The harem boasts three thousand beauties, the dream of many, yet King Mingjiang is overwhelmed with pain. For the sake of his family’s growth and prosperity, a revered Great Saint and sect leader has sacrificed too much.
Soon, Zhang Shaochu, looking frail and aged, arrived. He poured out his grievances to Zhang Ruochen, tears and snot streaming down his face.
“Brother Nine, your fourth brother’s life is ruined, utterly destroyed by that old fiend.”
“At first, I resisted, but he lectured me on reason for three months straight, the kind where you can’t sleep and must listen. Three months without closing my eyes, three whole months.”
“Later, he resorted to every dirty trick. First, he held a knife to my throat to intimidate me. When I refused to yield, he drugged me.”
Zhang Shaochu clutched Zhang Ruochen’s hands, tears flowing freely, sobbing uncontrollably, saliva dripping from his mouth.
“Brother Nine, do you know how I’ve endured these thousand years?”
With that, Zhang Shaochu stood up and called in his wives, who were waiting outside, to pay their respects to Zhang Ruochen one by one.
After one round, half an hour had passed.
“You may all leave!” Zhang Shaochu waved them off.
Zhang Ruochen fell silent. If not for Zhang Shaochu’s persistent weeping, he might have suspected he was showing off.
King Mingjiang, a resolute and heroic Saint of the Way, was moved by Zhang Shaochu’s lament, his eyes reddening, fists clenched. “My lifetime of glory is ruined! It’s like living in hell, lost in a daze.”
“That old wretch has become a menace,” Zhang Ruochen said coldly.
A thousand years ago, when the Hundred Flower Fairy visited Wang Mountain, the old scoundrel drugged her. Fortunately, Zhang Ruochen and she were restrained, avoiding a grave mistake.
Had they succumbed to the drug, Zhang Ruochen and Ji Fanchen would have fallen out, never becoming close friends.
Zhang Ruochen asked, “What about those women? How many were harmed by him?”
“None, actually.”
King Mingjiang adjusted his robes, exuding confidence. “With your Twelfth Royal Uncle’s charm and presence, a mere announcement would draw women eager to marry into the Zhang family, lining up from Ming Sect’s gate to the banks of the Luo River.”
Not to be outdone, Zhang Shaochu straightened his frail frame. “I am the Count King of Yunwu Commandery, a Saint. Countless women wish to be my consort.”
Zhang Ruochen nodded. “Where is that old wretch now?”
King Mingjiang wanted to urge Zhang Ruochen to flee, but the thought of continuing his own hellish existence if Zhang Ruochen escaped stopped him.
“He’s deep in Wang Mountain, guarding the cemetery.”
Then, King Mingjiang added, “That old wretch is despicable, but undeniably profound. His mastery of various techniques is unparalleled, and he’s skilled in medicine and alchemy. The rise of Ming Sect, producing so many Saints, Saint Kings, and Great Saints in just a thousand years to become a top power in the Kunlun Realm, owes much to him.”
Bao Lie and Murong Yefeng, seated nearby, nodded in agreement.
Next, Zhang Ruochen asked about his ninth sister, Zhang Yuxi.
Zhang Shaochu sighed. “Ninth Sister didn’t reach the Saint realm. Though I often shared life-prolonging medicine with her, she passed away five hundred years ago.”
“I should be dead too, but that old wretch forcibly raised me to the Saint realm and kept extending my life, saying as long as I could still produce heirs, he’d keep me alive.”
At this, Zhang Shaochu broke down again, wailing, feeling his life was too humiliating, devoid of dignity.
Zhang Ruochen fell silent, his heart heavy with sorrow.
He recalled the past, when the Ninth Princess was the only royal who was close to him. How vibrant and youthful she was, kissing his cheek in joy once.
That was the purest, most genuine bond between siblings.
Life is bitter, and parting is painful.
“Once someone dies, everything is gone!”
Zhang Ruochen sighed deeply, gazing at the dissipating tribulation clouds in the sky. “Enlightened monks can reincarnate and gain new life. Why can’t ordinary people? If I become a great cultivator in the future, I will build a cycle of reincarnation to protect their souls, giving all beings a chance to be reborn.”
Murong Yefeng asked, “Do you think immortality exists in this world?”
Immortality is a timeless topic, discussed through the ages.
Yet no one has ever truly achieved it, and fewer monks pursue or study it. The Divine Realm is the height all beings strive for in their lifetime.
For gods can live for an eon.
Zhang Ruochen said, “In the Hell Realm, there are legends of immortality, but their truth is unverified.”
Murong Yue, who had been silent, spoke. “Plant-like beings can live for vast ages. But once they cultivate martial techniques and engage in killing, they too are erased by the eon’s tribulation. Ferocious plants often live shorter lives than humans.”
“Let’s not dwell on these elusive matters. It’s New Year’s Eve, and we should be joyful. Since there’s a grand feast, let’s drink until dawn!” Zhang Ruochen said with a smile, leading the way.
