It could actually disguise itself as well.
Under the protection of the lamp spirit's invisibility art, the four men advanced rapidly.
This divine ability cut off their presence and scent entirely, so even as they brushed past approaching beast packs head-on, they drew no attention.
It spared them pointless battles. He Jing's sole objective in entering the secret realm was the Dafang Pot.
Even with their invisibility, an occasional monster cast a suspicious glance their way.
These were alpha-grade beasts endowed with keen spiritual senses. Even without seeing or smelling anything, they still sensed that something was amiss.
Fortunately, they were all charging eastward and could not be bothered to stop and investigate.
***
He Lingchuan and Qiu Hu also advanced without real mishap.
They brushed past several packs of beasts as well, but He Lingchuan had draped Lord Boshan's skin over them both beforehand. In the eyes of the monsters, they were completely invisible.
By pure coincidence, both parties had relied on invisibility arts.
Qiu Hu possessed very little curiosity, yet at this moment he could not help asking, "Is He Chunhua truly your father?"
"By blood, yes."
"..."
He Lingchuan looked back and caught a look of sympathy that Qiu Hu failed to hide in time.
The soul-snatching mirror inside his robe let out an exclamation. "How rare to see genuine feeling from you!"
This master of its was as crafty and calculating as a ghost, yet when severing ties with his father, he had been so tragic and impassioned that even the mirror felt a twinge of emotion.
He Lingchuan did not bother to explain, merely offering a faint smile.
"I knew of his deity blood sacrifice long ago. Coming back this time was specifically to resolve this hidden hazard. You need not worry."
Qiu Hu had nothing to worry about. He Lingchuan's maturity and boldness far exceeded his peers; otherwise, Qiu Hu would never have chosen him as his lord. "No, I was only afraid you would go soft."
"In your view?"
Qiu Hu shook his head. "I dare not say."
"Slick." He Lingchuan chuckled. "Then let me put it another way. If that were your father, what would you do?"
"Chop him down with one strike," Qiu Hu answered without hesitation. "If he shows no benevolence, I owe him no loyalty."
It was truly a Qiu Hu style of answer.
"You lost both parents when you were young and never lived with them, which is why you can talk so tough." Qiu Hu was unyielding by nature and had never cared about his origins, nor did He Lingchuan mind prodding his old wounds. "What if it were Old Man Bai, who raised you for so many years?"
Qiu Hu pressed his lips into a tight, straight line.
When the Mount Rong Sect found Qiu Hu as an infant, they had first placed him in Bai Family Village at the foot of the mountain to be raised. Old Man Bai and Qiu Hu had shared a bond like father and son. He Lingchuan's comparison genuinely caused him a moment of struggle.
Yet he could not refuse his young master's question. As he crept forward, Qiu Hu pondered for a moment before saying, "If Uncle Bai dared do such a thing to me, it would mean he valued his own self-interest far more than mine!"
He Lingchuan felt Qiu Hu had made a good point. Whether one sacrificed a flesh-and-blood son to a deity came down to a single choice:
Did one value the son more, or the benefits granted by the blood sacrifice?
Everything possessed a value, and in the end, every value could be compared.
This was what people called weighing costs.
"And then?"
"It is only natural." Qiu Hu did not even knit his brows. "All living beings are like this, so how could I demand an exception from him?" The primary instinct of every creature under heaven was self-interest. "However!"
His voice was low yet resolute. "No one has the right to take my life—not even Uncle Bai. Therefore, if he dared do such a thing, I would first spare his life in return for the kindness of raising me, then give him a sum of gold and silver to support his old age; finally, I would sever one of his hands as punishment, and from that moment on, all bonds and obligations between us would be severed forever!"
In this calculation, he made a clean break from three angles: the debt of upbringing, the affection of father and son, and the hatred of betrayal.
He Lingchuan smiled. "That is indeed a fine approach."
This fellow had true resolve. Affection was the most complicated matter in the world, yet so long as one was willing to swing a swift blade and strike with a ruthless hand, it could still be decisively executed.
Just as He Chunhua had personally demonstrated.
Yet what about He Lingchuan himself?
He was merely a solitary soul from another world. Between him and this convenient father, He Chunhua, there was neither a debt of upbringing nor any father-son affection.
Since there was neither debt nor affection, there was naturally even less hatred of betrayal.
He Lingchuan regarded He Chunhua only as an opponent; there was enmity, but no personal resentment.
On the contrary, having braved life and death several times in the northern demon kingdom and gained vast experience, he understood He Chunhua's actions remarkably well from an onlooker's perspective.
That man was more resolute and decisive than most people in the world.
Those who accomplish great things do not sweat the small stuff.
And what was the "small stuff"? The price one had to pay.
No matter how much He Chunhua loved this son, no matter how much guilt he carried toward He Lingchuan's original self, no matter how much he tossed and turned under the torment of his conscience at night, when the time truly came to offer the sacrifice, he would not hesitate in the slightest.
To accomplish great deeds, was it enough to be fearless of hardship and unyielding in perseverance?
Not enough. One had to be ruthless.
Ruthless to others, and even more ruthless to oneself.
Those who only sought to lie low and drift along in a deadly game like this would ultimately either become someone else's draft animals or end up as the price someone else paid. Before being crushed into mud, they would wail and cry, asking "Why?"—never realizing that their fate had long been sealed, and reaching that end was merely following a predictable script.
Qiu Hu asked him, "What do you plan to do?"
"If He Chunhua can leave the Panlong Realm alive, we will discuss it then." He Lingchuan had more important matters at hand. "To me, he is already useless."
