Worship

"How terrifying! How monstrous!"

"Who is this man? What kind of martial arts technique is this?"

"So young—which noble family could have produced such a prodigy?"

"Our Great Xia truly breeds extraordinary talents!"

"Why are there shackles on his hands and feet?"

"Doesn’t he look like that internet celebrity, Chen Feng?"

...

The crowd was first stunned, then gradually noticed Chen Feng’s peculiar state.

Shackles bound his wrists and ankles, chains still dangling from them.

Yet his strength was overwhelming.

And his resemblance to that infamous prodigy, Chen Feng, was uncanny.

Meanwhile, several severely injured individuals sat on the ground, tending to their wounds and regulating their breathing.

Truthfully, they had long since exhausted their strength to flee.

Only sheer willpower had kept them going.

Now, with their adrenaline fading, none could run any further.

They settled behind Chen Feng, treating their injuries.

Strangely, they felt an inexplicable sense of safety in his presence.

Especially as they watched tens of thousands of invaders retreat in fear before a single man.

Chen Feng showed no mercy.

His martial phantom plucked the strings of an ethereal zither.

Golden dragons, woven from soundwaves, ruthlessly reaped the lives of the enemy.

Panic erupted among the invaders.

They turned and fled.

Those at the rear didn’t even have time to scream.

Within seconds, hundreds more corpses littered the ground—internal organs shattered, blood seeping from their orifices.

Chen Feng gazed at the bodies, thoughts drifting to the elders who had sacrificed themselves to save him.

Silently, he vowed:

"Old masters, I’ve avenged you."

"I will make every invader pay with their lives."

"May your souls rest in peace."

Only when the enemy had retreated beyond a hundred meters did Chen Feng cease his assault.

He turned to the wounded youths behind him and asked:

"What happened inside?"

"Where are the others?"

The young men replied with grief:

"The elders are all dead! Everyone is gone."

"The dragon vein is too dangerous—it never needed our protection."

"Dragon vein? More like a serpent’s den."

"We thought we were climbing a mountain, only to realize halfway up that it was a coiled serpent."

"Then there was the shallow icy pool—people turned into ice sculptures just by walking through it."

"Our people either died inside the dragon vein or were hunted down by the invaders."

"Now, only a few thousand of us remain."

...

The mere memory of what lay within sent chills down their spines.

A single flick of the serpent’s tail had wiped out thousands in an instant.

Those who had miraculously escaped the frozen pool were even more terrified.

Initially, they had seen invaders pressing deeper. Their own elders, desperate to protect the dragon vein, had charged forward without regard for their lives.

But after barely escaping the serpent’s reach, they encountered a pool littered with ice sculptures.

The water was shallow, so they paid it little mind—only noting how unnaturally cold it felt.

The first group rushed in without hesitation.

Most hadn’t taken more than a few steps before their legs froze solid.

They collapsed into the water, slowly turning into ice statues.

Only a handful of agile martial artists managed to cross the hundred-meter expanse.

But those who made it past the pool had no time to celebrate.

Their triumphant cries turned to screams as they vanished from sight.

No one knew what happened to them.

The survivors understood one thing: the deeper they went, the deadlier it became.

The only path to survival was retreat.

Yet the return journey meant facing the colossal serpent again.

By the time they escaped, nine out of ten had perished.

Now, only a few thousand from Great Xia remained.

Relying on their superior mastery of martial techniques, they had been the first to flee.

...

At the mountain pass, atop a sheer cliff, Zhang Bowen stood with his hands behind his back, gazing at the distant serpent.

"If that flood dragon devours the mountain’s soul and the water’s essence, it may ascend as a true dragon."

"Yet with the mystic tortoise and the spirit crane guarding those treasures, its transformation won’t be easy."

"Ah… when will I obtain the Dragon’s Essence?"

He sighed softly.

Just then, a young man leaped across the peaks toward him, his lightness skill so refined it bordered on flight.

The youth bowed before Zhang Bowen and reported:

"Master Bowen, with our ancient clan guarding it, none may set foot on Black Tortoise Mountain."

"Most intruders perished in the Azure Dragon’s Tomb."

"A few entered the Vermilion Bird’s Pool, but only thousands of the strongest survived."

"Those survivors all met their end in the White Tiger’s Abyss."

Zhang Bowen smiled faintly.

"The White Tiger’s Abyss knows no bottom; even immortals would be but ants before it."

"Their deaths were inevitable."

"Your Cloud-Ladder Steps have reached perfection—you’re not far from mastery."

The young man nodded proudly.

Zhang Bowen continued:

"With Kunlun’s sealing imminent, recall our clansmen."

"Leave the rest to me."

"These outsiders must never leave Kunlun—we cannot allow word of the false dragon vein to spread."

The youth turned and soared away, gliding through the air like a bird.

Then Zhang Bowen heard it—a thunderous melody, resonating like divine wrath.

"A soundwave technique?"

He frowned, peering down the cliffside.

"I once believed the Eight Heavenly Dragon Tones to be the pinnacle of sonic martial arts."

"Yet this surpasses even that."

"Who could wield such power?"

Leaping from the cliff, he descended toward the battlefield.

At fifty meters above ground, he scanned the clash below—and instantly locked onto a familiar figure.

Chen Feng!

His eyes narrowed at the sight of the shackles still binding Chen Feng’s limbs, chains dangling broken.

"With his strength, he shouldn’t be able to break millennium-cold iron chains."

"He’s been hiding his power—and now this monstrous soundwave technique?"

Chen Feng’s presence here could only mean one thing: someone had guided him out.

And Zhang Bowen didn’t need to guess who.

It had to be Qianqian—the one who despised him most.

That blind girl was the only one in their ancient clan soft-hearted enough to help an outsider.

Her eyes, tainted by qilin blood, were a constant irritation.

Every time she saw him, she’d shout, "You big villain!"

Activating his Indestructible Vajra Body to cushion the fall, Zhang Bowen landed with a ground-shaking impact.

He immediately blocked the escaping Great Xia youths who had just arrived.

With a flick of his fingers, sword qi condensed from his vital energy shot forth.

Thumb Sword!

Index Sword!

Middle Sword!

Ring Sword!

Little Sword!

Minor Sword!

The fleeing youths barely had time to register whether this newcomer was friend or foe.

Several were impaled before they could react.

"The Six Meridian Divine Sword! You’re from the Duan Clan!"

"Why attack us?"

"Are you a traitor like the Yelü family?"

...