After the ancient slaughter formation was destroyed, the surrounding area was left in ruin—yet fortunately no damage had spread to the outside world. In the mundane area of Maoshan, all was calm, and no one there had any knowledge of the great battle that had just taken place.

Ye Fan had no intention of seeking trouble with the Celestial Scale Tribe. The deaths of the two guardians were consequence enough—there was nothing further to pursue. Those two had simply been intent on bringing this upon themselves.

“Does anyone here know who this person is, and which tribe they belong to?”

Today’s ambush brought an old memory to mind. He produced an aged photograph—a black-and-white image from the Second World War era of the last century, in which a silhouette of overwhelming blood energy loomed, unclear and indistinct.

“This person caused quite a stir at the time. They were not one of the Four Great Demon God Clans—no one knew their background.” The elder clan leader of the Zhu Huang lineage spoke.

Ye Fan nodded upon hearing this. As long as it was not someone from the Celestial Scale Tribe, that was fine—the last thing he needed was yet another great battle ahead. Whoever that figure was, they were clearly someone very terrifying.

He led his registered disciples away. Accompanying them was Daoist Riqi—more precisely, they would travel together with the elder Daoist to Zhongnan Mountain, to pay a visit there and rest for a while.

“Master, when do we set out? Let’s hurry up and head west,” Wei Yü said, impatient to be off.

“There’s no rush. They have already come, and if I go west now I might miss something. Let me deal with a few more groups of them first—make sure they no longer dare march east—and then I’ll head west,” Ye Fan said.

“That works too. We’ll take the westward road slowly, our generation crossing westward together. Perhaps we will one day be recorded in the annals of the cultivation world as well.” Zhan Yifan said.

Along the way, Ye Fan walked together with Daoist Riqi. This old man was no simple figure—already over twelve hundred years old, having lived in long seclusion on Zhongnan Mountain. He was one of the rare grandmasters of the present age.

“This humble Daoist is ashamed—I have been stuck at the first level of the Immortal Platform for many years, unable to advance further. I do not know when I will see progress,” the old Daoist said humbly.

This was a man even older than the Changbai Mountain guardian—one of the few known elder long-lifers of the Central Lands, revered as a figure of paramount distinction.

Ye Fan sighed inwardly. It was not that the elder Daoist lacked talent—it was simply that heaven and earth had changed. Especially over the last few centuries, the change had been most severe. That the old Daoist had reached this point at all was no small feat.

He decided to offer some assistance. If he could help the old Daoist break through and reach the second level of the Immortal realm, the elder Daoist could live to over two thousand years—and a path as long as cultivation required needed devoted perseverants like him.

Yet he said nothing of this explicitly. He simply discussed the Fa with him, sharing one by one the breakthrough techniques from the other end of the star ocean.

Naturally, along this road he also taught his several disciples some methods. First, he transmitted to them a secret art he had found within the minds of the two ancient Jin Dynasty cultivators.

It was an ancient secret method they had obtained during their sea voyage—the Leap of the Carp, Transformation into a True Dragon. In a brief instant it allowed extreme transcendence—pushing agility to its absolute pinnacle—and could momentarily rival the Glyph of Traverse.

“I do have some other ancient secret arts. However, the requirements to learn them are extremely high—many trials must be passed first. For now I can only teach you other methods.”

These were registered disciples, not those who would truly inherit his lineage. Therefore techniques such as the Glyph of Traverse and the Battle Glyph were impossible to transmit at this stage.

The Leap of the Carp, Transformation into a True Dragon was itself a wondrous art—its name had shaken the ancient world, held in the highest esteem. Had it not been for the Glyph of Traverse, it would have been considered a supreme divine art.

Even Daoist Riqi’s eyes grew covetous. He joined in eagerly, asking with sincere humility, and Ye Fan earnestly taught it to him. The old Daoist was overjoyed—that very day he rushed back alone to Zhongnan Mountain, and soon came rushing back again, just to test the technique.

The several disciples were naturally even more delighted. This ancient wondrous art had been lost for many years, and to have the fortune of learning it now filled them with immense excitement and emotion.

“Ohhh, what an adorable little treasure! Come here and let Big Sister hold you!” Huang Tiannü waved her hands and arms, trying to catch Xiao Song.

Yan Xiaoyu, initially maintaining her composure, eventually couldn’t endure it either. She set aside her dignified bearing and joined the chase, fighting over the little purple creature.

It was not only the two girls—even Zhang Qingyang and Wei Yü couldn’t help themselves, also wanting to stroke the little thing that resembled a purple crystal. No help for it—this creature’s appearance was irresistible to young and old alike.

