“Finally, you figured it out.” Xia Fugui nodded.

“How is he in the sky!?” Ling Xuan asked.

“I’m getting there,” Xia Fugui replied. “So tell me, do you know why the sun shines? Why is day? Why is it night? Well, it’s because of him. You see, the sky is an infinite plane, making it the best spot to fight someone whose strength ranks him as Number Two; otherwise, they could perhaps destroy the World.” Xia Fugui revealed.

“Actually, he is above the sky so to speak—in a place called the Transcendent Sky. That is the only place where his power may not destroy the entire world. Even then, bits of his power leak into infinity and reach the world, resulting in the mortals being able to see the sun, which is just his Qi, and also the night, which is also his Qi.” Xia Fugui dropped a bombshell of information on Ling Xuan.

“I retract my statement. Xia Longwei is not powerful. He’s a broken character who shouldn’t be allowed to be this powerful!” Ling Xuan thought inwardly.

“Wait, how can it be that his power results in the day and night cycle? What about before his birth?” Ling Xuan asked.

“Simple—his power leaks into Time itself. The only time he wasn’t the sun was during The Mythical Period when The Mythical Beasts of Light and Night roamed.” Xia Fugui clarified.

“Why is he even there to begin with?” Ling Xuan asked.

“The Transcendent Sky, along with The Sea, is the best place for me to keep him occupied,” Xia Fugui stated.

“Wait, you?” Ling Xuan asked in confusion.

“Of course, nobody else is powerful enough to handle him.” Xia Fugui nodded slightly as he spoke.

“Then you are a Temporal Clone as well?” Ling Xuan asked.

“No, he is fighting my Temporal Clone up there, actually. It’s why storms occur, after all. I can’t risk him defeating me and obtaining my Blood. Thus, my Temporal Clone keeps him there, although it is a bit weak due to the rule that only a single user of Dragon Blood can be there at a time,” Xia Fugui clarified further.

“Well that… is something,” Ling Xuan struggled to find the right words.

“Yeah,” Xia Fugui replied with a slight nod.

Both fell into silence, not out of shock but because the conversation had naturally reached its end. Ling Xuan found himself unable to think of any more questions.

“Anyways, congratulations,” Xia Fugui suddenly said, breaking the silence.

“Huh? On what?” Ling Xuan asked, confused.

“On your promotion to the next rank, of course,” Xia Fugui congratulated with a knowing smile.

“Huh!?” Ling Xuan blinked in surprise. Reflexively, he examined his body, and to his shock, he discovered that the number of meridians in his body had increased. His Qi flowed more vigorously, surging through the newly formed channels with a potency he hadn’t felt before.

As the realisation dawned on him, the world around him seemed to sharpen. His senses heightened, colours deepened, and even the ambient sounds grew more distinct. The air felt crisper, almost alive with energy. His mind raced as he processed this transformation, and then it hit him—The Serpent Pathway had completed construction!

“Thank you,” Ling Xuan spoke as he bowed respectfully to Xia Fugui.

“Eh, it’s alright,” Xia Fugui waved his hand dismissively, clearly not one for formalities. “You can leave now.”

However, Ling Xuan remained rooted in place, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he looked at Xia Fugui.

“I need a bit more Qi,” Ling Xuan requested, his tone light but with a hint of determination. Why not begin work on The Tiger Pathway as well? he thought.

Xia Fugui raised an eyebrow, clearly understanding the unspoken ambition behind Ling Xuan’s words. The two stared at each other in silence.

After a moment, Xia Fugui sighed, recognizing the young cultivator’s resolve spoke.

“Get lost,”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Village of Cai Ling was a peaceful place, home to only a few families. With so few people, everyone knew each other well, creating a tight-knit community. Nestled on the borders of the Capital, the village consisted of no more than ten modest houses.

Today, the villagers had gathered in the open square for a play—a rare and exciting event.

On a small makeshift stage, an old man with heavy makeup was on his knees, kowtowing dramatically. His voice carried a tone of desperation as he pleaded with a young boy who stood arrogantly, holding another young boy by the throat. Both boys were wearing makeup to accentuate their roles.

“O Great Senior! Spare my foolish disciple!” the old man cried, his voice trembling with fear.

The young boy sneered, looking down with disdain. “Hmph! You old man! Your disciple dared to look at the same woman I was looking at! How could I, Kundi Shaoye, dare to ignore such an insult?” he declared, his voice dripping with arrogance.

The old man clasped his hands together, his head pressed to the ground. “Forgive him, Young Master! I will cripple myself along with him! We will blind ourselves so we can never dare to insult you again!” he pleaded, his voice choked with emotion.

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Kundi Shaoye’s eyes narrowed, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “Very well,” he said coldly. “Break both of your legs and arms, and maybe then I’ll consider leaving your corpses intact!”

As the play continued, a middle-aged man sat quietly among the spectators, his eyes focused on the stage. The lively performance had captured the attention of the entire village, filling the air with a sense of excitement.

“How is it?” a voice asked from beside him. The man turned to see another man sitting next to him, wearing a simple, unremarkable robe. His attire was plain, not overly fine but not shabby either.

“It’s not the best play I’ve seen,” the man replied, “but it’s a good way to pass the time.”

“Ah, I see,” the newcomer nodded, and the two fell into a comfortable silence, both watching the unfolding drama on the stage.

“So, where are you from?” the middle-aged man asked after a moment.

“Hmm? What do you mean?” the newcomer responded, his eyes still on the play.

“Well, I’ve never seen you around here before,” the man explained. “You must either be a new merchant or a traveller. So, which one is it?”

