Ye Fan walked forward. Zhang Wenchang accompanied him at his side as they ascended this low hill.

A brook babbled gently. Green vines climbed the stone walls. The scents of grass and damp earth mingled together, and the place was natural and pure. Ahead, the terrain opened into a level expanse, and a clear, crystalline pool lay there, its banks scattered with wildflowers, their light fragrance drifting through the air.

A child sat there in quiet stillness, his face full of the innocence of youth, as though lost in thought. He had a very refined appearance—prettier, even, than most girls—with star-bright eyes that sparkled with a faint light, like a little immortal child set apart from all worldly dust.

Ding!

It seemed he had finished his musings. His slender, delicate fingers began to pluck the strings, and clear, ringing notes emerged—the sound of a spring dripping over stones, or moonlight scattering down, clean and fresh and quiet, filling the heart with stillness.

After a short while the melody shifted, growing ever more transcendent—as though a banished immortal were striking celestial stones, each note crisp and melodious, its sound resonating across the wilderness.

The entire expanse of mountain land grew luminous and clear in that moment. Before the pool, the air seemed especially serene and otherworldly—not a single trace of mundane vulgarity—and many flowers bloomed with soft little pops. One bird after another was drawn in, hovering above the child’s head, settling around the qin, circling and chirping softly, enchanted by his supernaturally moving melody.

“What is his name?” Ye Fan asked in a low voice.

This child resembled Hua Yunfei in form and spirit alike—so much so that one could say there was no difference whatsoever. Even the music was of such high mastery, and the bearing was just as outstanding.

“Hua Yunfei,” Zhang Wenchang said.

The same person, the same name—Ye Fan’s heart stirred. Was this a similar flower that happened to bloom, or was there something more to it?

“The name is the same, but the person is not the same as before.” Zhang Wenchang explained. This was Hua Yunfei’s youngest brother, born in recent years, and given the exact same name by the master of the Star Peak.

Before them, the Star Peak towered tall and proud, head and shoulders above all the surrounding mountains. Whether by day or by night, vast swathes of silver-white radiance cascaded down from beyond the sky—the power of the stars.

Zheng!

At that moment the child stopped his playing and stilled his hands. He looked over at them with his large, ink-dark eyes, puzzled, his gaze settling on Ye Fan—not knowing when they had arrived.

On the Star Peak, a middle-aged man with flowing robes moved as if crossing still water, and descended to this low hill.

“Senior Hua,” Zhang Wenchang greeted him with a bow.

The master of the Star Peak was truly exceptional—a robe of deep blue, his hair loose and unbound. The Hua Yunfei of former days had shared four or five parts of resemblance with him. His expression was tranquil as he nodded, then turned his gaze to Ye Fan.

Ye Fan met his gaze with equanimity. This man was extraordinary, but at Ye Fan’s current level of cultivation he could naturally face him with composure, entirely without pressure.

“Yunfei was a good child. He was seized by a pair of invisible hands and could never break free. I failed to protect him.” The middle-aged man was filled with boundless sorrow.

Ye Fan did not know what to say—after all, it was he who had killed Hua Yunfei with his own hands.

“I don’t blame you. Yunfei was the first to attempt to kill you, and this is the result he met—there is nothing to be said. I only hate that I was powerless: I failed to protect him in his childhood, failed to see the longing within a child’s heart, and failed to see his wounds and his grief.” The middle-aged man spoke softly.

Naming this young child Hua Yunfei said everything—it was a vessel for the grief he carried in his heart.

The child of eight or nine rose and walked over quietly, looking at Ye Fan. He said: “Have we met before? I feel as though I recognize you.”

Ye Fan’s heart gave a sharp jolt, and an expression of disbelief crossed his face.

“Ah, yes—you must be the Holy Physique that people always talk about. You look pretty much as I imagined.” The child blinked his large eyes curiously.

Ye Fan’s heart was far from calm. Was this coincidence? Even among siblings from the same parents, the resemblance was too complete—especially that gaze, identical without the slightest variation.

“This child loves only the qin. I respect all his choices and let him be a happy little qin-player.” The master of the Star Peak spoke with deep sorrow, and tears ran down his face.

He stroked the child’s head tenderly, with all the love in the world—yet no one could tell whether his words were meant for the young child before him, or were spoken for the ears of Hua Yunfei in the world below.