Xiao Song was deeply aggrieved. His enormous jet-black eyes fluttered, brimming with traces of tears. Timid and fearful, he pressed himself behind Ye Fan’s back, gently clutching the hem of his robe with tiny paws, only daring to peek out halfway at them.

He was utterly perplexed, unable to understand what was happening—why were these people “tormenting” him? He felt deeply wronged.

“He is your little Senior Martial Brother. No bullying him,” Ye Fan spoke up, taking Xiao Song’s side.

“Little Senior Martial Brother, just surrender to me. I’ll take care of all your daily needs—bathe you every day, feed you all the finest treats,” Huang Tiannü coaxed, her hair falling loose over her shoulders, her figure shapely and graceful, her tight jeans stretching two long and lovely legs perfectly straight.

Clearly, she wanted to treat the little purple creature as a pet to keep for herself. The others were the same, offering what they considered exceedingly rare exotic fruits as enticements.

Xiao Song looked left, then right, blinking his large eyes—and refused to choose any of them. In the end, he reached into his small bell artifact—cast from Grand Luo Silver Essence—and produced a Crimson Moon Fruit. He took a big bite, chewing with evident relish. In an instant the fragrance of it drifted outward, permeating a radius of ten zhang.

“An ancient spiritual fruit?!” The others stared blankly, feeling as though they themselves had been tempted. They seriously considered snatching the little creature’s bell away from him right there and then—a raid on the spot—to see if any more spiritual fruits were inside.

Xiao Song finished the Crimson Moon Fruit, blinked his large eyes, patted his little belly, and then produced a Source Dragon Fruit—golden yellow in color, translucent and luminous, shaped like a small dragon.

This variety grew in places of abundant source energy. Even in the Northern Dipper it was not particularly plentiful—but for Ye Fan, gathering them had never been a problem.

“All right, little thing—calling you Little Senior Martial Brother is acceptable now, isn’t it? Stop taunting us,” Zhan Yifan said.

The moment Xiao Song saw the others crowding in, he immediately grew very wary. He clutched the Source Dragon Fruit and hid it behind him, affecting an air of “I don’t know any of you—don’t try to take it from me,” his large round eyes rolling about.

Ye Fan smiled faintly. This little creature had always been so innocent—it was hard to know when he would ever grow up.

The others let out cries of mock anguish: on the one hand, they coveted the ancient spiritual fruits; on the other, they longed to catch the creature and squeeze and pinch him thoroughly, certain that he would feel wonderful in hand.

“Master, you can’t be so biased. Little Senior Martial Brother’s snacks are all ancient spiritual fruits—how are we supposed to feel about that? Poor children can’t help it—we’ve barely eaten a handful of them our entire lives!”

The disciples made their grievances known, demanding he hand over some by force. Huang Tiannü was particularly shameless, breathing warm air into his ear and clinging to one of his arms with both hands, refusing to let go.

Among them all, only Long Xiaoqu remained calm—his naturally cool and indifferent temperament meant he never said much, and so he simply looked composed and unruffled.

His real name was Long Yuxuan. The reason he bore the name “Long Xiaoqu” was because in their lineage, only names combining the characters for “dragon” and “sparrow” could signify great power—aspiring to be compared with their ancestral Dragon Sparrow—and so he was also called Long Xiaoqu.

Ye Fan was hardly miserly. When they stopped to rest on a mountain, he produced a jade platter heaped with spiritual fruits of every color, and invited Daoist Riqi and all his disciples to enjoy them together.

When he and Pang Bo had been preparing to return home, they had made extensive purchases, worried that with the Earth’s spiritual energy dried up there would be no way to cultivate. They had made great preparations—spiritual fruits beyond count.

In the end, when Ye Fan presented Daoist Riqi with a small basketful of spiritual fruits, everyone’s eyes nearly popped out of their heads. The extravagance of it!

“Master, we want some too!” The disciples were green with envy. Such things on Earth were the kind one might encounter once in a lifetime but never obtain.

Even Daoist Riqi hastily declined, saying he could not accept such a gift.

Ye Fan shook his head and produced more to distribute to the disciples. These things in the Northern Dipper were nothing special—figures of the sect leader level would probably not even deign to glance at them.

He had brought them back to Earth solely to supplement spiritual energy. For him, they held no other particularly special effect—not like the immortality medicine, whose flesh contained fragments of the great Dao.

“Master, what kind of world is on the other end of the star ocean?”

Naturally, they could not help asking. They had long since come to know of Ye Fan’s origins, and harbored boundless yearning for the Northern Dipper star domain—longing to cross the vast star sea and reach it.

“If we cultivated there, could we one day cut down so-called Holy Sons and Holy Daughters, and overwhelm the so-called Sacred Masters?”

