Ye Fan stood on Baling Mountain, gazing out over the four directions, letting out a quiet sigh in his heart. This place truly deserved to be called the Dragon Mountain of ancient China — even the ancient Chi Songzi was buried here.

Eight mountain ridges stretched across the land, a cluster of dragons in soaring flight, as though poised to leap into the sky. Majestic and profoundly secluded. He took one last look and then departed, returning before long to his home in City B.

His parents were gone. Settling his mind in stillness, he found that the things he still sought in this life had grown few. Sinking into quiet contemplation, cultivation of the Dao had become his only purpose.

In those earlier days, attaining the Dao and becoming immortal had not been his path — he had buried himself in bitter cultivation for no other reason than to find a way back, to cross the star-filled void to this end of the cosmos. Now that his parents were gone, all of that effort had come to nothing.

Ye Fan began to consider where to go from here. His mind finally grew still. Becoming one with the Dao was the only choice left — having reached this point, there was no other pursuit left in this life.

Immortality — no one, ancient or modern, could say what it truly was. Whether it existed remained unknown. Eternal life was equally distant and vague — to this day, there was no proof of it, and the great emperors of antiquity had all died. And yet now, this had become his pursuit.

“From this day forward, I will follow the footprints of those who came before. Step by step, I will press onward — unearthing the secrets of the ancient era, opening a path for those of today. Attaining the Dao and achieving immortality is the ultimate goal of this life.”

He was not a Sage with the whole world in his heart, nor did he wish to be a tyrant standing above all living things. He was only a person of flesh and blood, without any ambition to purify the world — and he had lost what ambition he once had.

He only wanted to walk his own path, pursue his own goal — perhaps vague and distant, perhaps lofty and beyond reach, perhaps not even truly existing — but he only wanted to keep moving forward, one step at a time.

This was not stagnation, nor was it self-exile. For now, he only sought to cultivate himself. If someone blocked his path, he could be god or demon — everything would follow the nature of his heart in that moment.

Ye Fan read the Nanhua, studied the Yinfu, perused the Wenshi, and recited the Dongxuan — none contained specific methods of cultivation. Yet these texts, passed down through the world, allowed him to see an altogether different realm of thought from those who came before.

At the stage he had reached — on the verge of severing the Dao — what he needed was not specific technique, but the illumination of a higher state of being.

These Daoist texts had been passed down to the mortal world. Anyone could read them. They contained no fine-grained methods, yet they held a grand direction — not unworthy of being called Daoist treasures. Perhaps this, too, was a form of transmission.

Ye Fan quieted his heart and read deeply, and frequently found himself moved. He perceived the breadth and profundity within — the true scriptures of the many cultivating Daoists from the ancient era were no longer to be seen, but their true meaning had been passed down, contained and embedded within these texts.

During this period, Ye Fan also began earnestly instructing Little Pine. He did not elevate its cultivation — he actively suppressed it — ensuring that every step it took was solid and its foundation unshakeable.

The small purple creature feared lightning and thunder. This seemed to be innate — otherwise it would not have suffered so greatly before, nearly being killed.

In order to help it overcome this fear, Ye Fan was extremely strict with it. He deliberately brought it to a solitary island, where he would personally demonstrate and teach — enduring the ordeal himself as proof.

What had originally been a clear and cloudless sky, spotless blue without a single wisp of cloud, was transformed in an instant: the vast sea surged ten thousand layers high, towering waves crashed, and dark clouds came rolling in.

Ye Fan summoned ten thousand zhang of lightning and thunder, using his own body as proof of the method — throwing himself into the lightning, contending with this fearsome tribulation.

He had no need to do it this way. If he truly wanted to summon a sea of electricity, he could clear the sky and call down a barrage of thunderbolts. But he was afraid of drawing attention and causing unnecessary trouble, so he conjured only a thick overcast canopy, black as the bottom of a pot.

“Rumble, rumble!”

Lightning blazed and thunder roared. Rain poured down in torrents. The sight was terrifyingly fearsome. Ye Fan bathed himself in arcs of electricity, every silver serpent writhing and coiling across his body. Little Pine watched from a distance, trembling with fear.

But before long, it was seized by Ye Fan and thrown directly into the sea of lightning — its true body forced to contend with the dancing silver serpents. For it, this was a form of torment: the fear it felt was far greater than the pain inflicted on its body.

