“Old man… since we are both Martial Geniuses, I suggest you step aside and stop blocking my path!” Xiuyin’s voice rang out, sharp and arrogant, her tone dripping with disdain. Her confidence was not unfounded. She had already proven herself capable of withstanding Wu Cao’s devastating strikes, her movements fluid, her defenses unyielding. Wu Cao’s eyes narrowed, his voice heavy with disappointment. “Where has your respect gone, Xiuyin? I once believed you would rise as the greatest cultivator among the five great families.” Xiuyin smirked, her words cutting like a blade. “Don’t waste your breath praising me, old man. Do you truly believe your precious nephew Wu Tian could ever become the greatest cultivator? Hah! What a joke.” Wu Cao’s chest tightened with anger. He mourned the waste of such talent, the tragedy of Xiuyin’s brilliance twisted by Mao Xiang’s poisonous influence. Her arrogance now was a far cry from the respectful girl she once had been. “It is not too late, Xi

The battle raging at the foot of Yin Nan Mountain was no less fierce than the clash of the two legendary dragons above the storm-darkened sky. The earth trembled beneath each strike, the air thick with the scent of scorched stone and the metallic tang of qi. For the first time, Xiuyin’s clothing had been torn by the razor-sharp gusts unleashed from Wu Cao’s attacks. The fabric ripped across her chest, and she froze for a heartbeat, realizing she was facing an opponent far stronger than she had anticipated. Her lips curled into a mocking smile, her voice dripping with venom. “Old man! If you wanted to see my body, you should have asked. No need to shred my clothes with your attacks—I would have shown you willingly!” Wu Tian’s fury erupted. “Xiuyin! Watch your mouth! How dare you insult Uncle Cao like that!” Xiuyin’s eyes gleamed with malice. “I’ll say whatever I please. Your uncle is nothing but a lecherous old fool.” Yueyin’s voice cut through the tension, calm yet firm. “Wu

The long-slumbering Yin Nan Mountain, dormant for centuries, suddenly roared back to life. Its belly convulsed with molten fury, vomiting rivers of lava and hurling incandescent boulders into the sky. A thunderous detonation split the heavens, and a plume of ash rose like a colossal banner unfurling against the horizon. The eruption resembled the awakening of the Dragon God Fuca Long, as though the ancient beast had burst free from its fiery prison, shaking the world with its return. The lava surged in relentless waves, each explosion echoing like the breath of a dragon exhaling fire without end. Flaming stones rained down, scorching the earth, yet curiously, none of this devastation touched the battlefield where two Martial Prodigies clashed. Their duel seemed to carve out a sanctuary, a sphere of untouched ground, as if the mountain itself bent its fury around them. The clash of their powers had stirred the dormant volcano, rousing its buried energy into violent awakening. The a

“Wu Tian!” Wu Cao’s voice cracked like thunder, echoing across the trembling battlefield. “What are you waiting for?” His palm trembled as he pointed toward Xiuyin, who stood frozen in the center of the chaos, her gaze lost in some inner storm. “Wu Tian, now is the time to strike her down!” Yueyin’s voice followed, sharp and urgent, though weakened by her wounds. Wu Tian’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “Why don’t you do it yourself? I cannot.” His tone was firm, resolute, carrying the weight of conviction. Yueyin did not hesitate. She lunged forward, her palm glowing with cultivated energy, aimed straight at Xiuyin’s chest. BUUUM! The impact was deafening. A shockwave rippled outward, scattering ash and dust, shaking the ground beneath their feet. Yueyin was hurled backward, her body colliding with jagged stone. Blood spilled from her lips as she gasped, her body wracked with pain. An invisible barrier shimmered faintly around Xiuyin, a cocoon of energy that had repel

“Wu Tian… what exactly happened out there? Why is Zhou Chen trembling like this?” Wu Cao’s voice carried a sharp edge as Wu Tian stepped back into the ancestral hall of the Wu family. The heavy wooden doors creaked shut behind him, muffling the distant hum of the mountain winds. Not once did Wu Cao mention Xiuyin’s condition, and that silence unsettled Wu Tian. His uncle’s avoidance felt deliberate, almost unnatural. In the far corner of the room, Zhou Chen crouched low, his body curled in on itself. His shoulders shook violently, as though seized by a chill no fire could warm. Sweat clung to his pale skin, glistening under the flickering lantern light. The air smelled faintly of fear—sharp, metallic, like iron mixed with damp stone. “Did Zhou Chen tell you what really happened?” Wu Tian asked, his eyes narrowing. Wu Cao shook his head. “No. He arrived at the gates drenched in sweat, pounding on them like a man possessed. All he said was ‘Yin Nan Mountain.’ That was enough for