Chapter 58: The Southern Heavenly King, Cao Ran

Encircled by mountains, a vast lake lay hidden, its surface shrouded in mist, reflecting the emerald peaks above—a scene reminiscent of a celestial paradise upon earth.

Fang Wang approached the lake’s edge and sat to meditate, attuning himself to the spiritual energy of the land. A smile broke across his face as he praised the place, “Excellent—indeed, a perfect haven for cultivation.”

Little Zi exhaled in relief. Fang Wang had been silent throughout the journey, only radiating an occasional air of menace that had kept the creature in constant fear.

“Go about as you please. For now, I shall remain here to train,” Fang Wang declared, then immediately began his breathing exercises. He needed the meditative focus of energy gathering to calm his heart. The air here was pristine, and every vista inspired a sense of openness.

Little Zi slipped from Fang Wang’s chest, glanced back, flicked its tongue a few times, and quietly departed.

Though the half-year deadline was still distant, Fang Wang’s gains were already plentiful; to remain here in contemplation was an excellent choice.

Half an hour later, he opened his eyes, inhaling the landscape’s spirit through the misted lake. The mountains and waters, veiled in fog, looked mysterious and dreamlike; now and then, ripples spread across the surface as fish leapt—everything seemed idyllic.

After more than four centuries in the Celestial Palace, such scenery remained endlessly captivating.

And so, as days passed under the rising and setting sun, Fang Wang remained seated by the lake, watching mists disperse and gather, seeing the sun rise in the east and set in the west. Gradually, the dark energy within his heart faded.

Little Zi returned every few days, each time bearing rare herbs and treasures. Although Fang Wang rested, Little Zi dared not slacken, convinced that only by diligence could it ensure Fang Wang’s continued goodwill.

A month later, Fang Wang’s mood had fully recovered. Little Zi noticed his smiles becoming more frequent, which eased its anxiety.

One day, after Little Zi had just departed, Fang Wang produced the Golden-Scaled White-Feathered Robe and began to unravel the binding spell that claimed ownership.

With his mastery of the True Art of Battle, his sensitivity to magical artifacts far surpassed the past; he quickly located the binding restriction.

The Golden-Scaled White-Feathered Robe was intricately sealed, difficult to claim. In earlier days, it might have taken him ages to master, but now, with his art perfected, the process was smooth.

Three hours later, the treasure—at least a supreme-grade artifact—recognized him as its master. Rising to his feet, he let the robe hover before him; it wrapped itself around his body, golden light bursting forth, engulfing him.

Moments later, the glow faded. Fang Wang now wore the Golden-Scaled White-Feathered Robe; under the sunlight, the golden scales shone brilliantly, wide sleeves and hem drifted like white feathers, his bearing radiant and heroic. Around him, visible streams of golden dragon energy coiled—a celestial lord manifest upon the mortal realm.

He felt light as a swallow. The robe absorbed spiritual essence from the world and housed protective spells that would activate upon attack.

Wearing it, he felt at his peak, even able to channel and store his own spiritual power within the garment.

What a treasure!

Fang Wang was increasingly delighted. He was curious about the robe’s defensive strength, but in the Sacred Cave of the Great Sage, it was unwise to experiment recklessly.

With a thought, the robe dissolved into the inner lining of his Taiyuan Sect disciple’s attire, vanishing from view. He could feel it as a thin membrane against his skin, ready to summon at will.

How convenient!

Such a divine acquisition left Fang Wang in even better spirits.

He did not continue his energy cultivation but instead walked to the nearby woods, whittled a branch for a fishing rod, and fashioned a line from the roots of long grasses.

He planned to fish for a few days to relax.

Soon he sat by the water, line cast. Without using spiritual power, he waited half a day until dusk before finally feeling a tug—only to pull too hard and find, alas, nothing but a fish’s mouth on the hook.

Though he failed, Fang Wang found the pastime enjoyable.

Three days later, Little Zi returned and found him fishing, growing ever more suspicious that Fang Wang had been possessed.

“Which evil spirit could it be…” Little Zi worried, yet, bound by the Soul-Binding Curse, it had no choice but to follow Fang Wang.

During this time, Fang Wang noticed Little Zi’s demonic aura strengthening rapidly—likely a result of consuming the black dragon’s flesh and blood. He said nothing, nor did Little Zi broach the subject.

Another half month passed.

At last, the peaceful days ended.

