Chapter Sixty-Five: The Collapse of Buzhou Mountain

Shebi Corpse was the Ancestral Wu of Weather. He governed the weather between heaven and earth, whether it was radiant sunshine or shrouded clouds—he could summon them all at will. Shebi Corpse gazed at Tian Wu, who lay on the ground beside him, and sighed inwardly. Then he channeled his innate turbid energy into Tian Wu.

A vicious gleam flashed in Tian Wu’s eyes as he greedily absorbed the energy transmitted by Shebi Corpse, casting a mocking, almost taunting look toward the black and white sun crows in the sky.

The two golden crows above were both deeply troubled. Victory had been within their grasp, yet the tides had abruptly turned. First, Xuan Ming, the Ancestral Wu, had wounded them grievously through self-detonation. Then Shebi Corpse had arrived on the scene.

Not only had Shebi Corpse yet to expend his magical power, but now, before them, stood two Ancestral Wus burning with rage. Clearly, another fierce battle was imminent.

At that moment, the black sun crow suddenly recalled Taiyi’s two incarnations of Good and Evil. With a resonant cry that echoed across heaven and earth, it signaled to the distant incarnations.

Taiyi’s Good and Evil incarnations, who had been toying with Jumang and Roushou, the two Ancestral Wus, were forced to divert their attention. Jumang could only defend desperately, maneuvering two green dragons at his feet to shield against the Good Incarnation’s attacks. Roushou wielded an axe in one hand and a shield in the other, fending off the Evil Incarnation’s assault. Both were tormented by the flames of the golden crows—Jumang, lacking a suitable weapon, could only hold out defensively, while Roushou alternated between defense and striking back with blasts of innate turbid energy from his axe.

Just then, Taiyi’s Good and Evil Incarnations suddenly turned eastward, ignoring Jumang and Roushou completely.

The two Ancestral Wus realized that their sister had returned to their father’s embrace. As they exhaled a breath of pent-up grief, they saw the golden crows distracted and seized the moment—flying at Taiyi’s Incarnations and striking their abdomens with a mighty blow.

With two thunderous crashes, Taiyi’s Good and Evil Incarnations plummeted from the sky, smashing into the earth and leaving massive craters.

Without another glance at Jumang and Roushou, the two Incarnations swiftly performed an incantation and soared eastward.

Even a fool could see that some great upheaval had occurred in the east. Jumang and Roushou chased after them relentlessly.

Ahead, Taiyi’s Good and Evil Incarnations suddenly transformed into the avatars of the golden crows. But that was not all—above, four golden crows of different hues now soared in the sky. On the ground, their brothers Shebi Corpse and Tian Wu were grimly holding out within a great formation.

Seeing the gravity of the situation, Jumang and Roushou rushed toward the golden crows in the heavens, hoping to break their formation. Yet the golden crow formation was formidable beyond compare; before they could even draw near, the scorching flames radiated by the crows knocked them back to the earth.

Jumang then used his spiritual sense to transmit a message to Roushou, Shebi Corpse, and Tian Wu: “Xuan Ming, our dear sister, has already left us. If we continue to waste away against these birds in the sky, what face will we have to see our father and sister again after death?!”

At that, the four Ancestral Wus simultaneously revealed their avatars and charged at the four golden crows maintaining the formation above.

This great formation, established by the four golden crows, possessed terrifying might. The closer one drew to them, the more overwhelming the light and heat became.

Now, the four Ancestral Wus were less than a hundred meters from the golden crows, pressing forward with all their remaining will. The crows, too, persisted, unleashing torrents of pure primordial fire.

By now, the bodies of the Ancestral Wus had been utterly incinerated, leaving only the innate turbid energy they had absorbed, floating in the air.

The golden crows grew anxious; if the Ancestral Wus got close enough to self-destruct, they would be forced to join their so-called “Father Pangu.” Desperately, the crows unleashed even more furious flames upon the turbid energy, but it was not enough to halt the Ancestral Wus’ advance.

A series of deafening explosions reverberated in all directions. The four golden crows were engulfed by the violent detonations before they could even cry out.

Di Jiang and Zhuo Jiuyin shouted, “Brothers, may you journey well!” and launched an even fiercer assault.

Within the formation, Emperor Jun had just swallowed his final medicinal pill. He also understood the situation outside. The Good and Evil Incarnations were, in essence, his avatars, yet they also existed independently. Now, with their destruction, the information of the external battle flowed into his mind.

Emperor Jun muttered, “Five Ancestral Wus have perished—so this is the price the Wu tribe must pay! But I will drag Di Jiang and Zhuo Jiuyin with me to meet their 'Father Pangu' as well!”

