The Pope had fallen, his life forfeit, leaving behind a resplendent Golden Sacred Garment. The Lance of Fate stood planted in the ground, gleaming brilliantly — not a single person dared approach; silence reigned absolute.

Ye Fan descended upon the sacred mountain, ascending the stone steps one by one toward the Vatican’s foremost sacred palace. Every eye followed him; not one soul dared obstruct his path. A pin dropping would have been audible.

At last, Ye Fan entered the Vatican’s most sacrosanct sanctuary since time immemorial, and disappeared within. Many onlookers seemed to deflate, listless and hollow, and simply sat down where they stood.

This day was recorded forever as the Dark Day — the divine warriors of the holy city of Jerusalem had been slain, and the Vatican’s most sacred ground had been desecrated by the demon’s trampling footsteps. A defilement without equal.

A thousand years hence, ten thousand years hence, whenever people recalled it they would shudder involuntarily. Yet for those of the other faith, this was a day of great ascendancy.

In the distance, Zhang Qingyang’s expression was lit with excitement. From the cauldron above his head cascaded countless strands of primordial mother energy, enveloping him in protection. Bodhi Seeds in hand, he cried aloud for the founding of the Celestial Court.

Behind him, the multitude of believers who had followed him to this place also raised their voices together in a great cry that pierced the heavens, its vast waves of sound shaking in all directions. The entire Vatican trembled.

In that moment, the Vatican’s elder monks and the clan masters who had come from all sides to offer aid all changed color at once — for them, this was a great calamity.

The news spread rapidly — over mountain ranges, across ten thousand ridges, across great oceans — until it had reached every corner of the cultivation world.

In the West, the many great lineages fell silent. The heavens seemed to press downward, oppressing every soul, leaving all filled with unease and dread, unable to find peace, as though waiting for a final judgment at the end of days.

The demon had walked through the West, defeated the Divine Knight and the Pope through his own power alone, slain three divine warriors of the divine race — none could withstand his blade! What would he do next? The thought of the worst possibility turned every heart cold with dread.

The gravest fear was that he would uproot the Vatican entirely, slaughter all of the West — and this seemed no difficult feat.

When the news reached the Daoist sects of the Central Plains, many were left stunned, struggling to believe this reality. A single person acting alone, cutting into the holy city of Jerusalem, striking down the divine race — what manner of power was this? And then, by his own strength, storming the Vatican and reigning supreme over the West — it was like something from myth!

The Buddhist communities were equally shaken. Their eminent monks chanted the name of Shakyamuni Buddha, the holy titles rising and falling in succession, finding it all faintly inconceivable, their hearts lurching with alarm after alarm.

In this moment, all under heaven boiled with excitement. The eyes of the entire cultivation world converged on the Western lands, locked upon the Vatican, all waiting for the final outcome.

A demon has emerged from the Central Plains!

Everyone was talking of it. The demon’s march through the West had shaken every soul — the whole world was astonished, all eyes fixed upon him.

Yet in this very moment, Ye Fan had just ascended to the summit and entered the sacred palace, entirely unaware that the whole of the cultivation world was nearly suffocating with suspense, holding its collective breath, watching to see what he would do next.

He was calm. His steps were deliberate. He walked through the vast, empty halls, not a single person daring to obstruct him — every divine attendant trembled with fear, retreating out of his path.

This palace had stood since ancient times — its beams and pillars ornately carved, brilliant with gold and kingfisher green. Every inch blazed with sacred light; the place was piled high with treasures, rare and precious artifacts everywhere one looked.

Ye Fan paid it no mind. He treated it all as dung and dust. He walked deeper into the palace, attuning himself to the ancestral artifacts of the Central Plains, striding forward and heading directly for them.

After the First Emperor unified the six kingdoms, the jade seal carved from the He’s Jade now rested quietly here on display. The Dao principles inscribed upon it were not of the Dao laws — yet it held a historical weight heavier than mountains and rivers.

Elsewhere, a stone platform formed from dried and hardened yellow clay was enshrined in a position of even greater honor. This was the Nüwa Stone, carved with the Dao body of a figure with a human head and serpent’s body — its surface woven through with tracings of the Great Dao. It drew Ye Fan’s gaze, and he stood before it for a long time in focused contemplation.

