Can a person only become an immortal by relying on a mountain

That was the backlash after the fate was fulfilled...

Su Ji leaned on his [Dragon-Felling Spear], its tip driven deep into rock that had been melted into a vitreous shell, his entire body weight hanging from that vicious weapon.

His legs trembled like reeds, his knees so weak that he nearly dropped to the ground several times.

A full half-incense stick's worth of time passed.

Only then did the clogged, foul breath trapped in his throat finally ease, and the countless black spots before his eyes began to subside.

At least it hadn't knocked him unconscious.

"Huff... huff..."

Su Ji's blurred vision swept across the devastated scene, searching.

Soon, he spotted the small figure.

Su Jiu lay quietly behind a relatively intact rock, her body curled into a tight ball.

She was too weak.

Her once delicate, porcelain-like face was now a deathly white, like a sheet of rice paper, and the blood at the corner of her mouth had dried, turning into a jarring, dark brown crust.

The rise and fall of her chest was so faint that if Su Ji's spiritual perception weren't so acute, he wouldn't have even noticed she was still breathing.

Su Ji stumbled over.

He didn't dare touch her, afraid that one wrong move would extinguish the last spark of life within her.

Frantically, he fumbled for the storage ring on his finger.

"Where is it... where is it..."

He dug wildly through the chaos of items inside.

Spirit stones, artifacts, cultivation techniques—all of it was tossed aside like trash, littering the ground.

Finally.

Two small, crystal-clear jade bottles appeared in his hand.

"Crack!"

Su Ji broke the bottleneck directly, ignoring any concern for dosage, and poured out all the pills inside.

He pried open Su Jiu's clenched jaw and shoved the pills, radiating a dense medicinal fragrance, into her mouth.

"Swallow it... come on, swallow them all..."

Fortunately.

Perhaps it was the instinct to survive, or maybe she heard Su Ji's plea, but Su Jiu's throat moved in a slight gulp, and the pills dissolved into a pure medicinal force that slid down her throat.

A moment later, a faint, barely perceptible trace of color finally returned to her deathly pale face.

Only then did Su Ji collapse to the ground, gasping for breath, feeling that this was more nerve-wracking than when he'd fought desperately against Zhao Teng.

After resting a moment.

Su Ji slowly raised his head.

Though thick layers of rock and swirling dust and smoke separated him, he could still sense two terrifying auras colliding violently in the sky above.

It was Liu Kuanglan and that Sloppy Old Daoist.

Su Ji took a deep breath, mustering the very last ounce of his strength, and let out a hoarse but penetrating roar toward the invisible heavens.

"Zhao Teng—"

"Is dead!!!"

The sound shot through the gap that had been blasted open, straight up into the clouds.

...

Above the Nine Heavens.

Gale-force winds were as sharp as blades, and rampant astral energy wreaked havoc.

This realm was no longer one that mortals could tread; every thread of flowing air was enough to tear either Zhao Teng or Su Ji to shreds.

Though the cry of "Zhao Teng is dead" was weakened layer by layer by the time it reached there, barely perceptible, to the two locked in combat, it struck like a thunderbolt.

The Sloppy Old Daoist's movements suddenly froze.

That haughty, aged face wore an expression of shock for the first time, which then twisted into disbelief.

"Impossible..."

The old Daoist muttered to himself, his offensive rhythm faltering.

He didn't believe it.

Or rather, he dared not believe it.

And opposite him stood Liu Kuanglan.

At the sound, those eyes suddenly blazed to life.

Blazing with a terrifying brightness.

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

There was no trace of a true immortal's restraint in Liu Kuanglan's laughter. Instead, it brimmed with an unprecedented sense of exhilaration.

Someone had done what he could not accomplish back then...

Did having an immortal king as a protector mean you could act with impunity?

Look...

In the end, they were just a handful of dust.

As for how powerful the enemy before him really was...

What did that matter to Liu Kuanglan?

He was not the kind of reckless fool who laughed with his life on the line, nor was he a pessimist who smashed everything in despair.

What filled his chest now,

Was nothing but the tipsy boldness of having downed three hundred jars of fiery wine.

How long had it been...

How long had it been since he had let himself be so utterly unrestrained?

