From King Mountain, Zhang Ruochen reached the banks of Luoshui in no time, his speed unmatched.
Luoshui remained as enigmatic as ever, its surface shrouded in layers of white mist that obstructed even the keenest vision, making it nearly impossible to peer into its depths.
Since the Kunlun Realm’s revival, Luoshui had transformed dramatically, expanding into a vast, ancient ocean-like expanse with a complex spatial structure. Even stars floating within seemed insignificant.
Compared to King Mountain, Luoshui was far more perilous yet irresistibly alluring. The sacred herbs it birthed, akin to those from the God-Sealing Platform, could directly boost a cultivator’s sacred path rules.
Standing on the shore, Zhang Ruochen sensed numerous powerful presences in Luoshui—evidently strong cultivators seeking opportunities.
Long recognized as an awakening divine land, Luoshui’s potential was unimaginable, tempting even Great Saints.
“Hundreds of years ago, Luoshui fell from the heavens without any divine signs. Only Senior Luo Xu, three hundred years ago, seized an opportunity, creating the thirty-six Luoshui Fist Techniques, earning fame in Heavenly Demon Ridge as a genius. What brilliance,” Zhang Ruochen mused, standing before the river.
Luo Xu had shown him great kindness, teaching him the Luoshui Fist Techniques and aiding him in times of need. Zhang Ruochen held deep respect and gratitude for him.
He believed that, despite being gravely wounded by Great Prince Moro, Luo Xu’s abilities would prevent his death.
Tragically, Painting Saint Chu Siyuan had been brutally killed by Moro, reduced to dust.
“Zhang Ruochen, are you looking for me?”
A sudden, airy voice interrupted his thoughts.
Zhang Ruochen’s heart stirred, his gaze shifting to the misty expanse of Luoshui.
From the thick fog emerged a towering figure, grinning menacingly, locking eyes with him.
Nearly seven meters tall, the figure had massive jade-bone wings, large lantern-like eyes, a flattened nose resembling a gorilla’s, and jagged fangs. His appearance was grotesque.
Yet, his aura was formidable, with millions of sacred path rules faintly visible, entwined with dense, sinful bloodlight, a testament to countless killings.
“Great Prince Moro,” Zhang Ruochen said, a chilling killing intent flashing in his eyes.
He’d assumed Moro was still en route, not expecting him to have reached Luoshui first—and seemingly aware Zhang Ruochen would come.
Zhang Ruochen’s eyes narrowed. “You lured me here deliberately?”
“Exactly. Everyone in the Kunlun Realm knows you’re close to that Painting Saint and Luo Xu. One died by my hand, the other I gravely wounded. You must be furious, itching to tear me apart, right? Haha!” Moro laughed arrogantly.
Pausing, he continued, “That Painting Saint was foolish, a mayfly challenging a tree. But he was tough. I carved him three thousand times, stripping his flesh and eating it before his eyes, and he didn’t even groan. So unsatisfying.”
To Moro’s disappointment, Zhang Ruochen remained calm, unaffected by his taunts.
Zhang Ruochen gazed at him impassively. “Any last words? This is your final chance.”
From intelligence, Moro was strong, among the top tier below Great Saint, but only on par with the Golden Sun Twin Kings—hardly a threat to Zhang Ruochen.
Yet, signs suggested this encounter wasn’t straightforward.
Moro, knowing Zhang Ruochen defeated the Dark Son, still dared to provoke him with such confidence, which was abnormal.
No matter his schemes, Moro was doomed.
“Zhang Ruochen, you’re the one who needs last words, blind to your impending death,” Moro sneered.
Zhang Ruochen said nothing, his gaze drifting behind Moro.
Despite their concealed auras and Luoshui’s interference, he sensed them.
“Rumors say Zhang Ruochen is loyal and righteous. It seems true, but that’s your greatest weakness,” a magnetic voice said.
Two figures, one tall and one short, emerged from the mist behind Moro.
The speaker was the taller, a strikingly handsome man with phoenix eyes and a high nose, more beautiful than most women. Dressed in red, holding a jade fan, he exuded charm and an eerie aura.
Beside him was a shorter, stout man with a large head, bare-chested, wearing thick prayer beads around his neck and holding another set, resembling a monk.
“The Nether Clan’s Ming Yao and Ming Buddha, peers of the Dark Son,” Zhang Ruochen identified, scanning them.
Their appearance clarified everything.
Moro’s boldness in coming to the Eastern Domain and Luoshui stemmed from Ming Yao and Ming Buddha’s presence.
Clearly, the Nether Clan, humiliated by their True Dragon Island defeat—Dark Son’s death and many elites slaughtered—had orchestrated this. Ming Yao and Ming Buddha used Moro as bait to lure Zhang Ruochen.
Fanning himself, Ming Yao said coldly, “Zhang Ruochen, your biggest mistake was provoking the Nether Clan. Now, pay the price.”
“I hear Zhang Ruochen has ties to Kunlun’s Ten Thousand Buddha Path. Let this Buddha send him off,” Ming Buddha said, stepping forward, rubbing his belly.
Ming Yao’s eyes glinted coldly. “Zhang Ruochen is my prey. No one takes him.”
