Starting Cultivation During a Trip

Chapter 306: Chapter 172: Qi Delong and Dong Qiang! The Most Ruthless Under Heaven, Even Gods Don’t Dare Face Them

Mysterious and profound, the inner scenery arises; when the primordial spirit observes, the three corpses are revealed.

The heavy iron chains clanged with a deep resonance, and the mysterious words echoed in Zhang Fan’s mind, yet only he alone could hear them.

The Three Corpses Primordial Pill, a product refined through the Minor Divinity Splitting Technique, is a primordial spirit backup left behind by the Three Corpses Daoist.

The difference between it and the Great Divinity Separation Technique is that the former is merely a backup, devoid of consciousness, while the latter transforms one into three, each capable of independent cultivation, possessing absolute consciousness of their own.

These two fundamentally different divinity splitting techniques can only be cultivated one at a time.

The greatest function of the Minor Divinity Splitting Technique lies in that, should the true body perish, the Three Corpses Primordial Pill will, under certain conditions, awaken consciousness. If fortune favors and destiny allows, it may even gradually mature, transforming into a new primordial spirit.

However, this process is immensely long.

Thus, throughout ancient and modern times, any who cultivate the Minor Divinity Splitting Technique would not settle for leaving behind but a single backup.

Zhang Fan did not know how many Three Corpses Primordial Pills the Three Corpses Daoist had left behind, but the pill he had swallowed was the most important among them.

The Three Corpses Daoist battled Chu Chaoran in magical combat atop the East Peak of Mount Tai, and before dying, transformed that final Three Corpses Primordial Pill; resting within Zhang Fan’s body, at some unknown point, a nascent consciousness began to sprout.

Later, after consuming Meng Qingtong’s Three Corpses Primordial Pill, it seemed that this budding consciousness changed yet again.

Now, in this very moment, faced with the incense power condensed by the Three Corpses Daoist Monarch, the sprouting consciousness hidden in the primordial spirit’s inner scenery grew restless.

”The elixir of longevity, the treasured medicine of the immortals... I have heard it said that within the gates of the mountain, where the ancestral masters and upper gods are worshipped, incense congregates, unseen by ordinary men—yet I never thought I would see it here.” Liu Xingtui could not help but speak.

Zhenwu Mountain, counted among the ten great Taoist sacred mountains under heaven, has been a holy land for cultivation since antiquity.

Within its peaks, the Emperor Zhenwu is worshipped; believers and incense bearers are innumerable, with tens of millions of visitors every year. The incense is, of course, flourishing.

However, the incense at Zhenwu Mountain is not visible to ordinary people—even cultivators find it hard to glimpse.

Such incense conceals the thoughts of countless souls, its power vast and towering. Even the Celestial Master would not dare touch it lightly. It truly counts as spiritual nutrition for immortals, rarest treasure medicine of the royal family.

By comparison, the incense of the Three Corpses Daoist Monarch is far weaker, yet it is still fortune; that it can be glimpsed by Zhang Fan and the others is rare indeed.

”You have committed a killing tribulation. The road ahead is obscured, calamities without number. This thing will be of great use if kept.”

Within the primordial spirit’s inner scenery, that mysterious voice sounded once more.

”Good. If Heaven bestows and you do not accept, calamity befalls instead.”

Zhang Fan stared at the flame-like cloud of smoke; with a movement, he leapt onto the divine altar.

Primitive, mottled clay sculptures resembled emotionless gods and buddhas, their eyelids drooping low, as if gazing at Zhang Fan—or perhaps at the unseen masses of all living beings.

In this instant, the unremarkable clay and stone figure seemed truly to become a deity, transformed into an immortal.

”Incense...”

Zhang Fan gazed at the flame-like wisp of smoke, his eyes dim and bright by turns, as if lost in a trance. Slowly, he stretched forth his hand and reached for it.

Rumble...

As his forefinger made the slightest contact, a strange sensation swept in—like thunder rolling endlessly, like true flames raging, like winter ice chilling to the marrow, like withered wood awakening in spring... Countless sensations surged and intertwined, flooding Zhang Fan’s body in one instant.

Roar...

Just then, Zhang Fan let out a low growl. His clothing rippled violently, his hair stood on end, and all clarity vanished from his eyes.

In that moment, he beheld countless human figures before him, lantern-show-like, surging into his body: men and women, elder and child alike...

They were the multitude of living beings: some wept, some laughed, some hated, some loved, some burned with anger, some seethed with resentment... all bearing desire, all flooded with emotion—the endless masses of beings...

Every instant of their lives within the mortal red dust gave birth to countless thoughts—these thoughts, gripped by their desires, their emotions, self-kindled as fire, ascending as mist, ultimately transformed into incense offered to the gods and buddhas.

”Ah...”

Zhang Fan let out another low growl, his voice switching between agony, joy, rage, and plaintive sorrow... his entire being turned unreal, split, lost, ever on the verge of disintegration and recombination.

”What’s happening?” Liu Xingyu’s expression changed abruptly.

Staring hard at Zhang Fan, he sensed Zhang Fan’s primordial spirit flickering like a candle in the wind—its light impossibly dim, his True Yang energy reversing its flow, like raging fire, threatening at any moment to burn his body to ash.

”Fool!”

Just then, a cold and clear voice echoed in the great hall, laced three parts indifference and seven parts mockery.

Liu Xingtui turned, and saw a youth enter from outside the door. He wore a Daoist robe, straw sandals, the air of a mountain Daoist—yet, around his neck, a big gold chain that set him entirely apart.

”Who are you?” Liu Xingyu’s expression shifted, full of wariness.

”You are... Qi Delong and Qi Dongqiang of Laojun Mountain?!” Liu Xingtui’s eyes trembled, and he cried out in spite of himself.

Once, following Meng Qingtong and the Zhenwu Mountain experts, he had visited Laojun Mountain and glimpsed these two legendary prodigies of heaven.

”Disciples of Zhenwu Mountain...” The youth’s gaze swept sidelong, glanced but once, then slowly withdrew, his eyes turning to Zhang Fan atop the divine altar, who seemed now possessed.

”Brother, isn’t this just one person?” Liu Xingyu’s look was odd; he tugged at Liu Xingtui’s sleeve and whispered under his breath.

”Qi Delong and Qi Dongqiang of Laojun Mountain are twins of the same womb, but legend has it that even within their mother’s belly, one devoured and absorbed the other...” Liu Xingtui intoned gravely.

There are many tales about these twin brothers—this is one of the most widespread.