“Oh, I’m just a simple traveller,” the newcomer replied briefly, offering no further explanation.

Meanwhile, on stage, the play had taken an unexpected turn. A hooded figure suddenly stepped forward, confronting the arrogant Young Master. The hooded character’s voice boomed across the stage, “Leave them be!”

The Young Master snorted disdainfully. “Hmph! Another fool comes to the chopping block! Very well! Guards!” he shouted. Instantly, a swarm of guards rushed toward the hooded figure, who began skillfully fending them off, his movements swift and precise.

As the audience watched the thrilling battle unfold, the middle-aged man turned to the newcomer. “I was once a famed hunter in this village, you know,” he remarked, his tone casual but carrying a hint of pride.

“I see,” the newcomer replied. “A hunter, but of what sorts?”

“Oh, I ensured the protection of anyone journeying through the forest,” the man explained. “With my strength, it was quite easy.”

“So, a ranger, yes?” the newcomer asked, his interest piqued.

“I guess you could say that, yeah,” the man nodded, a slight smile on his lips as he recalled his past.

Back on stage, the play was reaching its climax. The hooded figure had overpowered the guards and now held the Young Master by the throat. The Young Master, his bravado shattered, managed to croak out, “Release me at once, you maggot! Do you know who my father is?”

At these words, the hooded figure loosened his grip slightly, allowing the Young Master to stumble back, gasping for breath. “You’ll pay for this, you hear me!” the Young Master shouted as he retreated, his voice shaking with anger and fear.

“Thank you for saving us, Senior!” both the boy and the old man exclaimed, bowing deeply in gratitude.

“It’s fine,” the hooded figure replied, waving a dismissive hand. He spoke a few more lines before turning and walking off the stage, leaving the characters he had saved looking after him with awe.

As he exited, a faint flute melody began to play, signalling the end of the performance. One by one, all the characters returned to the stage, bowing deeply to the audience. The crowd erupted in applause, their cheers filling the air as they showed their appreciation for the actors and their performance.

“Find out what happens next week!” an old man, the director of the play, announced to the crowd. His voice boomed with enthusiasm, drawing a few chuckles and applause from the villagers as they began to disperse.

Meanwhile, the middle-aged man turned his gaze toward the newcomer beside him. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “looking at you, I’m reminded of a certain individual. It was a few years ago. I saved him from a beast. My memory isn’t the greatest these days, but… could you be that boy?”

“Perhaps,” the newcomer replied.

“What have you lost?” the newcomer suddenly asked, his voice quiet but probing.

“Hm? What do you mean?” the man asked, genuinely confused by the question.

“You’re quite strong, that much is clear,” the newcomer continued, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the man’s face. “But you seem burdened by something. There must’ve been something you lost, right?”

“Oh, that… well,” the man trailed off, falling silent. His brows furrowed as he pondered the question. The newcomer didn’t press him, allowing the silence to stretch between them.

As time passed, the villagers gradually made their way back to their homes, the village square growing quieter. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground. Minutes turned into hours as the man continued to sit, deep in thought.

Finally, he let out a long sigh. “Now that I think about it… I-I really don’t know,” the man admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy.

“What do you mean?” the newcomer asked, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

“Yeah, I never really had to make a lot of sacrifices. I just lived my life as it came. Do I have regrets? Sure, but they’re mostly trivial—unnecessary regrets born from unnecessary matters. Not true regrets,” the man explained.

The newcomer remained silent for a moment, then nodded as if he understood. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“Huh? For what?” the man asked, turning to look at the newcomer. But to his surprise, the spot beside him was empty. The newcomer had vanished as quietly as he had appeared.

A faint whisper brushed against the man’s ear, sending a chill down his spine. “For saving my life,” the voice said, as if carried by the wind.

The man sat there for a moment longer, looking out at the empty stage, a thoughtful expression on his face. A smile formed on his lips.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ling Xuan watched the man from afar, his eyes fixed on the figure sitting alone in the village square. His face was a mask of blankness, betraying no hint of the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. Not a flicker of emotion showed on his face.

“You can live your life to its fullest, without sacrificing anything truly important,” Ling Xuan muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible even to himself. “And I… my actions are unforgivable to anyone who might know of them. I haven’t even come close to reaching my ambition, and still, I find myself losing to you, old man.”

Ling Xuan’s gaze hardened, yet his expression remained unreadable. His thoughts were a tangled web of envy, bitterness, and a yearning he couldn’t quite understand. The simplicity of the man’s life seemed both enviable and unattainable—a reality Ling Xuan had long since strayed from.

Yet Ling Xuan wouldn’t stray from his path. No, that was impossible. He had poured too much effort into his ambitions, sacrificing countless futures of peace. Each of his steps carried the blood of those he had sentenced to death. Now, there was no turning back. The blood on his hands was a stain that no amount of remorse could wash away.

It was time to reap what he had sown.

“Pralaya, eh?” Ling Xuan muttered under his breath as he walked away, his voice carrying a sense of finality.

“Fuck Pralaya.”

As he disappeared into the shadows, the air around him shifted, a cold wind rustling the leaves. It was as if the world itself held its breath, waiting for the storm that Ling Xuan would unleash. There was no room for doubt, no space for regret. The path, as Feng Mui had stated, was set in stone, and Ling Xuan would see it through to the end.

No matter the carnage.

No matter the amount of wrath all mortals would curse upon him.

No matter the demon he was to become.

Only a singular thing mattered to him.

Become the Strongest.

That was all that would ever matter to Carto Harts.

No, that’s not right.

That was all that would ever matter to him.

To Ling Xuan.