Chapter 675: Lord Evolution Zhan Shun

Chapter 675: The Exalted Zhan Shun

Clouds veiled the white moon, mist locked the deep mountains.

Not long ago, the eternal Mount Yong'e was a sea of verdant green, now it was soaked through with fresh blood.

Between the tree trunks hung remnants of limbs, thorny thickets cradled severed arms, the grinning, unseeing skulls rolled haphazardly along the mountain path—had there been a pause, only to be shattered again by the thud of another skull tumbling from above.

Under the auspices of Zou Siu’s rules and authority, Shen Bi now moved like a prowling tiger, crashing through the yellow-sand ghosts under the dominion of Shen Tu, no foe standing in his way.

Amidst his rampage and slaughter, Shen Bi even noticed a surplus of martial forces within his body—ones he had never refined before.

The strongest among them surged like a vast torrent, another gleamed sharp as a newly drawn blade.

These were Li Jun’s martial forces: crushing might and cutting edge!

With every gesture, Shen Bi seemed to unleash an endless cascade of power, the nearby tide of yellow-sand ghosts swept clean in an instant, washed away to a wasteland of white bones and shredded flesh.

As for those sigils and flying swords, they barely grazed his skin, let alone pierce it.

“No wonder Zou Ye is so fierce in the dream realm!” Shen Bi marveled inwardly, finally grasping Zou Siu’s true strength.

Yet what struck him more was the ceaseless clatter and rumble emanating from within his chest—the sound of shattered seals popping open.

Though he understood it was but a dream, his comprehension of the solitary martial path grew unshakably real.

“Could it be I’ve stumbled upon another method to ascend the lone martial path?”

Lost in idle musings, Shen Bi’s surroundings grew sparse.

The remaining yellow-sand ghosts recoiled like a tide, their eyes wide with terror, gazing at the martial artist standing amid a sea of corpses and blood.

They feared him.

Though each bore strings they commanded, they were no mere automatons.

These ghosts, born from hundreds of distinct dreams linked to the Eternal Cave, had their own joys, sorrows, and passions—no different from men.

Over decades in the mortal realm, they’d cycled through countless lives within their dream realms. Now, under Shen Tu’s ‘dream-making,’ they believed themselves ascended beyond their petty worlds, achieved the Dao, and ascended to the celestial realm.

They were the Eternal Sect’s true heirs, yet puzzled—why did the celestial realm harbor such a fearsome demon? And why had their guiding immortal been struck down so?

Wasn’t an immortal invincible?

Countless eyes, wide with bewilderment, stared toward the peak where the San Qing Hall stood.

In a muddy puddle, Shen Tu knelt, his head bowed, crimson droplets streaking down his rain-soaked, bloodied face.

Zou Siu stood at the puddle’s edge, the ceaseless rain looping around his body a foot away, as if repelled by some unseen force.

“Thought it through? Surrender your dream-master rule, and I’ll let you leave this cave. Though I’ve grown weary of slaying your nine deities.”

“Zou Ye, do you truly kill us, or merely tire of our existence?”

Shen Tu slowly lifted his head, his expression calm, neither man nor dying soul.

“You, the Eastern Palace, failed to foresee a rogue deity. But that doesn’t mean you can escape destiny. The Yellow Sand Abyss, the tide of desire—struggle as you may, you’re but a prisoner of karmic retribution, forever barred from transcendence.”

“Care you speak plainly? Even if you feign profundity at death’s door, do it with decorum!”

Zou Siu’s eyes held scorn: “Pleading on your knees, I see no threat in you.”

“You comprehend, yet it’s too late.”

Bang!

A swift leg struck Shen Tu’s skull, shattering it. The dying words and splattered blood were swept away by the howling wind and rain.

“When the Eastern Palace grants us the chance, Zou Ye, I’ve long since died countless times. Refuse? Then I’ll carry you out myself.”

Shen Tu’s corpse collapsed into the filthy stream, yet his remains dissolved into a scattering of luminous points, ascending to the heavens.

Zou Siu’s gaze darkened as he looked up.

The moment his eyes met those floating points, a torrent of scenes flooded his mind: neon-lit streets where he wandered lost, the fortune-teller’s sign casting shadows on his hollow, confused eyes; the moment he finally bartered his savings for a backdoor, his face alight with joy; the hesitant excitement before a newly opened Peace Diner; the grim alleys of Chongqing’s eighteen-tier slums, the golden towers blazing in fires, the butchery yards in the Yawu district, the funeral processions through Liaodong’s snow, the anguished cries of the Throned Court amid drowned cities.

