Chapter 97: The Foundation of the Pure Land

The undulating mountains were covered with ancient trees, shrouded in mist. The closer one got to the Sky Mending Pavilion, the more spiritual energy there was. The peaks weren’t particularly steep, but they were bathed in clouds and mist, with auspicious beasts roaming about. Along the way, they saw many lakes—clear and pristine—where spiritual fish swam, their dazzling scales making the water shimmer with life.

“What a wonderful place! And this is just the outskirts of the Sky Mending Pavilion. The spiritual energy is already so dense—it’s perfect for cultivation,” someone marveled.

“Hmm, no wonder they’ve been able to pass down their legacy since ancient times. Just looking at this blessed land, it’s clear why they thrive in peace and prosperity,” another remarked.

The road grew more crowded as they advanced, cutting through the mountain range. By now, there were no vicious beasts in sight—only spiritual birds and auspicious creatures. After traveling another hundred miles, a massive stone stele stood before them, inscribed with three bold characters: **Sky Mending Pavilion**. The strokes were powerful and majestic, exuding an overwhelming aura, as if a colossal titan stood there, gazing down upon them.

This marked the true approach to the Sky Mending Pavilion, though they had yet to reach the main gates—still within the outer region.

“So many people!” Bei Feng gasped. Tens of thousands had already gathered, filling the mountainside.

“Why are there so many?” others wondered aloud.

A bystander chuckled. “Think about it—who wouldn’t want to enter the Sky Mending Pavilion? This is an ancient sacred land. Even the great tribes will go to great lengths just to secure a single spot.”

Most of these people had arrived days in advance, crowding the area near the stele. Some even sat on animal hides spread over nearby hills.

“The land is vast, and the journey is long. The wilderness stretches endlessly, spanning hundreds of thousands of miles. Many simply can’t make the trip—otherwise, there’d be even more,” an old man sighed.

It was true. Small tribes couldn’t traverse such distances, even if they pooled all their resources to escort their children. To ensure they recruited true geniuses, the Sky Mending Pavilion dispatched envoys each year, scouring the wilderness and visiting major tribes to personally select promising candidates, whom they would then escort themselves.

The tens of thousands gathered here had been brought by powerful tribes or colossal clans—only those with enough strength could traverse hundreds of thousands of miles to arrive.

“This isn’t even the peak. When the actual selection begins in a few days, there’ll be even more,” a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old youth sighed. This was his third attempt; the previous two had ended in failure.

“Little brother, look—there are a lot of suspicious people searching for something. Could they be after you?” Bei Feng whispered.

“Mm.” Little Rascal nodded. Word of his arrival had spread months ago in the Void God Realm. Many great forces, including noble houses, had dispatched warriors to lie in wait.

Nearby, a group clad in black armor moved with military precision, scanning the crowd with sharp eyes. But with tens of thousands present, their task was daunting.

Elsewhere, a pristine white feather hovered in the air, carrying a dozen women who also searched intently.

Little Rascal’s gaze swept the area—dozens, if not hundreds, of such groups were nearby, not counting those unseen or farther away. Thousands of scouts had been deployed, a testament to the major factions’ determination.

“Furball, stop pretending to be dead. Get up,” Little Rascal nudged the drowsy monkey on his shoulder. Once golden, it was now grimy, its fur stained dark from blood and dirt.

“Make yourself look ordinary. Don’t let anyone recognize you,” he warned. If people realized he carried a golden **Zhu Yan**, trouble would follow.

The monkey grumbled but complied, its fur turning ashen, its eyes dulling into a vacant stare before it dozed off again.

Meanwhile, Little Rascal’s own features subtly shifted—his face rounded like a plump apple, his once-large eyes now smaller from the chubby cheeks.

“Wow, it really works!” Bei Feng giggled. Though not as handsome as before, Little Rascal looked unbearably cute now—she had the urge to pinch his cheeks.

This was the only minor divine ability Little Rascal had learned from Furball—a transformation art that altered appearance and bone structure.

Legend spoke of the **Zhu Yan**, a divine ape of antiquity, said to master **Seventy-Two Transformations**, a supreme treasure technique that once shook the ancient world. Sadly, Furball’s fractured runes and shattered imprints left only this small trick intact.

“Bei Feng, you can head straight in. With that token, you won’t need to take the trials—you’ll become one of the Sky Mending Pavilion’s most valued disciples.”

“But…” Bei Feng hesitated. The token was rightfully Little Rascal’s.

“We’re brothers. Don’t stand on ceremony,” Little Rascal insisted.

“You’re not planning to leave, are you?” Bei Feng fretted.

“Don’t worry. I won’t leave empty-handed—not after coming to such an ancient sacred land.”

“I’ll stay with you until you take the trials,” Bei Feng promised, fearing his departure.

“Someone just entered with a token!” a cry rang out, sparking envy.

“That’s the fifteenth one these past few days.”

But their awe was short-lived.

“That’s nothing compared to the real elites. See those palaces in the distance? They house extraordinary figures—children sent by them don’t even need tokens to enter the highest halls.”

The crowd tensed. Among those honored guests were envoys from the **Western Paradise**, the daughter of an imperial sovereign, descendants of ancient beasts, visitors from distant lands—and the enigmatic, formidable **Shi Yi**.

Days later, the selection finally began. The crowd had swelled to nearly ninety thousand, packed into the outer region.

A group of figures approached from the distant mountain gates—some atop beast bones, others seated on floating stones, all wreathed in runes.

The Sky Mending Pavilion’s elders had arrived. Without preamble, they led the masses toward the true gates.

Along the way, the mountains coiled like slumbering dragons. Rare herbs grew from cliffs and crevices, untouched despite their value.

“Look—a **Hound-Leaf Vine**! They’re nearly extinct, yet this one’s centuries old,” someone pointed out.

“Don’t even think about it. The Pavilion nurtures these herbs deliberately, saving them for future generations,” another warned.

Further on, a **Star Grass** shimmered by a frigid pool, its four violet leaves etched with celestial patterns.

“Compared to this, the herbs we gathered seem insignificant,” Bei Feng murmured.

Little Rascal grinned. “Maybe Furball can help ‘tend’ the Pavilion’s herb gardens—weeding, pest control… and maybe a little harvesting on the side.”

Bei Feng paled and quickly changed the subject.

At last, they reached the grand mountain gates—two towering peaks forming a natural archway, veiled in auspicious mist.

“Many come each year, yet few pass through. May more succeed this time,” an elder intoned from his seat upon a boulder.

“Go on, Bei Feng.”

With a deep breath, Bei Feng stepped forward, token in hand.

“Another genius! The sixteenth token bearer!” the crowd buzzed.

Then—**BOOM!**

A monstrous shadow blotted out the sky as a gargantuan bird descended, its aura crushing.

“A **Primeval Descendant**! What kind of family uses such a creature as transport?”

Perched atop it were elders and youths.

“That’s the **Martial King’s** mount! The godlike youth has arrived!”

“Who?”

“**Shi Yi!**”

The elder at the gates waved them through without hindrance.

“So it’s true—Shi Yi joins the Sky Mending Pavilion, aiming to rival the ancient sages!”

The revelation sent shockwaves through the crowd. Compared to this, Bei Feng’s entry with a token seemed trivial—utterly eclipsed.