No one knew what that force truly was. When it came, those trapped within found themselves suddenly outside the Mist Valley, standing beyond its borders.
Some speculated that a reclusive master lived deep within the Mist Valley, hiding his identity and dwelling in seclusion. The thick fog that permeated the valley, they said, was conjured through extraordinary means by this hidden expert, meant to keep others from disturbing his life.
And though this master's Cultivation reached the heavens, he was kind and benevolent at heart. So whenever someone became trapped in the Mist Valley, he would lend a hand, unwilling to create needless bloodshed.
Of course, this was nothing more than speculation among the local folk. As for what truly lay within the Mist Valley — no one had ever known.
At this very moment, at the precise center of the Mist Valley, there existed a stretch of land roughly one acre in area, free from the blanket of fog. It was the only place in the entire valley where one could see clearly.
And scattered across that single acre were more than twenty grave mounds of varying sizes, each roughly the height of a man.
The mounds were distributed like stars across a night sky, and before each one stood a wooden plank, each bearing a different name carved into its surface.
Judging by the brushwork and calligraphy, every plank had clearly been written by the same hand.
In the Spirit World, whenever any living being died, its energy dissolved and dispersed into heaven and earth. There were no corpses to be found, so naturally these mounds were empty inside — and yet someone had still erected monuments for them, clearly out of remembrance and mourning.
If one were to lean close and read the names on those wooden planks, they would discover that every single one belonged to a legendary figure of immense renown within the Spirit World.
Of course, that had been a very long time ago.
Now, these great figures had long since vanished from sight. The world neither knew whether they were alive or dead — yet it turned out they had already passed from this world.
If word got out that the memorial tablets of all these legendary figures were gathered in one place, it would shake the heavens themselves.
Within the Mist Valley, silence reigned — as if nothing existed but these graves of the departed.
And roughly ten zhang away from those mounds stood a crude wooden hut. Inside, an elderly man with hair and beard as white as snow sat cross-legged. He appeared ancient, yet his complexion was remarkably vibrant, his bearing otherworldly and refined — a truly extraordinary figure.
On the surface, there was no trace of Cultivation about him whatsoever, no fluctuations of power. He seemed no different from an ordinary mortal. But with every breath he drew, he stirred the very forces of heaven and earth.
This man's Cultivation had clearly reached its absolute pinnacle — the legendary state of unity between heaven and man.
Without warning, the old man opened his eyes. Divine light overflowed from those twin orbs, within which the sun, moon, and stars flickered into brief existence, and ten thousand beasts raced past in the blink of an eye before vanishing.
He did not move his body — he merely swayed slightly, and disappeared.
When he reappeared, the old man had arrived at another location within the Mist Valley. He waved his sleeve, and in an instant a violent gale erupted, tearing through the thick fog before him.
A bizarre, pitch-black altar materialized before the old man's eyes, arranged in some unfathomable formation.
The old man stared at the altar with a grave expression, listening intently.
Hummm…
A faint sound, almost imperceptible, suddenly emanated from within the altar.
The old man's expression changed abruptly. He seemed unable to believe what he had heard and verified it once more — but the result was the same.
His face darkened, a trace of sorrow creeping into his features.
"So many years have passed… and you have awakened once more…" he murmured, gazing at the altar as though speaking to an old, familiar friend.
"What force has awakened you?" The old man spoke, turning his head to gaze in a specific direction. After a long, fixed stare, his figure blurred and vanished.
Moments later, a streak of rainbow light tore across the sky, bursting out of the Mist Valley and hurtling toward the Heavenly Demon Mountain Range.
…
Deep within the Heavenly Demon Mountain Range, Yang Kai stood frozen in place, his cold eyes scanning left and right.
He had left the site of his battle with Ban Qing some time ago, pressing deeper into the mountain range in hopes of finding a safe place to hide.
But fate had other plans. People kept finding him. Though none of them matched Ban Qing in strength and posed no real threat to him — his Soul-Devouring Insects and Soul-Slaying Blade dispatching them one after another — the sheer relentlessness of it all kept Yang Kai on high alert.
He was certain he had been careful enough, yet his whereabouts continued to be exposed, as if these pursuers somehow knew his exact location.
This led him to suspect that something had been planted on him — some tracking method — which was why they kept coming.
But when he examined himself thoroughly, he found nothing.