Chapter 54: Heaven Never Bars One’s Way

With a single sword strike, the sword energy imbued with Xuan Yang True Fire sped forth at an astonishing pace, sweeping past the seven women in white almost instantaneously and causing their figures to hesitate midair. Fang Wang swept a cold gaze their way; the seven women immediately retreated and vanished into the sky.

With no further obstacles, Fang Wang landed smoothly within the temple grounds.

“They ran off so quickly?” the little purple creature in Fang Wang’s arms cried out excitedly. It had known Fang Wang was strong, but never imagined he was this formidable. In the Great Sage’s Cave Heaven, it feared neither beasts nor cultivators, only this group of ghostly women in white.

Ignoring the creature, Fang Wang strode forward, his divine sense spreading out as he remained vigilant of his surroundings.

All around the temple lay traces of battle—sword marks, bloodstains, half-burnt talismans—the sights were alarming.

His gaze fell upon the great hall of the temple ahead. Inside, all was pitch black. A cold, sinister wind swept out to greet him, stirring the hair at his temples.

Unhurried, he stepped into the hall. As his vision adjusted, he saw upon the shadowy wall a gaping hole that took up nearly the entire surface.

“There’s such a strong scent of blood in there,” the little purple creature hissed, flicking its tongue. Fang Wang had already sensed it without needing to be told.

He stepped directly into the opening, following the tunnel within. The white blade of the Tianhong Sword illuminated the passage, revealing bloody handprints smeared across the walls and, at times, shattered bones underfoot.

It was hard to imagine what might have happened in this tunnel’s past.

The passage snaked downward, clearly leading into the depths below. Fang Wang kept his pace steady, his divine sense ever alert, probing ahead.

Meanwhile—

In a vast subterranean chamber, Gu Li, Ye Xiang, Yan Feiyue, and a female disciple of the Hanging Sky Sword Sect sat cross-legged beneath a tree. Above their heads floated a yellow paper umbrella, spinning gently and radiating a faint protective glow over the four of them.

Countless ghosts wandered before them, while at the center of the underground expanse stood an enormous ancient tree—its trunk so broad it would take twenty people to encircle it. Coiled atop its branches was a black flood dragon.

Yes, a flood dragon—with twin claws, a horn upon its brow, glossy black scales covering its body, and at least sixty feet in length—terrifying to behold.

Xu Tianjiao, the female disciple of the Hanging Sky Sword Sect, opened her eyes and frowned. “Xu Lang has been gone half an hour. Could something have happened to him?”

At her words, the other three opened their eyes as well.

Ye Xiang, his expression grim, asked, “How much longer can your spirit treasure hold out?”

“Two days at most,” Xu Tianjiao replied.

Gu Li’s brow furrowed. Yan Feiyue clenched his teeth in frustration.

“It’s all Xu Lang’s fault! He insisted on coming here. So many evil spirits—and a demon king besides! We can’t even escape…” Yan Feiyue muttered under his breath.

Neither Ye Xiang nor Gu Li rebutted him; it was not that they agreed, but that they could not waste energy quarreling.

“Cultivation is, after all, a struggle against the heavens. Disaster and peril are always close at hand. We seek immortality, yet if we die along the way, there is no cause for regret,” Xu Tianjiao said calmly.

Yan Feiyue could only clench his fists, unable to argue with a woman, lest he appear spineless.

Suddenly, Xu Tianjiao smiled. “We still have hope. When my elder brother arrives, he will surely save us.”

At this, the other three showed varied reactions. Gu Li seemed lost in thought, her mind drifting to someone else. Ye Xiang arched an eyebrow, a hint of unwillingness in his eyes. Yan Feiyue’s face revealed a flicker of hope.

The four fell once more into silence.

...

Within the tunnel, Fang Wang pressed forward with the Tianhong Sword in hand. With the little purple creature for company, he felt none of the usual anxiety of exploring the unknown alone.

“Master, I sense a powerful demonic aura—much stronger than the toad we encountered before,” the little creature murmured from Fang Wang’s arms, though without alarm. Since entering the Great Sage’s Cave Heaven, it had never felt so at ease; following Fang Wang through these secret realms, it felt utterly safe—such was Fang Wang’s presence: profound and unfathomable strength.

Suddenly, Fang Wang caught a familiar aura—he seemed to have encountered it before.

He quickened his pace.

Deep within the tunnel, a staggering figure pressed on—it was Xu Lang. His hair was disheveled, his robes tattered and soaked with blood. His left arm was gone, his shoulder a mangled mess of flesh, as if he had clawed his way out from hell itself.

