Chapter Seventy-Seven: Hidden Mountain Range【Please add to your collection!!!】

A wave of confusion swept over him. Qingyuan felt as if he were floating amidst clouds and mist.

Within the Hall of Shaping, the once-blurred figure was now growing sharper. Dark hair spilled down, sword-like brows framed star-bright eyes, his features were dignified, his aura distant and ethereal—compared to Qingyuan’s own form, this new body seemed to possess an even deeper immortal poise. He sat cross-legged in the hall, a white jade ruler cradled in his arms.

His limbs transformed; each of his five fingers took shape. Beyond that, an invisible, mysterious force was gradually transforming this incarnation of Qingyuan within the second level of the hall. The changes extended to the faintest lines of his palms, the texture of his skin, the weave of his flesh, and the shifting of his sinews and organs—everything began to coalesce, layer by layer. If even these details could be perfectly formed, he would have truly achieved mastery of the Second Heaven.

“Shaping the body is a slow, meticulous art,” he mused. “By my original estimate, even with the earth dragon’s power merged into me, no matter how high my natural endowment, it should take at least a year or two—three or five years would already be considered swift.”

Qingyuan was both delighted and astonished. The iron staff in his hands now felt almost alive. This staff had been brought from the Palace of Purple Clouds, once touched by the breath of celestial fire. There were no runes upon it, no formations or enchantments; it was neither a magical tool nor a treasure, only remarkable in its material. Yet now, most of the earth dragon’s essence had entered his body, while a small portion—its tail—had burrowed into the iron staff.

Originally a lifeless object, not even a magical implement, it was nonetheless able to bear the power of the earth dragon, which was a puzzle he could not unravel. But one thing was now undeniable: he and the staff, having absorbed the same earth dragon, were now linked by blood. In the parlance of cultivators, this was a life-bound treasure.

He had never entertained such a notion before; nothing like this had ever occurred. Only when the two dragon roars echoed together did he realize that he and the staff had become as one.

Within the Hall of Shaping, the invisible force continued to temper his spirit, but his thoughts lingered on those twin dragon roars. “One roar comes from the earth dragon now fused within me; the other echoes from within Mount Fuzhong. Could there be another earth dragon inside?”

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, though he doubted an earth dragon could be obtained so easily. “It must be that treasure... Guangyuan, the Ancient Lord of Karma, must have established a link between the treasure and the earth dragon, causing this resonance.”

“If that is so, then the treasure must still be hidden in Mount Fuzhong, neither taken by Guangyuan nor found by another fated soul.”

“The only worry is that someone else may have already discovered the place, or the treasure has already changed hands.”

“And when the treasure and earth dragon resonated, did it cause too great a stir? If so, it might have drawn the attention of powerful cultivators.”

In a flash, his mind spun through countless possibilities. Yet through the connection between treasure and earth dragon, Qingyuan reached enlightenment and perfected his Shaping—cause for great joy.

Originally, he had little hope of entering Mount Fuzhong, but now, thanks to the treasure within, he had broken through the barrier. He was inside Mount Fuzhong at last, though the road ahead remained shrouded in uncertainty. His only comfort was—hope remained.

...

When the haze cleared before his eyes, Qingyuan’s heart gave a jolt. He found himself suspended high in the air, descending from the clouds, yet he felt no sensation of falling. A layer of mist enveloped his body—an array set by the Orthodoxy of Uprightness.

“So, upon entering the mountain, one does not arrive at the same place,” he thought, exhaling. “The sect scatters those who enter across many points. Who knows where I might have landed? Thankfully, the array is thorough—otherwise, without the ability to ride the clouds, I’d have fallen to my death from such heights.”

The Orthodoxy of Uprightness was known for its fairness. They had not tampered with the proceedings to claim Mount Fuzhong’s fortune for themselves.

The landscape below gradually unfolded—vast swathes of verdant green reflected in his eyes as he neared the ground. The mist from the array faded away as he reached the height of the treetops. When the last vestige of cloud vanished, he plummeted quickly but not from great height, landing lightly on the grass with a nimble step.

“Where am I?” Qingyuan looked around. Before coming, he had compared the mountain’s entrance with his map and plotted his route so that every step upon entering would be clear to him. But he had not expected the sect to randomly scatter entrants throughout Mount Fuzhong instead of letting them start at the entrance.

Everything would have to be reconsidered.

“No plan survives first contact with reality,” he muttered with a wry smile, shaking his head. He took out the map, spread it open for a quick glance, then put it away. He climbed to a higher vantage point for a better view of the terrain, matching the landscape around him with what he remembered from the map.

“That river...” Qingyuan’s gaze fell on a nearby stream—clear, barely ten feet wide, less than three feet deep, winding for miles. The map depicted such a river, and after careful comparison, he finally determined his current location.

“If I follow the river upstream, I can take a shortcut.” The thought lifted his spirits.

...

Mount Fuzhong was no small place. Despite the many cultivators seeking their fortunes here, Qingyuan had yet to see another soul. Rumors claimed the divine thunder had split into thousands of fragments, but Qingyuan knew that was an exaggeration. There were many, perhaps, but not so many as claimed. With the Orthodoxy of Uprightness and the Blossoming Lotus Pavilion—sects founded by patriarchs—their means of collecting the divine thunder must be formidable. Very little would fall into the hands of outsiders.

Thus, obtaining a piece of divine thunder was never as simple as stumbling upon it. Conflict was unavoidable.

But Qingyuan sought not the divine thunder—only the treasure left by Guangyuan, the Ancient Lord of Karma. He made no effort to search for thunder.

He arrived at the riverbank and traveled upstream. The water was clear, running gently over the stones.

Suddenly, a chill ran through him—a sense of inexplicable dread. He glanced at the stream. The water was shallow and clear to the bottom, but in this lower-lying stretch, it seemed unusually deep and foreboding. A coldness crept from the depths.

With a sudden roar, something burst from the water.

Qingyuan had been prepared. Gripping his iron staff, he stepped forward and struck with all his might. The blow landed square atop the creature’s head, driving it back beneath the surface.

“What manner of beast is this?” In that fleeting instant, Qingyuan saw its true form. The monster was grotesque—shaped like a crocodile, yet also like a giant lizard, its body armored in indigo scales. Two curved horns crowned its head, bending inward, but both had snapped under Qingyuan’s strike.

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