Chapter Ninety-Seven: The Old Daoist

“Sit down,” said the old Daoist, sweeping his hand. Winds surged, and currents of primal chaos gathered into a table and chairs. He took his seat first.

“Many thanks, Daoist priest,” Lin Fan said. He did not presume to be his equal and remained standing. This old Daoist was unfathomable, likely possessing extraordinary power. Lin Fan had even lost all contact with the Spear of Judgment; presumably the old Daoist had severed that connection.

“I wish to ask what you meant by your earlier words. Was I not supposed to come here?” Lin Fan asked. He had always felt that Mount Wangwu was anything but ordinary, harboring great fortune—but even more likely, great terror.

“You should have come, but not at this time.”

The old Daoist’s gaze drifted afar. Stars fell from the sky; in the distance, a sea of constellations shattered. A terrifying scene unfolded, and a massive scroll appeared before Lin Fan.

It depicted a peerlessly graceful woman. She was so divine that even the fairies beyond the ninth heaven could not compare, yet at this moment she was weeping, her face streaked with tears.

Suddenly, a rainbow-like streak broke through the heavens, brilliant as the Milky Way. The cosmos collapsed, mountains and rivers shattered, and a great being made a move—by means of a sneak attack.

A long spear crossed the sky and directly pinned the woman down from the heavens. Its sharp tip pierced her heart. She coughed blood and fell into the mortal world.

A figure appeared, shrouded in black divine light. It had been this person who struck, carrying out the killing blow against the woman.

“How despicable!”

Seeing this, Lin Fan was indignant. If it had been a fair defeat, so be it, but a sneak attack was the most contemptible thing of all.

“You are enraged. Could it truly be you?”

The old Daoist’s words were baffling and impossible to grasp. Lin Fan listened in a haze, none the wiser.

At that moment, he had no mind to deal with the old Daoist further. The scene in the distance changed again.

The void shattered, and the cosmos sank into ruin. A middle-aged man emerged from chaos, roaring as he struck at the firmament. A huge hand pulverized everything; he punched through heaven and earth, assaulting the figure that had once been enveloped in black divine light.

Yet no great battle followed. The one beneath the black radiance had already departed, leaving only an afterimage behind.

The middle-aged man did not pursue. He descended and gathered the woman from the ground into his arms.

The entire scene was silent, yet Lin Fan could still feel an overwhelming sorrow soaring to the heavens, the sorrow of a heart dead beyond grief.

Only then did Lin Fan realize that the middle-aged man was injured, likely having just come out of battle, and that this woman had probably been waiting for his return—only to have her life buried in vain.

Then the image shattered and returned to the chaos-filled space. The old Daoist’s face had turned deathly pale, and whether it was an illusion or not, Lin Fan felt that his figure had become somewhat insubstantial.

“Did you see it?” the old Daoist asked. He had always been mysterious.

“I saw it, but I do not understand.” Lin Fan nodded, then shook his head. He had indeed seen those scenes, but he could not comprehend their meaning.

“In truth, you could have allowed her to live a second life, but you came too early. The demonic heart has awakened, the earth is sinking, and a blood-soaked realm is about to emerge. You must leave this place, or death is your only end.”

A thunderclap burst from the ground. The old Daoist coughed up a thread of blood, and the back of the chair formed beneath him from chaotic currents scattered into pieces.

“What does this mean? What does any of this have to do with me?” Lin Fan was puzzled and hurried to ask. He could clearly sense the old Daoist’s goodwill, and these words seemed intimately tied to him.

“I have already violated the will of heaven; I can say no more. Your path will be unimaginably difficult, and you will lose one guardian of the Dao after another. In the end, only you will remain beneath heaven and earth. To fight heaven is endless joy; to fight man is endless joy. Blood will cover the ground beneath your feet as you cross the great age.”

The old Daoist dispersed, leaving behind a trail of cryptic words. At the same time, the entire chaotic space split apart and was destroyed utterly.

“What exactly is going on here? The old Daoist would not say more—perhaps he fears some great calamity descending.”

Still bewildered, Lin Fan was plunged into darkness and disorientation. When he came to, he found himself inside a thatched hut, with water surrounding it on all sides.

“Where am I?”

He looked around, then suddenly started. Before him lay a skeleton, draped in a blue Daoist robe.

“Could this be that old Daoist?”

Lin Fan stepped forward and reached out to touch the bones, but a surge of brilliant light erupted. The blue robe actually rose to its feet, rushed out of the hut, and vanished into the horizon.

“This is a sacred relic!”

Lin Fan dashed out after it, but he could not hope to match its speed and could only watch it disappear.

“Who would have thought I’d encounter a sacred relic so soon? What exactly is hidden in Mount Wangwu, that even sacred relics are scattered about so casually?”

Lin Fan was frustrated, though he did not dwell on it. A sacred relic could already be called a sovereign among sovereigns, a god capable of action, and unless it willingly acknowledged someone, no outsider could claim it.

By now, Lin Fan also understood that the skeleton was probably not the old Daoist he had seen. The old Daoist’s cultivation had already reached a transcendent realm—unfathomable, impossible to measure. A sacred relic would likely not even register in his eyes.

“Senior, pardon the disturbance. This junior will take his leave now.”

Lin Fan bowed to the skeleton and intended to depart, but in the end he still paused.

“To meet is fate. This junior does not wish to see a senior’s remains exposed in the wilderness. Though my efforts are modest, I can still act without shame.”

With a wave of his hand, Lin Fan opened a large pit. Then he respectfully lifted the skeleton and buried it.

It took half a cup of tea’s time to finish. Lin Fan bowed once more, offering every courtesy.

“Hm? What is this?”

Suddenly, Lin Fan’s eyes sharpened. On the meditation cushion where the skeleton had sat, there was a golden finger bone, unlike anything belonging to the human race.

He stepped forward and picked it up, squeezing it lightly—yet he could not budge it at all. He even unleashed his full strength, but still could not damage it the slightest. It was truly inconceivable. One had to know that Lin Fan’s full power now rivaled the eighth level of the Meridian Condensation Realm, anything but ordinary.

“Let me try.”

The Spear of Judgment appeared. It had been shielded by the old Daoist earlier and had no idea what had happened, assuming only that a transfer had taken place.

Black spear light blazed as it struck the finger bone directly. The clash of metal and stone rang out deafeningly. The Spear of Judgment trembled, yet the golden finger bone gave no reaction whatsoever.

“Incredible, incredible! This is a finger bone of the Golden-Winged Great Roc. I never thought I would encounter such a thing today!”

The spirit of the Spear of Judgment manifested, shaken beyond measure. It examined the golden bone carefully and finally confirmed its origin.

“The Golden-Winged Great Roc?!”

Lin Fan was delighted. The Golden-Winged Great Roc spoken of by the Spear of Judgment must surely be the Roc Ancestor who had fully matured to the pinnacle, a being whose strength surpassed the ancestral realm.

“Could I really be this fortunate today?”