197: Chapter 197 Ancient True Spirit

All things fell silent, and the heavens and earth froze.

That calm voice did not travel through the air, but was branded into the depths of everyone's Divine Soul like fate itself—its lingering resonance was as heavy as an eternal mountain, and as deep as an unfathomable ancient well, forcibly suppressing their Souls that were on the verge of shattering, and quietly smoothing out the frantically tearing space-time.

The next instant—

A figure appeared before Xuanyuan Zhanxian without any warning.

He was positioned exactly beneath that sky-obscuring Void giant claw.

It was not a "descending," nor a "manifestation."

He arrived so naturally, as if he had always been standing there, like a stone tablet standing since the dawn of time—only before this moment, no one had the qualification to glimpse him.

He wore a moon-white Daoist robe, washed countless times until the fabric was as thin as a cicada's wing, with a few inconspicuous frayed edges and loose threads, yet it was spotlessly clean, unblemished by a single speck of dust.

The hem of the robe was embroidered with faint silver thread depicting the Four Symbols Spirit Beast patterns—the Azure Dragon hid within the clouds, revealing only a scale or a claw; the White Tiger crouched in the mountain mist, poised to strike; the Vermilion Bird spread its wings while bathing in fire, its tail feathers like rosy clouds; the Black Tortoise lay quietly in the profound waters, carrying the River Map on its back.

The patterns had long since faded, their outlines blurred, yet they still exuded a primitive majesty from the distant Primordial Era that would not brook desecration—like a totem carved at the source of the River of Time.

His figure was gaunt, even somewhat thin.

It seemed as if a slightly stronger gust of the unceasing cold wind in this Eternal Graveyard could blow him away, dissolving him into the endless turbulent currents of time and space.

Yet, he stood right in the center of this battlefield where destructive energy raged, space shattered, and Laws were in Chaos, like the point of absolute serenity in the eye of a storm.

He did nothing, merely standing there, yet it was as if with his thin spine, he forcibly propped up an unshakeable, inviolable "Pure Land" within this world that was on the verge of total collapse.

He kept his back to all living beings throughout, and no one could glimpse his true face.

One could only see a Daoist bun casually tied with an old wooden hairpin, with a few strands of gray-white hair escaping the binding, swaying slightly amidst the residual, terrifying shockwaves of pressure that were sufficient to tear metal and iron.

This movement carried not a shred of panic, only an indifference and ease born from experiencing ten thousand kalpas and seeing through life and death.

He stood there so casually, hands naturally clasped behind his back—his posture was as relaxed as a mountain hermit who had accidentally passed through this graveyard turned to ruins, stopping amidst the mountain of corpses and sea of blood to calmly watch a worldly farce that had nothing to do with him, yet was exceptionally boisterous.

However—

That Void giant claw, capable of crushing stars, annihilating all living things, and forcing the three Prodigies to fight to the death, froze completely, forcefully, three feet above his head.

It was not blocked by some visible, majestic force, nor were there brilliant sparks of colliding Laws.

The feeling was as if the space beneath the giant claw, that "existence" which had been eroded by the Void power until it almost ceased to exist, had suddenly given birth to its own unquestionable will—refusing to bear the "descent" of this claw by even the slightest fraction, with an attitude of extreme determination.

At the edge of the giant claw, that Void power capable of devouring light and annihilating matter collided with this invisible, seemingly "non-existent" barrier, and instantly, like the most ordinary dust meeting a cleansing wind, it dissipated and annihilated silently—without stirring up a single struggle, a single hesitation, or a single ripple of energy, as if it had never attempted to descend.

Dead silence.

A dead silence, more thorough, deeper, and more heart-stopping than before, like the thickest black ink, instantly flooded every inch of air on the battlefield, drowning out all sounds—even the instinctive howling of the turbulent energy vanished without a trace.

That Demon God of the Void Clan, for the first time, completely ceased its sticky, ear-piercing, and mocking, malicious low chanting.

The thick black and gray mist rolling crazily around the black shadow, appearing like a living thing, experienced an unprecedented stagnation—as if frozen instantly by an invisible hand, turning into a static, ominous ink wash painting.

Those eyes, scarlet like a blood moon, which had once coldly looked down on all living beings as ants, were now flickering violently, almost crazily.

The light within them was unstable, like a candle in the wind.

What was revealed within was no longer the arrogance of controlling everything, but incredulous shock—as well as a deeper level of suspicion and intense dread, as if a terrifying memory from so long ago that it had been almost forgotten had been touched.

It was as if this suddenly appeared, thin figure, was not a specific "person," but a symbol, a curse—the source of a nightmare that had branded boundless fear deep within its Soul long ago.

"The... remnant... of the Four Symbols Holy Spirit Sect..."

