
Now, Yang Hao stood at the edge of such a fate. Though he didn’t know the secrets of those ancient legends, it was clear—he was on the brink of life and death. One breath of dragon fire, and his life would end.
“I won’t die!” Yang Hao shouted, his eyes wide, his feet kicking wildly on the ground. But all he managed to do was stir up a cloud of bone dust from the pile of corpses, making the scene even more desolate and eerie.
The dragon paid no heed to Yang Hao’s thoughts. It only wanted to finish quickly. So the green dragon breath didn’t take long to form—it soon erupted with a strange sensation, shooting toward him.
Yang Hao had nowhere to run. He could have used the Feihua Mirage technique, but now he was as if swallowed by darkness itself—how could he escape the night when there was no path to light?
He couldn’t fight either. His skills were laughable compared to Hun Yuanzi’s, and against a dragon, they would only serve to further humiliate the human race.
But Yang Hao didn’t want to die. He had the courage and the will to survive, a will forged entirely from his trust in Hun Yuanzi. Because Hun Yuanzi had sacrificed thousands of years of cultivation for one purpose—to give Yang Hao exactly what he needed now.
The Dragon Breath Pill!
A legendary elixir, the first of its kind in creation—the ultimate masterpiece of the Dual Cultivation Sect!
So Yang Hao simply waited, quietly, even as the green dragon breath descended upon him, not moving a single muscle.
But what Yang Hao received was only disappointment. The Dragon Breath Pill did not appear as expected.
A massive wave of green dragon breath descended like a storm, but the Dragon Breath Pill, which Hun Yuanzi had sacrificed his life to obtain, did not emerge from any hidden corner.
Upon reflection, it made sense. What kind of treasure was the Dragon Breath Pill? Throughout history, it had only appeared once in uncertain legends, and even that one had been lost. How could Hun Yuanzi simply conjure one up at will?
Moreover, that old man had already been completely devoured by the Cadeath dragon clan—whether he was alive or dead was uncertain, let alone having the time to save Yang Hao.
In an instant, Yang Hao understood everything. He wasn’t foolish—he wouldn’t keep waiting in vain. But in this moment, surrounded by the dragon’s dark aura, any resistance would only hasten his death.
“Stay calm!” Yang Hao shouted at the dragon, using his usual tone.
But the only response was two cold, unfeeling eyes. The Cadeath dragon couldn’t hear a word Yang Hao said. Two beings of vastly different consciousness levels could not communicate. Many killings in this world arose precisely from such misunderstandings.
Yang Hao’s legendary silver tongue utterly failed him. The dragon’s breath did not pause for his sorrow, continuing its descent in that eerie manner.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage