Chapter 1: His Amazing Perseverance Had No Audience

The sun hung in the high heavens, casting its light and heat upon the world, impartial and indifferent. It made no distinction between young and old, nor between noble and base. Such great love is akin to ruthlessness.

As a young deer waded through a stream, birds darted through the forest.

At first, only a dark red speck of light could be seen igniting at the edge of the sky, closing the distance in the blink of an eye.

A trail of flame connected into a line of fire, like a god wielding a brush, slashing across the vast sky.

The thousands of miles of the Zhuang State’s mountains and rivers were almost scorched by this line of fire, when suddenly, a black light shot into the heavens, blocking its path.

A cold connection was established between heaven and earth, and vital energy surged. From all four directions, absolute baleful forces suddenly arose and linked together!

This corner of the sky in the northeast of the Zhuang State was shrouded in dark clouds.

The clear day suddenly dimmed.

A muffled grunt echoed in the air: "Nine-Shatter Profound Yin!"

The speck of light tangled with the baleful clouds for only a moment before plummeting from the sky.

The speck fell faster and faster, growing larger and larger, until finally...

It whistled like a falling star!

...

The countryside outside Fenglin City rarely saw human activity. There was only a small, dilapidated, and abandoned Taoist temple.

"Boom!"

The point of fire struck the ground, carving out a massive crater, but it seemed constrained by some force, preventing the shockwave from spreading. As the billowing dust settled, a man in flame-patterned robes was revealed.

The man had sword-like eyebrows and a heroic, handsome appearance. His crimson flame robes were ornate and antique, exuding nobility. Only his disheveled hair and the cracks in his robes betrayed a hint of his current predicament.

"To think that I, Zuo Guanglie, would die in such a godforsaken place..." The man in the flame robes shifted his gaze, taking in his surroundings, and asked with an inexplicable sense of melancholy: "What is this place called?"

Between the sudden darkening of the day and the falling star, the few beggars sheltering in the ruined temple had already lost their wits. They were kowtowing incessantly before the temple gate. Hearing the question, one of them spoke up, trembling: "Im... Immortal Master, this is the outskirts of Fenglin City. This temple... we... we don't know its name."

The man in the flame robes twitched his fingers, intending to erase these beggars.

In this current age of great contention, nations warred without end. Yet, in recent years, no conflict had the intensity of this great battle between Qin and Chu. Both sides had committed nearly a hundred thousand cultivators; the river valley plains at the center of the conflict were stripped of every blade of grass, the earth sunken for a hundred miles.

As a core figure of the defeated side—especially one who had single-handedly punched through Hangu Pass and nearly reversed the tide of war—being hunted to the ends of the earth was nothing to complain about.

But these beggars were also beggars of the Zhuang State. That the Zhuang State dared to secretly assist the brutal Qin, allowing them to set up an ambush within its borders... these people deserved to die.

However, he turned his hand and extinguished the sparks flickering at his fingertips.

"Zuo Guanglie, oh Zuo Guanglie, is this the extent of your character? To vent your anger on these poor wretches who aren't even worth caring about?"

Zuo Guanglie murmured to himself, then sighed, "You may go."

He turned with his hands behind his back, casting his gaze toward the ink-stained sky. Those powerful figures hiding in the shadows, closing in like a pack of wolves—they were the ones Zuo Guanglie should be killing!

The beggars felt as if they had been granted a reprieve and scrambled to their feet, running. Only the beggar who had first spoken hesitated for a moment toward the ruined temple, but his companion pulled him away with a violent tug: "Do you want to die?"

The beggars sprinted, running as they likely never had in their entire lives.

Zuo Guanglie did not shift his gaze, but his brows furrowed slightly. "Not taking your companion?"

Within the range of his spiritual perception, there were no secrets.

The wooden statue in the temple was long gone, likely burned by the beggars for firewood. But under the offering table lay a beggar with a faint life force, motionless, likely counting the days until death—this was the reason for the first beggar's hesitation.

The beggars dared not ignore the mysterious immortal's words; they swarmed back.

They gave their all, gasping for breath.

But to the eyes watching from afar, they were no more tenacious than an ant, nor faster than a snail.

It was simply... too slow.

*Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!*

The dense, piercing whistles approaching from the horizon...

It was a swarm of countless translucent water arrows, gathered by some force and shot toward Zuo Guanglie.