It cried out again and again in distress, calling out to Ye Fan — but this time there was no shelter from him. It could only face it alone. This was a harrowing journey for its spirit.

Once, twice… dozens, then hundreds of times!

Little Pine was split open, skin torn and flesh rent, falling unconscious multiple times, its heart filled with terror. But each time, Ye Fan simply told it calmly that this was nothing, and told it to get up.

Having endured the tempering of lightning tribulation time and again, it went from fear to numbness. In order to avoid injury, it had no choice but to resist — struggling through the electric light, contending with its cultivation.

Slowly, it was transformed. In the end, it feared no more. Growing gradually composed, it was at last able to face the lightning tribulation without trepidation — completing a profound transformation of the spirit.

“In our lineage, the thing we fear least is heavenly tribulation. There is no need to be afraid of it. In time, you will face it again and again — and every time, it will be a magnificent opportunity to temper your body.”

Ye Fan performed a full cleansing of its flesh and bones with his golden sacred blood, bringing about a tremendous transformation in its constitution. As for its Dao-cultivation and realm, he offered not the slightest assistance.

This round of tempering came to an end. Little Pine finally breathed a long sigh of relief and looked at him pitifully. Ye Fan patted it on the head and brought it back to City B.

Now that he had returned to this world, he naturally had not forgotten the matter of Nine Dragons Pulling the Coffin — everything had begun on Mount Tai. He wanted to observe the great and small five-colored ritual platforms with his own eyes.

Yet Xu Qiong told him that when it happened, the incident had caused an enormous sensation. No one could say how many military forces had been deployed — Mount Tai had been sealed off for well over a year, with no one permitted to approach.

At the time, pressure had come from all directions. Many foreign institutions demanded access to Mount Tai and insisted on participating in the investigation. Word had it that dozens of Muslim elders had come, and that the Pope of Rome had personally traveled east, bringing a large contingent of people with him.

Back then, though many people had claimed to witness Nine Dragons Pulling the Coffin on Mount Tai, afterward there was not a single related report. Even the foreign media, so often praised for its freedom of speech, had not said a single word.

The rumors ran rampant among the people, yet not a word appeared in any news broadcast or media outlet, large or small — a complete suppression, and with the passage of time, people simply stopped paying attention.

Xu Qiong knew more than most because of her connection with Yang Xiao. A great many things had been excavated from Mount Tai, and for reasons no one could explain, a number of people had died during the process. “Less than half of everything that was unearthed was preserved by the state.”

Yang Xiao had been young at the time, only a few years out of school, and had only brushed the outer edges of it all. Something that had happened more than twenty years ago could not be verified now — it had been designated a state secret.

Word had it that a large military force had been mobilized, and that even under armed, close watch, half the cultural relics had still been lost. A great many objects had been unearthed, only to be plundered.

“What happened back then… was truly strange.” Even Yang Xiao — a person who believed in nothing supernatural — appeared visibly unsettled when speaking of past events.

He had had no standing to ascend Mount Tai at the time and had not even known what was happening there. His doctoral supervisor, an authority in archaeology, had personally lived through it all.

“My teacher said that what he saw was bizarre beyond all imagination — as though every demon and spirit from legend had appeared.”

Sadly, the old professor had passed away from illness many years ago. The true situation could no longer be verified or learned from him directly.

The old professor had mentioned only one thing: at the time, he had seen a person with grey wings, who had flown in from the west and descended onto Mount Tai — seemingly oblivious to the existence of the military.

That archaeological expedition had suffered devastating losses. A batch of objects of the utmost importance was unearthed at the time — including the foundational stone of the central main altar, engraved with a mysterious celestial script — and all of it was plundered.

Were it not for the arrival of an old Daoist, brought from one of Daoism’s ancestral homes — a man who could barely walk — to preside over the situation, very little of what was unearthed from Mount Tai would have been preserved. To have saved nearly half was already a heaven-sent fortune.

“These things would be of great use to me. I will have to recover all of them eventually. It seems I have something more to do now.” Ye Fan murmured to himself.

He wanted to ask who that old Daoist was and where he might be found now. Yang Xiao shook his head — he knew very little about such things. He only said that the old Daoist seemed to have been near death at the time, and that shortly after watching over Mount Tai, he passed away.