Ye Fan departed from the Supreme Profound Sect with a quiet sigh. All living beings are crossing through this red dust together—birth, old age, sickness, and death; joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness—how can any of them escape? He, too, was merely one crossing this river.

“Take care of yourself.” Zhang Wenchang urged him. In these turbulent times—with every sage descending, the path to immortality on the verge of opening—who could say what terrible battles lay ahead?

Ye Fan gave a slight nod, and murmured to himself: “This child’s appearance has set me a difficult problem.”

“How so?” Zhang Wenchang asked.

“I believe only in this life. Yet after my disciple Hua Hua, here is another flower that blooms identical to what came before. Is this meant to shake my conviction?” Ye Fan murmured.

“If there truly is a next life—a qin-playing boy, one cycle of reincarnation—this would be the best possible ending for him.” Zhang Wenchang replied.

And so Ye Fan departed, reuniting with Ye Tong, Little Que’er, and the others.

“The next life—believe and it exists; disbelieve and it does not. As years and ages turn, the world will eventually produce two flowers that are the same. Whether they are the same flower—let those who come after pass their own judgment.” Ye Fan murmured softly, thinking of the words the old monk of the Western Desert had spoken long ago.

He knew that one day this might become a riddle on his Imperial path—a riddle he would need to solve.

Ye Fan had a particular feeling for the Southern Region. Years ago, the Nine Dragons had pulled the coffin here, and it had fallen into the Desolate Ancient Forbidden Land—it was in this stretch of territory that he had first walked the path of cultivation.

He brought his disciples and quietly came to the Spiritual Void Cave Realm, wishing to pay his respects to Elder Wu Qingfeng—who had been Pang Bo’s master, and also the first person to guide him through the door into cultivation.

He had gone to visit many times before, but this time he had been gone far too long. Over a hundred years had passed since they parted—he did not know how the elder fared now.

Yet when he arrived at the place, he found only a burial mound. The elder had passed away many years ago, his lifespan exhausted.

Birth, old age, sickness, death—this rule could not be broken. Ye Fan had once given the elder the divine spring from the Desolate Ancient Forbidden Land—even so, it could not break the laws of nature.

“Senior…”

Ye Fan stood before the grave, forlorn and adrift, his heart hollow and aching with both sourness and bitterness. His face was filled with grief as he knelt down, pressed his forehead to the ground, and bowed deeply in reverence.

Without becoming immortal, all people will eventually return to the yellow earth—and this was surely only the beginning. In the days to come, as the years crushed forward, he might witness more graves still—graves bearing the names of companions, the names of old friends. This was an irresistible law of nature, one that could not be defied.

This time, Ye Fan lingered for a very long while. He asked Long Ma, the Ancient Golden Roc, and the others to depart first and wait for him in the distance. He walked alone through the Spiritual Void Cave Realm, his heart heavy with grief, meandering outside.

At his current level of cultivation, naturally no one could detect his presence. He passed through the places where he had once trained, and at last came to stand before the burial mound of the Azure Emperor, which lay beside the Spiritual Void Cave Realm.

The Bright Tomb had already been broken open—it was the treasure the Azure Emperor had left for future generations, and it no longer existed.

Yet the Dark Tomb remained. A pitch-black pool pierced down through the nine depths—it was said that the Desolate Pagoda had once been used to suppress what lay beneath it, and the Azure Emperor’s remains had descended still further into more distant realms.

“Who’s there?!”

Suddenly, Ye Fan spun around. Near the Dark Tomb he seemed to have glimpsed an aged figure from behind. He transformed into a ray of flowing light and shot toward it.

But when he arrived close, all he found was a pool dark as ink, unfathomably deep—and around it, not a trace of a shadow, not a single figure. Empty, desolate silence, with nothing at all.

Ye Fan’s heart was uneasy with doubt. At his current level of cultivation, could anyone truly be so much faster than him? It was simply inconceivable. Was that a real figure—or was it, because his heart was troubled with grief and his spirit restless, a hallucination of the elder who had first led him to the path of cultivation?

He stood there for a long time, and at last departed.

Ye Fan took Little Que’er, Jiang Ting, Long Ma, and the others and traveled northward, drawing the attention of everyone in the world. He had barely returned before wiping out the Golden Crow clan—the waves he raised were enormous, and every eye under heaven was upon him.

