The Qin dynasty unified the six kingdoms and unified the script as well — the scripts of the six kingdoms were nearly wiped out entirely. What could be seen here was a form of ancient seal script, resembling oracle bone inscriptions, yet also similar to bronze vessel inscriptions.
Ye Fan did not linger. He strode forward, for he had just seen several people enter before him. It was not that he feared their abilities — rather, he was worried they might act rashly and destroy something of value.
“Clang!”
A streak of sword light cut brilliantly through the pitch-black ancient tomb, illuminating a vast expanse of void, shooting toward Ye Fan like a long rainbow — someone was launching a killing strike.
It is the same everywhere: where there are people, there is a world of conflict. The cultivators who had entered the Warring States great tomb had naturally come for Daoist arts and divine artifacts. Anyone else was a competitor.
“Clang!”
Ye Fan flicked his finger. A razor-sharp sword, smooth as autumn water, shattered into more than a dozen pieces in an instant — like a heap of glazed shards falling to the ground, a scattering of crystalline fragments. With a sweep of his hand, a figure ahead was sent tumbling violently sideways, bones cracked and flesh mangled, body slammed against the tomb wall.
Ye Fan did not pause. He had slain even kings who stood at the cusp of the Dao — there was no reason to concern himself with the life or death of someone at the Life Spring realm. His instincts told him this great tomb was far from ordinary.
Ethereal music rang out, again and again, not from the nine heavens but from deep below the earth — like a dirge from the nine nether realms, stirring the soul.
After advancing some distance, a stairway of white jade appeared, leading deep into the underground palace. For mortals, such material would be unthinkable to use.
Who would pave a road with jade? Each piece, taken away and put to auction, would fetch an astronomical price — and yet here were great quantities of it, leading down into the earth.
Those who had entered earlier had already descended, all of them eager and impatient, intent on reaching the main burial chamber. By now it was certain — this was the burial ground of a cultivator. All of them harbored hopes of obtaining a pre-Qin artifact.
The so-called pre-Qin era referred to the mysterious period before the Qin dynasty — encompassing the Warring States, Spring and Autumn, Shang, and Western Zhou periods, traceable all the way back to the most primitive age of humanity’s origins.
“Clang, clang…”
The sound of swords ringing out came from ahead. A stone wall blocked the path forward, covered entirely in sword marks. A metallic resonance emanated from it — as though a peerless master were striking a blade nearby, the sound drifting down from the ancient era.
“A sword-honing stone!”
Ye Fan was astonished. He had once heard of such stones — ones used by supreme cultivators to sharpen their blades — which could preserve the ringing of the sword for countless millennia because the wielder’s sword intent had been infused within. For many, this was a priceless treasure.
Four figures stood beside the sword-honing stone, as though seeking some form of enlightenment. When Ye Fan drew near, he found them all with blood streaming from their noses and mouths, their seven orifices ruptured — dead, having met violent ends.
All four were cultivators at the Divine Bridge realm — not one had broken through to the second secret realm of the human body. Even the sound of an ancient sword-honing stone was more than they could withstand; all had perished here.
This was the tragedy of the Age of Fading Law. In the current era, merely being able to cultivate was considered extraordinary talent — yet even an ancient person’s whetstone could not be endured. It was enough to make one deeply lament.
Ye Fan thought for a moment, extended two fingers like a sword, and chipped the stone free. He placed a preliminary seal upon it and tossed it to Little Pine, who collected it in the small bell cast from Great Luo silver essence and the little stone Buddha, to be studied and comprehended in the days to come.
The ethereal music played on, drifting and lingering, growing ever clearer as it entered one’s ears — washing through the soul, both deeply stirring and inexplicably refreshing.
Ye Fan descended the stairway, treading upon the white jade steps, and sensed a deep, bone-chilling cold. This jade stone was somewhat unusual — it contained within it a faint trace of Supreme Yin energy.
He had come this time to protect Yang Xiao, and naturally needed to eliminate every danger. He circulated the Supreme Yin Scripture, refining and dissolving every last thread of cold yin energy.
Before long, he entered a vast underground palace chamber. An icy wind struck him in the face, and the moment he raised his head, he saw a creature — spreading its demonic wings, plunging headfirst downward, claws reaching for the top of his skull.
“Thud!”
Ye Fan shot out a finger. A wave of sword energy burst forth, and blood splattered as the creature was cleaved into a mist of gore on the spot. It turned out to be a bat — over two meters in length, resembling a demon.
