Chapter Forty-Nine: Make Some Room

Within the desolate mountain forest, Shen Wan’s voice echoed among the trees, vanishing without a reply.

The great worm scurried within his clothing, greedily searching for every last drop of sticky fluid. Fortunately, the edge of his large underpants managed to halt its progress, though some of the slime had already begun to seep through the seams, threatening to reach deeper. But the worm lapped it up swiftly, cutting off the supply, so that even the furthest trickle soon ceased.

It circled the waistband once with its tongue, found nothing more to savor, and finally began its return journey, crawling back the way it had come. Shen Wan’s legs trembled; he dared not move a muscle. He had struggled at first, but as soon as that massive tongue rolled across his lower abdomen, he froze midair, terrified that if it ventured any lower, his manhood would be forfeit.

He focused on the creature’s movements, and eventually, to his immense relief, it crawled out of his sleeve. Shen Wan exhaled deeply; the Shen family line had nearly ended right there.

The worm made its way along his arm, returning to the tree trunk. Resuming its previous path, it cleaned every trace of slime from between Shen Wan’s fingers before moving on. As he felt his fingers relax, Shen Wan tentatively loosened his grip—and suddenly lost his hold, tumbling helplessly from the tree.

With a thud, he hit the ground, sending up a cloud of dust. The worm above was startled, its lone beady eye swiveling to peer down. “Hmm? What strange thing is that below?” it wondered, but its curiosity lasted only a few seconds before the lure of more slime drew its attention. It resumed its meal, forgetting entirely about the fallen creature.

Rubbing his aching waist, Shen Wan got to his feet. Luckily, the fall wasn’t far; aside from his legs buckling and his back protesting, he was otherwise unharmed. The celestial spring within him swelled, quickly knitting his injuries. In moments, the pain faded, and his body felt light and whole again.

Marveling at the power of his inner meridian, he glanced up at the worm in the tree—what a curious species, always thinking only of food. He wiped the disgusting slime on his black robe, then turned toward the ancient ruin’s entrance.

Though Shen Wan couldn’t see the great screen of light, the view outside was clear through the gateway. Dozens of disciples from the Valley Ghost Sect stood guard at the entrance, forming an unyielding barrier. Realizing escape would be difficult, and recalling both the giant worm and the tree’s sticky residue, Shen Wan knew he couldn’t remain in this forest either. Who knew what other strange things might emerge?

Peering deeper into the woods through a gap in the foliage, he saw only an endless expanse. “Sigh! I wonder which way Lin Bufan and the others went.” Adjusting the black blade on his back, he shrugged and strode boldly into the depths of the mountain forest.

The ancient ruin was encircled by woods, with a mountain at its heart—shrouded in mist and clouds, its peak not particularly lofty but its body mostly hidden. At its base, eight sky-reaching towers stood like slender lamps arranged in a fan, neat and imposing. Beneath the second tower from the right, two groups faced off.

“Kongling Sect? Hmph. A petty sect like yours dares show off before me?” Gu Zhiping lifted his chin, his face full of disdain.

Had Shen Wan been present, he would have recognized both groups. But to call them two sides was misleading—it was more than thirty disciples of the Kongling Sect encircling just three people on Gu Zhiping’s side. Gu Zhiping was usually flanked by four “protectors,” but only two were qualified to enter here.

Earlier, Gu Zhiping had followed his senior brothers and sisters, but since his cultivation was low and the others were eager to seize opportunities, they had soon left him behind. Well, truly, it was Gu Zhiping who had lost track of them.

Through much effort, he’d found his way to one of the towers, only to see nearly a thousand people already seated around it, meditating on the inscription at its base.

Finding no space, Gu Zhiping tried to squeeze in among the nearest group. They quickly took offense.

Zhang Haoyun was feeling vexed—something must be inauspicious today, for one after another, nobodies kept trying to infiltrate his ranks. First, a completely untrained fellow, and now, another weakling with only second-level Spirit Condensation. Did people think the Kongling Sect so easy to bully?

Noticing the two Foundation Establishment experts at Gu Zhiping’s side, Zhang Haoyun was unafraid—his own sect boasted seven or eight such cultivators, more than enough to overwhelm them.

“A petty sect? You speak boldly. May I ask, then, from which grand sect do you hail?” Zhang Haoyun stepped forward, placing himself at the head of his group.

Feeling the pressure of Zhang Haoyun’s aura, Gu Zhiping nearly collapsed; only his bodyguard’s intervention kept him upright. The two protectors, however, were far from pleased.

“This damned young master, useless in every way—except for stirring up trouble!”

Oblivious to their thoughts, Gu Zhiping, catching his breath and feeling the pressure lift, straightened up and puffed out his chest.