The points of light burst into flame, their hues warping and dancing like torches in a night rain, or lanterns guiding ships through fog.

The strings that should’ve vanished with Shen Tu’s death remained, growing clearer.

The yellow-sand ghosts, shaken by Shen Bi, surged back with renewed fury, their presence more ferocious than before.

When Shen Bi’s vision was choked by their spectral haze, he glimpsed a strange sight above.

Figures emerged from the flickering flames—tall, short, stout, varied in form, all clad in ancient, tattered black robes, their crowns and sashes evoking ages past.

Zou Siu regarded them calmly. These souls, strangers or familiar, some freshly slain by his hand, each bore a voice announcing their names.

Lu Hao of the Eastern Palace, bearing the title “Demon Prince,” inscribed the dream-master rule [Forbidden Blood Cage].

Tian Qu, the “Demon Prince of Nightmares,” penned [Day and Moon Like Sawdust].

Zhao Yin, “Judge of Fate,” wrote [Silk Rope Theater].

Shen Tu, “Dragon of Flames,” inscribed [Peach Orchard Breach].

Zhai Chong, “Officer of Sorrow,” etched [Dispersed Heaven’s Path].

Yin Wen, “Mountain Demon,” carved [Ten Thousand Dreams Hear the Wind].

Of the nine deities of the Eastern Palace, only six stood before him.

The absent “Demon Lord” and “Xi Zhi” were gone, their lines unbroken, their thrones vacant.

“Unkillable? Nonsense.”

Zou Siu’s lip curled in contempt, dismissing not just Shen Tu’s words, but the Eastern Palace’s folly.

Though all nine deities shared the heavens, their ranks were divided—Zhao Yin and Shen Tu lagged behind, trailing Zhai Chong and Yin Wen, while the center stood empty.

Only countless flames converged here, a single figure materializing from the maelstrom.

“Welcome, Divine Sovereign.”

The Eastern Palace’s disciples bowed in unison, reverence in their eyes.

“Another pile of nonsense, this time with a twist. Can’t say I’m bored.”

Zou Siu clasped his hands, raising an eyebrow, muttering under his breath, yet his gaze never wavered from the figure slowly taking shape.

In a place unseen, the hand clasped upon his arm bore stark veins, gripping his limb fiercely as though to stave off the habit of bowing before others.

The firelight faded, and a youth with long hair cascading over his shoulders stepped forth.

At the same moment, the murmurs echoing in Zou Siqi's ears disclosed the stranger's identity and name.

It was the missing final sovereign among the Nine Rulers, the true master of the Eastern Emperor Palace of the Yin‑Yang Sequence!

His title, 'Divine Sovereign,' the second deriver of the Yin‑Yang Sequence, Zhan Shun.

‘Zou Siqi, do you comprehend the situation you stand in now?’

At last he faced the apex figure of the Yin‑Yang Sequence; had he not encountered Li Jun earlier, Zou Siqi might already have knelt and paid homage.

During his wandering across the empire, he had countless times in his heart mused that if ever he could meet such a being, he would spare no effort to draw near, to serve at the master’s stirrups, to toil with liver and brain, and then to live beneath a great tree, basking in wealth and splendor.

No longer would he need to cling to a wretched life, scrambling through the filthy world.

Yet when the fantasy became reality, Zou Siqi felt no stir within, even finding it oddly laughable.

‘Of course I understand; what of Fuyi, what of Zhang Chengcheng, mere deceptive veils. Your lot, these sons, lack the courage to confront Zhang Xiji, who now wears the yellow broth bride’s veil, and to wrest the half‑granted permission of the Yongle Palace should be enough to satisfy you.’

Zou Siqi brushed his temple, exhaling a puff of white mist.

‘So, your true aim this time should be the two portions of authority I hold in my hands?’

Zhan Shun nodded; his features were uncanny, shifting endlessly among genders and ages—men, women, elders, children—leaving one unable to discern which visage was his true form.

For without a face, there is no expression, only a faint smile audible in his voice.

‘Is it you who have come to understand, or has Zhang Fengyue told you?’