Zhang Qingyang and Wei Yü both declared their willingness to enter that other shore—to join what was called the Celestial Court—to leave this world behind.

A thought stirred in Ye Fan’s heart. These several individuals were all rare and extraordinary talents. Cultivating in an environment where the great Dao was within reach—becoming a saint was a genuine possibility for them. So many fine talents joining the Celestial Court would eclipse every holy dynasty and sacred land—in time, they would surely accomplish great things.

Yet Ye Fan let out a quiet sigh. “I can barely find a way back myself. How would I bring you along?”

“There must be a way. When the ancient sages departed, they must have left behind some kind of star-domain route map. We will find it one day—we are certain of it.” Their conviction was unshakeable.

Zhongnan Mountain. A thousand peaks layered in verdant jade, scenery of breathtaking beauty. It was long known as the “Abode of Immortals”—the foremost of all sacred grotto-heavens. The “South Mountain” in the saying “May your fortune flow as deep as the eastern sea, and your years be as countless as the Southern Mountain’s pines” referred to none other than this very peak.

It was also one of the ancestral grounds of the Daoist tradition—the birthplace of Complete Perfection Daoism. With Southern China following the Orthodox One and the North following Complete Perfection, countless Daoist devotees came here every year on pilgrimage.

The mountain ridges were dotted with Daoist observatories. Layered peaks and deep, tranquil valleys held the cries of apes and the roars of tigers. One felt a return to the simple and the natural, a retreat back into primordial wilderness.

“Master, when do we head west?”

“We began when we left Longhu Mountain. Aren’t we already traveling westward, from Maoshan to Zhongnan Mountain?”

Ye Fan and his companions walked along a winding mountain path, arriving at Daoist Riqi’s cave dwelling. Old vines as thick as water barrels—untouched by visitors for a thousand years.

In the distance, Daoist observatories stood in numbers, grand and imposing, wreathed in lingering mist. Cranes soared in flight; clever gibbons leapt and frolicked—utterly removed from the ordinary world.

Zhongnan Mountain—steep and magnificent, like an embroidered painting screen; its majestic presence towering in Shaanxi Province.

Daoist Riqi’s cave dwelling was plain and simple—nothing but stone bed, stone table, and stone chairs. The scenery outside was splendid, set within a mountain valley, with ancient trees soaring overhead, vines growing dense and thick, a clear and luminous small lake, and all manner of rare and wondrous creatures moving within.

For Xiao Song, this place was like a paradise returned. He dashed about the valley in all directions. In these past days he had finally grown accustomed to Yan Xiaoyu and the others—though they often grabbed and squeezed him, drawing soft protests and complaints from him, he no longer resisted them quite as much as before.

In the blink of an eye, half a month had passed. Ye Fan taught them cultivation methods on one hand, and discussed the Fa with the elder Daoist on the other, helping him break through to become a figure of the sect leader level.

The moonlight fell like water. By the shores of the Clear Mirror Lake, Daoist Riqi bowed deeply to Ye Fan. He had touched the threshold of that barrier—perhaps not long from now he would cross it, and attain the supreme treasure.

“You are too courteous, Daoist friend. There is no need for this. Had you not been born in this land, you would have become a truly remarkable figure,” Ye Fan helped him rise.

“This humble Daoist will go into seclusion. If I achieve something, I will never forget this in the future. Perhaps in one year, perhaps in ten, perhaps in a hundred—it will be some time before we meet again.”

Daoist Riqi began his seclusion that very night, no longer appearing in the mortal world, unable to see them off on their journey.

The moonlight was bright and pure. Ye Fan returned to the cave dwelling he had prepared for himself, planning to set off the next day and continue westward.

In the middle of the night, with the moon hanging slantwise and its radiance pouring in through the cave entrance, a graceful and slender silhouette approached—carrying an air of classical beauty, yet dressed in the fashionable style of the modern age.

Bathed in the moonlight, her skin glowed with crystalline luminescence, her hair drifting softly—as otherworldly as a fairy of the Moon Palace—and she walked in through the cave entrance.

Her steps were light and fluid, and she came directly to Ye Fan’s stone bed. Warm jade and delicate fragrance, she drew close to his side, her breath like orchid petals.

A graceful figure—flawlessly white and lovely as ivory, indescribably luminous and captivating. Her beautiful eyes radiated an enchanting, bewitching light.

“Shhh!”

Ye Fan’s eyes snapped open. His gaze was like two flashes of lightning illuminating the cave. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Having a little talk about life and ideals. It’s not like you’re that much older than me—don’t pretend to be a stuffy old scholar. At the very worst, I’ll take responsibility for you, Master.” She pressed herself closer.

Upon hearing this, Ye Fan nearly coughed up a mouthful of blood.