Chapter 33: Parting the Clouds to See the Moon

Jiuhua Mountain lay only eighteen hundred miles from Celestial City of Tianyuan. No sooner had Lord Yang set off than news of his movement reached the city at astonishing speed.

The leaders of the Four Seas Chamber of Commerce, the Seven Immortals Alliance, and other Nascent Soul cultivators hurried beyond the city gates to welcome him. Compared to these established forces, the wandering cultivators felt less compelled to lower themselves in such a manner. After all, they were used to drifting from place to place—why should they become lackeys for the so-called Invincible Yang?

As the cloud-chariot descended, the assembled crowd bowed in salutation to Lord Yang. Yet he did not disembark; instead, one of his disciples returned their bows on his behalf. Everyone present knew the purpose behind Lord Yang’s visit. Once the cloud-chariot entered the city, the groups appeared to disperse, but in truth all were watching closely to see how the Four Seas Chamber of Commerce would respond. After all, the legendary Hunyuan Pill was said to possess miraculous powers—who would not covet such a treasure?

Originally, they intended to escort Lord Yang to the headquarters of the Chamber, but midway there, the master—who had been resting with closed eyes—suddenly spoke: “Take me directly to see Fellow Daoist Chen.”

The faces of the Chamber’s representatives changed at once, especially Sima Changfeng, who was just about to speak when Lord Yang’s disciple smiled slyly, drew out a letter from his sleeve, and handed it to Sima Changfeng.

“Read this first, then speak,” he said.

Puzzled, Sima Changfeng opened the letter, only to be struck by shock and fury; veins bulged on his hand.

“Sima, what is it?” asked Shangguan Yun, his voice low with concern.

Sima Changfeng shook his head, suppressing the turmoil in his heart, and discreetly tucked the letter away in his sleeve. He bowed and said, “As you wish, Lord Yang.”

Leading Lord Yang and the Chamber’s Nascent Soul elders to a secluded courtyard, Sima Changfeng excused himself to summon Chen Yang.

“Greetings, Ancestor.” He glanced at his most promising descendant, his emotions conflicted.

“Why did you do it?” he asked.

“Did I make some mistake?” Sima Yan feigned confusion, though inwardly she was on high alert.

Sima Changfeng shook his head in disappointment, placed a hand gently on her head, and spoke softly: “Do not blame your great-grandfather for being ruthless. For the sake of the entire Sima clan, you must go peacefully.”

With a surge and ebb of spiritual power, Sima Yan’s expression twisted in terror; the light faded from her eyes, and her body slowly collapsed lifeless to the ground.

She had thought herself clever, but against the likes of Sima Changfeng, Lord Yang, and Chen Yang—old foxes who had weathered centuries of storms—her schemes were pitifully naïve.

Truly, cleverness may be one’s undoing; true wisdom lies in simplicity.

Sighing, Sima Changfeng lifted her corpse and came to the entrance of Chen Yang’s residence, loudly requesting an audience.

Brilliant multicolored clouds parted, opening a passage. Sima Changfeng bowed and entered.

“Senior, Lord Yang has come to pay his respects. I beg you to receive him.”

At that moment, Chen Yang’s “Great Liberation Immortal Radiance” was nearing completion. The polar magnetic forces of red and blue had already fused into a dazzling, multicolored light.

“You are indeed decisive,” Chen Yang remarked, glancing at the lifeless Sima Yan. His expression was unreadable, neither pleased nor angry.

Sima Changfeng shuddered inwardly, hurriedly bowing and pleading, “She dared plot against you, Senior; her crime merits death. But I beg you, in light of my years of loyal service, to spare the Sima clan this once.”

If Lord Yang exuded an aura of overbearing might, then Chen Yang felt unfathomable. Merely standing before this senior, Sima Changfeng felt his life was not his own.

Compared to Lord Yang, Chen Yang inspired even deeper fear—a terror that killed any thought of resistance.

“What nonsense is this? Did you think I would annihilate your family over a trifle like this?” Chen Yang’s expression softened slightly; though he still did not smile, the icy dread in Sima Changfeng’s heart eased a little. But before he could relax, a cold laugh rang out.

“This so-called Invincible Yang—if he wishes to pay his respects, why does he not come himself? Sending you to summon me—he has some nerve.”

The words were not loud, but carried powerfully, reaching Lord Yang in another courtyard.

Cold sweat broke out on Sima Changfeng’s brow as he struggled to respond, when suddenly a light laugh sounded by his ear.

“Fellow Daoist Chen, your temper is as fiery as ever. I am coming now.”

The voice drew swiftly closer. With a bang, the multicolored clouds churned as a figure broke through and appeared at Sima Changfeng’s side.

It was none other than the foremost figure of Baohua Continent, Lord Yang Wudi, Patriarch of the Celestial Sect of Tianyuan.

Sima Changfeng felt a hand clap his shoulder; his body flew backward uncontrollably, landing outside the courtyard.

“What an uninvited guest—perhaps you have grown tired of life,” Chen Yang remarked coolly.

“You flatter me. I have always conducted myself in this manner,” Yang Wudi replied.

Each sought an advantage: one hoped to use his reputation as the foremost cultivator to exchange these surplus Hunyuan Pills for the treasures he required; the other had thought to confront a mere soul-transferring old fiend, but on meeting found his assumptions gravely mistaken. Though Chen Yang’s spiritual power was far inferior to Yang Wudi’s, a certain ineffable intuition told Yang Wudi that his opponent was exceedingly dangerous.

Battle-lust stirred within him, a desire to pierce the clouds and behold the moon’s clarity. The apparent provocation was merely a pretext to find a reason to strike.

Without further words, Chen Yang extended a finger. Twin streams of yin and yang energy—like entwined flood dragons—descended from his Supreme Spirit Banner, weaving together and slicing toward Yang Wudi.

“Well met!” Yang Wudi’s expression grew grave. He dared not be careless, his body soaring several feet into the air, enveloped in radiant golden light. Countless runes whirled around him, upholding the heavens themselves as he forcefully intercepted the yin-yang blades.

The power of these demonic energies was formidable, yet what truly amazed was the swordsmanship Chen Yang wielded through them—swordplay that could shatter even supreme-grade artifacts was now met and held at bay by Yang Wudi’s magical arts. This, too, caught Chen Yang’s interest.

Since arriving in this world, whether wielding the Heavenly Demon Blood Blade forged from distilled vitality or, after turning from devilry to the Dao, manipulating yin and yang energies, Chen Yang’s swordsmanship had swept all before it. None had withstood even a single stroke.

But now, for the first time, he met resistance—a development that only heightened his spirits. He dismissed his hidden demonic techniques and abandoned the newly refined “Great Liberation Immortal Radiance,” relying solely on superior sword arts of Mount Wutai, channeling them through the twin currents of yin and yang.

The black and white radiance alternated, sometimes fierce as a tempest, sometimes gentle as a spring breeze. No matter what powers Yang Wudi employed, the twin lights confined him within a mere ten feet, impossible to escape.

Yet to be called Invincible was not in vain. His spiritual force was incredibly profound, and his body itself seemed nigh indestructible.