Starting Cultivation During a Trip

Immortal Sect Mansion, Wuwei Family.

It is said that the ancestral court of the Wuwei Sect is an exceedingly mysterious Daoist Temple, constructed according to the Human Body Cultivation Atlas.

The twelve zodiac signs are like the vertebrae of a dragon’s spine, with Human Xiao as the head, Tai Sui as the final vertebra, embodying Yin and Yang, turning fortune and misfortune.

Along the central axis of this ancestral temple stand three palaces, corresponding to the upper, middle, and lower Dantian within the human body, namely the Primordial Palace Mud Pill, the Jiang Palace Divine Mansion, and the Profound Palace and Sea of Qi.

These Three Palaces conceal the secrets of Ascension to Immortality.

Without doubt, the Lords of the Three Palaces are the apex of Wuwei Sect’s might, each one a supreme cultivator standing at the summit of the present age.

Zhang Fan had once met the Lord of Jiang Palace, Ming Shenshou, in Dongshan Province. This person’s mysteries are unfathomable; wielding the Celestial Gifted Divine Techniques—Stealing Divine Mechanism—he seizes five or six Divine Techniques into himself, single-handedly confronting the Lao Mountain Sect Leader Li Chengge, Zhenwu Mountain Celestial Master Liu Nanxu, standing undefeated, and finally withdrawing whole and unharmed, truly an anomaly in the world.

As for the Lord of the Profound Palace, Jiang Yunxian—Zhang Fan was certainly no stranger either. On that day in Yujing City, she and Zhang Sheng joined forces, their Primordial Spirits emerging in battle against White Crane Temple Vice Observatory Master Huo Dharma King. So profound was her cultivation that she too ranked among the most elite under heaven.

The two Palace Masters both have insight into the Celestial Human Path. Whether by status or by power, all is clear to see.

The Daoist Sect regards them as mortal threats at the heart.

And yet, the Lord of the Primordial Palace—his name has never been heard.

"If one could preserve a Golden Core in all Three Palaces, one would ascend in the daylight to take their seat among the Immortal List..." Quan Daoist softly murmured.

"Of the Three Palaces, the Primordial Palace is the greatest mystery, and its strength is likewise the deepest and unfathomable."

This old man from Zhongnan Mountain gave his appraisal: of the three Palace Lords of Wuwei Sect, the Lord of the Primordial Palace is the mightiest; at the same time, He is also the most enigmatic, even beyond the Wuwei Sect, scarce few under heaven can know Him.

"Uncle Master, what is the Lord of the Primordial Palace like?" Meng Qiwu could not help but ask.

"I have forgotten." Quan Daoist’s voice was low, and a haze of confusion rose in his half-closed eyes.

"I can no longer remember His appearance."

"You can’t remember?" Zhang Fan furrowed his brows. With cultivation so deep, a strong Primordial Spirit, so that a single thought is burned into memory like a seal—how could one forget the other’s countenance?

"Formless births myriad forms; Non-action leaves nothing undone... With such cultivation, one is already united with the heavens, forgetting one’s self—heaven and earth alike..." Quan Daoist’s voice began to tremble, a dreadful emanation rising like surging waves, vast and unstoppable.

Zhang Fan and Meng Qiwu both felt an intense unease seize their spirits.

"If you encounter this person, flee far away, three leagues at least..."

"Take heed! Take heed!"

Zhang Fan and Meng Qiwu exchanged glances, glimpsing in each other’s eyes a trace of gravity and perplexity.

They knew not to what terrifying realm the Lord of the Primordial Palace’s cultivation had reached, that it could make this master from Zhongnan Mountain less man, more ghost.

"Uncle Master, please rest. We’ll take our leave." Meng Qiwu stepped forward and gave a respectful bow, daring not to ask another word.

She cast a glance at Zhang Fan, and the two turned and departed.

After walking several hundred meters, Zhang Fan halted and looked back, only to see Quan Daoist’s head hanging on the Withered Wood tree, his tangled locks fused with the desolate branches, like fruit sprung from dead wood, swaying in the wind—strange and uncanny indeed.

"Lord of the Primordial Palace..." Zhang Fan murmured under his breath.

Such a cultivation realm—already standing at that age’s pinnacle—beneath Pure Yang Zhenren, these ones are the true elite among men.

In this moment, Zhang Fan’s gaze was unfocused, yet in his heart there rose another kind of thought.

This life—only by attaining such a height, beholding sights hidden from the mundane world, could one be said not to have wasted the journey, not to have lived in vain.

"Will we ever reach such a place?" Zhang Fan murmured softly.

He had witnessed Quan Daoist’s tribulation and felt no pity, nor fear, nor sorrow. Instead, within him stirred a yearning—a desire fiercer than any he had ever known.

Such strange emotions and tremors revealed themselves in Meng Qiwu’s eyes as well.

"So long as we live, both you and I will yet have our chance." Meng Qiwu intoned gravely.

She gazed long into Zhang Fan’s face, then said, "Your chance is still greater than mine."

"You are the last incense of South Zhang. The final light of your line most likely falls upon your shoulders..." Meng Qiwu said wistfully.

"In fact, though your lineage numbers only two or three, already someone among you stands at the summit."

From great calamity arises great fortune.

Those who survived the extermination of the South Zhang...

Such tribulation honed and forged them.

Zhang Lingzong was so.

Chenlong Zhang Nanfeng was so as well.

Without that great catastrophe, there would be no Great Spirit Sect King of the Divine Demon Holy Embryo, nor would there be the Five Elements Reversal, nor Chen Dragon as king among the errant.

"My father..." Zhang Fan whispered.

"Your father is also a paragon of the current age." Meng Qiwu said firmly. "Across the ages, those who attained such a realm in alchemy and profound cultivation are vanishingly few."

Celestial Master Realm—within a hundred years, they can be counted on one hand.

All these have a hope of comprehending the Pure Yang Dao.

"I only wonder who is stronger—he or the Lord of the Primordial Palace?" An odd thought flickered through Zhang Fan’s mind, vanishing before he could grasp it.

"Let us be on our way!"

Zhang Fan murmured, gazing upon the boundless night. The Great Moon hung low in the west, under the vast Zhongnan Mountain—ranges stretched for hundreds of miles, cloaked in perils and mysteries unknown.

"Just now, what direction did Uncle Master say Er Gou went?"

"Nanwang Mountain!" Meng Qiwu replied with quiet solemnity.

"Nanwang Mountain... is it famous? A tourist spot, perhaps?" Zhang Fan asked casually.

Meng Qiwu paused, a sidelong glance flashing like a star in the night, sharp and arresting amidst the gloom.

"It was once an obscure hill. Around eighty years ago, a great master journeyed here from afar and took up the Way—engaged in profound cultivation for three years atop that mountain."