Zou Siqi sneered, ‘Zhang Laotou conducts himself far more sincerely than you.’

‘Thus, you willingly serve as bait for Zhang Fengyue?’

‘To devour is a short mouth, to be soft‑handed; my principle has always been to repay a drop of kindness with a spring; if others offer a smile, I will not return a cold eye.’

‘It seems your nature diverges greatly from the traditional Yin‑Yang Sequence.’

Zhan Shun mused, ‘Such a shift may stem from Li Jun’s solitary martial sequence, or from your discontent with your own hardships, reshaping your destiny.’

This mode of speech is familiar to Zou Siqi; he employed it while clandestinely peddling inferior dream realms to pass his days.

Yet it was never uttered to a living soul, but rather to dissect a fabricated dream character.

Or to analyze an unexpected yellow‑broth ghost that emerged.

‘You spoke of others offering a smile; how do they smile now?’

When Zhan Shun's words fell, save for the sovereign titled 'Mournful Official' Habi and 'Mountain Demon' Yimin, the remaining four members of the Eastern Emperor Palace simultaneously fixed their radiant smiles upon Zou Siqi.

The eerie sight made every hair on Zou Siqi's body stand on end.

Before this deity, speech and conduct were so grotesque that the unease they sowed in Zou Siqi outstripped any threat of harsh words.

‘Zou Siqi, you are a most suitable subject of study. Perhaps I might disassemble you, filling the vacant sovereign seats.’

From beneath his black robe, Zhan Shun extended two palms—one belonging to a being whose nature burns like fire, whose sense of gratitude is clear, wielding the dream‑master rules ‘Great Dream Without Borders’ and ‘Long Night Sealed Legacy’.

The other, a heart of ice, ruthless in slaughter, mastering ‘Heaven and Earth Shared Longevity’ and ‘Eternal Press upon Yellow Soil.’ Such a pairing would yield a splendid effect.

Zhan Shun's shifting features froze upon a child's smiling visage; he clasped his hands, laughed heartily, delighted by his conception.

‘Zou Siqi, what think you?’

‘Truly, a wretched, clueless monster.’

Zou Siqi could no longer suppress the murderous impulse surging within, yet in the next instant he abruptly furrowed his brow.

Until the thought of striking arose, he realized his four dream‑master rules had fallen silent.

‘The essence of dream‑master rules is the yellow‑broth’s reward and protection bestowed upon worthy descendants; since you spurn the yellow‑broth, I shall reclaim its favor from you.’

The Eastern Emperor Palace sovereign hovering in the void pierced Zou Siqi's thoughts; behind him, Shen Tu and Zhao Yin flew forth.

One reached into the void to draw a sharp sword; another twisted his wrist to seize the hanging cords in the heavens, heading straight for the 'defenseless' Zou Siqi.

‘Indeed, not all are the demon Li Jun who can cross sequences and strike.’

Zou Siqi raised a hand to rub his temples, as if the silence of the dream‑master rules affected him little, muttering with a smile, ‘Fortunately, I, Zou Siqi, never fancy fighting alone.’

‘Is that so, Sister Yuan?’

Just then.

‘Of course; who can bully a household without brothers or sisters?’

A sudden crisp voice resonated throughout the entire cavern.

No blossoms rained, nor did golden lotuses surge from the earth.

After this sound devoid of any Buddhist fragrance, the raging wind and storm ceased abruptly, and shafts of heavenly light tore through the layered clouds.

Like thin ice melting under a winter sun, the yellow‑broth ghost tide locked in fierce combat with Shen Pan melted away, dissolving into the soil.

Shen Tu and Zhao Yin, who had been charging halfway, likewise did not escape the illumination; they burned to ash, then re‑appeared behind Zhan Shun.

‘Dodge.’

Behind Zou Siqi ripples opened, and a pristine, slender hand rested upon his shoulder.

A countenance of cold beauty emerged within the ripple!

No trace of the former alluring charm, nor the compassionate benevolence of a Buddha or ancestor.

Yuan Mingfei stood before Zou Siqi, gazing indifferently at Zhan Shun in the sky.

The second of the Buddhist Sequence, the Ten Directions Bodhisattva.

The second of the Yin‑Yang Sequence, the Deriver Sovereign.

The collapsing tiny temple of the Yongle Heavenly Palace, today forcibly breached by two great deities!