Chapter 1591: Descendants of the Nine Heavens

*Ahem!*

A cough sounded as an elderly man clad in gray robes approached and spoke, “This is the final seclusion of the Scarlet King. None dare enter.”

He felt compelled to warn, for though he too was a follower, his intent was not hostile—rather, he bore a duty, fearing recklessness from the unruly Shi Hao.

The Scarlet King’s infamy was too great.

Though he had not appeared for many years, the world still remembered him.

Even beings from the foreign realm considered this Undying King too fearsome.

Behind them, many lamented the warning. *Why not let Shi Hao enter and seek his own doom?*

Within the ancient land, an aura of immortality permeated—a manifestation of supreme power and terror, akin to immortal qi, a substance of the same caliber, thick and oppressive here.

Shi Hao did not enter. He stood still, closing his eyes as if in contemplation or deep thought.

A long while later, he finally moved, his body shifting through seals and stances, once again appearing as if he were comprehending profound techniques, utterly indifferent to the onlookers.

After a long time, Shi Hao circled the area but did not step inside.

He was not one to be stubborn. He had come only because of the Scarlet King’s notorious reputation, and sensing the aura from outside was enough. Who knew whether the Scarlet King still lived or had perished? He had no desire to investigate.

Shi Hao resumed his journey, heading westward until he arrived at a stretch of marshland. He stood silently, gazing for a long while without uttering a word.

Here, he felt an inexplicable sorrow, resonating with something unseen.

*”Heh, sharp as ever. You sensed it, didn’t you? This marsh exists because it was formed from flesh and blood. A group of rebellious slaves were slaughtered here long ago. I must say, they were formidable rebels—their blood refused to dry, soaking the earth and turning it into this bloody mire.”*

Someone spoke, their voice laced with hostility, deliberately provoking Shi Hao. Though they dared not act, words were fair game.

Shi Hao knew these so-called “slaves” were likely the strong warriors of the Nine Heavens, captured after their defeat and cruelly suppressed here.

He had heard it before—during clashes with the younger generation of the foreign realm, they had taunted him, boasting of their “old servants,” ancestors of the Nine Heavens, still serving them to this day.

Shi Hao stood in silence for a long time, saying nothing.

Finally, he turned and left.

Next, he entered a range of towering mountains, where countless stone walls bore the inscriptions of grand dao symbols—some radiant, piercing the heavens, others vast beyond measure.

*”Golden Roll of Honor!”*

Shi Hao was astonished. This mountain range carried an extraordinary aura of the great dao, where many masters had left their names.

*”Those who create heavenly techniques or devise rare ancestral arts may inscribe their names here, to be revered by future generations, immortalizing their achievements.”*

The foreign realm revered battle and martial prowess.

Any who made exceptional contributions on the path of cultivation would be remembered.

Clearly, this was no ordinary place. Shi Hao could not enter—it was sealed, only to be observed from afar.

Yet even so, he was deeply moved. The names carved into the stone mountains carried traces of dao comprehension, revealing fragments of understanding.

Even from a distance, one could gain insight.

Here, Shi Hao lingered for several days before departing.

*”This guy’s patience is unreal. Just wandering around, stopping and going—is he really comprehending the dao?”* someone muttered, frowning.

Thus, Shi Hao spent a month traversing many places, even skirting the edges of ancient lands belonging to royal and imperial clans.

One day, as he passed a village, he noticed its inhabitants were primitive—many wore tattered clothes, bared their arms, and exuded a fierce, bandit-like demeanor.

*”Which clan is this?”* Shi Hao wondered.

In the foreign realm, he had yet to encounter such a wretched group—their village was old, broken, and filthy, like a gathering of vagrants.

*”They come from the same place as you.”* Someone sneered coldly.

Shi Hao stiffened, then approached the village.

*”Are you from beyond the Imperial Pass?”* he asked.

The villagers remained wary, their eyes glinting with suspicion. None answered.