Their party made no effort to conceal their true identities as they traveled north. And on that very day, Slaughter Sage Qi Luo—or perhaps Slaughter Sage King would be the more fitting title now—appeared. The old assassin had one eye socket that was empty and hollow, as though a cosmos were opening within it, while the other eye shimmered with unshed tears.

“You’ve come back… good that you’re back!” The old assassin showed rare and genuine emotion. All these years he had been worn to the bone with exhaustion, yet now, seeing that Ye Fan had become a half-step Great Sage, he was truly, deeply glad. Tears hovered at the corners of his eyes.

Who says an assassin has no heart? The years had frosted his hair. He had risked his old life to demand justice for Ye Tong and the others, yet truly could not overcome a Great Sage, and had nearly died in the process.

Later, he had gone to the Western Desert in an attempt to rescue Hua Hua—and had nearly met his end at the foot of Mount Sumeru. His aged body had come close to complete exhaustion and collapse.

The old blade-handler supported his grandfather on one side as they walked. Both of them bore hidden internal injuries. But to Ye Fan, such things were no problem at all—the life-spring divine liquid of an ancient Heavenly Venerable showered down, specks of radiance glistening, and the Buddhist auras and the rest were entirely expelled.

“Senior, rest at ease and recuperate. Everything from here on is my responsibility!” Ye Fan said with great force, and cast his gaze far to the west.

On that same day, Yan Yixi, Li Heishui, and the others appeared, tracking him down. Ye Fan’s furious slaughter of the Golden Crow clan had long since spread everywhere—with him walking the land so openly, he was easy to find.

“So you really did come back, you little demon. I was starting to think some bastard was trying to trick us.” Dongfang Ye was just as he had always been—wearing a beast-skin battle robe, his upper body bare, his bronze figure powerfully built. He carried a wolf-fang great club in his hand and had the look of a complete savage.

He was ferocious through and through—he had already stepped into the Sage King realm, and with his physical body alone he possessed the power to subdue serpentine dragons and crush great rocs. The masculine energy that radiated from him was as dense and vigorous as howling smoke from a beacon fire surging straight up to the sky.

Dongfang Ye was formidable—within his Sage King peers he could absolutely walk sideways—yet even someone like him had taken a severe beating in the Western Desert and nearly died.

Thankfully, his constitution was unusual. After recuperating for several years, his body had fully recovered.

Ye Fan burst out laughing and went forward to pound him with a fist.

“Ye Fan, you still owe me a divine beauty, you know—when are you going to pay that back?” Li Tian pushed forward, that same crooked, mischievous air about him as always.

“There are plenty of divine beauties among the ancient clans—how many have you sorted out by now?” Ye Fan said with a big laugh.

“I lost interest in them. But in the Western Desert I set my sights on several senior nun-practitioners—they were truly radiant and exceptional. Too bad those monks had no sense of proportion. A whole crowd of them were jealous of me and chased me for thirty thousand li as I ran for my life.” Li Tian grimaced and showed his teeth.

“Serves you right.”

Li Tian still had wounds that hadn’t healed—needless to say, they were from his efforts to rescue Hua Hua.

Yan Yixi had an extraordinary bearing and impeccable looks. Like Li Tian, he bore injuries—but wore an expression of complete calm and serenity.

“Ye Fan, you finally came back. The Monkey left, Ji Zi set off on a journey, and if it weren’t for Ye Tong and Hua Hua still being here, we would have gone into the starry sky to look for you long ago.” Li Heishui spoke with genuine feeling.

“No rush—take your time. In the future, everyone will walk the human ancient path.” Ye Fan smiled. Being gathered again—though some were still missing—it was already very lively. He felt waves of warmth.

Among the group there was naturally no shortage of things to say. Many topics were covered, yet on one point they were in unanimous agreement: cursing the Black Emperor, and condemning that dog up and down for being so utterly unreliable.

“The Western Desert runs deep—it is not easy to attack. Our Heavenly Village is extraordinarily powerful; in this age we are far from weak. Yet in the Western Desert we suffered a terrible defeat and nearly had our entire force annihilated. Anyone who wants to venture west must be cautious—we cannot let hot blood override clear heads.”

This was the shared opinion of the old friends. Mount Sumeru was a dragon’s den and a tiger’s lair of unimaginable terror, immensely difficult to attack. They would need to proceed with great care.