As he finished, his expression became somewhat peculiar: “Back then, my teacher said that several medical research institutions attempted to extend the old Daoist’s life — and all failed. But in the course of their attempts, they inadvertently discovered that he… may have been over two thousand years old.”

Ye Fan’s expression changed at once upon hearing this. Two thousand years old… undoubtedly a supreme expert — perhaps a renowned figure from Daoist history, who had survived all the way to the Age of Fading Law. Deeply, profoundly astonishing.

Today, Daoism still had several ancestral homes. Dragon Tiger Mountain in Jiangxi was one. White Cloud Temple in City B was also among them, carrying a distinguished name in history.

Ye Fan was not unfamiliar with White Cloud Temple, but now, though it still had Daoist priests, it had become a famous scenic site. He did not much believe that any cultivators were still to be found there.

He extended his powerful divine sense, scanning every inch of the ground, and his heart gave a faint stir. Beneath White Cloud Temple, fine threads of violet dragon energy wound upward, connected to the earth’s veins.

Sadly, it had grown far too sparse. There was no longer a single person of cultivation here — presumably the people of this line had long since departed, leaving behind only ordinary disciples and the temple itself.

In former times, the reason this place had served as one of Daoism’s ancestral homes was not without cause. City B was an ancient capital of six dynasties — beneath the earth ran a dragon vein, and here the earth’s essence welled upward, able to assist cultivation.

But now, with the heavens and earth dried out and spiritual energy scarce, even these thin threads of earth essence were not enough to overcome the surging tide of worldly dust. To speak of cultivation here, to speak of pursuing the Dao — it could only be abandoned.

Ye Fan traveled south on foot, wandering through famous mountains and great rivers, seeking out remote and scenic places. He wanted to understand the current state of cultivators in the world — but unfortunately, he encountered none.

In the end, he climbed Mount Tai once more, arriving again at this place — from which, all those years ago, Nine Dragons Pulling the Coffin had set sail.

“No mountain surpasses it in grandeur; no history surpasses it in antiquity!”

Mount Tai stood vast and magnificent. In ancient times it was regarded as the birthplace of the sun and the origin of all life, traceable back to the age of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors.

Ye Fan ascended to the summit and looked out over the mountains below. In this place, his feelings were beyond measure. Over twenty years had passed — and he was the only one who had come back alive.

He stood in the very spot where the bronze coffin had once lain, sensing quietly. Then, with a wave of his hand, he drew up from beneath the earth half a piece of jade — beyond that, there was nothing more. The state had excavated this place thoroughly; nothing had been left behind.

Suddenly, he heard a murmur of voices — had he not been a cultivator with divine sense, he would never have caught it.

In the distance, a group of young people of remarkable bearing were in discussion, and they were slightly different from ordinary people — there was something about them that transcended the mundane world.

“The scaled clan has actually produced a Heavenly Demon in this Age of Fading Law — whether it is fortune or sorrow for that clan, I cannot say. It is truly difficult to believe.”

“Perhaps their clan really can rise to greatness. It may even produce a figure comparable to the sect masters of the ancient era. After all, the major sects all have ancient treasures and elixirs that have been passed down — and with devoted cultivation and resources poured into training, it would not be impossible to produce someone of breathtaking brilliance.”

Ye Fan listened intently, his heart stirring. At last, he had found the sects of the present day. These few were clearly of exceptional origin — disciples of the major Daoist sects, belonging to the two lineages of the Supreme Clarity School and the Numinous Treasure Hall.

“So what if it is the Age of Fading Law — have you forgotten? Over twenty years ago, on this very mountain, there were several clashes between figures of great divine power. Such people do still exist.”

“Speaking of which, have you heard — not long ago, a figure of great divine power appeared in Jiujiang and gave the Great Xia Dragon Sparrow’s branch quite a lesson.”

These people had come to pay their respects at a historic site. Ye Fan listened carefully, and from their words, learned a great many things.

“To think of the ancient era — how magnificent Mount Tai must have been, worthy of being compared with the peaks of Kunlun. And now, everything has changed.”

“Let us not speak of such things. We should simply apply ourselves to cultivation. The Assembly of Cultivators is about to begin — we cannot miss it. Word has it that figures of great divine power may descend, and there may even be someone walking out from Kunlun.”