It was a yellowed ancient scroll — impossible to determine its material, resembling either beast hide or ancient cloth. One look made clear it was an artifact of great age.

At the top of the scroll, two characters were written: Nirvana.

Ye Fan’s heart gave an immediate jolt. Those two characters held an extraordinary significance within Buddhism — they described the process of attaining Buddhahood.

“Is this the Buddhist Nirvana Sutra?” His heart trembled with the thought.

“It is only one essential chapter from an ancient sutra, intended specifically for healing. Long ago, one of our abbesses of the Temple of Wondrous Desire obtained this scroll while at death’s door — not only were her injuries fully restored, but she underwent a transformation like a complete rebirth,” An Miaoyi answered.

The yellowed scroll was dense with ancient characters, packed tightly together — perhaps several hundred in all. They expounded upon the mysteries of life and death, and elaborated on the profound wonder of rebirth. The text was abstruse and difficult to fully penetrate.

Ye Fan stilled his mind and concentrated, motionless, carefully deliberating and gaining insight word by word.

Though it bore the name Nirvana Sutra and was said to grant rebirth, this was ultimately only a metaphor. Who in this world could truly achieve immortality? Even the Great Emperors of antiquity had been unable to escape death.

The core principle articulated in the Nirvana Sutra was not true reincarnation and rebirth — rather, it described a means of altering one’s vital state and attaining a power resembling a different kind of new life.

Cultivating this sutra could not grant eternal life, but it possessed the unparalleled power to extend one’s lifespan and slow the deterioration of the body — and this one essential chapter in particular was a supreme healing art, possessing effects of inconceivable wonder.

In the very instant he began to comprehend it, Ye Fan’s body blazed with radiant treasure-light. His golden blood-energy surged and billowed outward from his flesh, wreathing him in luminous coils — making him appear as though he were a divine being.

“Because ignorance is extinguished, the mind no longer stirs; because the mind no longer stirs, the phenomena of conditions fade away; because cause and condition both cease, all mental forms are exhausted — this is called the attainment of Nirvana…”

The Nirvana Sutra was the supreme cultivation art of the Western Desert, comparable to the several ancient sutras of the Eastern Desolation. The sound of Buddhist chanting rose up, drifting melodiously through the hall — profoundly wondrous, a mysterious current of spiritual force flowing within it.

This was a treasured secret art from among the ancient sutras — a supreme healing technique of the highest order, possessing the marvel of seizing the transformative power of heaven and earth, mysterious beyond all measure.

Ye Fan himself was a Holy Body; now practicing this Nirvana sacred art for healing, wondrous phenomena began to manifest one after another. The Chaos Azure Lotus accompanied him. The Immortal King descended upon him. Mountains and rivers materialized around him. The Yin-Yang Life and Death Diagram circled his form.

His Imperishable Golden Body blazed with brilliance — bearing both the solemn majesty of a divine being and the mighty, martial aura unique to the Holy Body. He seemed to be seated in the highest heavens, looking down upon the human world below.

An Miaoyi’s beautiful eyes shimmered with a rare light. She had not expected that Ye Fan’s physical form would be so extraordinary, and his comprehension so remarkable — having just received the sacred art from this ancient chapter, he had already reached such a level of enlightenment. She parted her red lips and began explaining in detail.

“Because one receives all manner of cause and condition, one cycles through life and death; because one does not receive any cause and condition, this is called Nirvana. Nirvana and the world — there is not the slightest difference; the world and Nirvana…”

Ye Fan fell into utter stillness and silence. His golden blood-energy grew stronger still, misting and curling around him until he was submerged within it. His entire body radiated divine light, and his Imperishable Golden Body became near-transparent — like seven-colored glass — pure and immaculate.

He was straining to restore his life essence, desperate to make those fractures left by the Great Dao disappear — to render himself flawless once more, to preserve his immortal holy body for all eternity.

“Boom!”

Ye Fan’s body shuddered. Blood-energy surged and erupted — nearly reducing the entire hall to rubble. Had An Miaoyi not laid down formation inscriptions in advance, everything would have been destroyed.

This was the Holy Body’s physical form — powerful to an inconceivable degree. Even a faint tremor carried the force of thunder, impossible to withstand.

A trace of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. His first attempt to restore his life essence had failed. Even the supreme healing sacred art of this peerless ancient sutra could not smooth over the wounds left by the Great Dao.

An Miaoyi’s hair fell like a waterfall, her skin surpassing snow — luminous and soft, translucent as crystal. Ethereal as a celestial being, she stood at Ye Fan’s side. “Again!”

Ye Fan remained still as a mountain — like one seated within a dust-sealed ancient heavenly court, lying dormant in nirvana, awaiting the moment to emerge transformed as a dragon.

