Yang Jian's journey of worldly observation had taken him through countless human settlements over the past weeks, each providing new insights into the complex tapestry of mortal emotions that fueled his unique cultivation method. Today, his travels had brought him to the coastal regions of the East China Sea, where the very air seemed to carry different energies than the inland territories he'd grown accustomed to.
The closer he ventured toward the East China Sea, the more sparse human settlements became. While humanity had indeed claimed their destined role as the protagonists of heaven and earth, their populations remained concentrated primarily around the ancient Yellow River basin and its surrounding fertile plains. These heartland territories represented the core of human civilization, where great cities flourished under the protection of powerful cultivators and well-organized military formations.
Here in the coastal regions, however, the situation was markedly different. The scattered communities that did exist were smaller, more isolated, and constantly vigilant against threats that emerged from both land and sea.
The maritime domains brought their own unique political complications, dominated as they were by the ancient Dragon Clan. Though their power had waned significantly since the great catastrophes of antiquity, the dragons remained one of the most formidable supernatural forces in the world, ruling over countless aquatic creatures and commanding respect from both mortals and immortals alike.
The hierarchy of the Dragon Clan was well-established and carefully maintained. At the apex stood the Four Seas Dragon Kings—the Ancient Dragon Kings of the East, South, West, and North Seas—whose authority had been recognized since time immemorial. Their dragon sons and grandsons formed the second tier of draconic nobility, wielding considerable influence throughout the oceanic realms.
However, the growing prosperity and expansion of the human race had elevated the status of the Dragon Kings who ruled the great rivers flowing through human territories. The Dragon Kings of the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers, whose domains originated from the sacred Kunlun ancestral mountains, had seen their importance rise dramatically as human civilization flourished along their banks.
This shift in the balance of power had created considerable tension among the dragon nobility. The Four Seas Dragon Kings, once unquestionably supreme among their kind, now found themselves negotiating with human leaders in hopes of attracting more mortal populations to their coastal territories. The politics of these arrangements were complex and often contentious, though such matters held little relevance for Yang Jian's current mission.
His destination was the largest human settlement on the East China Sea coast—a mighty city built where the Yellow River met the ocean. This metropolis served as both a commercial hub for maritime trade and a fortress protecting the river mouth from seaborne threats. If anywhere could provide the concentrated human experiences he needed for his cultivation, it would be there.
As he traveled beyond the last inland settlements, Yang Jian abandoned his mortal disguise and allowed his true power to manifest. Concealing his abilities while walking among humans had been necessary for observation and understanding, but traveling thousands of li on foot would consume precious time he could ill afford to waste.
A cloud of spiritual energy formed beneath his feet, responding to his will and carrying him swiftly through the sky at speeds that would have been impossible for any mortal conveyance. The landscape rushed past below—rolling hills giving way to coastal plains, then salt marshes and tidal flats as he approached the sea.
It was during this high-speed journey that Yang Jian first noticed something deeply disturbing on the horizon.
Thousands of li in the distance, a massive black cloud hung in the sky like a malignant tumor against the natural blue. But this was no ordinary weather phenomenon—even from this distance, Yang Jian could sense the wrongness emanating from it.
Drawing upon the observation techniques Master Xuandu had taught him, Yang Jian focused his spiritual perception on the distant anomaly. What he perceived made his blood run cold with horror and fury.
The black cloud writhed with countless strands of resentment and hatred, but these were not the chaotic emotions of wild beasts or natural disasters. These were specifically human grievances—the concentrated agony, terror, and despair of his own people dying in massive numbers.
Though Yang Jian was technically the son of the goddess Yaoji, making him half-divine by blood, he had always considered himself fundamentally human. Raised in Guanjiangkou among mortal communities, shaped by human values and relationships, he felt a profound kinship with the mortal race that no divine heritage could diminish.
The thought that demons were slaughtering his people while he traveled safely through the sky filled him with righteous fury that burned hotter than any flame.
"Hold fast," he commanded his cloud, and immediately changed course toward the source of those tortured souls' cries for justice.
When Yang Jian arrived at the location, the scene that greeted him was one of such complete devastation that it challenged his ability to process what he was seeing. Below him lay what had once been a thriving human city, home to hundreds of thousands of people who had built their lives, raised their families, and pursued their dreams within its protective walls.
Now those walls lay shattered, their defensive formations broken and their gates torn from their hinges. The city itself had been transformed into a charnel house of unimaginable proportions. Bodies lay scattered throughout the streets like broken dolls—men, women, children, the elderly, the infirm—none had been spared the massacre.
The methodical nature of the destruction suggested this had not been a battle but a deliberate slaughter. There were no signs of organized resistance, no indication that the city's defenders had even had time to mount a coherent response. Whatever had done this possessed power so overwhelming that an entire metropolis had been helpless before it.
Blood ran in rivulets between the cobblestones, creating crimson streams that pooled in the city's lower districts. The air itself seemed thick with the psychic residue of terror and agony, making it difficult to breathe even for an immortal like Yang Jian.
In the center of this apocalyptic scene stood the architect of the destruction.
