Within the Sword Tomb Palace, Zhang Ruochen, Ji Fanxin, Bao Lie, and others gathered, working together to purge the Nether King’s blood poison from Shi Mingyuan.
The delay in treatment stemmed from Shi Mingyuan’s prior condition—unsuitable for entering the Sundial’s range of influence. Only now could they address it.
Fortunately, Zhang Ruochen had previously enlisted the Sky-Connecting Divine Tree to cleanse the evil consciousness within him, and Bao Lie had been dedicating time daily to expel the poison. As a result, Shi Mingyuan’s state had steadily improved.
At a certain moment, no more blood poison emerged from Shi Mingyuan’s body, prompting Zhang Ruochen and the others to pause.
It wasn’t that the poison was fully eradicated—rather, their combined strength couldn’t tackle what remained.
When Shi Qiankun had been afflicted, it took Martial Venerable’s intervention to completely remove it.
“It’s up to the old patriarch’s own will now,” Zhang Ruochen said, turning to Shi Qiankun and Shi Ren.
“Brother Zhang, words can’t express my gratitude. Whatever you need in the future, I, Shi Ren, will brave fire and water without hesitation,” Shi Ren said earnestly, his eyes red.
Zhang Ruochen patted his shoulder with a smile. “If you see me as a brother, skip the formalities. Take good care of the old patriarch—and let me know if anything comes up.”
Shi Ren nodded firmly. “I will. I’ll stay by his side.”
Shi Qiankun’s eyes brimmed with gratitude. Zhang Ruochen had saved his family and preserved the clan—debts too vast to repay.
The clan would never refuse him anything.
Leaving Shi Mingyuan’s recovery chamber, Zhang Ruochen sought out Lu Huaiyu.
“Grandmaster Uncle, what do you need?” Lu Huaiyu asked respectfully.
As the grandson of Zhang Ruochen’s senior brother and given Zhang Ruochen’s aid to the Divine Sword Holy Land, Lu Huaiyu called him “Grandmaster Uncle” willingly.
It also bridged their bond—better than “Your Highness.”
“I’ve recently acquired some top-grade materials. I’d like the Divine Sword Holy Land to reforge the Eight Dragon Umbrella and Nine Dragon Carriage,” Zhang Ruochen said with a smile, presenting the materials.
Some came from Luoshui, others from the Blood Clan’s divine sons and daughters—each rare and near-impossible to buy with saint stones.
Take the Divine Blood Crystal—a cosmic treasure, perfect for crafting a Ten-Yao Ten-Thousand-Pattern saint artifact.
Lu Huaiyu’s eyes lit up as he examined the materials, then said eagerly, “Leave it to me. I’ll do my utmost to elevate their ranks.”
Having studied the *Heavenly Craft Compendium*, his smithing skills ranked among Kunlun Realm’s best.
With quality materials, forging elite weapons was well within his grasp.
Once, when Zhang Ruochen was weaker, the umbrella and carriage sufficed. But as his strength grew, they lagged—needing upgrades or replacement.
Yet, tied to generations of Ming Emperors, they held deep sentimental value; he couldn’t bear to discard them.
Two days later, Shi Ren brought good news: Shi Mingyuan had awakened.
Zhang Ruochen rushed over.
“This old man thanks the Sword Bearer for saving me,” Shi Mingyuan said, rising to bow.
Zhang Ruochen quickly supported him. “Old Patriarch, you’re embarrassing me. Shi Ren and I are brothers—this is what I should do.”
Shi Ren joined him, helping Shi Mingyuan sit back down.
Shi Mingyuan sighed. “I never imagined so much would happen to the clan while I was in seclusion in the Nether Dungeon. I’ve failed my people and Kunlun Realm.”
“Don’t blame yourself—it wasn’t your choice. The Nether King was too cunning,” Zhang Ruochen consoled.
Shi Mingyuan nodded slightly. “Indeed, he’s crafty. At a critical moment in my cultivation, he invaded with evil consciousness, stripping me of myself, turning me into a monster. Without your help, I’d have been lost forever.”
Recalling his years in the Nether Dungeon sent shivers down his spine.
Had he unwittingly freed the Nether King, he’d have become the clan’s greatest sinner.
“Old Patriarch, I need your help with something,” Zhang Ruochen said seriously.