……

At last, he located the altar foundation stone inscribed with the ancient Heavenly Scripture. It had been seized from Mount Tai by Vatican cultivators more than twenty years prior — stacked in a great heap, for they had obtained much in those days.

Ye Fan studied the Heavenly Scripture carefully, his heart stirring deeply. At the foundation of the altar was indeed inscribed bird-seal script, and it truly recorded a world-shaking secret — the opportunity for ascension to immortality.

It described the ancient Ninety-Nine Dragon Mountains — something Ye Fan already knew of, having seen it at the burial ground of the quasi-emperor Rong Chengshi. The causes and consequences were already clear to him.

What truly held his attention was this: at the very end of the ancient Heavenly Scripture was a topographical map — and it proved to be one corner of an immortal map leading into Kunlun’s immortal realm!

It was incomplete, however, for the altar foundation was not whole — part of it remained within the Central Plains. Only this portion had been lost to the Vatican.

Ye Fan’s heart pounded. He had not expected to find yet another fragment of the map here. This corner could be pieced together with the rest when he returned home. Nine portions in all existed across the world, and now he had obtained the sixth corner.

He carefully collected the several ancestral artifacts and the ancient altar, then began a thorough search through the palace. Within the shrine housing the Golden Sacred Garment and the Lance of Fate, he discovered certain objects called sacred relics of the Western lands — and among them was a bone fragment!

“Another corner of the map!”

Ye Fan could not hold back an exclamation of surprise. He had not expected the Vatican to possess yet another corner — and this piece was the original ancient map, carved upon a simple, unadorned bone fragment.

The maps found in the underground palace of Mount Lu and upon the altar foundation had presumably been copies made by rubbing, not the originals — yet they were clear enough.

Fortunately, the copies made were not duplicates of one another. He now held seven corners of the immortal ascension map in all — only the final two bone fragments remained. His heart rate quickened.

In the ancient battles among the holy sages, not one had managed to collect the full map. Now, in this age of waning Dao, as those figures had successively departed, an opportunity had been given to him.

“A pity — the ninth bone fragment was shattered by someone. It can never be collected.” Ye Fan gave a soft sigh.

He swept through the sacred palace with thoroughness, and no one knew precisely what he had taken. When he emerged, the palace’s divine radiance seemed to wither all at once — its sacred brilliance would never be seen again.

The Vatican watched in trembling silence. Not a single person dared come forward to obstruct him. Even the faction of radicals who had earlier wished to welcome him and celebrate the death of the divine race now held back and would not approach — for the gulf between their cultivation levels was simply too vast. Dialogue was impossible.

Ye Fan had no wish to go to extremes. He did not desire acts of total destruction, and no massacre was committed. With a resonant ring, the resplendent sacred garment lying on the battlefield rose into the air, condensed to a height of slightly more than three cun, and disappeared into his palm — claimed by him.

“Bang!”

The Lance of Fate also tore itself from the ground and flew toward him. Broken into three pieces in ancient times, they had been just barely joined back together — yet it remained a sacred object that had once slain a saint.

“You may take the Golden Sacred Garment. But the Lance of Fate is a supreme sacred object of the Vatican, of singular significance. I ask that you leave it behind. If you desire a sacred spear, take this one instead — believe me, once its seal is broken, it is far superior to the Spear of Longinus in terms of power.”

The Divine Knight’s aura was on the verge of extinction; his entire body was cracked, seeping thin threads of blood — yet he had not died. He spoke with great difficulty, beside him standing an ancient, unadorned dragon spear.

“Clang!”

Ye Fan flicked his wrist and sent the Lance of Fate streaking as a golden ray of divine light, planting it before the grand palace of the First Sacred Mountain, where it quivered for a moment, then was still.

He bore neither fondness nor hatred toward the Western Daoist lineage, and had harbored no thought of annihilating it. His purpose had been nothing more than the ancestral artifacts. With that goal accomplished, he had no desire to pursue total extermination.

“You seem a person of integrity — why confine yourself here, imprisoning yourself in this place? Would you be willing to come with me beyond the domain?”

Ye Fan asked.

“The flame of my life is about to be extinguished.” The Divine Knight was a sinner, bearing his guilt to this day — his back turned to the light, without honor throughout his entire life. Now, facing death at last, there was a sense of liberation about him.

