Two years passed in silence.
Tang San, once a name etched into history, had long vanished from public sight. The world thought him either dead or ascended. The truth, however, was far more terrifying—he was evolving.
The Tang Clan grounds, once humble, now radiated quiet power. The mountain air was heavier, charged with the lingering intent of countless techniques being born. From dawn till midnight, Tang San practiced—his breathing method, spirit forging, body refinement, and most importantly… reinvention.
The Primordial Breathing Method, forbidden and mysterious, had evolved.
Its nature had revealed a terrifying truth—it could only be cultivated by one soul in all the planes. Any who tried to imitate even the outer layers perished, their meridians imploding from a contradiction of existence. It was not a technique meant to be taught. It was meant to crown one sovereign.
Tang San accepted this. He was no longer a teacher of men. He was a cultivator of destiny.
With this unique method feeding his body, his perception had reached a level so refined that he began to understand the flaws of the spirit system itself. Spirit rings—while powerful—were externally dependent. A limit. An anchor. A shackle.
So, he broke them.
One by one.
In secret, he ventured into forbidden forests and primeval lands. There, with sorrow and reverence, he hunted the most ancient spirit beasts. Every ring he absorbed was chosen with brutal precision.
And then came the pain.
He destroyed his own rings.
Every single one.
From both of his martial souls.
This act nearly killed him. But using a technique of his own design—Ring Severance Pulse—he shattered each ring's foundation and restructured his cultivation from the root.
He rebuilt every spirit ring to exceed 300,000 years, for both Blue Silver Emperor and Clear Sky Hammer. The energy backlash warped the mountain terrain for miles. No one knew. No one could interfere. Because no one could even perceive what he had become.
But he wasn't done.
His next breakthrough shook the core laws of cultivation itself.
Using what little beast remnants remained in the world, he constructed the Artificial Spirit Ring Matrix—a soul-forging process that extracted the will, remnants, and ambient essence of dead or decayed spirit beasts to forge artificial rings. They were stable but capped: no more than 100,000 years, and only 80% as effective. They required tremendous physical durability and a monstrous spiritual will to not collapse the cultivator's core.
Some tried it.
Most failed.
The few who succeeded became stronger, but still leagues below Tang San.
He didn't care.
He had already created over eleven new techniques in the past year alone, including:
Ninefold Heaven Strike: Channeling all nine rings of a soul into a single blow that bent the air and spirit laws alike. It was not a technique—it was devastation incarnate.
Godless Flame Art: An internal cultivation that burned impurities of the body and mind by simulating divine realm heat, used not for offense, but tempering.
Echo of the Dead Soul: A sealing technique that could extract the death resonance of extinct beasts to enhance mental force. Morbid, but terrifyingly effective.
Stellar Meridian Expansion: A body art that rewrote the inner meridians through layered micro-explosions, increasing spirit energy flow by 130%.
Soul Mirror Weave: Allowed a cultivator to reflect spiritual attacks back at their source using a thin veil of mirrored will. Only works once per day—but once was usually enough.
These weren't just skills. They were revolutions.
And the world noticed.
When the Sun Moon Continent sent spies to confirm his death, only half returned—mad and muttering of "a blue figure who saw through the heavens." The empires grew cautious. The great clans whispered of resurrection and reincarnation.
And when word spread that Tang San had forsaken godhood—not because he failed, but because he chose to remain—the planes themselves trembled.
Was he a heretic?
Or a sovereign?
In the capital cities of every major continent, his name was once more spoken.
With reverence.
And fear.
Because if Tang San had broken through every known limitation without stepping into divinity—what then could stop him?
Inside the cultivation chamber, the man at the center of this storm opened his eyes. They were no longer blue, but deep like ancient wells—holding karma, death, time, and knowledge.
He exhaled.
Then smiled faintly.
The time for concealment was not yet over.
But it was drawing near.
And when he stepped into the light again… the world would not be ready.
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End of Chapter 5