His body grew increasingly overwhelming, until even An Miaoyi was forced to step back. That golden blood-energy enveloping him made him terrifying to behold — like an eternal, indestructible divine furnace — impossible to approach.

High and mysterious Buddhist chanting issued from within him. It was his “Perishing Self” and “Dao Self” reciting the sutra — praying for this life, seeking eternity.

“Boom!”

Ye Fan shuddered again. Vivid red blood carrying a faint trace of gold seeped from the corner of his mouth. Even as a Holy Body, the force of the backlash left him rocking. His second attempt had failed as well. The wounds inflicted by the Great Dao showed not the slightest sign of healing, leaving him unsteady, his Imperishable Golden Body growing slightly dim.

Ye Fan opened his eyes and let out a quiet sigh. The sacred art was infinitely subtle, but it could not overcome the wound left by the Great Dao in the end — leaving him with the crushing feeling that there was no road back.

“Don’t give up — if once isn’t enough, then twice, three times, four times. There will be some effect eventually,” An Miaoyi said, full of unwillingness to accept defeat.

Ye Fan shook his head. “It is too difficult. This consumes one’s own vital blood to achieve nirvana — if I continue without result, even a Holy Body cannot afford to exhaust itself this way.”

For an ordinary person, even a single session of sacred art healing would require a long recovery afterward. Being a Holy Body, with a physical form without equal, once or twice was nothing — but sustained repetition would still take its toll.

“How can this be…? The disciple of Shakyamuni once said that the Nirvana ancient sutra is the Western Desert’s highest healing sacred art. Even if this is only one essential chapter from it, it is still nearly the ultimate under heaven — it should be able to treat any injury.”

“This disciple of Shakyamuni — who was he, really?” Ye Fan desperately wanted to know, and even more so to learn everything there was to know about the Buddha.

“I don’t know who he was,” said the peerless An Miaoyi, shaking her head.

The Temple of Wondrous Desire had originally been a sect of the Western Desert, inheriting the transcendent Buddhist cultivation arts. It had later split, traveled east, and obtained the dual-cultivation methods of Taoism — and was renamed the Temple of Wondrous Desire.

A thousand years ago, a disciple of Shakyamuni returned from beyond the seas, passing through the Eastern Desolation. He encountered the abbess of the Temple of Wondrous Desire near death — and because of the countless threads of connection their lineages shared, he left behind one chapter of the Nirvana essential text before departing without a trace.

“Do you know the story of Shakyamuni?” Ye Fan asked.

“Only that it is a forbidden subject within Buddhism. I don’t know the details,” An Miaoyi replied, shaking her head.

“The wounds of the Great Dao cannot be healed…” Ye Fan rose to his feet.

An Miaoyi stood tall and poised, the moonlight spilling in around her, framing her in an otherworldly, unparalleled radiance. Her dark hair was beautiful, her eyes vivid and bright, her skin like ice and jade, her figure softly curved — as though she were heaven’s most perfect creation.

“The Nirvana Sutra combined with our Temple of Wondrous Desire’s supreme dual-cultivation art — one final attempt. If you still cannot survive after this, little man, you truly will owe me a debt you can never repay.” She walked lightly toward him, slender jade fingers reaching out to pinch his cheeks, her smile breathtaking. “It has always been others who are blessed by the women of the Temple of Wondrous Desire. Today, I may be the first to break that rule — blessing you with rebirth.”

Within the hall, beneath the hazy glow of moonlight, An Miaoyi’s form — luminous and translucent as jade — seemed almost transparent. Flawless in every way, a faint radiance shimmered across her skin, her hair spread loose around her, her face blooming like a flower.

None of this had anything to do with passion or romance — it was solely a method of saving a life. Ye Fan had always held a skeptical view of dual-cultivation arts, yet here he found himself experiencing one firsthand.

“Settle your mind, little man!” On the jade bed, behind a veil of red silk gauze, An Miaoyi’s form glowed white as snow. She lightly tapped Ye Fan on the forehead, urging him into stillness.

Faced with such a woman of transcendent, nation-toppling beauty, no ordinary man could remain undisturbed — and Ye Fan was naturally no exception, unable to enter meditative stillness as swiftly as an old monk.

An Miaoyi’s entire form seemed carved from ivory — white and crystalline, sinuous as a celestial serpent, her curves delicate and exquisite, her body without flaw.

Before long, the sound of Buddhist chanting recorded in the Nirvana ancient sutra rose up. The hall was bathed in sacred serenity. Simultaneously, as Ye Fan lay atop An Miaoyi, the dual-cultivation art began to circulate.