“If you wish to leave, I will extend your life.”

The Divine Knight’s gaze was serene. He had let go of everything. “I have longed for what lies beyond the domain,” he said.

Ye Fan stepped forward and extended a finger. A ray of sacred brilliance shot out, bathing the Divine Knight. He withdrew a jade jar and tipped out a single crystalline droplet — the extracted essence of the ancient ginseng of the Changbai Mountains, a medicine of extraordinary potency. He lightly flicked it outward; the droplet fell into the Divine Knight’s mouth, and in an instant vitality surged to life within his body. Then Ye Fan produced some divine spring water and gave it to him to drink.

The Western lands held boundless faith energy — but the Divine Knight had been branded by an ancient great sage as a sinner, barring him from drawing upon it to sustain his life.

It was precisely for this reason that everything had depended on his own cultivation and practice alone. That he had come this far under such conditions in this world was nothing short of a miracle. He was deserving of the title of the greatest heaven-sent genius the Western lands had produced in tens of thousands of years.

This was what Ye Fan valued. A fierce man such as this — if brought to another star domain, given a different environment in which to cultivate his Dao — what great heights might he reach? It would likely cause a tremendous stir.

“Divine Knight!”

The radicals within the Vatican, seizing the opportunity at last, surged forward, calling out loudly.

The Divine Knight gave a sigh. In a vague way, he had come to suspect that the ancient great sage might have deliberately branded him — cutting him off from the power of faith to temper and refine his Dao body.

“Our teachings are beautiful. There is no need to venerate the divine race of the outer domain. God is sufficient. From this day forward, whether Jerusalem or the Vatican — both shall belong to us.”

“Yes. Your teachings are sacred and beautiful.” Ye Fan smiled, offering words of genuine agreement.

Awkward silence.

Every last person could only manage that expression. This demon from the Central Plains had actually said such a thing — what were they supposed to do with that?

“Every word I say comes from the heart. Your teachings give ordinary mortals spiritual solace and guide cultivators along their path. They are a treasure beyond price. My quarrel has always been with the divine race of the outer domain, and if I caused offense it was only in order to recover the ancestral artifacts of the Central Plains.”

Ye Fan wore the expression of a man who, regardless of whether anyone believed him, believed it himself — and besides, everything he had set out to accomplish was now complete.

“The Celestial Emperor is merciful…”

Zhang Qingyang began to preach, substituting the word “God” with “Celestial Emperor,” working to win converts to the faith right there in the Vatican — to the utter speechlessness of those present.

With matters here concluded, Ye Fan did not make a visit to Mount Olympus to seek ancient traces, nor did he search the sacred lands of that divine pantheon for treasures. His few disciples were rather disappointed.

The reason was simple — he had no wish to throw the entire Western cultivation world into a state of panic and terror. There was still plenty of time; opportunities would come again.

The West watched him depart as though sending off a plague god, wishing with all their hearts that he would tear through the fabric of spacetime and vanish from existence entirely. Everything that had transpired on the Dark Day — the demon from the Central Plains loomed over their hearts like a great mountain.

When Ye Fan returned to the Central Plains, the masters of every great sect came out personally to welcome him. The occasion was celebratory and magnificent — an event without precedent in centuries. The ancestral artifacts had returned to the East. This was earth-shattering news!

Ye Fan spent several days in careful study, then handed over all items including the Fuxi Dragon Stele fragments and the Nine Cauldrons shards to their respective sects — returned to the religious orders that had originally guarded them.

A demon has emerged from the Central Plains!

These four words spread throughout the world — not limited to the Central Plains and the West, but known to every cultivator beneath heaven without exception. They resounded like thunder.

“I am no demon. As for who I truly am — perhaps not even Heaven itself knows yet…” Ye Fan murmured to himself.

From that day forward, the Daoist Little Heavenly Master began to preach, venturing far into foreign lands, while Long Xiaoqi and Zhan Yifan and the others frequently manifested divine miracles among ordinary mortals.

The Celestial Court, from the Dark Day onward, took root and flourished in every corner of the world. Especially in the West’s remarkably open and free environment, Zhang Qingyang, leading the converted Crusaders and the Vatican’s Sacred Lady Audrey alongside them, achieved rich and remarkable results.