Water-elemental energy surged madly in this realm.

The translucent rain of arrows formed a massive funnel, obscuring half the sky!

This was a representative large-scale offensive Taoist technique of the Great Qin military: The Myriad Stream Arrow Rain.

"It's here!"

Zuo Guanglie looked up at the sky, the fierce wind whipping his flame robes and long hair. He raised his right hand high. The wide sleeves of his crimson robes slid down, revealing an arm sculpted like jade.

Fair and powerful.

A red orb of light was born in his palm, and in the next moment, it shone with brilliant intensity. A violent, powerful light radiated in all directions.

It was as if Zuo Guanglie himself had raised a sun with one hand!

This was a Taoist technique he had created himself, one that had made him famous overnight at the Yellow River Assembly when he was fifteen.

*Scorching Sun!*

Countless translucent water arrows refracted the sunlight falling from the sky into a myriad of colors, only to be dyed red in the next instant.

It was an incomparably violent, incomparably scorching fire-red.

With Zuo Guanglie's right hand as the center, the sky for a hundred *zhang* was shrouded in red, and the Myriad Stream Arrow Rain was wiped clean.

This scene was so magnificent that few noticed the faint ink stains at the edges of the canvas.

Before the *Scorching Sun* had fully expanded, countless arrows had already veered off and plummeted. The group of running beggars fell one after another. Their bodies were riddled with dense, piercing holes.

They didn't even have the chance to scream before they died.

Life is so fragile.

"Is wanton slaughter also your 'Dao'?" A mocking curve touched Zuo Guanglie's lips. He didn't know who he was speaking to, but his eyes, bright as stars, gradually turned cold.

"Whoever dares to hold back while killing Zuo Guanglie is a complete and utter fool."

A cultivator clad in frost-patterned black robes descended from the sky.

The man had a gaunt face and pale skin.

His narrow eyes stared fixedly at Zuo Guanglie: "Mere ants, and they are in your eyes?"

As he spoke,

A line of black-robed cultivators descending with him sealed off the four directions and began chanting incantations. Eighteen translucent water snakes instantly took form, whistling through the air and biting toward Zuo Guanglie.

Their movements were astonishingly synchronized; from appearance to action, they hadn't wasted a single breath.

Under their masterful control, a low-level technique like the *Kan Snake Bind* became exceptionally sharp and vicious.

Zuo Guanglie did not change his expression. He pulled his hands apart, and a blade of fire formed in his palms.

"Gongyang Bai!"

He gripped the flame blade and spun in the air, slicing the encroaching water snakes in two.

"Since you've even brought the Nine-Shatter Profound Yin Array, why waste our lives with such boring techniques!"

"Boring? Do you still think..." Gongyang Bai spread his hands, which had been clasped before him, and suddenly thrust them upward, "Is this a game to you!?"

The severed bodies of the water snakes did not dissipate; instead, they leaped up in the next moment, the tails growing heads, the heads growing tails.

One split into two, two split into four...

This was a new variation of the *Kan Snake Bind*, one that could be said to have given this technique a new life, granting it a much broader range of application.

It had become the *Chaotic Water Snake Lair*.

*Hiss~ Hiss~ Hiss~*

The sound was ear-piercing and heart-wrenching.

Dense, hideous water snakes surrounded Zuo Guanglie; as far as the eye could see, there was not a single gap.

But the noisy hissing could not drown out his clear, firm voice.

"Ying Wu was even willing to mobilize the Nine-Shatter Profound Yin Array; I deserve to die. But this ruined temple doesn't even have a name... How can this nameless place be worthy of burying me, Zuo Guanglie!?"

Flames suddenly erupted from Zuo Guanglie's body.

Burning fiercely, clawing and gnashing.

This fire ignited whatever it touched, turning points into lines, spreading instantly.

At seventeen, he had used this *Prairie Fire* technique to incinerate thousands of Yin demons, shaking the borderlands with his might!

The entire *Chaotic Water Snake Lair* began to burn. Countless water snakes struggled and hissed in the flames, turning into steam.

Amidst the billowing, screaming steam, Zuo Guanglie shot into the sky, his long hair flying, his aura violent.

At that very moment, an eagle's cry suddenly rang out!

A giant black eagle swooped down from high above. It faced Zuo Guanglie directly, its wings flapping violently.