The night was bright with moonlight, and time passed like flowing water. The Divine City lay in peaceful quiet.

Within the Temple of Wondrous Desire, the palace hall was sealed off — lest the resonance of the Great Dao’s heavenly music travel outward. A layer of hazy luminance enveloped it completely.

An Miaoyi was the First Successor of the Temple — her status no lesser than that of the various Holy Maidens, and her beauty unmatched under heaven. Within the Temple of Wondrous Desire, she had no rivals. Whatever she chose to do, no one of the younger generation dared defy her.

Though a number of people formed suspicions about what was occurring, none dared approach or disturb them, and none would speak of it further.

In the latter half of the night, the palace hall was tranquil. Ye Fan did not speak. Neither the Nirvana Sutra nor the divine dual-cultivation art had been able to smooth over the wound left by the Great Dao — nothing had changed.

He wound a lock of An Miaoyi’s hair around his finger, quietly thinking — was there still a path forward? What lay ahead? Would even a fully matured immortality divine herb be useless?

The ancient divine herb was the rarest and most precious sacred object in the world. If even that had no effect, then a person’s life had truly reached its final chapter.

And yet, Ye Fan found it deeply difficult to accept. Even the Divine King had shown some uncertainty — he could not say with confidence that the immortality herb would be absolutely useless. Ye Fan decided he would spare no cost in making one desperate gamble.

Originally, he had already prepared the stone skin, intending to take the risk for the Divine King and for little Tingting. Now, with his own life also hanging in the balance, there was no longer any way to retreat — he could only press forward.

“This may be the last time we meet,” An Miaoyi said softly, sitting up slowly. Her hair fell like water around her as she gazed at Ye Fan.

“It is absolutely not the last time,” Ye Fan said, completely serious. A brilliant smile spread across his face. “Please believe — I will not die. I intend to live for another ten thousand years, and leave every sacred land speechless.”

“Ten thousand years… and by then, the fairest beauty will be but bone…” An Miaoyi murmured. “How terribly far away.” She rose and walked to the window, standing before the jade bed and gazing out at the bright moon.

“The other half of the Heaven-Devouring Demon Jar is about to appear in the world,” An Miaoyi said suddenly, after a long silence.

“Does it require a Divine Body, a Holy Body, a Celestial Demon Body, and others to go together?” Ye Fan asked.

“You are not to go. Don’t ask why,” An Miaoyi said, still not turning around, her voice calm.

“Very well. I won’t go,” Ye Fan replied.

After a long while, she finally walked back and looked at him. “Go now, little man.”

“I will live,” Ye Fan said, sitting up.

“It’s time to leave,” An Miaoyi said, helping him dress, her movements gentle and unhurried.

“Very well. As proof that I am still alive in this world, every so often you will hear word of me. This land will know no peace,” Ye Fan said as he departed.

The Divine City was full of splendor, yet Ye Fan would soon be leaving it — though he did not depart immediately, for he was waiting for the Black Emperor.

In the days that followed, he walked through the Divine City, causing the hearts of the younger generation to leap with unease at every turn. Not a single person dared speak out of line — the Holy Body’s might had not diminished in the slightest, and inspired reverence in all who saw him.

His effortless annihilation of Wu Ziming and Li Chongtian had struck fear into everyone. They all dreaded following in their footsteps and being ruthlessly killed.

People understood that the Holy Body’s days were numbered and he had absolutely nothing to hold him back — no one dared tempt fate any longer.

Even the various Holy Sons gave him a wide berth, their hearts gripped with apprehension, fearing Ye Fan might challenge them in this moment — which was not beyond possibility. If he unleashed his full fury and eliminated them in one final rampage, that would be the worst possible fate imaginable.

Even the Golden-Winged Xiaopeng King had become well-behaved and appeared rarely — reportedly on the verge of returning to the central region of the Eastern Desolation to depart with the elder Peng King.

The Phoenix had also grown quiet and low-key, as though she had suddenly calmed entirely — making herself scarce.

In these final days of limited life, Ye Fan’s imposing might was such that no one dared cross him. The various Holy Sons and Holy Maidens alike all gave way and kept their distance. The younger generation was gripped with silent dread, not a single disrespectful word passing anyone’s lips.

Every time he appeared, an entire area would fall silent around him — a complete reversal from just a few days prior, leaving every person unsettled.

The Black Emperor returned — listless and dejected, muttering curses without end. “Damn it all — the Purple Mountain is sealed off! What in blazes happened?!”

Farewell, Divine City.

Ye Fan went to bid farewell to the peerless Divine King, and arrived just in time to witness the Divine King and the Patriarch of the Wind Clan speaking of a marriage alliance.