The being appeared humanoid at first glance, wearing traditional Taoist robes that might have suggested scholarly learning or spiritual cultivation. However, where a human head should have been sat the massive skull of a lion, complete with a flowing mane and predatory fangs that gleamed wetly in the afternoon sun. This grotesque combination of human form and bestial features marked him unmistakably as a demon of considerable power.
The creature—for it could hardly be called anything else—stood amid a circle of the freshest corpses, clearly in the process of selecting his next meal from among the slaughtered innocents. The black cloud that had drawn Yang Jian's attention emanated directly from this monster, formed from the concentrated spiritual pollution of his mass murder.
The sight of this abomination casually choosing victims from among his people shattered the last restraints on Yang Jian's carefully controlled temper. A weapon materialized in his hands—a magnificent halberd whose very presence seemed to make the air around it hum with barely contained power.
"MONSTER!" Yang Jian roared, his voice carrying across the dead city like the judgment of heaven itself. "DIE!"
Shi Shang had been savoring the exquisite terror of a young virgin girl when the thunderous shout interrupted his meal. He turned with casual annoyance, expecting to find perhaps a surviving soldier or minor cultivator who had been foolish enough to challenge him.
Instead, he saw a young man descending from the clouds, wielding a halberd that made the demon's predatory instincts suddenly scream warnings of mortal danger.
"Hahaha!" Shi Shang laughed, though his amusement carried an edge of uncertainty. "How convenient! I was just beginning to feel hungry again, and here comes another morsel delivering itself straight to my jaws!"
By his estimation, the approaching figure appeared to be nothing more than a recently ascended True Immortal—powerful by mortal standards, perhaps, but hardly a match for someone who had been cultivating for nearly an entire cosmic era. The demon's confidence was bolstered by centuries of easy victories over lesser opponents.
However, Shi Shang had made a crucial error in judgment. In the cultivation world, raw realm superiority did not automatically guarantee victory. Techniques, treasures, innate talent, and sheer determination could easily overcome apparent disadvantages in cultivation level. A well-armed immortal with superior equipment could challenge opponents several realms above their apparent strength.
While Yang Jian had not yet received the ultimate treasure promised by the Moral Lord upon reaching Taiyi realm, the Bajing Palace contained countless artifacts that the sage had crafted and subsequently discarded as insufficiently perfect for his exacting standards. The halberd now gripped in Yang Jian's hands was one such "failure"—a weapon that the Moral Lord had deemed unsatisfactory and casually tossed aside.
What the Moral Lord considered inferior trash would be priceless beyond measure in the outside world. This halberd was an acquired-level spiritual treasure, personally refined by a Saint. Its power was sufficient to affect the fundamental laws of reality within its area of influence.
Shi Shang, confident in his superior cultivation, raised his right hand to casually block what he assumed would be a desperate but ultimately futile attack. The moment his flesh made contact with Yang Jian's halberd, that confidence evaporated in a spray of demon blood.
The blade sheared through the demon's limb as if it were made of paper, severing the entire arm at the shoulder and sending it spinning away to land among the corpses below.
"WHAT?!" Shi Shang stumbled backward in shock and agony, clutching the spurting wound while desperately trying to use his spiritual power to regenerate the lost appendage.
To his horror, he discovered that no amount of magical healing could restore what had been severed. The halberd had not merely cut through flesh and bone—it had inflicted a wound that rejected all attempts at supernatural recovery.
Cold sweat beaded on the demon's leonine forehead as the implications sank in. For Yang Jian's attack to cause such devastating, irreversible damage despite their difference in cultivation realms could only mean one thing: the weapon he wielded was at minimum an acquired-level spiritual treasure, possibly something even more powerful.
Which meant that this "recently ascended True Immortal" was actually the disciple of some incredibly powerful sect or master. No ordinary cultivator could possibly possess such equipment.
"Wait, wait!" Shi Shang backpedaled frantically, one hand raised in a gesture of surrender while the other continued pressing against his severed shoulder. "I am a third-generation disciple of the Jiejiao! You cannot kill me!"
The name he invoked carried tremendous weight throughout the cultivation world. Jiejiao was one of the three great orthodox sects, founded by the Lingbao Tianzun himself. Only disciples of similar major sects would dare to openly challenge someone bearing that prestigious affiliation.
In truth, Shi Shang's connection to the Jiejiao was tenuous at best—he had been accepted as a third-generation disciple through the sponsorship of a minor outer member, and his behavior reflected none of the sect's supposed principles. However, the name alone had saved his life on numerous occasions when more powerful opponents chose to avoid potential sectarian conflicts.
Yang Jian hesitated for a crucial moment upon hearing the demon's claim. Jiejiao had been founded by his uncle, the Lingbao Tianzun, making it technically a familial sect. In Yang Jian's idealistic understanding, all members of such a prestigious organization should be exemplars of righteousness and cultivation virtue.
"Impossible!" he declared, his voice ringing with conviction. "No true disciple of the Jiejiao would commit such atrocities! A sect founded by the Lingbao Tianzun could never harbor monsters like you!"
His hesitation ended, and Yang Jian raised his halberd for another strike.
"If words won't save me, then I'll have to rely on treasures!" Shi Shang snarled, producing a slip of paper covered in complex runic formations.