Hundreds of iron feathers, carrying the light of blades, whistled toward him. Each blade-light was a different style—some fierce, some insidious—yet they were all fused into one.

The blade-light fell like a torrential rain, forcing Zuo Guanglie back down into the snake lair.

A Mohist mechanical beast: the *Blade-Feather Flying Eagle*.

On the back of the eagle, a barefoot man with a masked face and a bronze box strapped to his back stood against the wind, silent. Or rather, his words were already in the blade-light.

Supported by the Nine-Shatter Profound Yin Array, the myriad snakes grew madly, constantly regenerating. The *Prairie Fire* technique lacked persistence and was slowly being dissolved.

Defensive fighting always leads to loss; wounds were constantly being gouged into Zuo Guanglie's body, drawing blood. Zuo Guanglie would only grunt, waving his flame blade with one hand to slash back the snakes attacking his vitals.

A myriad of snakes biting the body, the Profound Yin scraping the soul.

Such pain was not something an ordinary person could endure.

But Zuo Guanglie chanted with one hand and wielded his blade with the other, without the slightest hesitation.

Clearly, however, the veins on his forehead were bulging!

Gongyang Bai clasped his ten fingers together before him, his long hair moving without wind: "Zuo Guanglie, surrender now, and you can still have your corpse returned to your homeland!"

The temperature plummeted, and a layer of white frost condensed on his brows. The entire *Chaotic Water Snake Lair* froze into ice sculptures.

This was the secret technique of the Gongyang family, a renowned Qin clan, known as the *Profound Ice Dungeon*.

Those who entered this dungeon would see their breath turn to frost in one breath, their blood freeze in two, and their flesh stiffen in three.

The water snakes froze into ice snakes, and Zuo Guanglie was covered in white frost.

Gongyang Bai watched this silently; in the next breath, the blood would freeze.

But!

He suddenly heard the sound of a rushing river. That surging, violent sound like a raging torrent—it was Zuo Guanglie's blood surging!

How could a great river be frozen by winter frost!

The process of his blood violently erupting seemed to explode into an ancient voice, sounding both painful and fanatical—

"BOIL! BLOOD! BURN! SOUL!"

The flame robes were burning, the long hair was burning, the brows and eyes were burning, the flesh and blood were burning, the soul... was burning!

Body and intent, life and soul, everything was burning.

Whether it was the *Kan Snake* or the *Profound Ice*, both disintegrated in an instant. Amidst the vast white steam, Zuo Guanglie was bathed in fire.

He looked down at his flaming hands, as if feeling the power of this imperial forbidden technique.

Then, he suddenly looked toward the *Blade-Feather Flying Eagle* in the sky!

The moment their eyes met, the iron-masked man decisively plummeted.

That precious *Blade-Feather Flying Eagle*... was incinerated into ash in an instant!

Zuo Guanglie crossed his hands, and blossoms of flame bloomed in the air, instantly spreading into a sea of fire.

The raging flames burned the sky and scorched the earth.

Even the baleful clouds of the Nine-Shatter Profound Yin Array gathered high above seemed to become fuel for the fire!

This *Flame Flower City-Burning* technique could be said to be Zuo Guanglie's most genius creation; at nineteen, he had used this technique to break a city in a single battle!

The flower of flame was exquisitely beautiful, but possessed extreme power.

The iron-masked man spread his hands wide as he plummeted, his ten fingers splayed. Each finger was connected to a translucent thread, the other ends of which reached deep into the bronze box, pulling out violently!

*Puppet Flying Crows!*

His ten fingers moved like they were threading flowers, and dense swarms of puppet crows flew out of the bronze box, rushing toward the flame flowers. Each puppet crow could extinguish a flame flower, but the flame flowers seemed infinite, while the puppet crows were limited.

Gongyang Bai ignored the backlash of his *Profound Ice Dungeon* being broken, pressed his index finger to his chin, and suddenly opened his mouth! A vast, white, cold mist spewed from his mouth; wherever it flowed, the flame flowers were annihilated.

The Gongyang clan's bloodline secret technique: *Breath into Frost*.

The eighteen black-robed cultivators he brought also began chanting.

The white steam created by the collision of flame flowers and white frost gathered into clouds high in the sky.

Suddenly, a torrential rain poured down, whistling through the air.

