Shi Hao gripped Qin Zhan tightly, dashing at breakneck speed toward that region. Excitement flickered across his face, yet his eyes held a trace of bewilderment. Those two figures had only ever appeared in his dreams—a lingering regret in reality.
Father and mother—for others, they were beloved kin, ever-present guardians through life’s journey. But for him, they had always been a yearning, an absence since childhood.
The prodigious Little Stone, rising from the wilderness, carved his own path out of the mountains, forging a name that shook the world. Though he never had his parents’ aid, he still stood unrivaled among his peers.
Yet, the longing remained. A regret buried deep in his heart. And now, at last, he was about to meet them—to fill the void of that yearning, to finally know the warmth of familial love.
The ground erupted with radiant light, symbols shimmering, exuding an aura of divinity. Shi Hao’s heart jolted—this was a Heaven-Piercing Formation, sealing the entire valley.
“Father!” Shi Hao shouted.
“Mother!” he cried out again.
These were cries from the depths of his soul. Though years had passed, his heart held no resistance, no unfamiliarity. Those figures had left too profound an imprint in his memories.
The valley echoed like rolling thunder, yet the two figures gave no response.
“It’s the formation’s power,” the Divine Striking Stone nestled in his hair spoke. “It isolates everything within. You can see in, but they cannot see out.”
“Can you break it?” Shi Hao asked, his heart already restless, desperate to charge in and stand before them.
“This is a divine formation—too complex,” the Divine Striking Stone replied. “It will take time. Skill alone isn’t enough; you need the corresponding strength.”
Behind him, two elders closed in, striking decisively. Qin Zhan was in Shi Hao’s grasp, teetering on the brink of death.
Moreover, they had noticed—the sacred liquid shimmered with symbols. The Little Stone was extracting the Nirvana Secret Art, nearly completing the harvest. And this was knowledge that absolutely must not spread.
Even they had only obtained fragments of this supreme sect treasure—a technique reserved for the chosen few, a closely guarded secret.
A Zhujian, fierce and savage, materialized and lunged forward—a manifestation of a precious technique.
The other elder’s body ignited, rapidly revealing over a hundred formations within him. Around him, stars seemed to emerge—vast, dazzling, and resplendent.
At the same time, Qin Hao attacked, his movements natural as the Dao itself. The silver spear in his hand hummed, transforming into a streak of brilliant silver light.
“Whoosh!”
Crimson feathers swirled as a Vermilion Bird soared across the heavens. Scarlet mists surged around Shi Hao as he unleashed the Four Strikes of the Primordial Vermilion Bird!
Though his heart raced at the sight of his parents, he restrained his emotions. This valley was perilous, enemies closing in—he could not afford distraction.
Blistering waves of heat surged like molten lava, following the Vermilion Bird’s cry as it streaked across the firmament.
The two elders recoiled, their attacks blocked, unable to break through.
Simultaneously, a metallic hum resounded—a golden divine sword materialized in Shi Hao’s grip. He swung it forward, the blade singing with a resonant chime.
Qin Hao’s silver spear trembled violently as the blade struck, sparks flying, the clang of divine metal ringing endlessly.
The two elders gasped, joining forces to steady the silver spear. Channeling their power, it transformed—a silver dragon raising its head, its roar shaking the heavens.
Unfazed, Shi Hao slashed again with his golden sword. The searing radiance seemed to cleave the void, becoming an eternal divine light that suppressed the very heavens.
The silver spear met it head-on.
“BOOM!”
Limitless divine energy erupted like a ruptured ocean, capable of flattening mountains, annihilating entire ranges—this was the might of the undying!
Shi Hao stood firm, robes fluttering, hair whipping in the wind—unmoved. Across from him, the trio staggered back, stunned by the golden sword’s divine majesty.
“Fear not,” one elder reassured the youth beside him. “That sword is the Shi Clan’s divine artifact—not proof of his own invincibility.”
“You are young,” the other added. “Your vitality and cultivation still need time to mature. One day, you will stand unrivaled.”
Yet their faces burned with shame. Qin Hao’s defeat could be excused by his youth, but for them—venerable elders—to be repelled was inexcusable. They were simply outmatched.
Meanwhile, the valley erupted with waves of radiant light—brilliant, vast, and majestic, as if a great sun were rising. The air thickened with divine presence.