Panting for breath, he stumbled forward, his sword-hand trembling, sweat and blood mingling as they slid down his cheeks.

“Is this really the end…?” Xu Lang’s heart filled with unwillingness. He had come here to grow stronger, to redeem his past disgrace.

Once, he was the brightest genius of the Taiyuan Sect—until he was defeated by Lu Yuanjun and toppled from the altar. From then on, the gap between them only widened. Now, he had even been bested by a disciple who had joined only three years ago!

He had pretended not to care, to maintain composure, but inside he was stifled with frustration.

A chill wind rose behind him—he knew without turning that evil spirits were closing in.

He could no longer resist, all he could do was push forward with what little strength he had left.

The tunnel was dim; his vision blurred, the world seeming to spin around him.

He knew he had reached his limit. His spiritual power was spent, his strength exhausted—there was no hope left for survival.

Just then—

A white point of light appeared in his field of view, growing larger in the darkness.

He halted, a bitter smile on his lips.

Hemmed in by evil spirits from before and behind—there was nowhere left to run.

The white light grew ever brighter, until suddenly it swept past his ear, its fierce momentum jolting him awake and clearing his vision in an instant.

Instinctively, he looked back—behind him, the ghosts were pierced through by that white light, dissipating one after another. The light finally came to rest at a bend in the passage.

What was that…?

Xu Lang stared blankly, as if in a dream.

“Senior Brother Xu, are you alone?” a voice drifted over. Xu Lang turned in astonishment. When he saw who it was, his face changed drastically.

Fang Wang stepped from the darkness. Seeing Xu Lang’s stunned expression, he said nothing, feeling a hint of awkwardness.

Had he mistaken him? Was this not Xu Lang?

Fang Wang remembered Xu Lang well—even after a hundred years in the Heavenly Palace, he had not forgotten.

Xu Lang took a deep breath. “Gu Li, Ye Xiang, and Yan Feiyue are in there as well. It’s far too dangerous inside—I advise you not to go. There’s a demon king lurking within; even a fifth-rank Xuanxin cultivator might not be its match…”

After all, Fang Wang had saved him; he did not wish to see Fang Wang risk himself. He envied and resented Fang Wang for having defeated him, but what he truly wanted was to defeat Fang Wang openly, to prove himself.

When Fang Wang heard that Gu Li was inside, he arched a brow, brushed past Xu Lang, and left a parting word: “Senior Brother Xu, tend your wounds here. There may be more spirits outside. As for those behind, I’ll deal with them.”

With that, Fang Wang quickened his pace.

Xu Lang turned, just in time to see Fang Wang grasp the white light.

It appeared to be a sword—

A sword radiating a blinding brilliance…

...

Fang Wang strode swiftly forward, Tianhong Sword in hand. No evil spirit along the way could withstand a single strike; the Xuan Yang True Fire was an absolute bane to wandering ghosts.

“Master, why are you in such a hurry—are you going to rescue someone?” the little purple creature couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m just worried my treasure will be stolen,” Fang Wang replied.

Though he said this, he understood well that Gu Li and her companions were far weaker than Xu Lang—and Xu Lang had almost died. What chance did the three of them have?

His pace grew faster still, cutting down ever more spirits in his path, unstoppable in his advance.

In the underground chamber—

Beneath the tree, Gu Li stared in a daze at the distant tunnel opening. She was not alone; the others had begun to look that way as well, for all the wandering spirits seemed to sense something and were drifting toward that entrance.

Soon, from the tunnel’s depths came the shrill howls of evil spirits—agonized and piercing.

“Someone’s coming?” Ye Xiang asked with a frown.

Xu Tianjiao smiled. “Heaven never cuts off all hope. Either it’s a band of disciples breaking through, or my elder brother has arrived…”

Boom—

The distant tunnel entrance suddenly exploded, a torrent of sword energy and blazing flame annihilating ghost after ghost. The scorching wind slammed into the ancient tree, startling the black flood dragon coiled above.

The flood dragon raised its head, gazing toward the tunnel.

Through the swirling dust strode a lone figure—who could it be but Fang Wang?

His right hand held the Tianhong Sword at his side, its white blade dazzling. His robes billowed violently, and from his chest emerged the head of a green snake, flicking its tongue in the same direction as he looked.

“Fang Wang?” Gu Li exclaimed in delighted surprise. Ye Xiang and Yan Feiyue both looked astonished.

Xu Tianjiao frowned. “Fang Wang? The prodigy who defeated Xu Lang?”