Ever since he took that position as the Pavilion Master.

He had grown slippery, grown worldly.

In that moment, the howling sandstorm and the screaming wind all vanished from Liu Kuanglan's ears.

The world fell into absolute silence.

Only the sound of crashing waves remained at his ears.

"Crash... crash..."

It was the roar of waves against an empty shore.

So that was it.

He had never changed.

What surged in his chest was still that long-unseen tide.

"Liu Kuanglan! You're asking for death!"

The old Daoist had completely lost control.

Zhao Teng's death had driven him mad. The long staff with the gourd hanging from it swelled in the wind, turning into a sky-piercing pillar, carrying the force to shatter heaven and earth as it hurtled down toward Liu Kuanglan's head.

Facing this blow, one that could crush mountains and rivers,

Liu Kuanglan did not dodge.

He even withdrew the colossal divine manifestation behind him.

He stood there silently in the void, his white robes rustling in the violent gale.

He slowly raised his right hand.

His palm faced upward, his fingers loosely clenched.

"Hummm—"

An extremely faint hum sounded, like some long-dust-laden instrument being played anew, cutting through the chaos of this battlefield.

After a brief pause,

A clump of light—not piercing, even a little dim—floated slowly from his palm.

Then, it radiated outward in all directions, silently.

Liu Kuanglan’s form flickered, and he transformed into a streak of light, charging straight at the old Daoist.

"You're asking for death!"

The old Daoist roared, his staff striking down fiercely.

But that staff, capable of shattering a true immortal's body, came to an abrupt halt

A hair’s breadth away from Liu Kuanglan's head.

Then,

"Crack... crack..."

A faint sound of shattering.

The staff began to disintegrate from the point of impact, quickly turning into dust, swept away by the wind.

The old Daoist’s pupils shrank sharply.

A slender shaft of light had already shot from Liu Kuanglan's hand.

The old Daoist looked down at his chest.

In that moment, his body seemed to turn into a crystal-clear prism.

The original beam of light, after countless refractions, reflections, and amplifications within his body,

Finally,

"Fssssssss—!!!"

Countless beams of extreme brilliance burst out from the old Daoist's body in every direction!

Flawlessly precise.

Piercing through everything.

Watched from afar,

It was as if countless invisible blades suddenly blossomed from inside him, riddling him like a hedgehog.

The old Daoist opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something.

But his body grew translucent—a sign that his dispersed soul was about to dissipate.

In his murky, turbid eyes, the last thing that lingered was nothing but deep bewilderment.

He could not understand.

How could an immortal not renowned for his strength wield such a strike?

Liu Kuanglan merely stood upon the clouds, letting the fierce winds of the high sky tousle his long hair.

As the faint glow faded, the object in his hand at last revealed its true form.

It was a sword.

A broken sword.

The jagged edges at the break looked as though they had been snapped by sheer force.

The cloth wrapped around the hilt had long since yellowed, stained with old blood that could never be washed away.

It appeared far too ordinary.

He lowered his head, his gaze tender, as if beholding a lover of many years.

His fingers gently traced the four ancient seal-script characters on the blade, now somewhat blurred: 【Kill-Heart Evil-Gall】.

Those four words were like knives, each one exuding a bone-chilling ferocity.

This was his lifebound artifact.

It was also his Dao-heart, buried in dust for a thousand years.

Back then, in his fury, he had drawn his sword, but it had snapped with a crack.

From that day on, he never again drew it for another.

He reached out and once more gently caressed the broken sword in his sleeve, which had fallen into silence again.

The touch against his fingertips was both icy and scorching hot.

“Must a man rely on a backing to be an immortal?”

Liu Kuanglan murmured to himself, as if asking the old daoist fading away, or perhaps asking himself.

“I used to think so too.”

“I thought that without a patron, without a background, one could hardly take a step in the Canghuang Realm.”

“But today…”

“My sword.”

“Did not break with a snap.”

Behind him, the Sloppy Old Daoist’s split soul completely dissolved, scattering into rays of light that melted into the world.

Liu Kuanglan lifted his head and gazed at the vast, azure sky.

“In the blink of an eye… the heavens have already changed…”