All his previous maneuvering, hedging, and posturing with He Chunhua had been solely to make him summon Nailuotian's avatar right inside the Panlong Realm.
With his goal achieved, He Lingchuan had simply given him a scolding and walked away, not even bothering to spare him another glance. This place crawled with monsters, and He Chunhua had only Zhao Qinghe by his side; whether he survived was entirely up to fate.
If he did survive, He Lingchuan's tirade when severing ties would likely haunt him for the rest of his days.
As long as He Chunhua believed He Lingchuan was his eldest son, or even as long as He Lingchuan insisted he was the original self and had never been swapped, so-called "possession by Zhong Shengguang" could no longer serve as an excuse to summon a god; the act of "sacrificing his eldest son for his own selfish desires" would become a thorn plunged deep into He Chunhua's heart.
Capital punishment could be pardoned, but living punishment could not be escaped. If He Chunhua managed to leave the Panlong Realm alive, He Lingchuan hoped this would be the living punishment he would endure from then on—the torment his conscience would suffer in the dead of night.
Understanding He Chunhua did not mean He Lingchuan liked the man or approved of his methods.
He wanted He Chunhua to feel the profound weight of the words: "Invoking a deity comes at a price."
And that price came in every conceivable form.
The word "useless" was spoken with absolute coldness. Hearing it, Qiu Hu felt reassured instead.
The calmer the young master was, the more rational and trustworthy his decisions would be.
Slipping past two more restless groups of monsters, they saw General Red's Cenotaph straight ahead.
The surrounding buildings had been leveled over a century ago, leaving the cenotaph standing solitary in the middle of a half-acre clearing.
Yet behind the tomb...
He Lingchuan swept his gaze across it, his pupils contracting slightly, and gestured for Qiu Hu to conceal himself.
Both men possessed boundless patience. Crouching in the shadow of a ruin for dozens of breaths while watching the eerie silence ahead, Qiu Hu signaled with his hands:
*Head over?*
The legendary supreme treasure was very likely right in front of them.
He Lingchuan waved his hand gently and pointed toward the diagonal rear of the tomb.
What was over there? Qiu Hu strained his vision by the lightning flashing across the sky, yet saw nothing.
Only a stretch of dilapidated ruins.
Yet he trusted He Lingchuan's judgment and remained crouched and motionless.
Beneath Lord Boshan's skin, He Lingchuan's eyes held a pensive gleam as he signaled back:
*Danger.*
Qiu Hu's expression shifted slightly. As a gust of wind blew from ahead, he suddenly raised his nose and gave two light sniffs.
A faint metallic scent of blood drifted in the wind.
Creeping slightly forward to peer out, he spotted a small dark stain on the sand beside the tomb, barely noticeable in the dark.
Blood?
Which unlucky souls had died here earlier? Only a single step away from General Red's Cenotaph!
This also confirmed He Lingchuan's warning—lethal danger truly lurked within this clearing.
Still, how long would they have to wait?
If He Lingchuan was not anxious, neither was he. Back when he hunted demon beasts in the mountains, he could go two days and two nights without eating, sleeping, or moving.
Both men regulated their breathing and slowed their heartbeats to avoid detection by external senses.
A few more bolts of lightning slashed across the sky, dyeing the Panlong Realm blood-red.
Hmm? Blood-red?
He Lingchuan looked up at the sky and discovered to his astonishment that lightning and thunder were rolling across the canopy of the world once more. The colossal red silhouette still darted through the clouds, yet its pace was slower than before, its twists and turns seemingly strained.
What was slowing its movements? Could it be Nailuotian's avatar?
Yet he saw no sign of Nailuotian's avatar. Instead, red light flickered within the cloud bank. Though faint, it did not escape his eyes.
That red light seemed to cling beside the colossal red silhouette, refusing to fade for a long time.
What had happened? An ominous premonition stirred in He Lingchuan.
Earlier, when Nailuotian's avatar appeared beneath the dome, it had indeed charged straight into the trap He Lingchuan laid. Yet before the colossal red silhouette could display its prowess, the avatar had suddenly vanished.
Where on earth had that thing gone?
As an outside deity, could it actually find a place to hide within the world of the Dafang Pot?
This was not in He Lingchuan's plan.
Without witnessing its final demise, he could not feel at ease.
Where exactly had something gone wrong?
Furthermore, the colossal red silhouette had been roaming the canopy for a long time, still visible to everyone in the Panlong Realm. That meant this flaw had not been corrected in time.
This indicated that the Dafang Pot was extremely busy.
It had to maintain this Panlong Realm, link with the Dafang Pot lid, deal with the adventuring parties and Que beasts rampaging across the ground, and search for the missing Nailuotian.
Not to mention, it had another vast and intricate Panlong World to sustain.
Perhaps there were other troubles unknown to He Lingchuan that it also had to handle promptly.
Yet how could he intervene in what transpired above the dome? At most, he could only squat here and stew in anxiety.
Forget it. He and the Dafang Pot each had their own hurdles to overcome. It was better to play out the game down below first.
He Lingchuan circulated his vital energy to adjust his breathing, forcing his mind into calm.
This time, as he sank his awareness into internal inspection, he immediately felt a difference.
He felt the emotions of his original self one last time: resentment, vindication, lingering attachment, and sorrow.
These gradually transformed into release and peace.
After all, everything He Lingchuan had promised had been accomplished. He had not only confronted He Chunhua face-to-face, but had also thoroughly cursed him out, venting the last dregs of resentment and unwillingness.
He Lingchuan had also fulfilled its request by sparing He Chunhua's life, preserving the final thread of father-son affection.
Chapter 837