The eighteen cultivators combined their techniques to form this *Violent Rain Chain*!

Flame flowers, frost, and torrential rain briefly coexisted in mid-air, constructing a gorgeous, bizarre scene.

In this scene, the handsome man in flame robes suddenly looked up and roared: "Power of Extreme Flame, burn the sky and boil the seas, Zhurong True Ancestor, enter my body!"

Within his body, a speck of warm firelight, different from all others, suddenly expanded.

Just this single change of expansion caused the puppet crows to self-ignite, the dark clouds to disperse, and the torrential rain to vanish without a trace!

In an instant, it stole all sound and color!

Gongyang Bai's expression changed drastically: "Where did he get a Zhurong Seed! How could he possibly channel the Zhurong True Body?"

"This is Zuo Guanglie..." The iron-masked man spread a pair of mechanical iron wings on his back, hovering beside Gongyang Bai, his voice heavy and immovable: "The man who almost single-handedly punched through Hangu Pass!"

Amidst the infinitely expanding fire-elemental power, Zuo Guanglie's seven orifices were spewing flames.

"Come! Mo Jingyu!"

"Gongyang Bai!"

He waved his hand, and a fire dragon tore through the sky, forcing Gongyang Bai and the others to retreat repeatedly.

"What renowned clans! Great families! Geniuses! Before me, do you still dare to call yourselves such?!"

He seemed driven mad by the scorching of the Zhurong Seed, losing his reason, his emotions intense.

"Family shame and national hatred, not even the rivers and seas can wash them away!"

The Battle of the River Valley was lost; he seemed to hear the wailing of ten thousand families in the Chu State.

It was as if, amidst the flames, he saw his father who had died in battle when he was fourteen... as if he were saying something to him.

Saying... what?

Zuo Guanglie laughed, laughed until tears flowed, but the tears were instantly scorched dry.

"A fine head is here, who can cut it off?"

Behind him, there was a faint, majestic, supreme phantom of a god holding a fire dragon.

He finally burned everything, melting into the fire.

"Only I can kill my body, only Zhurong can burn my soul!"

In his flaming eyes, all emotion finally vanished.

He cast only the coldest killing intent upon those who surrounded him.

"DIE!"

Mo Jingyu reached behind his back, trying to pry open the bronze box he carried to use his final life-saving measure. But his hands trembled incessantly, unable to muster even a shred of strength.

In his spiritual perception, there was no countryside, no ruined temple, not even a single person. There was only fire, only boundless waves of flame. The violent fire almost twisted space and almost incinerated his mind.

Before such powerful strength, how was he any different from the beggars who had died before?

...

On the horizon, a cold light came from the west.

Just by catching a glimpse of this scene, Gongyang Bai had the illusion that his eyes had been sliced!

There was no time to investigate, because in the very instant he saw it, the cold light had already reached Zuo Guanglie and circled around him!

Zuo Guanglie's roar came to an abrupt halt.

"Too noisy."

A young man in white suddenly appeared.

He had an extremely cold face, standing sideways, as if forever keeping a distance from the world.

He slowly sheathed his sword, his voice flat and without the slightest fluctuation.

Zuo Guanglie's head suddenly fell, rolling twice on the ground, but because he had performed the *Boil Blood, Burn Soul*, not a single drop of blood sprayed out.

Only then did the ear-piercing, thunderous whistle sound in the air!

It was the sound of the white-clad man's sword coming from the west, tearing through the sky!

...

Gongyang Bai and Mo Jingyu exchanged a look, both seeing the immense horror in the other's eyes.

"Li Yi, I am acting under the orders of His Highness Ying Wu..."

But Gongyang Bai shut his mouth just as he started, immediately grabbed Zuo Guanglie's head, and turned to flee.

Because the white-clad man had already turned his gaze toward him.

His hair, his brows, his eyes, even the corners of his lips were as sharp as a sword. His gaze, however, was flat to the point of being tepid.

Yet, in this tepidness, there was a chilling indifference.

Whether it was a genius figure inheriting from the ancient Mohist school or a member of one of the world's few renowned bloodlines.

No one dared to ask why, no one dared to say another word.

...

Zuo Guanglie was dead, but the Zhurong fire seed within him had not dissipated; it was still slowly expanding.

This power was not something the exhausted Zuo Guanglie could control; he was merely a trigger, a medium, using his genius and determination to allow the great power of the Zhurong True Body to have a sliver, a fleeting release in this world.

