Standing before the ancient tombs, Zhang Ruochen’s emotions surged, his heart unable to settle. If his guesses were true, the Zhang Clan of old must have been extraordinarily prosperous.
Yet, the Zhang Clan’s history had fractured. Much of what happened before the Middle Ages was lost to time, including the existence of a divine figure known as Jie尊者, forgotten until the Moon Goddess mentioned it to him.
“It matches the ancient texts perfectly—only Great Saints could be buried in the ancestral ground after death, the highest honor for any Zhang Clan member,” Zhang murmured.
The Zhang Clan traced its origins to the Immovable Wisdom King, a mythical figure so ancient even the Moon Goddess had never met him. The clan’s legacy stretched back at least a million years.
In the favorable cultivation conditions of pre-Middle Ages, accumulating generations over that time would’ve produced a staggering number of Great Saints.
Unfortunately, only half the ancestral genealogy survived, starting from the late Middle Ages, recording fewer than a hundred Great Saint ancestors.
If he could recover the lost half, all mysteries would unravel.
Was it coincidence or design that the Zhang Clan he belonged to in both lives was the same lineage?
Climbing to a higher vantage point, Zhang Ruochen gazed into the tomb forest’s depths, his divine seal eyes straining to see its extent.
A potent force blocked even his vision, obscuring the forest’s true reach.
Just as he was about to give up, his bloodline stirred, and the *Nine Heavens Bright Emperor Scripture* activated on its own. An enigmatic aura enveloped him, shaking his soul.
His body trembled, his soul seemingly drawn out, arriving in a chaotic, primordial realm swirling with dense chaotic energy.
Before him stood a colossal, majestic tomb, with chaotic rules and divine light flowing like water across its surface, exuding profound sanctity.
Facing it, Zhang Ruochen felt an urge to kneel in reverence.
Above the tomb, space warped, faintly revealing twenty-seven towering celestial realms, both real and dreamlike, blurring the line between existence and illusion.
Atop these realms sat a towering figure, surrounded by countless stars, as if the center of the cosmos.
Zhang strained to see the figure’s face but saw only chaos.
Overwhelmed, his soul snapped back, the tomb, celestial realms, and figure vanishing like a dream.
Hovering in midair, Zhang Ruochen stood dazed, the vision’s impact lingering.
“Is there truly such a tomb in the forest’s depths? Whose is it? Why did it stir my bloodline so?” he whispered.
He opened his heavenly eye fully, trying to peer deeper.
No matter his efforts, an invisible force blocked his probing.
As he withdrew his gaze, he noticed something else.
Atop the tomb before him grew a fist-sized fruit, woven with countless Great Saint rules, radiating immortal light.
His eyes narrowed, a realization dawning. “Could it be… the legendary Great Saint Dao Fruit?”
He’d only read of Great Saint Fruits in ancient texts, never seeing one.
Per those records, buried in special grounds, a Great Saint’s essence and rules could, over at least ten thousand years, condense into a fruit—the Great Saint Dao Fruit.
Eating one granted the Great Saint’s inheritance and partial rules, greatly increasing the chance of reaching the Great Saint realm.
“Indeed, a Great Saint Dao Fruit,” a voice confirmed.
Startled, Zhang Ruochen realized the mysterious old man had appeared beside him, unnoticed.
If the old man meant harm, he’d be in grave danger.
Closing his heavenly eye, Zhang Ruochen glanced at him. “Didn’t expect you to get in.”
“This is the Zhang Clan’s ancestral ground. As a Zhang, of course I can enter,” the old man said smugly, as if being a Zhang was inherently superior.
If Zhang Ruochen weren’t a Zhang, he might’ve smacked him.
The old man continued, “Believe me now, Zhang Ruochen? The Mid-Domain Zhang Clan originated here. Their roots are in this ground.”
Zhang Ruochen couldn’t deny it, having seen tombs of ancestors listed in the genealogy.
The nearby tombs matched recorded Great Saints.
“Why did the Mid-Domain Zhang Clan lose contact with the ancestral ground? And why didn’t our Cloud Martial County Zhang royalty know of it?” he asked earnestly.
Though convinced this was the ancestral ground, many questions lingered.
Hands behind his back, the old man said gravely, “The calamity at the end of the Middle Ages spared no one, not even the Zhang Clan. That war was brutal, nearly wiping out our powerhouses, leaving us crippled. The ancestral ground became legend.”
“By clan rules, only Great Saints could be buried here, and only top Saint Kings could know its location, to guard its secret.”
“The Cloud Martial County Zhang royalty likely descends from the tomb guardians. Sparse numbers probably broke the transmission, but they remembered this place’s importance and never left.”
The county’s ancestors were indeed tomb keepers.
Zhang Ruochen’s heart stirred. He’d suspected the Middle Ages calamity, especially since the Moon Goddess said Jie尊者 fell in that war, likely buried here.
The Mid-Domain Zhang Clan was fortunate, rising again in the Near Ancient era with the Saint Ming Central Empire, producing ten Great Saints, including his father.
But eight hundred years ago, a catastrophe nearly destroyed Saint Ming, pushing the Zhang Clan to the brink.
“The Zhang Clan can’t remain dormant. It must reclaim its glory. As a Zhang descendant, you must bear this duty,” the old man said solemnly.
Zhang Ruochen blinked, then shook his head. “I want the Zhang Clan to rise, but it’s easier said than done.”
“How’s it hard? Your bloodline is strong. Your offspring will be exceptional. With Great Saint Dao Fruits, producing many Great Saints isn’t difficult,” the old man snapped.
