The Cyan Sky Saint Dragon produced seven dragon pearls, each a relic of a fallen Dragon Clan Great Saint, imbued with a dragon soul and immortal power.
He infused seven drops of sacred blood and seven strands of his saint soul into the pearls, creating seven avatars dispatched to the other seven crossings, while his true body held Tiankun Crossing.
With his cultivation, even a pearl avatar, wielding immortal power, could subdue most Nine-Step Saint Kings.
If a top-tier foe emerged, his true body would intervene.
Zhang Ruochen didn’t linger at Tiankun Crossing. With Jiang Yunchong and Moyin, he boarded a White Dragon Ferry bound for Eastern Domain Holy City.
Guarded by ancient inscriptions, the city was impregnable; entry required these specialized ferries.
Even Yan Wushen had infiltrated covertly, attacking before retreating under the inscriptions’ assault.
Swiftly, Zhang Ruochen’s decree spread across the eight crossings, inscribed in sacred script for all to see.
“Zhang Ruochen’s too overbearing, restricting our entry and demanding saint stones. Does he think we’re easy prey?” a cultivator grumbled.
“We can’t yield. He can’t act unchecked. Someone will curb him,” another protested.
“We’re here for the merit war. No part of Kunlun is off-limits, not even Central Imperial City. He can’t rule all,” a third insisted.
The decree sparked outrage, with Celestial cultivators resisting and pressuring Zhang Ruochen.
Yet, with the Cyan Sky Saint Dragon overseeing the crossings, none dared defy openly.
On the ferry, Jiang Yunchong mused, “Eastern Domain Holy City is a marvel, a natural treasure star birthing saint herbs daily, plus rare treasures.”
“Recently, a Primordial Saint Herb appeared, drawing many powerhouses.”
“Outsiders seize most resources. Kunlun’s natives get little, facing oppression. Your decree is heartening.”
“But it’ll stir discontent and trouble.”
Familiar with the city, he stayed low-key as an awakener, acting only when necessary, despite his strength.
Zhang Ruochen said calmly, “If I feared trouble, I wouldn’t have become Eastern Domain King or crossed Paradise Faction.”
No challenge would deter him.
Sensing his resolve, Jiang Yunchong shifted topics. “Your mental strength can now wield the Torch Order. Let’s visit Torch Tower to retrieve it from Yanruo.”
When Zhang Ruochen inherited the Torch Order from Chen Yuhua, his mental power, below 59th rank, couldn’t control it, so Yanruo held it.
During his absence, Yanruo repaired the city’s inscriptions, vital in repelling Yan Wushen.
“I may not stay long. Let Yanruo keep the Torch Order. I rely on you to guard the city,” Zhang Ruochen said.
Kunlun’s volatile situation demanded a 59th-rank mental powerhouse to wield the order and hold the East, a role he couldn’t fulfill.
Jiang Yunchong shook his head wryly. “You’re an easygoing Eastern Domain King. Fine, you have bigger tasks. We’ll secure the rear.”
Soon, the ferry crossed the city’s inscription barrier, landing on the vibrant Golden Rainbow Continent.
Disembarking, Jiang Yunchong parted ways, rushing to Torch Tower.
Zhang Ruochen sensed Jiang Yunchong’s full recovery and lack of awakener traits, so he withheld Sun-Moon Divine Dragon Spring water.
As Jiang Yunchong noted, timely inscription activation limited Yan Wushen’s damage to a few districts, now nearly restored.
Since becoming a merit battlefield, the city’s population had surged tenfold, mixing local refugees and foreign saints, complicating governance.
Any mishap could cause massive casualties.
Set to meet Luo Xu at the Saint Academy, Zhang Ruochen headed to the Seventh District without delay.
The academy, already ideal for cultivation, had become a holy site with the city’s revival.
It had been ages since Zhang Ruochen’s last visit. Were old friends still there?
Silently, he reached the academy’s heart, Sacred Mountain, and entered a pear-tree valley.
Revived, the mountain nurtured 3,600 Linghe pear trees, laden with fruit and blanketed in white blossoms.
Crossing the orchard, Zhang Ruochen reached a sheer black cliff, eyeing its cascading waterfall and the irregular stone platform below.
In a daze, he saw a white-haired, white-robed elder smiling at him.
Here, he’d apprenticed under Elder Xuanji, beginning his sword saint path.
Zhang Ruochen revered and thanked Xuanji, who taught him swordsmanship, defied Empress Chi Yao to save him, and battled Nine Nether Sword Saint for his sake.
