A year had passed since Wang Zhen killed Xiyue, Jin Shang used divine energy to restore her shattered body. Where once there had been a massive cavity carved through her chest, the divine light wove and mended like a gentle tide, sealing broken bones and torn flesh, erasing the last traces of violence in a soft glow. Though her body was whole again, the wounds of loss were far deeper than any physical healing.
Jin Shang hosted a grand funeral in her honor, one that echoed through the Jin family and beyond. The mourning hall was draped in white and black silks; the scent of incense wound around every column and corner. Disciples, elders, and allied sect members gathered, their faces a mix of grief and respect. The air was thick with solemnity, every footstep a quiet toll for a life lost too soon. Among the many who came was Jin Xuan, Xiyue's fiancé, a strong young cultivator and the top disciple of the Jin family-came from a branch family within the Jin family. His expression was silent but heavy, eyes clouded with the weight of both sorrow and resolve.
In the center of the gathering, Jin Shang stepped forward. With the eyes of the family upon him, he raised his voice. "Today, we honor Xiyue's spirit and memory," he proclaimed. Then, turning to the young Jin Xuan, he said with quiet finality, "From this day forward, Jin Xuan shall be my first and last direct disciple. He carries the hopes of our family and the honor of Xiyue herself."
The crowd murmured in acknowledgement. Such a gesture was rare and carried great weight—a signal of trust, responsibility, and legacy. All eyes shifted to Jin Xuan, whose posture straightened as a faint glow of divine energy surrounded him. He bowed deeply, acceptance and determination mingling in his expression.
Jin Shang's voice softened as he concluded, "May you carry her will forward, and may our family grow stronger through unity and remembrance."
As the funeral rites continued, lanterns were lit, hymns chanted, and offerings made. The day was a mixture of tears and quiet solemnity, binding the family in shared grief and renewed purpose.
The loss of Xiyue was profound, but the Jin family moved forward—its legacy now resting heavily on the shoulders of Jin Xuan, under the watchful guidance of Jin Shang.
Jin Xuan is the same Old Man Jin who, together with Old Man Wei, came to wreak havoc in the inheritance grounds of Wang Zhen.
...
After a year of hunting and hardship following the death of Xiyue, Wang Zhen finally reached the entrance to his blessed land. His body was battered and broken—meridians shattered, dantian fractured, and outwardly he looked like a man on the verge of death. The ravages he bore were no surprise; a relentless year-long pursuit by the Jin family's disciples and elders, some of whom had even reached the Deity Transformation realm, had taken its toll.
As the torn void shimmered open, revealing the entrance, Wang Zhen stepped inside. The blessed land welcomed him not with warmth, but with a cold silence. With a single faltering step, his legs gave way, and he collapsed face-first onto the ground.
Then, from the ethereal mists within the land, a figure emerged—white as ice, blue as deep spirit water—the spirit of Wang Zhen, the guardian of his blessed land. The spirit gently enveloped the broken body and lifted him away from the stone floor.
In this sacred space beyond the mortal realm, Wang Zhen's battered form found refuge. The blessed land was not merely a hiding place but a sanctuary, a realm where souls could mend and warriors could rebuild strength far from the prying eyes of the outside world.
As the spirit carried him deeper into the heart of the land.
...
After eighty long years, Wang Zhen's heavy eyelids flickered open. The darkness of the room was pierced only by a faint, dim light from a corner window. He tried to steady his head as he sat upright on the bed, feeling every ache, every stab replay through his shattered meridians and broken dantian.
A soft voice broke the silence. "Xuan," Wang Zhen called weakly.
The spirit appeared—a flowing figure of white ice and blue light, ethereal and serene. "My lord," the spirit replied, "you have slept for 160 years within the blessed land."
Wang Zhen frowned and tried to process. "One hundred sixty years…?"
"The time inside the blessed land flows twice as fast as outside," Xuan explained gently.
"Eighty years outside equals one hundred sixty years within."
Wang Zhen's gaze drifted to his dantian, noting with a heavy heart the shards of his meridians and the fractured core that remained. Yet, he did not panic. Instead, a hint of relief played across his features. "At least I'm still alive." He let out a small, humorless chuckle. "As for restoring my dantian… that can wait. For now, I'll set some plans in motion for the future."
He rose slowly, practicing control over his battered form. With determination, Wang Zhen began preparing a grand trap—a 'dome' that would lure eager cultivators in, disguising itself as an inheritance ground ripe with treasures and secrets.
But his loss weighed heavily on him. Without his dantian, he could no longer open the blessed land to the outside world himself.
A thought came sharp and clear: "I left my disciple a map of the blessed land. If he or anyone else comes and uses even a fragment of law properly, the blessed land will open."