“What an enormous bat. This underground world is sealed off — how has it survived? Could there be another entrance leading to the outside?” Ye Fan did not dwell on it. Small matters like this needed no close scrutiny.
A few meters farther, he found two corpses lying in pools of blood, their skulls peeled open — a gruesome sight, killed not long before.
An ancient tomb from the remote era, with no elaborate traps set within — and it had already claimed the lives of six cultivators. They had died in vain.
Ye Fan reached the far end of this level of the underground palace and found yet another white jade staircase, continuing further underground — as though each step drew one closer to the legendary cave dwelling, an undertaking of enormous scale.
During this process, he unleashed waves of sword energy several times, slaying dozens of bats — each two to three meters in length, their shapes terrifying, like spectral demons. After killing them, he incinerated every one of them to ash. Otherwise, when the archaeological workers came down, it would certainly cause an uproar.
Ye Fan pressed deeper. The ethereal music was playing right here, in this very place — before him stood a row of chime bells, all resonating on their own, with no one striking them, trembling of their own accord.
He spread open his palm, sending strand after strand of rosy light toward the bells and fixing them in place. The sound ceased.
These chime bells were ancient, yet had been preserved in perfect condition without the slightest damage. Upon careful examination, Ye Fan found they were items refined and forged by a cultivator. However, there were no Dao-markings within — only something akin to the energy of essence, vitality, and spirit. It seemed the tomb’s owner had been deeply fond of music in life, and the bells had rung because, once the tomb was exposed again to light, their owner’s lingering imprint had acted unconsciously.
Now, with Ye Fan having stilled the chime bells, the imprint dissolved and scattered entirely — for these were not Dao artifacts, and such a lingering impression could not endure indefinitely.
He continued forward, pressing deeper, when he suddenly sensed a bone-chilling killing intent. Streaks of sword light slashed and cleaved in all directions, like bolts of silk — golden, crimson, violet, and blue — flying swords of every hue splitting the void.
Supreme killing intent!
Even from a great distance, before he had drawn near, Ye Fan felt the flesh of his body break out in goosebumps. These were extraordinarily terrifying flying swords — even he could barely withstand them.
“Whose tomb is this? It must be the remnants left behind by an ancient Sage!”
Among them, one crimson sword blazed the most intensely — no bigger than a palm, yet spinning ceaselessly through the underground chamber, dancing without pause, with the other violet, blue, and golden flying swords following in its wake, cleaving open the void.
“No — these are not true flying swords. This is only sword intent. Yet how powerful, how terrifying!” Ye Fan exclaimed in awe.
Were it the weapons of a primordial Sage actually flying here, he would likely be unable to approach at all. Even as mere sword intent, it was extraordinarily fearsome — making one feel as though the flesh of their body might split apart, as though it could sever the sky itself.
Three cultivators at the Dao Palace realm lay collapsed on the ground, their bodies without a single wound — not struck by any flying sword — yet sword intent had penetrated into their bodies, and they had died because of it. Of all the cultivators who had entered, these three had come the farthest. All of them were dead.
Ye Fan let out a soft sigh. These few were considered formidable figures in the current world — yet they had died so pointlessly, most likely never even knowing what had wounded them.
Who could simply walk into the tomb of a primordial Sage? As long as even a single thread of killing intent remained behind, it was enough to slay every supreme expert of this age.
This was a stone chamber for sword cultivation. On the walls hung seven scabbards, each barely the length of a palm — their craftsmanship unremarkable, fashioned simply from beast hide, so worn and tattered they were nearly crumbling to dust.
From the layout of this place, this primordial Sage had been a person of plain and simple nature — no elaborate traps had been left behind. Aside from the Supreme Yin energy seeping out through the stone doors, there had been essentially no danger whatsoever.
“Where are the seven sacred swords?” Ye Fan searched. Circulating his cultivation, he attempted to bring the seven scabbards toward him.
“Thud!”
But the moment he stirred, all seven beast-hide scabbards crumbled to dust — not because too much time had passed, but because sword intent had been contained within them, and the material could no longer bear it.
Once the scabbards were destroyed, the seven streaks of sword light that had been slashing through the stone chamber also vanished, dissolving into the void. The boundless killing intent became nothing.
Ye Fan sighed inwardly at the loss. Had those seven scabbards not self-destructed, each would have been a priceless treasure — through the terrifying sword intent contained within, it would have likely been possible to reconstruct the tomb owner’s supreme art of sword mastery.