To keep his identity hidden, the New Year’s Eve feast was held quietly at King Mingjiang’s sect leader residence.
Qingtian Saint Dragon, now in human form, Qin Yutong, who reached the Great Saint realm after her tribulation, and Ming Emperor’s three disciples—Hong Ya, Chen Daogu, and Lu Yuanzhi, who returned from the sacred altar—joined the banquet.
Zhang Ruochen asked about Tuxiang Rabbit Guoguo and the Demon Ape, learning they were taken by the old wretch to guard the cemetery.
At the feast, the topic of immortality resurfaced.
Zhang Ruochen brought it up, curious about the Biluo Way practiced by Hong Ya, Chen Daogu, and Lu Yuanzhi.
Saints who had died could cultivate using only their holy souls, essentially living a second life.
Hong Ya said, “Little Brother, it’s not that simple. To cultivate the Biluo Way and become a Scattered Saint, the holy soul must be intact. But think about it, most Saints who die violently have damaged souls, even if they don’t scatter completely.”
“Also, even with a Saint’s strong soul power, once the body dies, the consciousness and memories in the holy soul fade quickly, leaving no time to cultivate the Biluo Way.”
“We succeeded because, after our bodies died, our holy souls were instantly drawn to the sacred altar. Its power preserved our consciousness and memories, giving us time to switch to the Biluo Way.”
“The sacred altar is key,” Zhang Ruochen said.
Lu Yuanzhi laughed. “A treasure forged with the entire treasury of the Shengming Central Empire—how could it not be powerful?”
Hong Ya added, “Scattered Saints are similar to ghost cultivators. They must face tribulations to break through realms, like ghost tribulations. Only after surviving seven Scattered Saint tribulations can one reach the Great Saint level. Failing a tribulation means the soul scatters completely.”
“The difference between Scattered Saints and ghost cultivators is retaining the consciousness and memories of the previous life.”
Zhang Ruochen asked, “The blueprints for the sacred altar and the Biluo Way’s cultivation method—were they given to you by Father Emperor?”
“Yes,” Lu Yuanzhi said.
Zhang Ruochen was puzzled. “How did he obtain them?”
The Biluo Way was created by the ancient Kunlun Realm’s great god Biluozi. How did it end up in Ming Emperor’s hands?
The sacred altar’s blueprints couldn’t have been drawn by a mere Great Saint.
Lu Yuanzhi shrugged. “I was only responsible for building it. Only Master knows where he got them.”
“Can you give me a copy of the Biluo Way’s cultivation method and the sacred altar’s blueprints?” Zhang Ruochen asked.
“Of course, no problem!” Lu Yuanzhi said.
That New Year’s Eve was lively, with everyone drinking and chatting freely.
Later, Zhang Shaochu brought over a dozen of his most talented children to toast Zhang Ruochen, each calling him “Uncle.”
As their uncle, how could he not offer gifts?
Unfortunately, over the thousand years, Zhang Ruochen’s treasures had either been refined by the Chenyuan Ancient Sword or absorbed by the Saint-Eating Flower, leaving him feeling poor again.
He couldn’t give everyone an eon-level sacred herb, could he?
With no other choice, Zhang Ruochen summoned Shang Xia and Shang Yue from the Qiankun Realm.
One was a congenital fire spirit, the other a congenital water spirit, both at the demigod level.
Zhang Ruochen ordered them to temper and refine the bodies of his dozen or so nephews and nieces, enhancing their cultivation constitutions.
Seeing this, King Mingjiang’s expression flickered. He left the table and soon returned with over a hundred of his own children to toast Zhang Ruochen.
Qin Yutong, who had been elated at reaching the Great Saint realm, grew somber, realizing how far she still had to go.
After all, His Highness’s two maids were demigods.
That night, Zhang Ruochen lost count of how many cups he drank, feeling joyful, as if all his burdens had lifted.
This New Year’s Eve was unforgettable.
The next day, sober, Zhang Ruochen paid respects at his ninth sister’s grave and went to see Lin Lingshan.
Though they had many unhappy moments in their youth, Zhang Ruochen no longer held them against her. In his mother’s later years, Lin Lingshan, a Lin family relative, kept her company, ensuring she didn’t pass alone.
Lin Lingshan hid in her cultivation cave, refusing to see Zhang Ruochen.
But through the stone door, Zhang Ruochen could see her aged silhouette standing behind it. He left with a simple, “Cousin, take care,” and walked away.
Only after Zhang Ruochen was gone did Lin Lingshan, leaning on her cane, shuffle to a bronze mirror in her cave.
She gazed at her aged face and white hair in the mirror. Her trembling hands searched and finally found a comb.
For the first time in years, she combed her hair, no longer black, no longer beautiful, unable to return to her youthful self.
“If there’s a next life…”
In the cave, only her hoarse sobs remained.
Since ancient times, beauties, like great generals, are not permitted to grow old in this world.