The black shadow's voice, for the first time, no longer held any of the cat-and-mouse pleasure, replaced instead by unprecedented gravity—even carrying a trace of an imperceptible tremor originating from the instinct of its Soul.

"I did not expect... you bugs, who should have completely Soul Flying Away and Spirit Scattering during the Ancient God-Demon War along with the severance of your Daoist lineage and the collapse of your mountain gate... to actually still have remnants of your Souls... lingering on until today!"

The figure in the moon-white Daoist robe turned a deaf ear to the roar filled with resentment and fear behind him.

As if it did not come from a Demon God capable of destroying the world, but was merely the meaningless screeching of some ant in the dust—light and airy, not worth a smile.

He did not even lift his eyes to glance at the giant claw above his head that was capable of destroying heaven and earth.

He merely turned his head slightly.

His gaze pierced through the blood mist that had yet to settle, the flying dust, and the shattered energy turbulence, and landed calmly on the girl in the distance who was on the verge of death, yet still biting her silver teeth, stubbornly trying to maintain the Divine Phoenix phantom.

This gaze was as calm as an ancient well that had remained undisturbed for eternity, without a single ripple on its surface.

Yet it was as deep as the vast and boundless Universe of stars—as if it contained all the vicissitudes since the creation of the world, and held the trajectories of the birth and annihilation of civilizations.

There was no pressure, not a hint of sharpness.

Yet, the moment this gaze, calm to the extreme, fell upon Jian Tanghuang, the cold fear that had almost swallowed her, and the boundless despair that had seeped into her bones, quietly melted away like residual snow under the warm spring sun—vanishing into nothingness.

An indescribable peace quietly sprouted from the deepest part of her Soul.

"Junior."

He spoke, his voice still even, like a clear spring that had flowed for ten million years in the mountains, unhurried, yet carrying an unquestionable power that seemed to originate from the heavens and earth themselves.

"Stop."

His tone was flat, yet it sounded as if he had issued a Law that could not be defied.

"If you continue to burn like this, your Divine Phoenix Origin will be exhausted, and the Nirvana True Fire will be completely extinguished..."

He paused, and there seemed to be a faint trace of regret in his voice.

"Then truly, nothing will remain."

The moment his words fell.

The seven-colored divine flames raging around Jian Tanghuang, as if they were about to burn away her very last trace of existence, were gently brushed by the softest, brightest moonlight.

There was no struggle, no resistance, not even a single spark splashing out.

That ancient Divine Phoenix phantom, soaring into the sky, majestic and awe-inspiring, carrying all her will and life, let out a low, whimpering cry.

In that cry, there was unwillingness, there was reluctance, but more than that, it was a sense of relief and gratitude.

Subsequently, the phantom transformed into a sky full of brilliant yet soft seven-colored streams of light, like fireflies dancing in the forest on a summer night, flickering and scattering—finally, as if guided by an invisible force, they all submerged into Jian Tanghuang's broken body.

A warm, gentle, yet irresistibly powerful current of warmth surged into her limbs, bones, internal organs, Meridians, and acupoints.

This power was not for healing, but for "stabilization"—forcibly steadying her Divine Phoenix Origin, which was like a candle in the wind, on the verge of total exhaustion and annihilation, and temporarily "sealing" the terrible wounds that were deep enough to see bone and even damaged her Divine Soul, preventing them from further worsening or collapsing.

Jian Tanghuang stood there, dazed.

Her violent, blood-scented gasping had quietly calmed down without her knowing, and the tumultuous Qi and blood in her chest had returned to an incredible stillness.

She looked up blankly and confusedly at that thin yet broad back.

She did not know him.

She had never seen him, never heard of him.

But that calm voice, that indifferent aura, that deep gaze... caused a strange, incomparable, absolute sense of security to ripple from the deepest part of her Soul.

It was as if even if the heavens collapsed and the earth split in the next moment, and the Universe returned to Chaos—as long as this back was still standing there, no existence could harm her in the slightest.

The gaze of the figure in the moon-white Daoist robe slowly shifted away.

It landed on the other side—on Chu Zhanxiao, whose silver Dragon scales were mostly shattered, whose blood had almost dyed him into a blood gourd, whose aura was a chaotic mix of withering and violence, and who was almost unrecognizable as human.

"And you, little Dragon cub."

His voice carried a faint trace of reprimand, like an elder treating a reckless Junior, yet there was not a shred of malice, but rather a peculiar sense of care.

"The Ancestral Dragon Bloodline is the essence of the evolution of all living things, a supreme treasure bestowed by the heavens and earth. It is not for you to squander recklessly without regard for the consequences."

"Forcibly overdrawing your Origin and shaking the Foundation of your Bloodline will only destroy your own Dao Foundation and cut off all future possibilities."