“As one of the few Zhang males, why don’t you get it? Those nearly hundred female Saints—beautiful, strong—would bear powerful, good-looking children with you.”
“That girl from the Illuminating God Lotus, if you had kids with her, they’d be stunning and likely surpass you in talent.”
“Find more such women, produce a slew of gifted, attractive heirs, and the Zhang Clan will thrive.”
“I kindly made that powder to help, but you rejected it. Are you even a man? Trying to kill me with frustration?”
The old man ranted, exasperated.
Zhang Ruochen, amused yet exasperated, said, “Your cultivation and bloodline are stronger. You’re better suited for this.”
The old man fumed. “If I could, would I need you?”
He was genuinely angered, itching to thrash Zhang Ruochen.
“What do you mean?” Zhang Ruochen’s gaze drifted downward, incredulous that such a powerhouse might be… impotent.
“Where are you looking? What are you thinking?” the old man roared, raising his right hand, a gray-white mist forming.
With a wave, the mist withered vegetation, spreading deathly aura across dozens of li.
“Why do you carry such potent deathly evil?” Zhang Ruochen countered with sacred qi.
The old man sighed. “Long ago, I battled Death Clan elites in the stars for three months, shattering celestial bodies. But their deathly psychic force struck me, nearly killing me. I survived, but couldn’t fully purge the deathly evil in a hundred thousand years.”
Zhang Ruochen understood. The deathly evil prevented the old man from siring offspring.
Relief washed over him. Otherwise, the old man might’ve used his dubious powder to wreak havoc on King Mountain in the name of clan revival.
Ignoring him, Zhang Ruochen studied the tombs, noting many bore Great Saint Dao Fruits, though not all.
Some fruits had likely been harvested by past Zhang ancestors, leveraging their power.
Moving closer to a tomb, Zhang Ruochen approached a fruit, facing resistance but reaching it.
As he reached out, the old man stopped him. “Don’t pick it carelessly.”
“Why?” Zhang Ruochen asked.
“Once picked, a Great Saint Dao Fruit must be eaten immediately, ideally before the tomb, to fully absorb its essence and maximize the chance of reaching Great Saint,” the old man explained.
“These tombs and tablets are cultivation treasures. Meditate here first, then consume the fruit for the best effect.”
Zhang Ruochen abandoned the idea. Such a precious fruit couldn’t be wasted.
He now grasped the ancestral ground’s significance. As long as it endured, the Zhang Clan could rise again, no matter the calamity.
This preservation likely explained why many Great Saint Dao Fruits remained.
Using them all could produce countless Great Saints—unimaginable.
“Zhang Ruochen, are you listening? Your top priority is procreation. Produce as many heirs as possible,” the old man pressed.
“A Zhang ancestor married three thousand wives—goddesses, saints, ancient civilization princesses, dragon, Nine Li, phoenix prodigies—sky, land, sea, all claimed, siring over ten thousand heirs. That’s your model.”
Zhang Ruochen’s eyes flickered, thinking of Guanghan Realm’s Silent Extinction Emperor. He hadn’t known a Zhang ancestor outdid him in progeny.
Still, the Emperor, in his prime, might surpass that ancestor in time.
Meeting the old man’s fiery gaze, Zhang Ruochen said, “Cloud Martial County’s Zhang Clan is nearly gone, but the Mid-Domain Zhang Clan has many members. They can cultivate here. Even without Dao Fruits, the environment and ancestral blessings will boost their progress, possibly yielding unexpected gains.”
Most surviving Zhang clansmen in the Kunlun Realm were in his Qiankun Realm, numerous but with diluted bloodlines, few true geniuses.
“I can’t leave King Mountain. Hurry and gather them. Even if they’re lesser, it’s better than nothing,” the old man urged.
But he added, “Still, you can’t shirk. Go charm hundreds of beautiful female Saints to grow the Zhang Clan.”
Black lines creased Zhang Ruochen’s forehead, exasperated.
“Swish.”
He flashed out of the sacred tomb forest.
The Cyan Sky Saint Dragon had subdued the Panlong Vine and was refining it.
Leaving it undisturbed, Zhang Ruochen returned to the hidden valley, summoning all Zhang clansmen led by Mingjiang King—over a thousand.
After a brief explanation, he led them to the tomb forest, describing it only as a cultivation treasure, withholding its ancestral significance.
For ordinary clansmen, the ancestral ground’s truth was best kept secret.
Outside the forest, he instructed them to breach the nine-colored divine light barrier.
Though formidable, even to Great Saints, it wouldn’t block those with Zhang blood.
“Ruochen, are these Great Saint tombs? Hundreds of them?” Mingjiang King asked, shocked.
Having visited the royal tomb forest, he recognized Great Saint graves.
His cultivation was weaker, so he saw fewer tombs than Zhang Ruochen.
Others saw even less, the forest’s mystic forces limiting their perception.
Zhang Ruochen nodded. “They are Great Saint tombs, different from the royal forest’s. Meditating before them enhances sacred path comprehension.”
Confirmed, Mingjiang King was stunned. Hundreds of Great Saints buried together was unthinkable.
He stepped forward, entering the forest easily, like Zhang Ruochen.
Others followed, but their progress was slower, hindered by weaker bloodlines and cultivation.
Of the thousand-plus, fewer than three hundred entered; most were blocked, their bloodlines too diluted for the ancestral ground’s recognition.
Understanding this, Zhang Ruochen had no solution but to send them back.