At dawn, the heavy lake mist churned violently; a fierce wind swept over, tossing Fang Wang’s black hair and sending his robes fluttering.

Little Zi, napping nearby, was jolted awake. Its tiny snake head bore a look of terror.

“So, you are Fang Wang of the Taiyuan Sect? You were not easy to find!”

A cold voice echoed through the mountains and across the lake.

The fog parted like mighty waves, revealing a figure in the distance: a middle-aged man in a voluminous black robe, embroidered with blood-red flames. His hair was wild, a bronze circlet studded with a red jade gem on his brow. Leopard-eyed, thick-browed, his skin dark and his smile fierce and untamed—he resembled a ghostly demon in human form.

Fang Wang had never seen him before, but sensed that his aura was formidable—even more powerful than the black dragon he had previously faced.

“Who are you?” Fang Wang stood, asking calmly.

He could not recall the scene upon entering the Sacred Cave and did not know whether he had seen this man before or which sect he hailed from.

“Jinxiao Sect, Southern Slayer King—Cao Ran!” the black-robed man sneered, gazing down on Fang Wang with amusement.

“I hear the Taiyuan Sect has produced a prodigy who, after just three years of cultivation, can defeat a ninth-level Spirit Pill realm expert. Someone has put a price on your head—mind if I collect it?”

Jinxiao Sect?

Fang Wang vaguely recalled having heard of it, but was certain it was not one of the nine great sects of the Daqi cultivation world.

Whatever its origin, Fang Wang would not await his fate passively!

He raised his right hand; the hilt of the Rainbow Sword materialized in his palm, which he gripped tightly as golden light flared about him—the Golden-Scaled White-Feathered Robe manifested.

Cao Ran, seeing Fang Wang’s attire, frowned. Little Zi, on the other hand, was thrilled; it hadn’t expected Fang Wang to have mastered such a treasure—the robe was at least a supreme-grade artifact!

Cao Ran’s presence filled Little Zi with mortal dread, but seeing Fang Wang summon the robe, its heart steadied.

Fang Wang soared into the air, rising to meet Cao Ran at his height. The Rainbow Sword in his hand erupted with a blade of white light, causing Cao Ran’s pupils to contract.

This boy…

Not ordinary!

Cao Ran, who had lived for centuries, instantly recognized that both the sword and the robe were extraordinary—high-level spirit treasures, supreme-grade artifacts! Even so, he could not discern their exact rank.

Without further ado, Cao Ran raised his right arm; a great cauldron appeared above his head, black and three-legged, its surface carved with mysterious runes. As it emerged, waves of black mist poured out, resembling a horde of evil spirits.

“I may have only recently suffered serious injury and fallen in cultivation, but even now I retain the strength of a fifth-level Profound Heart realm. Boy, today you’ll see how high the heavens of the cultivation world truly are! In your current state, you’re nothing!”

He roared with laughter, before slamming his right palm toward Fang Wang. The black mist from the cauldron condensed into a giant tiger’s head that roared as it charged.

It was incredibly fast!

Seemingly unable to dodge, Fang Wang was struck head-on by the tiger, the black mist bursting and engulfing him.

Cao Ran frowned, a look of disdain crossing his face.

At that instant!

The black mist abruptly dispersed—a sword beam of white light shot forth, forcing Cao Ran to leap away in alarm. The sword energy cleaved the mighty lake fog in two, cut across the water, and struck a distant mountain, shattering the cliff and sending rocks flying. The mountain’s summit was nearly sliced off.

Cao Ran turned, seeing the black mist dissipate to reveal Fang Wang, golden dragon energies entwined about his robe. His right arm was raised, the Rainbow Sword’s white blade dazzling. In that moment, Fang Wang’s entire demeanor changed—even his eyes transformed.

What kind of gaze was that?

Cao Ran, who had escaped death countless times and faced untold dangers, had never before seen such eyes. His heart gave an involuntary shudder.

This boy…

Cao Ran seized one foot of the cauldron, channeling his spiritual power as his black robe billowed violently.

Fang Wang had deliberately taken the blow to test the robe’s defense.

A fifth-level Profound Heart realm attack could not break through—the defense was unscathed.

Is that all?

Fang Wang no longer held back, unleashing the True Art of Battle. Now his will was fixed solely on combat; in his eyes, Cao Ran was already a dead man.

One after another, sword forms appeared around him. As their number grew, his aura soared. The golden dragon energies gave a resonant roar; below, waves rippled across the lake, his power intimidating beyond measure.