“Me? Listen well! I am Gu Zhiping, young master of the Primordial Gate. Gu Daobian is my father!”

At this, Zhang Haoyun frowned. He hadn’t heard of Gu Zhiping, but the names Primordial Gate and Gu Daobian were well known to his own master. The Primordial Gate was ranked fourth among the ten great sects of the Valley Continent—renowned for its formidable strength.

“And your proof?” The question came, though Zhang Haoyun’s voice betrayed uncertainty. If this was truly the young master of the Primordial Gate, then Kongling Sect was indeed insignificant by comparison.

Gu Zhiping bristled. “Proof? Why should I have to prove my own father to you?”

Zhang Haoyun hesitated, embarrassed. Advancing or retreating both seemed awkward now.

Just then, a junior disciple stepped up and whispered in his ear, “Senior Brother, his attire is that of the Primordial Gate—he can’t be faking.”

Zhang Haoyun looked—indeed, the youth wore the sect’s distinctive robes, marking him as a direct disciple. Only a fool would impersonate a member of such a powerful sect; it would mean certain death. He must be genuine.

“Uh…” The atmosphere grew more awkward. Zhang Haoyun’s throat went dry—how could he extricate himself?

Today was truly ill-fated. How did such a minor sect repeatedly attract so much trouble? And now, he’d kicked an iron wall.

Gu Zhiping, seeing his father’s name had cowed them, swaggered forward, shoving aside his protectors. “Now you know who I am, shouldn’t you step aside? If you delay my chance, your entire Kongling Sect couldn’t bear the consequences!”

Zhang Haoyun’s brows furrowed—humiliation stung. If not for the crowd of disciples from every sect watching, he might have let it go. But with so many witnesses, how could he preserve his reputation?

“Senior Brother, don’t worry. I know this guy. He may be the Primordial Gate master’s son, but he’s a stepchild. No one will stick their neck out for him.”

“Really?” Zhang Haoyun asked, skeptical.

The junior nodded gravely. “His reputation is notorious. Last time in the Holy Land of Yunlan, he was slapped a dozen times by a disciple of a second-rate sect and didn’t dare utter a word. In the end, the matter was dropped.”

“Is that so?”

“You’ve been in closed-door cultivation, so it’s natural you haven’t heard the latest gossip,” the junior added, flattering his senior.

Zhang Haoyun’s mind raced. Though his scalp was bare, scraps of memory surfaced. He recalled hearing about the Yunlan incident and had laughed it off at the time—never expecting the protagonist to be standing before him.

Looking again, the youth no longer seemed so intimidating. Zhang Haoyun straightened, voice firm and confident. “Since you are the young master of the Primordial Gate, I’ll show you this courtesy.”

Gu Zhiping snorted. Though he’d suffered a few humiliations, his father’s name still opened doors. He was about to claim a spot when Zhang Haoyun added, “Our sect has no wish to quarrel, but if you want a place, I suggest you look elsewhere.”

With a glance behind him, his disciples spread out, filling every available space until not a gap remained. All sat down cross-legged, leaving not the slightest room for Gu Zhiping to squeeze in. At first, Gu Zhiping was slow to react, but as everyone ignored him, anger flared. He raised a trembling hand, ready to unleash a stream of curses—when suddenly, a familiar figure appeared in his line of sight.

Shen Wan ambled out of the forest and, spotting a crowd ahead, wondered if Lin Bufan and the others might be among them. He moved closer, scanning the group, but their similar attire made it impossible to identify anyone from behind. Deciding to look from the front, he searched for a way into the crowd.

By chance, he approached the Kongling Sect’s area, oblivious to Gu Zhiping standing nearby. The area was packed—Zhang Haoyun’s group had claimed every inch of space. Searching for footing, Shen Wan saw a shiny-headed fellow sitting at his feet. He nudged the man with his toe. “Hey, buddy, mind letting me through?”

Zhang Haoyun, already frustrated and unable to focus on the inscription, felt someone kick him again. A familiar voice reached his ears, but it wasn’t Gu Zhiping’s.

“Damn it, who now? Can’t a man get a moment’s peace?” he muttered, anger rising as he stood.

“Who is it this time? No room here—this is Kongling Sect territory. Don’t come looking for trouble!”

“Uh…” Shen Wan recognized the crooked face before him and squinted to confirm. “Well, if it isn’t you again!”

Zhang Haoyun stared—wasn’t this the fellow who’d slipped into their ranks at the ruins’ entrance? With the earlier run-in with Gu Zhiping still fresh, all his pent-up frustration surged to the surface.

“I may not be able to provoke the Primordial Gate, but I can deal with you, you little wretch!”

He pointed at Shen Wan and shouted to his fellow disciples, “Brothers, give him a good beating!”