The white-clad man shook out a black token and watched it silently.

The black token remained silent for a long time before a domineering voice sounded—"Even."

As soon as the voice fell, the token, made of extraordinary material, seemed unable to withstand the sound, instantly crumbling into countless black specks that slipped through Li Yi's fingers and fell with a rustle.

Not until all the cultivators had left and the token in his hand had crumbled did Li Yi tilt his head slightly, looking at the expanding Zhurong fire seed.

He extended a thin, fair hand, his five fingers curled into a pocket shape.

Only then, when no one else could notice, did he reveal a hint of childlike innocence amidst his usual tepidness and indifference.

He whispered softly: "Bang!"

As his five fingers spread, it was exactly the moment the Zhurong Seed exploded.

An invisible force bound the explosion, preventing it from spreading, only shattering Zuo Guanglie's corpse into countless pieces of flesh.

The crimson flame flowers bloomed to their heart's content in the small world, brilliant for an instant, gathering splendor in one place.

This ultimate beauty was for him alone to enjoy.

The corners of Li Yi's mouth curled up slightly, but he restrained it in an instant.

The fireworks were over.

He did not look at what Zuo Guanglie's corpse had left behind, nor did he have the slightest attachment; he leaped into his sword light and vanished in an instant.

...

From beginning to end, in this battle that took place outside the nameless ruined temple, no one cast a single glance into the temple.

To powerful cultivators, the weak Zhuang State was hardly worth a look. To the three thousand miles of the Zhuang State, Fenglin City was as small as dust. And even to Fenglin City itself, this ruined temple in the countryside had long been forgotten.

But in this dilapidated Taoist temple, there was someone.

It was a beggar, on the verge of death, waiting only for the end.

He had prepared himself for death and was waiting for it, but he had not yet died, and from beginning to end, he had "heard" this magnificent battle.

When the battle ended, everything returned to silence.

He was still alive.

He might be considered lucky, but the word "lucky" was so discordant with him. His tattered clothes, his gaunt, sickly face, and even his nearly fading breath all articulated the definition of misfortune.

But he was alive after all.

He thought for a moment, struggled to turn over, and rolled out from under the offering table.

He gritted his teeth, using all his strength, struggling to stand up, swaying.

He had stood up after all.

From the offering table to the outside of the temple was one hundred and thirty-seven steps.

From the temple gate to Zuo Guanglie's corpse was three hundred and twenty-four steps.

The beggar silently counted his steps, constantly telling himself that he was almost there.

Almost there.

Every muscle in his body was protesting, trembling.

No one knew where the strength came from to keep him moving.

His astonishing perseverance had no audience.

Now he stood before Zuo Guanglie's corpse, and this trek had finally reached its end—if that pile of minced meat could still be called a corpse.

He slowly, slowly squatted down; squatting was too exhausting, so he simply sat.

He was truly very ill; even through the grime that made his face unrecognizable, one could still see a weak, deathly pallor.

His hands were trembling.

Trembling, he groped through the pile of minced meat.

Flesh, flesh, bone fragments, a piece of broken metal, flesh, finger bones, an unrecognizable piece of wood...

A bottle!

He turned over that mass of flesh and blood that could no longer be identified and discovered this half of a jade bottle!

The mouth of the bottle had been completely blown away, leaving only half the body.

The beggar suppressed his slightly heavy breathing and brought the jade bottle before him.

He carefully removed a piece of flesh that was plugging the bottle and looked into the bottom.

He saw the only thing left in the bottle: a dark, round pill. His breathing stopped.

He recognized it; it was the *Pulse-Opening Pill* he had dreamed of day and night, the one he had once obtained and then lost!

I have been writing with focus for several years now; my strength, my softness, my love and hate, my confusion, and my perplexity are all closely linked to it.

I know many people have left, many have forgotten, many are busy with work, and many are weary of life.

I hope this novel will make you fall in love with me again.

I hope it can give you the courage to face life, give you strength in times of hardship, and give you direction when you are lost.

At the very least, when you are lonely, it can provide you with companionship.

——————

The update schedule is as follows: two chapters daily, at 12:00 PM and 8:00 PM, with a minimum of two thousand words per chapter. A single chapter on weekends at 8:00 PM.

(End of chapter)