His tone was calm, yet every word was like a hammer, striking Chu Zhanxiao's heart.

"The gain does not make up for the loss."

Chu Zhanxiao did not even have time to think; he only felt a stream of Qi, warm as spring water and vast as a galaxy, born from thin air, ignoring all obstacles, and quietly surging in through his eyes, ears, mouth, nose, and every pore of his body.

[part:gemini-3.5-flash]

Under the soothing guidance of this warm current, the Ancestral Dragon Power within his body—which had been violently raging due to overexertion like a wild dragon off its leash, nearly bursting his Meridians inch by inch—instantly became as gentle as water, obediently returning to the depths of his Bloodline and slowly circulating.

Those shattered and severed Meridians, which had been sending bone-deep, piercing pain through him, were temporarily "glued" and "reconnected" by this soft yet incredibly resilient force—the agonizing pain receding like a tide. The terrifying injury, severe enough to permanently drop his Realm or even turn him into a complete cripple, was forcibly stabilized by this power, preventing it from worsening. Along with it, his originally chaotic and violent aura quickly became smooth and long.

Chu Zhanxiao opened his mouth, his throat dry and tight. A myriad of questions and gratitude clogged his chest, but he couldn't utter a single word. In the end, he could only stare blankly, with infinite reverence, at that back—as if looking up at a divine mountain that had suddenly risen from the earth to prop up the collapsing sky.

Finally.

The gaze of the figure in the moon-white Daoist robe finally fell upon the person before him—the young man who was nearly covered in blood, his body riddled with cracks, his Dao Foundation on the verge of complete collapse, yet who still leaned on his sword and refused to fall.

Xuanyuan Zhanxian.

He looked at the black blood, mixed with golden light and Death Qi, still oozing from the youth's seven orifices. He looked at the cobweb-like cracks covering that upright body, looking as if it would shatter completely at any moment. He looked at the black-and-white Taiji Diagram slowly spinning in front of the youth, which, despite being covered in cracks, still refused to dissipate, stubbornly emitting its final faint light...

And even more, he looked at the youth's crimson eyes, which, though blurred by blood and on the brink of the abyss of death, still burned with an unyielding fire and flashed with a look of absolute determination.

The figure in the moon-white Daoist robe let out a soft, barely perceptible sigh.

The sigh was so soft, it seemed like an illusion—merely the sound of a gentle breeze blowing past the tattered hem of his robe.

Yet this very sigh seemed to carry the loneliness and helplessness of countless ages, the vicissitudes and sentimentality of having witnessed too many similar scenes, quietly echoing across this dead, silent battlefield. It caused a sudden ache in the hearts of all who heard it, welling up an unspeakable sorrow.

Slowly, he reached out his hand.

It was just a single index finger.

The movement was slow, casual, and natural. There was no forming of hand seals or chanting of incantations, no surging of spiritual power, no world-shaking phenomenon of brilliant light, and no grand momentum of roaring Laws.

Like an ordinary, common old man living in seclusion in the mountains, casually extending his finger in his own courtyard—preparing to point out a crucial spot on a chess game on a stone table, or to brush away a speck of dust that had fallen on a lamp.

Steadily, his fingertip tapped forward.

Finally, it gently landed on the black-and-white Taiji Diagram in front of Xuanyuan Zhanxian, which was on the verge of completely shattering—

Right at the very center, on the single point where Yin and Yang intersected and Chaos was first born.

Like the tiniest pebble cast into a deep pool that had remained undisturbed for eons.

It only rippled outward in a barely perceptible, fleeting ring of faint ripples.

However—

It was this gentle tap.

The sky-blotting giant claw of the Void, which had condensed all of Xuanyuan Zhanxian's essence blood and Natal Dao Foundation, and had required the combined strength of three people burning their lives just to barely resist for a brief moment, turned out to be like a sand sculpture blown by the gentlest spring breeze—starting from the point where the fingertip touched.

Silently.

It disintegrated and crumbled.

There was no explosion, no roar, no blinding light, and no violent venting of energy.

Just like that, it naturally dissolved into wisps of pure yet lifeless and malice-free Void Qi, like gray ribbons that had lost their Souls, hovering and drifting aimlessly in the air for a moment.

Then, like morning dew under a blazing sun, it completely evaporated and was annihilated.

Completely clean.

It was as if this giant claw, which had brought endless despair and destruction, had never existed in this world.

The entire process was effortless, serene, and handled with consummate ease.

So effortless... it was like casually brushing off a speck of dust that had clung to his robe.

"Pfft—!!!"

Aura connection, Divine Soul backlash!

