"Meng Shaobai's power grows by the day. Give him enough time and he might truly catch up to Hua Tiandu…"
A ribbon of golden sword-light hovered at the edge of the barren mountain peak—Wan Luo, one of the Five Great Golden Core Masters of Yuhuamen. Defeated by Fang Han, humiliated, and still nursing a wounded Core, he had rushed back the moment he heard that Meng Shaobai had returned… and that he had survived the Wind-and-Fire Tribulation.
To most cultivators, that tribulation was a death sentence. The eighth realm of Divine Abilities—Wind and Fire—burned through marrow, soul, and consciousness alike. Countless masters had turned to ash at that very threshold, their centuries of cultivation erased in one breath.
Only one person in Yuhuamen had ever passed it alive: Hua Tiandu.
And now—Meng Shaobai.
Wan Luo hovered cautiously. Fish-shaped blades of sword-light swam through the air around the mountain like a school of predatory silver creatures. He had heard rumors… but seeing it in person chilled his bones.
Just as he hesitated, the "sword-fish" suddenly parted, opening a narrow path.
"Mister Wan Luo?" A calm voice drifted out. "Come in."
Wan Luo stiffened. That voice—Meng Shaobai could sense him despite the sword formation? He swallowed hard and flew inward.
Meng Shaobai's cultivation chamber was utterly barren—no cauldron, no pill furnace, none of the usual structures that anchored a peak's spiritual veins. Instead, in the heart of the fiery pit where a furnace should be, sat a colossal egg—dark, heavy, and pulsing with ancient life.
Meng Shaobai sat cross-legged beside it, lips moving faintly, as if speaking to something within the shell… or casting an incantation to refine it.
Wan Luo froze.
He recognized it immediately.
The Kunpeng Egg.
A primordial titan of the ancient world. A creature whose very birth shook oceans and moved the sky.
"Meng Shaobai… where did you get that?"
"Bought it," Meng Shaobai replied mildly. "Fifty million Baiyang Pills."
Wan Luo nearly dropped out of the air. "Fifty… million? Even I'd have to sell my sect treasure to come close to that!"
Meng Shaobai's expression cooled. "It's nothing compared to Fang Han. I saw him purchase a Pure Yang masterpiece—the Brahma Bright Vessel—for two hundred and sixty million."
Wan Luo's face twisted. "Impossible! No one short of a medium-sized sect has that kind of wealth!"
"He's obtained some ancient artifact," Meng Shaobai said, voice lowering. "Something that draws immortal essence from the celestial realm. An artifact only legends speak of."
Wan Luo shook his head violently. "If he had something like that, the ancient giants of the Longevity Realm would have hunted him down!"
Meng Shaobai did not argue. Instead, his gaze sharpened.
"I fought him once."
That made Wan Luo freeze.
"His realm is still low, but his treasures… troublesome. He can fend me off—for a time. But I don't have leisure to waste on him. I'm preparing to break into the Ninth Realm, to form the Heaven-and-Earth Dharma Body. With the Kunpeng's life force, I can skip a century of accumulation."
Wan Luo blinked. "You just survived Wind-and-Fire… and you want to immediately enter the Ninth Realm? That's—"
"Impossible?" Meng Shaobai smiled faintly. "Not with this."
He laid a hand upon the massive egg.
Wan Luo swallowed. "You're aiming for the Immortal Gathering Tournament…"
"Three years remain." Meng Shaobai's voice darkened. "If I want to stand above disciples from the Ten Immortal Gates… I need more power."
Wan Luo hesitated, then said in a low tone:
"Be careful of Fang Han. He's searching for the Five-Elemental Spirit Roots in the Barbarian Temples. If he finds them, and completes the Five Emperor Grand Demonic Arts… plus the twenty-eight divine abilities he gained from the Taiyuan Immortal Mansion… once he reaches the Sixth Realm, his natal talisman might outstrip even my Golden Core."
Meng Shaobai only chuckled.
"He won't find them. And even if he does… the Barbarian Temples have surprises waiting."
Wan Luo quickly shifted topics, achieving what he came for—a way to restore his broken Core. Meng Shaobai tossed him a crimson pill, and Wan Luo bowed deeply before taking his leave.
But the moment he left the mountain peak, a cold smile crept across his face.
"So Meng Shaobai has also fought Fang Han… That saves me from trying to pit them against each other. And he handed me the pill I wanted… Perfect."
Wan Luo's eyes gleamed.
"And Fang Han possessing an artifact that draws energy from the Immortal Realm… that is worth far more than the Yellow Springs Diagram…"
On the mountain, Meng Shaobai watched Wan Luo's aura fade into the distance.
"Fang Han?" He snorted softly. "The true obstacles at the Immortal Gathering are Hua Tiandu… the elites of Taiyi Sect… and Fang Qingxue. Fang Han is nothing."
He raised a hand. Every pore of his body suddenly burst into sword-light. His entire figure stretched, sharpened—like a long sword being drawn from its scabbard.
Then—FWIP.
He vanished.
And reappeared inside the Kunpeng Egg.
The shell didn't even crack.
He had merged into the egg entirely—flesh, blood, and soul sinking into that ancient vessel of life. His aura twisted into something old, feral, and utterly unnatural.
This was no orthodox technique.
It was the Demon Womb Parasitic Sutra.
A forbidden art of the archaic demon gods—an ability to fuse oneself with an unborn being, stealing its primal essence, merging destinies, rewriting the boundary between man and beast.
If Meng Shaobai succeeded, he would hatch not as a man, not as a Kunpeng—but as both. A creature destined to soar across worlds, devour oceans, and live for ten thousand years.
Time blurred.
Then—crack.
Fractures spread across the egg's surface. A moment later—BOOM—shell shards burst outward.
Meng Shaobai sat in the ruins, body steaming, head thrown back as he unleashed a deafening roar—not human, but the cry of a primordial beast.
The sky responded.
Clouds spun into a colossal vortex. Winds raged across the Yuhuamen mountains. His breathing alone sent cyclones tearing across peaks.
On Purple Lightning Peak, Fang Qingxue opened her eyes, startled.
Across the sect, elders stirred. Faces tightened.
A demon-beast's birth cry… from within their own sect.
And in the far-off Barbarian Temples, completely unaware, Fang Han still flew over ancient ruins, map in hand, searching desperately for the location of the Five-Elemental Spirit Roots…