“The Lord awakens!” an elder exclaimed, reverence and excitement in his voice.
The Valley of Gods naturally housed deities—this was no secret. It was the retreat of the Bujia Mountain’s ancestor, the very foundation of their lineage.
A sigh echoed—soft, yet like a torrent crashing against the heavens, shaking the soul.
“This is sacred ground, a place of peace. How dare you raise arms here?” The voice was calm, magnetic, devoid of anger, yet it stirred the soul.
Is this a god? Shi Hao’s heart surged. It was his first encounter with such a being.
Yet he felt no fear. He had come for his parents—he would see them.
And he did not halt his actions. Still gripping Qin Zhan, his left hand continued extracting the final symbols from the sacred liquid.
This was the Ancient Nirvana Art—a forbidden treasure of the Bujia Mountain lineage. Even in the upper realms, it was priceless, known to only a handful.
The complete version was reserved for the most gifted.
Shi Hao, fortunate to witness it, would not let this chance slip—even with a deity nearby, he continued harvesting the primal imprints.
Finally, a chime rang out. Symbols materialized in the air, forming a grand scripture—the complete Nirvana Art.
He had succeeded.
Qin Zhan’s failed nirvana had left the technique fully imprinted in the sacred liquid. Under Shi Hao’s suppression, not a single character was missed.
“Clang! Clang! Clang!”
The scripture resonated, not lengthy, yet each character blazed with radiant light—like metallic Dao runes forged into a golden page.
It hovered, sacred and flawless, exuding supreme Daoist truths.
Shi Hao marveled—this was extraordinary!
Even the two elders burned with desire, having only fragments themselves.
Yet the scripture shone briefly before dissolving into a river of stars, merging into Shi Hao’s being—etched into his heart, each word resonating with the Dao.
A flicker passed through Shi Hao’s eyes—this treasure was now indelible.
“You admire this art?” The voice from the valley depths was serene. Golden mist swirled, radiant as dawn—divine presence. “I can teach you. And if you wish, other supreme techniques as well.”
Shi Hao remained wary. Qin Zhan, in his grasp, was a ruin—only his head intact, his nirvana failed.
Shi Hao opened his ten heavenly passages, tossing Qin Zhan into one—a prisoner, like Qin Fa before him.
“I wish to see my parents. Open the formation,” Shi Hao demanded.
“Of course,” the voice replied, carrying the weight of ages. “You are here now—why fear you won’t?”
A golden path materialized, stretching from the valley depths—sacred, accompanied by the harmonies of the Dao.
Shi Hao hesitated not, leaping onto it, striding toward the heart of the valley.
The two elders watched enviously. Even they had never trodden such a path—said to be condensed from divine power, a conduit for enlightenment.
Shi Hao walked the golden road, the world fading around him—only the eternal light remained, leading him forward.
At last, the radiance dimmed. The path ended.
He stepped onto solid ground—a serene, verdant valley, bathed in holy light. Spirit springs bubbled; rare herbs flourished.
Ahead stood an ancient tree, exuding Daoist rhythm, its sparse leaves glowing, petals drifting like luminous rain.
Beneath it sat a figure clad in golden battle robes, eyes closed—transcendent, almost ethereal in beauty.
“Please, sit,” the figure spoke softly, eyes still shut.
Shi Hao settled on the lush grass, surrounded by fragrant spirit herbs.
The man beneath the tree appeared no older than twenty, his voice magnetic, his presence otherworldly—beautiful yet profound.
Is this a god? Shi Hao observed silently. Not what he had imagined—so youthful.
“Will you become my disciple?” The voice was gentle, still magnetic. The golden-robed figure sat beneath the ancient tree, eyes closed—a vision of sublime grace.
On the other side of the valley, beyond the sealed formation, stood structures reminiscent of the Martial King’s residence—akin to Shi Hao’s birthplace.
A man sat amidst bamboo, Daoist rhythms swirling around him, eyes shut—detached from the world.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. He stood abruptly. “Hao’er… What is this feeling? He’s here!”
A beautiful woman looked up. “Hao’er often visits. Isn’t it normal?”
“No,” the man said, trembling. “Our Hao’er from the Stone Nation—he’s truly here. Close… so close!”
“Hao’er…” The woman’s voice quivered. A premonition gripped her. “He’s… in the valley. Near… so near!”
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