"Brother Zhong, congratulations." From a distance came the voice of the Zhao family patriarch.
"Brother Zhong, my felicitations." Another familiar voice reached Old Master Zhong, belonging to the head of the Qian family—one of the Four Great Clans.
Recognizing them immediately, Old Master Zhong courteously returned the greetings. "The same to you, the same to you."
After all, the Zhao patriarch was also a Xiantian-stage cultivator, and several members of his family had been chosen by immortal sects.
"Not long ago, we celebrated your grand birthday, Brother Zhong. Who would have thought you'd make it here in such a short time? Truly unexpected!" The Qian patriarch spoke, his gaze settling on Zhong Shan.
"It was a bit rushed, but I managed to arrive just in time," Zhong Shan replied evasively. "Are you all heading back soon?"
"Not yet. We have a few friends to visit. Let us catch up another day," the Zhao patriarch replied.
"Very well, until we meet again," Old Master Zhong said with a smile.
With that, the group exchanged farewells and dispersed.
Soon, Longmen Valley emptied entirely. Only Old Master Zhong remained, accompanied by the lifeless bodies of his four sworn sons.
Gazing at the corpses, he sighed. The path they chose was theirs alone; life and death lay in the hands of fate. Yet, if they had been selected, would they have turned out like Zhong Shijiu or Zhong Tian?
After a moment of reflection, he dug a deep pit outside the valley and buried the four bodies.
As night fell, Old Master Zhong rested in the valley, his mind replaying the day's fierce battles. Sleeping amidst the remnants of the slain caused him no fear. At eighty years of age, he had seen it all. Moreover, the valley was now the safest place—before the Longmen Assembly, powerful cultivators had swept the area clean of demons and spirits.
The next morning, after a simple meal of dried rations, he grasped his dragon-headed staff and began his journey back.
Reaching the Xiantian stage had indeed transformed him. His steps were swift and tireless. Though nine had set out, only one returned. Yet, rather than sadness, Old Master Zhong felt joy—he had finally achieved a solid foothold in cultivation.
Among his four sworn sons, three had betrayed him; only Zhong Tian upheld the bonds of loyalty and filial piety. Old Master Zhong etched this deeply into his heart, burying it in its darkest recesses.
The mountain path was treacherous, rife with poisonous mists and venomous creatures, forcing him to tread carefully. As dusk approached, he found a grove, climbed a tree, and strung up a hammock between two sturdy branches. To ward off snakes, he smeared herbs on the branches above.
Despite his Xiantian cultivation, which rendered sleep largely unnecessary, Old Master Zhong dared not travel the mountain roads by night, fraught as they were with untold dangers. Semi-conscious in his hammock, he rested, poised for any disturbance.
At midnight, sudden beams of light pierced the forest. Snapped from his light slumber, Old Master Zhong turned toward the source.
"Ha-ha-ha! Violet Mist Fairy, why resist? Become my Dao companion, and you shall lose nothing!" A lecherous voice echoed, filled with vile intent.
"In your dreams, Red Luan Devil! My sect, the Kaiyang School, would never stoop to your level! That your Red Luan Sect has degenerated into producing a devil like you is disgrace enough." A melodious but furious voice rang out.
Kaiyang School? The name struck a chord in Old Master Zhong. Yet he did not act rashly, instead employing his Turtle Breath technique to suppress his presence entirely, mimicking a corpse in his hammock.
"Ha! If the Red Luan Sect's legacy matters to you, how about this? Take the ancestral blade of your sect and make it yours. All I ask is that you submit to me." The Red Luan Devil cackled.
"H-how dare you! Have you poisoned me?" the woman's voice trembled.
"Red Luan Miasma, the pinnacle of aphrodisiac toxins—only I can wield it. You cannot escape me. Blame your own disciple for revealing your secret to me before her demise. She spoke of your True Furnace Physique, a celestial treasure for cultivation. I went to great lengths to wound you and bring you here. Don't resist; let me erase your memory and enjoy what's mine!" The devil laughed maniacally.
"You murdered Qing'er?" The woman's voice seethed with hatred.
"'Murder' is harsh—she might have even enjoyed herself before dying. Under my hypnosis, she revealed all. And now, Violet Mist Fairy, you are mine. Do you feel the heat rising? My miasma has engulfed the forest. You cannot escape!"
The Violet Mist Fairy's voice roared with fury, followed by a deafening explosion.
As silence returned, only the sound of her labored breathing broke the stillness. Yet it was unclear whether exhaustion or the poison afflicted her.
"Crackle… crackle…" The forest seemed to echo her struggle.
"Ha-ha! Feeling weak? That Thunder Pearl you used earlier might have worked if you had used it sooner. But now? You're spent, and soon the miasma will claim you entirely."
"You there… come out!" the fairy suddenly called, startling Old Master Zhong. Her sharp instincts betrayed his hidden presence.
Helpless, he climbed down. Confronting the situation was less dangerous than attempting escape, which would only provoke endless pursuit.
The devil's eyes gleamed with malice at Zhong's appearance. "Another one?"
Gripping his staff, Old Master Zhong ventured deeper into the forest, where the clash between lightning and darkness unfolded.
Seeing the Violet Mist Fairy's state—a peerless beauty lying on the ground, her face flushed, breaths rapid, and gaze hazy—Old Master Zhong hesitated. But the woman's faint voice reached him: "Bring me closer… let my Thunderfire finish him…"
Without hesitation, he lifted her and moved forward. The moment her violet flames neared the devil, he screamed in terror. Within seconds, the Thunderfire engulfed him, reducing him to ashes.
The fairy let out a soft laugh before her consciousness finally succumbed. In his arms, her soft, lithe form stirred, her delicate hands fumbling for him as the miasma's effects worsened.
Old Master Zhong's breathing quickened, and he fought an overwhelming surge of desire. Realizing the miasma's hold on him, he struggled to maintain his composure. But as the Violet Mist Fairy clung to him, all resistance faltered, and he descended into the intoxicating haze, surrendering to the dreamlike allure of the night.