Shi Mingyuan smiled. “Shi Ren told me. I can’t guarantee success with a Great Saint-grade Blood-Suppressing Talisman, but I’ll try my best.”
“Then I’ll trouble you,” Zhang Ruochen said, handing over the divine bone from the White Bone Sacred Mountain.
Crafting such a talisman required divine bone as its core.
More crucially, it demanded a Great Saint-level talisman master.
Shi Mingyuan’s mental power, though not yet at the sixtieth tier, was infinitely close—surpassing even the Nether Immortal.
Breaking through would be easy, but it’d force him to leave Kunlun Realm.
In these turbulent times, the clan needed him, so he held back.
With his near-sixtieth-tier mental power and profound talisman expertise, he had a shot at success.
If even he couldn’t do it, Zhang Ruochen wouldn’t know who could.
Stepping out, he ran into Ji Fanxin.
“When do we head to the Northern Region?” she asked.
She’d long wanted to go, delayed until now—she couldn’t afford further postponement.
Kunlun Realm was a storm of converging forces, its complexity shifting constantly with countless arrivals.
If someone claimed the Sky-Connecting Divine Tree’s trunk first, she’d be inconsolable.
Understanding her urgency, Zhang Ruochen smiled. “Don’t worry, Fairy. I’ll visit the Merit General Station to exchange merits, then we’ll set off for the Northern Region.”
Slaying hundreds of thousands of Blood Clan warriors promised vast merit points—too valuable to waste.
Without delay, he left the clan alone for the nearest merit substation.
Kunlun Realm housed seventy-two merit substations, each with a spatial teleportation array linking to the Merit General Station on Tianquan Star.
Heaven Realm cultivators also poured into Kunlun via this hub.
Hell Realm forces, too, flooded in relentlessly—unstoppable.
This chaos made Kunlun a land without peace.
The closest substation to the sword tomb was the Twenty-Fifth.
Through its array, Zhang Ruochen swiftly reached the General Station.
As when he’d first arrived, it buzzed with activity—perhaps even more so.
Some headed to Kunlun, others, like him, came to exchange merits or return to Heaven Realm.
A recent Merit Temple reform allowed direct merit-to-treasure exchanges in Kunlun—fuelling the influx.
Previously, the temple often withheld treasures, leaving little recourse.
In the Ancestral Spirit Realm merit war, Guanghan Realm earned the most points, yet Zhang Ruochen’s clash with Yan God left them empty-handed.
Otherwise, they’d have secured plenty, with leaders all claiming shares.
Emerging from the array, Zhang Ruochen headed straight for the Merit Exchange Hall.
There, he could both claim and spend merit points.
“That’s Zhang Ruochen, isn’t it?”
“Yep, it’s him. Odd—why’s he suddenly here? Leaving Kunlun?”
“From what I know, he hasn’t fought in a merit battlefield—just clashed hard with Master Shenya.”
“Without killing Hell Realm foes, why’s he at the Exchange Hall?”
“Let’s follow and see.”
…
Many recognized him instantly, sparking a flurry of whispers.
The chatter reached his ears, but he paid it no mind.
The Exchange Hall loomed grand and majestic, inspiring awe in all.
Since its founding, it teemed daily with saints, Saint Kings, and renowned prodigies.
As Zhang Ruochen approached, a commotion erupted nearby.
A group swaggered over, escorting a few figures with bold arrogance.
Seeing their faces, Zhang Ruochen’s expression hardened, a chill glinting in his eyes.
He hadn’t expected a trip here to reunite him with old acquaintances.
“Shang Ziyan, Sihan, Daxi King, Huanji—long time no see,” he said coldly, locking eyes with them.
“Hm?”
Shang Ziyan sensed him, turning his gaze.
The moment he saw Zhang Ruochen, his eyes iced over.
A favored son of heaven, he’d had everything—until Zhang Ruochen handed him two crushing defeats. His hatred was a river too vast to wash away.
Recalling his pre-Kunlun ordeal in the Life-Death Refining Furnace, nearly dying under its tortures, even his refined demeanor couldn’t mask his desire to tear Zhang Ruochen apart.
“Zhang Ruochen.”
Daxi King’s gaze wavered, complex and evasive, avoiding his eyes.
To her, he was a nightmare—holding her secrets and treasures, a constant thorn she longed to reclaim.
Meeting him here left her uneasy, itching to flee.