*”I, too, am from there,”* Shi Hao offered.

*”Oh? Another displaced soul, unwanted even as a servant?”* A burly man stepped forward, his aura oppressive.

Others closed in, encircling Shi Hao.

*”Hand over your treasures and artifacts!”* they demanded, their eyes icy.

This was no jest—Shi Hao sensed their killing intent. One wrong word, and blood would spill.

*Why?* He was baffled.

*”Stand down!”*

The gray-robed elder who had warned Shi Hao against entering the Scarlet King’s retreat reappeared, chastising the villagers.

*”You… from a royal clan? Do you need battle servants?”* one villager asked cautiously, eyeing the insignia on the elder’s sleeve.

Shi Hao was stunned. *They willingly offer themselves as servants?*

*”See? Not all captives are unyielding. This is the truth,”* the elder chuckled.

Shi Hao fell silent. What could he say? These people bore a strong servility.

Now he understood—not all descendants of the Nine Heavens remained defiant.

The idealized tales of unbroken pride and resistance were just that—ideals.

Yet he did not blame them. Generations of suffering had eroded their identity. They were no longer the proud ancestors of the Immortal Ancient era.

Even the most resilient clans could be broken over time.

Such villages were a grim reality. Not every descendant of the Nine Heavens retained their spirit.

Time was a blade, severing glory, dignity, and the unyielding pride of the past.

Shi Hao sighed. He pitied them—these were pitiable souls.

Further along, he encountered more such villages, their inhabitants resigned to servitude.

He did not linger, soon leaving the region.

*”Only such clans survive long. The proud ones you’ve seen—like the sparring partners of the War God Academy—bleed until death,”* the elder remarked.

Two days later, Shi Hao received an invitation, its characters radiant and dazzling.

*”Huh? They invited him?”*

The hostile followers who had trailed him were shocked.

*”That’s a grand opportunity! Why him? He doesn’t deserve it!”* some grumbled, envious.

Shi Hao turned to the elder, who had been shadowing him.

*”It’s an invitation to the Tea Ceremony—only the most exceptional talents of our realm are summoned.”*

He soon learned the details.

The Tea Ceremony, also called the Enlightenment Tea Gathering, revolved around a rare immortal herb—the Enlightenment Tea Tree!

Immortal herbs that took tree form were rare, but one that aided enlightenment? Unthinkable. Each harvest caused a sensation.

For the foreign realm, it was a grand event. Countless geniuses would gather beneath the tree to drink tea, discuss the dao, and spar.

But only the worthy could partake.

Millions might attend, yet only a select few would taste the tea.

The tree bore few leaves—at most, three thousand. A single leaf could trigger enlightenment, its value immeasurable.

*”Do Undying beings attend?”* Shi Hao asked.

*”Though a grand event, it’s primarily for the younger generation’s prodigies,”* the elder replied.

Victors in dao debates would earn more leaves, granting repeated epiphanies.

In the past, some had drunk cup after cup, comprehending the great dao, breaking through to the Undying realm.

Others, long accumulating power, had ascended from the Severing World stage amidst miraculous phenomena.

*”Interesting,”* Shi Hao mused, deciding to attend.

The Mountain of Enlightenment was a sacred land in the foreign realm, famed for its immortal tea tree—a treasure beyond imagination.

When Shi Hao arrived at its base, the mountain loomed vast, shrouded in immortal mist.

Already, countless beings of various races gathered.

*”Don’t hurt my grandmother! Waaah…!”*

A child’s wail pierced the air. A girl of four or five shielded an elderly woman, sobbing as she clung to her.

*”A disobedient slave deserves death. After all these years, with the Nine Heavens in ruins, you still cling to pride and defiance? Pathetic!”*

A cold-faced youth raised his foot to crush them both.

Shi Hao’s brows furrowed—anger and relief warred within him. Anger at the youth’s cruelty, relief that not all descendants of the Nine Heavens had lost their spirit.