In the distance, the black shadow of the Void Fiendgod shook violently! The thick, dark gray mist around its body churned and exploded frantically, like a boiling pot of oil into which a giant rock had been thrown! Those eyes, crimson as blood moons, completely shed all playfulness, arrogance, and high-and-mighty control for the first time—revealing a naked, unmaskable horror!

Along with a sliver of instinctual fear, deeply hidden in the deepest depths of its Soul and almost worn away by time, but now thoroughly awakened!

"As expected of... that person's subordinate!"

For the first time, the shadow's voice became sharp and piercing, losing all its composure—carrying a flustered, exasperated, shocked, and angry roar that sounded exceptionally abrupt and pathetic in this dead, silent world.

"Even if it is just a lingering remnant Soul consciousness... to think... you actually have such means!"

It stared intently at that slender, moon-white back, killing intent churning like magma in its crimson eyes, wishing it could swallow him alive and tear him into ten thousand pieces. However, its body—the churning black mist—subconsciously shrank back by a barely perceptible fraction, as if fearing some invisible, sharp edge.

Clearly, it possessed a bone-deep dread, originating from its Bloodline inheritance, toward the power represented behind this figure and the lineage to which he belonged, which had long since been annihilated in history.

"However!"

The shadow's voice suddenly pitched higher, carrying a hint of wild, wishful thinking and a self-comforting roar, attempting to dispel the rising chill in its heart.

"How long can your lingering consciousness exist in this shattered world where Spiritual Qi has long since dried up and the Great Dao is incomplete! How long can you support yourself!"

"Once your consciousness is exhausted, you will suffer Soul Flying Away and Spirit Scattering!"

Its words became faster and faster, as if it were bolstering its own courage.

"This world will still be something in the grasp of my Void Clan! Our hunting ground!"

"And as for them—"

Its crimson gaze swept over Xuanyuan Zhanxian, Jian Tanghuang, Chu Zhanxiao, and all the surviving Cultivators, filled with malice and cruelty.

"...they still cannot escape the fate of becoming my food and suffering Soul Flying Away and Spirit Scattering!"

The roar of the Void shadow, carrying its towering rage and a hint of blustering panic, shook the surrounding space—which had not yet completely stabilized—causing it to buzz and hum once more.

The ink-like thick mist boiled incessantly, emitting an aura of erosion, deathly silence, and tyranny, nearly swallowing and tearing apart the moon-white figure ahead.

However.

That slender, moon-white figure was like a boulder that had stood in the River of Time since ancient times, or like an immovable pillar stabilizing the sea in the depths of a boundless, raging ocean.

Not even a single corner of his robe trembled from the roar.

He was as silent as the eternal night, as deep as the boundless starry sky. He did not even deign to give a single glance back in response to the black shadow.

It was as if the roar of the fiendgod, which was enough to make all living beings tremble and the world change color, was nothing more than the weak flapping of a gnat's wings in the summer grass, or the faint rustle of falling leaves in the autumn wind.

Light as a feather.

Not worth mentioning.

Slowly, he withdrew the index finger that had shattered the giant claw of the Void.

On his fingertip, the last wisp of pure, dark aura belonging to the Void that had been lingering had not yet completely dissipated before it was quietly cleansed, purified, and returned to nothingness by the barely perceptible, faint clear glow naturally circulating around his body.

Naturally, he clasped his hands behind his back once more.

The wide and slightly worn hem of his robe draped down, completely motionless.

His posture was calm and leisurely.

It was as if what he had just done was not defeating, with a flick of his finger, a world-destroying demonic power capable of overturning an entire world and bringing three peerless Prodigies to the brink of death.

But truly, just casually brushing off a speck of... dust that had accidentally fallen on his Daoist robe while strolling in a courtyard.

However.

At the very instant he turned around completely, leaving his broad, upright, yet slightly thin back entirely to the devastated, blood-soaked world behind him, and to those surviving, bewildered faces—

"Weng..."

A soft hum.

As thin as gossamer, as faint as the dying lament of an autumn cicada flapping its wings.

Yet it was as heavy as the collapse of chaotic mountains that had endured for eons, and like the first overburdened groan of the towering pillars supporting the heavens.

It was not a sound transmitted through the vibration of air into the ears.

Instead, it vibrated directly in the deepest depths of the Divine Soul of every conscious living being—whether human or demon, surviving Cultivator, or that fiendgod of the Void Clan!

This was the underlying string of "Laws" that constituted this world, quietly plucked by an invisible, ancient hand.

This was the Origin of the "Great Dao," silent for countless ages and nearly forgotten, faintly awakening to let out its first deep and majestic sigh.

This was some great power of "Order" that should have long since been annihilated in the River of Time, slowly opening its eyes from the deepest, heaviest slumber...

With the place where he stood as the Origin.

Centered on that moon-white, faded, and worn-edged old Daoist robe.

Without wind.

It moved on its own.