After ensuring every detail for his trap was in place, Wang Zhen retreated to the dim, shadowy chamber deep within his blessed land. It was crowded with armor, ancient artifacts, and a throne carved from shadows and silence.
He seated himself with great care.
Here, he used a secret technique to slip into a sleep that preserved life and halted aging, a slumber that could stretch through millennia without loss of vitality—but still, it felt like death in all but name.
As Wang Zhen sank into this deep sleep, waiting for the fated day his trap would spring, he laid in quiet anticipation, knowing that when people came—and they would get caught—his restoration would begin.
...
Thousands of years slipped away in the world of cultivation. The map to Wang Zhen's blessed land changed hands, hidden and lost, before it was finally discovered by members of the Fire Alliance.
With growing certainty, Fire Alliance's leaders unlocked the method to open Wang Zhen's ancient sanctuary: simply use a fragment of law near the concealed entrance. The instructions were clear, and excitement ran hot through the ranks.
Fire Alliance set its sights on Poland, where the map indicated Wang Zhen's blessed land lay hidden. Over many years, they tried every trick—stealth, formation-breaking, and careful probing—to discover the entrance. Their efforts became more aggressive, culminating in a grand assault when patience wore thin.
At last, the Alliance gathered its core strength. One of their key Nascent Soul elders bestowed a prized fragment of thread of law—fire element—to the elite Crimson Squad. With orders given and hope high, the team approached the supposed gateway and channeled the fragment of law exactly as the map described.
The air rippled. Space shuddered. Suddenly, the blessed land materialized, its edges no longer concealed from sight, but blooming forth with power and a strange aura. In that critical moment, Han Chen—who had unknowingly wandered too close—was trapped along with the Crimson Squad, swept into the ancient domain as the grand mechanisms set by Wang Zhen reacted according to their design.
For the Fire Alliance and Han Chen, this was the awaited beginning of a new inheritance battle. For Wang Zhen, who slept deep within, the centuries-old trap was finally triggered—setting the blessed land's fate and his own on a new course.
...
Back in the present, Wang Zhen's gaze fixed sharply on the old man lying on the ground. He hovered in the air, the black and white solid ring halo behind him circling in the shape of yin and yang. Where the dots should be, blazing symbols of the sun and moon glowed brightly, adding weight to his presence.
The three heaven-sent gifts still floated steadily above, their light bathing the scene in a sacred glow. Nobody dared to move; the air was thick with tension and history.
Wang Zhen's voice cut through the silence, ragged yet laced with a teasing edge. "You old man... aren't you—ug... ug... Jin? Jin... Ah, aren't you Jin Xuan? Even you reached the peak of Deity Formation and are old. How long was I asleep for?"
Jin Xuan's fierce gaze lifted to meet Wang Zhen's, eyes burning with determination and vengeance. "Wang Zhen," he declared, voice sharp and cold, "today I came to destroy your inheritance grounds. I did not expect you to still be alive. What luck—now I have the chance to avenge Xiyue with my own hands."
-
Wang Zhen's sharp gaze swept across the gathered figures before him as he searched for familiar faces among them. His eyes landed on Old Man Wei, Yan Fei, and Mo Gu, standing with the confidence of disciples who knew their places and history.
"I don't know you," Wang Zhen said coldly, pointing first at Old Man Wei, who stood calmly on the ground. His tone was sharp, laced with suspicion, "Why do you want to break into my blessed land?"
Before Old Man Wei could respond, Wang Zhen shifted his gaze toward Yan Fei. "Who are you?" he muttered, caught off guard by a sense of familiarity. His eyes narrowed. "Mmmm... you look familiar—Ah, Fei Fei."
Those words caused a hush to fall over the onlookers. Anyone who knew Yan Fei would be shocked that someone dared to call him by that nickname—"Fei Fei".
Wang Zhen then turned to Mo Gu, whose calm presence seemed to mingle with an ineffable sense of youth and ambition.
"I don't know this kid either," Wang Zhen murmured with a wry smile. "Am I the old one, or is everyone else just different now?"
Yan Fei's gaze softened, a faint hint of a smile breaking through the tension. "Little Zhen," he said warmly, "you remember me. When I congratulated you, I purposely called you 'fellow cultivator' instead of 'Little Zhen,' so you wouldn't recognize me."
Wang Zhen's brow furrowed as he looked at Yan Fei, his voice dropping to a serious tone, "When I was being chased by the Jin family, where were you, brothers—and the sect leader?"
With those words, the atmosphere thickened instantly. The questions hung in the air like a blade between allies, casting shadows and silence over the company assembled in the blessed land.
No one moved. No one spoke. The weight of years, loyalty, and perhaps betrayal pressed down on every heart.
The past was not so easily left behind.
-----TO BE CONTINUED-----