He thought about it and then let it go. The scriptures he had already obtained were no small number — when he had been on the ancient star Huoying, even a primordial Sage had said that continuing as he was would not do, and might bring great calamity.
Passing through the stone chamber, he entered a place where raging flames roared and blazed — a sea of fire blocking his path. The temperature was terrifyingly fearsome. This was, without question, Solar Essence Fire.
Through the wall of flame, he could see that ahead, a coffin was encircled by an ancient vine and laid to rest in the deepest part of the tomb, its brilliance blazing fiercely.
A Fire-Burial Coffin!
The legendary fire-burial coffin — only figures of great renown possessed the means to arrange one. An ordinary person would have had no such ability, for it required Solar Essence and a fire vine cultivated with the blood essence of a Sage.
That ancient vine, at a glance, was clearly several thousand years old. Its roots and stems were like coiling, writhing dragons; its leaves were like red-gold, shimmering and radiant, incomparably resplendent in the firelight.
It had taken root within the Solar Essence Fire, drawing nourishment from the fire essence, growing by means of it — truly a near-mythical spirit vine, a priceless treasure for forging artifacts and weapons.
The seeds of the fire vine were extraordinarily rare, and especially those capable of taking root within Solar Essence Fire — they were as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns, prized above all else by the great Sages of the remote era.
Why would one choose this manner of fire burial? Many legends offered explanations. The most precise of them said that when a Sage sensed death drawing near, they would use the supreme yang energy of the fire vine to hold onto the very last trace of yang energy within their body — waiting for the possibility of resurrection. This was why fire-burial coffins were never to be taken lightly.
A field of Solar Essence Fire. A fire vine. A coffin. A primordial Sage.
Ye Fan was profoundly shaken. To have encountered something like this — could it be that this ancient Sage might yet be revived? Could this be a renowned and breathtaking figure from the pages of history?
Little Pine was deeply nervous, its entire body of purple fur flickering with light. Its large eyes, black as jewels, blinked gently as it stayed close behind Ye Fan, not daring to move forward.
“This ancient Sage set no traps to kill trespassers. Their nature must have been benevolent. There should not be too many dangers here.”
Ye Fan cultivated the Solar Scripture and held no fear of the Solar True Fire. He stepped into the blazing light and carefully examined the coffin from every angle.
These flames were extraordinarily fearsome — under ordinary circumstances, even a king standing at the cusp of the Dao would have no way to draw near. Contact would mean instant destruction, reduced to nothing but cinders. The firelight was terrifying.
The fire vine was thick and robust. Each of its leaves rang out with a clear, metallic chime at the slightest touch — as though cast from phoenix-blood red-gold — and the coiling stems were sharp to a fearsome degree, capable of slicing through refined iron. The main trunk was as wide as a barrel, like a blood-colored true dragon in dormancy, vigorous and powerful, winding in forty-nine coils, one of which firmly encircled the ancient coffin and held it suspended in midair.
The coffin bore death within, and was in most circumstances an inauspicious thing — yet in this place, it was accompanied by the red-gold fire vine, suffused with vitality and life.
Ye Fan sensed quietly, and then let out a soft sigh. The person within the coffin had passed away. They had not been able to use the supreme yang fire essence to hold onto that final thread of yang energy. There was no resurrection.
Afterward, he noticed a stele beside the coffin — cast in bronze, immensely heavy and solid, engraved with ancient characters in the bronze inscription style.
Since his return, Ye Fan had spent these days continuously enriching himself — reading the Yellow Court Scripture, reciting the Nanhua, visiting major repositories, studying rare editions, consulting with authorities, learning oracle bone script and every other form of ancient writing.
He recognized some of the ancient characters on the stele — and in that moment, his heart gave a violent lurch. A tidal wave of shock surged up within him. This was indeed one of the most illustrious figures from the ancient era!
Chi Songzi. Recorded in the Daoist canon, the Daozang, and listed in the Biographies of Exemplary Immortals, he was said to be an immortal of the ancient era. He is also mentioned in other classical texts, with the Huainanzi — Equalizing Customs being the earliest traceable reference.
Such an ancient great tomb — its origins could only be described as awe-inspiring. Ye Fan’s heart was filled with boundless shock. Through his Heavenly Eye, he had already perceived something extraordinary within the coffin.