This was his most precious possession—an escape talisman gifted by his master that could grant speed comparable to a Taiyi-realm immortal. The talisman activated with a pulse of dark energy, and suddenly the demon's form began to dissolve into a stream of black mist that shot away from Yang Jian at incredible velocity.
"Don't even think about escaping!" Yang Jian roared, immediately giving chase on his spiritual cloud.
What followed was an epic pursuit that continued for ten full days and nights across thousands of li of territory. Shi Shang's escape talisman was indeed powerful, granting him supernatural speed that allowed him to stay barely ahead of his pursuer despite Yang Jian's considerable abilities.
"Damn this persistent brat!" the demon cursed as he maintained his headlong flight toward the east. "Why won't he give up the chase?"
The escape talisman should have guaranteed his safety—even Taiyi-realm immortals would find it difficult to match its speed. Yet somehow this recently ascended True Immortal was not only keeping pace but actually gaining ground with each passing hour.
What Shi Shang couldn't know was that Yang Jian's cloud-riding technique had been personally refined by Master Xuandu, incorporating principles that approached the level of Saints. Combined with Yang Jian's burning determination to see justice done, he was operating at the absolute peak of his capabilities.
As the gap between them continued to narrow, Taoist Shi Shang was forced to activate his escape talisman repeatedly, burning through its stored power at an unsustainable rate. His only hope lay in reaching the one place where even his enemies would hesitate to follow him.
Jin'ao Island—the legendary stronghold of the Jiejiao sect.
The island that appeared on the horizon was like nothing Yang Jian had ever seen. Jin'ao Island rose from the East China Sea like a mountain peak that had been transplanted from some celestial realm, its slopes covered with buildings and formations that practically hummed with concentrated spiritual energy.
This was one of the most sacred locations in the entire cultivation world, the headquarters of one of the three great orthodox sects. Even Yang Jian, with his prestigious connections to the Bajing Palace, felt a sense of awe at finally seeing it with his own eyes.
Shi Shang, meanwhile, was practically weeping with relief as he approached the island's outer boundaries. Here, within the protective formations of the Jiejiao, he would finally be safe from his relentless pursuer.
"Aunt Bixiao, save me!" he called out desperately as soon as he detected a familiar spiritual signature in the vicinity.
The figure who turned in response to his plea was a breathtakingly beautiful woman with an aura of power that made the surrounding air itself seem to vibrate with energy. Bixiao, one of the four great outer disciples of the Jiejiao, had been preparing to depart for a casual visit to the Heavenly Court when she heard her junior sect-brother's cry for help.
"The little lion from my junior brother's family?" she mused, recognizing Shi Shang despite his current disheveled state. "What brings you here in such a panic?"
Turning her attention to Yang Jian, who was rapidly approaching with his halberd still at the ready, Bixiao's expression immediately hardened with protective fury.
"How dare you pursue a disciple of my Jiejiao?" she declared, her voice carrying the authority of eons of cultivation. "And you dare chase him all the way to the very borders of Jin'ao Island? Your audacity knows no bounds!"
Bixiao had always been known for her impulsive nature and fierce loyalty to her sect. She felt no need to investigate the circumstances of the chase—in her mind, the fact that someone was hunting a Jiejiao member was sufficient justification for immediate retaliation.
From her robes, she produced a pair of golden scissors that gleamed with murderous intent. These were the legendary Golden Dragon Shears, "borrowed" from her elder sister Yunxiao and never returned. The weapon was capable of cutting through virtually any defense, including the protective treasures of fellow immortals.
"Prepare to die for your insolence!" Bixiao declared, launching the Golden Dragon Shears directly at Yang Jian's head.
In that instant, Yang Jian's carefully honed battle instincts screamed a warning that transcended rational thought. Every fiber of his being recognized that he was facing imminent death from a force far beyond his current ability to resist.
Without conscious decision, his hand moved to the emergency treasure that Master Xuandu had pressed upon him before his departure from the Bajing Palace—a replica of the Moral Lord's own Tai Chi Diagram, scaled down but retaining much of the original's protective power.
The two treasures collided in midair with a sound like the breaking of the world itself.
BOOM!
The impact sent shockwaves rippling across dimensions, causing the very fabric of reality to tremble in the vicinity of Jin'ao Island. Only the powerful protective formations surrounding the Jiejiao stronghold prevented the collision from causing widespread devastation across the East China Sea.
"Impressive!" Bixiao exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with genuine appreciation for Yang Jian's defensive treasure. "No wonder you had the confidence to chase little lion all this way—you possess a treasure capable of protecting your life!"
There was something familiar about the circular diagram Yang Jian had produced, though in her current state of battle-fury, she couldn't quite place where she might have seen similar artifacts before.
"But one lucky defense won't save you from a second attack!" she declared, raising the Golden Dragon Shears once more for another strike.
The two powerful treasures began to resonate with building energy, preparing for a second collision that would likely be even more destructive than the first.
"STOP!"
The commanding voice rang out across the battlefield with such absolute authority that both combatants found themselves freezing in place, their attacks suspended in mid-execution.