Even though all eight Integration-stage Spirit Race cultivators had extraordinary treasures to protect them, the sheer weight of a Mahayana aura pressing down from such close range forced them all to stumble back several steps, a trace of fear appearing on each of their faces.
"Please calm your anger, Senior! We meant no disrespect whatsoever!" The white-horned elder broke into a cold sweat and hurriedly called out.
But Mo Jianli's expression remained as blank as ever, as if he hadn't heard a word. With a subtle pulse, his aura flared even more powerful than before.
This time, the eight Integration-stage Spirit Race cultivators could no longer withstand the spiritual pressure with their own cultivation alone. Without exception, brilliant light erupted from their bodies as eight different treasure projections emerged simultaneously — just barely managing to hold against that terrifying wave of spiritual pressure.
Han Li's eyes narrowed, and he took in all eight treasures in a single glance.
They were three talismans, two command tokens, a small white cauldron, and a silver ruyi scepter.
Seeing this, Mo Jianli snorted coldly. His protective spiritual light flickered briefly as he took a step forward, about to unleash the full force of his spiritual pressure and teach these Spirit Race juniors a thorough lesson.
But at that very moment, a strange, gentle breeze suddenly swept down from the summit of Fuling Mountain, swirling past right in front of Mo Jianli.
Mo Jianli felt a warm current of energy brush against him, and the terrifying spiritual pressure he had been projecting instantly dissolved into nothingness.
Then a calm, elderly voice drifted lazily out of the wind.
"There is no need for anger, Brother Mo. Their earlier words were spoken without thinking. I shall apologize on their behalf. That the two of you have graced this place with your presence fills me with nothing but delight — how could I possibly refuse to meet? I await the two of you at the summit. Ling Mie, I have already probed with my spiritual sense — Fellow Daoists Xue and Ran have arrived at the foot of the mountain. Four of you, go down to welcome them. The remaining four shall escort Brother Mo to the Purple Qi Hall."
"Yes, sir!"
"We obey!"
The eight Integration-stage Spirit Race cultivators bowed solemnly toward the mountaintop, then withdrew their treasure projections. The four led by the bald man shot down toward the base of the mountain.
The remaining four — led by the white-horned elder — bowed once more to Han Li and the others, then assumed welcoming postures.
"Since Fellow Daoist the Spirit King has personally spoken, of course Mo cannot refuse to give face! Let me meet him first, and we'll discuss everything else after." After his expression shifted several times, Mo Jianli finally restrained himself from blocking the bald man's group. With a sweep of his wide sleeve, he flew grandly up the mountain.
Han Li offered a faint smile and followed after him without so much as stirring a wisp of mundane air.
The remaining four Integration-stage Spirit Race cultivators set off to escort them.
However, the white-horned elder stole a furtive, peculiar glance at Han Li's retreating figure.
Though Han Li had not said a single word, as a powerful Holy Spirit within the Spirit Race, the elder was well aware of certain news regarding this newly ascended human Mahayana cultivator.
Though the information had come from outside the Spirit Race and was either outdated or frustratingly vague, one fact was almost certainly true — this human Mahayana had once gravely injured a Yaksha-race Mahayana.
That, naturally, made the elder feel considerably more cautious around Han Li — though there was also a measure of curiosity mixed in.
After all, even across the vast expanse of the Spirit Realm, there were precious few who could defeat other Mahayana-stage monsters the very moment they advanced to that level.
Han Li, of course, had no awareness of the elder's shifting thoughts and even less interest in them. He drifted along a few feet above the ground, his gaze leisurely taking in the scenery on either side of the mountain path.
The upper half of Fuling Mountain was adorned with far more formations and restrictions than the lower slopes, though most of the autonomous triggers had clearly been manually deactivated. Otherwise, even Mahayana cultivators like Han Li and Mo Jianli would not have been able to ascend so unimpeded.
What appeared to be a journey of only several thousand zhang ended up taking the full time it would take to eat a meal.
It was as if the upper half of the mountain alone stretched a hundred thousand zhang high.
Mo Jianli's expression grew somewhat peculiar.
Han Li maintained a calm exterior, but inwardly he couldn't help clicking his tongue in wonder.
Clearly, beyond the visible formations, this mountain concealed something far more profound — otherwise, it would be impossible for it to deceive even his spiritual sense.
The white-horned elder and the others remained perfectly composed, evidently long accustomed to this phenomenon.
Despite the seemingly endless ascent, the group eventually passed through a thin veil of white mist and arrived at the summit.
Han Li raised his head to look. The top of Fuling Mountain was a vast, open expanse, and upon it stood nothing but a single enormous three-story pavilion. No other structures were in sight.
Above the main entrance hung a horizontal plaque bearing three characters written in a bold, free-spirited calligraphic hand, faintly tinged with gold.
"Purple Qi Hall."
The area outside the pavilion was equally deserted — not a soul in sight.