Zhang Ruochen nodded lightly, “This treasure land must stay in our hands, pity Xiao Hei isn’t here—its array inscriptions could conceal King Mountain.”
Zhenmiao Little Taoist scoffed, patting its chest, “My array mastery surpasses that owl’s.”
“Oh?”
Zhang Ruochen was skeptical.
“Seems I need to show off a trick to prove who’s the true array Saint Master,” Zhenmiao Little Taoist brimmed with confidence, scribbling a materials list.
“With these materials gathered, I’ll set up a ninth-grade grand array for you.”
Zhang Ruochen took the list, “A ninth-grade grand array?”
A ninth-grade array could fend off Greater Saint-level beings, craftable only by Earth Master-tier array Saint Masters—honestly, Zhang Ruochen doubted Zhenmiao’s claim.
Zhenmiao coughed dryly, “Of course… just a prototype ninth-grade array, a bit short of the real thing.”
Zhang Ruochen hadn’t studied arrays deeply, but as a spiritual Saint King, he saw the list held some credibility—not mere nonsense.
“I have most of these materials, but about a third will need procuring.”
Stowing the list, he moved to King Mountain’s perimeter, employing spatial distortion to erect a large-scale spatial maze array.
This array could stymie even Ninth-Step Saint Kings from breaching King Mountain easily.
Yet one spatial array wasn’t enough—if a spatial cultivator reached Yunwu Commandery, it’d fall quickly, so Zhang Ruochen spent more time crafting a temporal array.
Then, with Saint Devourer Flower—now at Seventh-Step Saint King—he headed to Tongming River, leaving Zhenmiao Little Taoist to guard Yunwu Royal City.
Yunwu Royal City lay mere tens of thousands of li from Tongming River, a short jaunt for Saint Kings—You God Palace’s elites couldn’t miss Yuan Che’s demise.
Why hadn’t they rushed to Yunwu Royal City to confront him?
Zhang Ruochen could only guess they’d breached the dragon tomb beneath Tongming River.
He couldn’t let them unearth Golden Dragon’s remains, his trip wasn’t to clash head-on with You God Palace, but first, to scout the situation.
Second, if they’d cracked the dragon tomb, he could harass them covertly.
At least delay them.
Once the evil spirit refined Yuan Che’s saint soul, its power would surge—then, rallying his forces, Zhang Ruochen might stand a chance against them.
Time.
Every minute, every second, pressed urgently—he had no leeway for a perfect plan, only to act as events unfolded.
Dusk.
The horizon blazed with crimson clouds, tinting Tongming River like burning flames.
Using the Thirty-Six Transformations, Zhang Ruochen became a burly, bearded man, boarding a ship, sailing downstream towards the underwater dragon palace.
Moyin, in an antique pink palace gown, bared jade-like shoulders and a snowy chest, knelt by the sedan couch, pouring wine for him.
As her cultivation rose, her allure and charm grew, rivalling Mu Lingxi’s beauty, a femme fatale capable of swaying Greater Saints in any world.
Zhang Ruochen sat cross-legged, channeling saint qi into his left leg.
“Boom.”
Blood in his left leg surged like magma.
Mysterious rules, like crimson dragon-snakes, wove through blood, bone, and skin.
Suddenly, three crimson rules burst from his leg, fierce as fire dragons, racing through his saint veins towards his brow’s qi sea.
Tensing, Zhang Ruochen marshalled spiritual power, saint qi, and saintly rules, battling the trio of crimson rules.
After an arduous struggle, he refined them, forcing them back into his leg.
“Phew!”
Exhaling deeply, he found his saint robes soaked with sweat.
It’d been perilous, yet fruitful.
Probing revealed nearly a hundred thousand crimson rules in his leg, far stronger than a Saint King’s saintly rules—likely Yan God’s divine rules.
Only by refining all hundred thousand could he wield the Divine Left Leg freely.
Yet, mobilizing over four hundred thousand saintly rules at full strength had barely subdued three—refining them all was a long road ahead.
“Master, something’s up.”
Moyin’s lashes fluttered as she poured wine, whispering via transmission.