Ye Fan’s battle in the Western lands had been an awe-inspiring display of divine power. His name resounded through the cultivation world; the demon of the Central Plains had shaken the four seas. With no one daring to obstruct him, the work of spreading the faith could be said to have proceeded with extraordinary smoothness.

Perhaps decades, perhaps a century or more would pass — but many people would come to have the phrase “in the name of the Celestial Emperor” perpetually on their lips. Such would be the fruit of Zhang Qingyang’s labors.

Ye Fan lived in the Central Plains, yet he could feel all of this with vivid clarity. His cauldron was the sacred object of the faith’s propagation; it received the power of belief, and every single day it underwent a different transformation.

During this period, the cultivation world was full of turmoil and uproar, and many things came to pass.

And Ye Fan, who had appeared out of nowhere, naturally attracted the attention of all quarters. His rampage through the West — slaughtering the divine warriors of the holy city of Jerusalem, waging war against the Vatican — was like something from legend.

Many great powers sought out his origins. When they dug deep enough to discover he was one of the individuals carried off by the Nine Dragons Pulling the Coffin in those early years, they all drew in sharp, cold breaths. Every one of them was struck with dread.

And during this period, certain amusing things also came to pass. For example, the cultivators of a peninsular nation in Northeast Asia conducted rigorous research and careful investigation, arriving at a certain conclusion:

That Ye Fan — a figure of stunning heritage and overwhelming power — was, in actual fact, a native of that peninsular nation by ancestral origin. They had marshaled a wealth of citations, drawing upon various evidences to support their claim.

In the end, people on that peninsula even wrote certain works recording this as fact in their nation’s history of cultivation. Cultivators from other lands, upon learning of this, could only shake their heads and sigh. The cultivators of the peninsula were truly unparalleled — this seemed to have become a tradition. People were so numb and accustomed to it by now that it no longer surprised them. Too many similar incidents had occurred in the past. It seemed as if the entire universe ought to have been created by them.

Time flowed like water, trickling away unnoticed. In the blink of an eye, three years had passed. Zhang Qingyang’s work of spreading the faith had met with great success. Now there were not only churches and mosques in the world — there was also the Celestial Court, blossoming in every corner of the globe.

The cauldron, as the sacred object of the faith, steamed with holy energy at all hours — thread upon thread, immortal light radiant and vivid. It had gathered ever greater faith, had awakened to a spiritual consciousness, growing more divine and transcendent with every passing day, beyond anyone’s reach.

That Zhang Qingyang could hold in his hands this foremost sacred object of the Celestial Court — which was also the vessel through which Ye Fan would one day prove his Dao — filled the other disciples with deep envy.

No one else could replace him. The Little Heavenly Master was without equal when it came to the work of spreading the faith — he had given himself heart and soul, his footprints covering every corner of the world.

By now, not only did countless ordinary mortals revere the Celestial Court — even many cultivators had been moved by his eloquence, persuaded to take refuge in the Celestial Court and join in venerating the Celestial Emperor.

His own cultivation had also advanced in great strides. With every inch the Celestial Court grew, he himself progressed a little further. Ye Fan watched all of this clearly and named him the foremost among his registered disciples.

And on this very day, Ye Fan reached across spacetime to summon him, calling him back to the Central Plains — for the time had come for Ye Fan to face his heavenly tribulation, and he needed the cauldron to undergo it alongside him.

A long accumulation breaking through at last!

He was not incapable of facing the tribulation earlier — he could have done so three years ago. It was all because he had chosen to sever the Great Dao against its current. He was unwilling to leave the slightest margin for error. If he broke through, the future before him would be glorious and resplendent. But if he failed, he would be reduced to tribulation ash — not even an ant could compare. He had no choice but to proceed with utmost caution.

“I pay respects to my master.”

Zhang Qingyang had returned. The cauldron hovering above his head detached itself, condensing to the height of one cun — its body ancient and unadorned, yet wreathed without on all sides in immortal radiance — and disappeared into the space between Ye Fan’s brows.

“These years have been hard on you. When the Celestial Court achieves its greatness, yours shall be recorded as the first and greatest contribution.”