“Where is Master now? What critical task occupies him?” Zhang Ruochen whispered.
The underworld, part of the Infernal Realm, was fraught with danger. He worried for Xuanji but was bound to Kunlun’s duties.
Approaching the platform, his eyes dimmed.
With his master missing and only he and Qingxiao among his martial siblings surviving, memories of Zhu Hongtao, Wan Ke, and Ling Shu brought pain, guilt, and rage.
He’d never forget their heads hung at Yin-Yang Hall’s gate, exploding before him, powerless to act.
Greater strength might have prevented the tragedy.
After a long pause, he left the valley for the mountain’s edge.
He recalled his first duel here as Xuanji’s apprentice, defeating the defiant Ao Xinyan, a proud Dragon-Human prodigy with a dragon martial soul.
Her crushing loss made her loyal, still calling him “Leader” as Dragon Princess.
Some things changed; others endured.
Lingering, vivid memories replayed like yesterday.
Circling back, Zhang Ruochen reached the Pilgrimage Ladder, his academy starting point.
Once a Heaven Realm warrior, he’d revered Half-Saints and Saints. Now, at the pinnacle below Great Saint, only he knew the hardships endured.
Ascending the ladder, past experiences flashed. Its saintly pressure no longer affected him.
At the summit, he entered the Saint Hall, housing statues of the academy’s saint alumni for eternal veneration.
Only Half-Saints could enter.
The hall teemed with lifelike statues, exuding varied saintly auras. Each had a platform, some holding items, others empty—a tradition for saints to leave a treasure.
Spotting his own statue, plain and aura-less, he noted its creation in his absence.
“Zzt.”
A sudden resonance linked him to the statue, activating the hall’s rules.
The mundane statue gained divine charm, radiating potent saintly aura, achieving sanctity.
Gazing at his likeness, Zhang Ruochen felt a stranger’s aura, as if unrecognizing himself.
“Just a statue,” he muttered, placing a saint artifact on its platform.
He’d always be part of the academy, never forgetting his roots.
“Over ages, the academy’s saints must number far beyond these hundreds,” he murmured, scanning the statues.
Probing with mental power, he discovered a hidden folded space, elusive even to spatial cultivators.
“Such a strong barrier. Even my spatial mastery can’t pierce it. This space hides great secrets,” he said.
Curious but cautious, he respected the academy’s deep heritage.
Suddenly, he turned to the entrance, spotting a robust, bronze-skinned man in his fifties.
Zhang Ruochen appeared before him, bowing. “Disciple greets Master.”
It was Lei Jing, his first master.
A master for a day, a father for life—especially Lei Jing, who’d greatly aided him.
Returning to Kunlun, Zhang Ruochen had met Lei Jing, then a Half-Saint at Qianshui Commandery’s Martial Market Bank.
Now, at the academy, Lei Jing had formed a saint source, becoming a true Saint, likely enabling his return.
Lei Jing lifted him, jesting, “You’re the strongest below Great Saint, bowing to me? I can’t bear it.”
“However strong, I’m still your disciple. Or is Master unsatisfied?” Zhang Ruochen teased, standing.
Lei Jing laughed heartily. “Unsatisfied? Having you as my disciple is my proudest achievement. And what’s with ‘Master’ this, ‘Master’ that? Getting formal?”
Zhang Ruochen chuckled.
“You don’t know how those who scorned me changed their tune. I fled to Qianshui’s bank to escape them, returning only after becoming a Saint,” Lei Jing said.
Zhang Ruochen smiled. “If not, how could I meet you here? Congratulations on sainthood.”
“Thanks to your saint source. Without it, who knows how long it’d take. I’m content,” Lei Jing beamed.
Entering the hall, Lei Jing summoned his statue, leaving a treasure.
“I, Lei Jing, have left my mark in the academy’s history,” he said, eyes gleaming.
A statue in the hall was every disciple’s ultimate honor.
“Swish.”
A saintly light streaked from the sky.
Zhang Ruochen caught it—a message talisman from Luo Xu.
Glancing at it, he said, “Master, I must meet Dean Luo. After, we’ll drink—I’ve got fine wines.”
“Business first. Don’t keep Dean Luo waiting. I’ve got time,” Lei Jing nodded, grinning.
Unlike others, Lei Jing felt no pressure from Zhang Ruochen’s strength, knowing his character.
Without delay, Zhang Ruochen teleported away. With Luo Xu in the city, it was time to reclaim the Saint Path Ancient Tea Tree.