Zhang Ruochen unleashed his spatial domain, spanning dozens of li.
Within it, nothing escaped his senses, soon detecting two potent saintly auras on the shore.
You God Palace’s Seventh-Step Saint Kings, Liao Yijun and He Yuan, lurked in shadows by Tongming River, eyeing the distant ship.
Liao Yijun’s eyes narrowed, a flying knife appearing in his palm, thousands of black threads flowing across it.
“Hold on.”
He Yuan gripped Liao Yijun’s wrist, his gaze locked on the ship’s enchanting woman, eyes gleaming.
Liao Yijun frowned, “Uncle ordered us to guard here, keeping outsiders from that water ahead—no slip-ups.”
“With our cultivation, how could we fail? Kill the man outright, that woman’s a rare beauty—in You God Palace, besides Senior Sister Ruan Ling, who matches her looks, figure, and grace? Aren’t you tempted?” He Yuan chuckled.
Liao Yijun couldn’t deny the pink-gowned woman rivalled Senior Sister Ruan Ling.
Ruan Ling, You God’s disciple, a prodigy with countless suitors, was a distant dream for Liao Yijun and He Yuan—speaking to her was a feat.
Now, a beauty of her calibre appeared, stirring Liao Yijun’s fantasies.
Cautious, he said, “That bearded brute on the ship’s no pushover—a Fifth-Step Saint King, be careful when you strike.”
“Relax, if I can’t handle a mere Fifth-Step Saint King, I’d be You God Palace’s laughingstock,” He Yuan sneered, brimming with arrogance.
Zhang Ruochen sat on the ship, lifting a bronze cauldron, gulping wine.
“Rustle.”
A breeze stirred.
He Yuan, in white robes, appeared silently across from Zhang Ruochen, grinning at Moyin, his intent bare.
“Master, someone’s boarded.”
Moyin feigned shy fear, leaning towards Zhang Ruochen.
This irked He Yuan—a stunning beauty wasted on this rough lout?
Zhang Ruochen glared, feigning rage, “Who are you? Who let you aboard without my say?”
He Yuan smirked, sitting opposite, unleashing potent saintly pressure.
Moyin, as if overwhelmed, cried out, collapsing on the deck.
He Yuan exuded authority, “Speak—which world’s cultivator are you?”
Zhang Ruochen ignored him, glancing at Moyin, a smirk tugging his lips.
“No answer? Fine, you’re dead anyway,” He Yuan’s saint qi surged, thousands of sword rules weaving in his palm, ready to strike with lethal sword force.
“Dead man—you mean yourself?” Zhang Ruochen laughed.
Seeing the brute’s calm, He Yuan sensed trouble, unleashing his palm’s power, but dozens of sharp roots shot from under the table, piercing his saint body, riddling it.
“Swish.”
The roots drained his saint qi and rules.
“Saint Devourer Flower…”
Terror filled He Yuan’s eyes, his handsome face twisting.
“Hehe, exactly—Saint Devourer Flower, didn’t you want to devour me? Too bad, you’re not strong enough, so I’ll devour you,” Moyin rose, lips curling seductively.
“Gah.”
He Yuan thrashed, roaring in agony, but couldn’t break free, his body shrivelling into a husk, crumbling to ash on the deck.
Zhang Ruochen sighed, “Why rush? You should’ve waited.”
“I couldn’t wait!” Moyin pouted innocently.
Onshore, Liao Yijun, sensing trouble, messaged He Yuan, getting no reply.
“Swish.”
He acted decisively, hurling his Ten Thousand Pattern saint weapon knife.
Its saintly force churned Tongming River, a slash splitting the ship in two with a “boom.”
Staring at the water, Liao Yijun watched the ship sink, but no figures emerged.
“Bad news.”
As he turned to flee, silver roots erupted from the soil, ensnaring him.
Zhang Ruochen stepped from the void behind and above, striking a palm down, smashing Liao Yijun’s head into his torso.
As Saint Devourer Flower fed on Liao Yijun, Zhang Ruochen morphed into He Yuan’s likeness.
He’d delayed killing He Yuan to study his mannerisms, perfecting his mimicry.