“It’s been ages since I fought. Ming Yao, let me have him,” Ming Buddha insisted.
Both were supremely confident, undeterred by Zhang Ruochen’s victory over the Dark Son, believing they could kill him alone.
Zhang Ruochen said calmly, “You think you have me cornered? I don’t want to waste time. If you want to fight, come together.”
“I alone can kill you,” Ming Yao growled.
He swung his fan, releasing eighteen solid curse runes that morphed into eighteen grotesque beasts, each exuding an evil, ominous aura.
“Roar.”
The beasts, lifelike, roared thunderously, unleashing torrents of curse energy toward Zhang Ruochen.
Zhang Ruochen’s expression remained steady. He threw a casual punch.
His fist path saint aspect, with 870,000 rules, emerged like a miniature Luoshui.
Originally at 770,000 fist path rules, refining the Dao Fruit Holy Dew had added 100,000.
His other main sacred paths had similarly grown.
“Rumble.”
The fist’s intent shook Luoshui, raising massive waves.
“Boom.”
The eighteen beasts and their curse energy shattered instantly.
Ming Yao’s eyes shifted, realizing fighting in Luoshui disadvantaged him.
“Swish.”
He moved to a mountain on the shore.
Preferring offense, Zhang Ruochen didn’t hold back against a top powerhouse like Ming Yao, unleashing spatial techniques. With a wave, dozens of massive spatial rifts attacked from all directions.
As his spatial path mastery grew, every spatial technique’s power soared.
Ming Yao surged with dark energy, enveloping all rifts.
Top Nether Clan elites often studied the Dark Path, and Ming Yao had mastered it deeply, able to devour even spatial rifts.
Forming seals swiftly, Ming Yao fused curse and dark energies into a terrifying palm print, shattering swathes of space.
“Take my speck of dust,” Zhang Ruochen said, pinching a dust mote and flicking it.
Incredibly, under sacred path rules, the mote became a mountain-sized rock sphere, like a small star, carrying immense force, colliding with Ming Yao’s palm print.
“Boom.”
Both exploded, unleashing a devastating shockwave.
The ground within a thousand li crumbled, mountains flattened.
Fortunately, Luoshui’s region was uninhabited, or the casualties would’ve been catastrophic.
Moro’s expression grew grave. “Creating a mountain-sized space in a dust mote—such a technique eludes many Great Saints of the spatial path. Zhang Ruochen’s spatial mastery is terrifying.”
The display deeply shocked Moro.
“Below Great Saint, only Yan Wushen and Shentu Yunkong from the Space Temple might surpass Zhang Ruochen in spatial arts,” Ming Buddha murmured.
At those names, Moro’s pupils shrank. Though proud, he knew he couldn’t challenge them.
Yan Wushen, the top below Great Saint in the Infernal Realm, required the Celestial Palace’s Four Heavenly Kings to suppress.
Shentu Yunkong, the Space Temple’s most outstanding disciple in ten thousand years, was a spatial path prodigy, obsessively dedicated to it.
No one knew Shentu Yunkong’s current spatial mastery, but many believed even Yan Wushen might not surpass him in that path.
Suddenly, Luoshui stirred, and numerous cultivators emerged.
These opportunity-seekers from various great worlds were drawn by Zhang Ruochen and Ming Yao’s battle.
“Is that… Zhang Ruochen? Who’s he fighting?” a cultivator asked.
Ming Yao’s threat level exceeded ten, excluding him from the *Ten Infernal Clans’ Evil Registry*, and his rarity on the merit battlefield made him unrecognizable to most.
A cultivator identified him, wary. “It’s the Nether Clan’s Ming Yao, one of their top three below Great Saint, alongside Ming Buddha and the Dark Son. He’s in the Kunlun Realm.”
Spotting Ming Buddha and Moro on Luoshui, his pupils constricted. “Ming Buddha’s here too, with Great Prince Moro. They’re definitely here to kill Zhang Ruochen.”
The crowd gasped. Even those unfamiliar with Ming Yao and Ming Buddha knew the Nether Clan’s top trio’s reputation signified immense power.
They retreated swiftly, distancing themselves from Ming Buddha and Moro to avoid collateral damage.
“Splash.”
Luoshui parted, revealing a graceful, stunning figure stepping on sacred golden mist, like a descending goddess—Fairy Tianchu.
With Luoshen’s inheritance, Fairy Tianchu grew ever more ethereal, otherworldly.
Behind her were three others: Li Miaohan, Fool, and Butcher, all acquaintances of Zhang Ruochen.
“Master, Zhang Ruochen’s in trouble,” Li Miaohan said, frowning.
Fool’s gaze was heavy. “Ming Yao, Ming Buddha, and Moro together—they’re set on killing Zhang Ruochen. Can he handle it?”
“Zhang Ruochen’s grown formidable, defeating even the Dark Son, no wonder Ming Yao and Ming Buddha are here. But we can’t intervene in a fight of this level,” Butcher said, shaking his head.
Fairy Tianchu said nothing, her eyes fixed on Zhang Ruochen, her hand unconsciously touching the Tianhe necklace around her neck.