At last, Emperor Jun revealed his true form, activating the Hetu Luoshu as he hurtled toward the battling Di Jiang and Zhuo Jiuyin. The two never expected Emperor Jun to risk his life so recklessly.

With a final, earth-shaking explosion, the illustrious demon emperor and the two great Ancestral Wus, Di Jiang and Zhuo Jiuyin, vanished into the river of history.

The Hetu Luoshu in Emperor Jun’s hand was flung far away by the shockwave. A single claw snatched the battered Hetu Luoshu.

A rebuke rang out from behind: “Kunpeng, my friend, do not flee! Stay where you are.”

It was none other than the Old Ancestor Kunpeng who had seized the Hetu Luoshu.

Kunpeng had played his cards shrewdly. Since his Evil Incarnation had been “used up,” he had contributed little to the battle, but managed to seize the Hetu Luoshu—a flawless plan, indeed.

Hearing Houtu’s pursuit, Kunpeng turned and called out, “Houtu, my friend, better take a look at your brothers’ fate!” With those words, he vanished on the spot.

Houtu was startled, realizing at last she had fallen for Kunpeng’s cunning scheme. Kunpeng had deliberately led her on a wild chase, flying erratically across the land and hurling taunts, luring her away from Buzhou Mountain and toward the southern sea.

Had she not relied on her own powers, she might never have learned the truth. Chastising herself for her naivety, Houtu hurriedly invoked a secret art to speed back to Buzhou Mountain.

Meanwhile, Taiyi was struggling to withstand the relentless assault of Qiangliang and Yuezhi.

Qiangliang wielded a small drum, shaking it gently—each beat momentarily stalled Taiyi’s movements. Yuezhi, hammer in hand, charged at Taiyi, bolts of lightning flashing from the hammer’s head.

Taiyi was deeply frustrated; the full power of his Chaos Bell was completely suppressed. Whenever he tried to activate it, Qiangliang and Yuezhi’s coordinated attacks forced him to cower behind the bell, fending off their onslaught.

At that very moment, Taiyi witnessed a sight he would never forget—his elder brother and the Ancestral Wus Di Jiang and Zhuo Jiuyin perished together in mutual destruction. Rage surged through him, just as Qiangliang and Yuezhi paused, their attention drawn to the aftermath of Emperor Jun’s self-detonation.

In that fleeting instant of distraction, countless opportunities for attack were missed. At the realm of Da Luo Golden Immortal, even a moment’s lapse was a precious opportunity in battle.

Taiyi, seasoned by countless life-and-death struggles, would never let such a chance slip by. Chaos Bell above his head, he charged at Qiangliang and Yuezhi.

Alas, the once-mighty Eastern Emperor Taiyi fell from the heavens like a shooting star. The two Ancestral Wus also could not escape the tragic fate of death and dissolution.

Gonggong, driven mad by grief, ferociously assailed the remaining demon saints. Of the nine great saints, Fei Lian had already lost his primordial spirit during the tribulation of the human race and had not recovered by the time the Wu-Demon war erupted, so he did not participate in the battle.

The remaining saints formed a Nine-Palace Grand Array, desperately resisting Gonggong’s wrath.

Zhurong, meanwhile, faced Fuxi the Great Sage alone. Fuxi was truly formidable, wielding a six-stringed zither of immense power. The first string summoned shifting winds and clouds; the second, thunder and lightning. When three strings sounded together, the Nine Heavens’ Death Wind descended to annihilate the world; the fourth string called down heavenly thunder to smite all; the fifth drew forth pure and turbid energies; and the sixth could destroy the primordial world itself. Such was Fuxi’s terror.

Zhurong wielded his banner, countering each technique conjured by Fuxi’s zither. Both combatants keenly sensed the precarious balance of the battlefield. Now, only Zhurong, Gonggong, and Houtu remained among the Ancestral Wus. With Houtu lured away, Zhurong and Gonggong were all that stood against the demon saints—the outcome of their duels would decide the fate of this war.

Fuxi seemed to make a resolute decision and plucked three strings at once, summoning the Nine Heavens’ Death Wind. This wind, the bane of fire, scattered Zhurong’s flames in all directions.

Zhurong knew his critical role; if he could not withstand even this three-string assault, how could he endure the zither’s greater powers? He could not allow Fuxi to unleash his full might.

As Fuxi prepared to sound the fourth string and call down heavenly thunder, he saw Zhurong, heedless of the death wind battering him, hurling himself forward. Fuxi realized then that Zhurong was ready to stake everything.

Before Fuxi could strike another note, Zhurong self-detonated.

Alas, the illustrious Fire God was thus reduced to ashes—a tragedy, a lament. Even Fuxi the Great Sage, with his peerless treasures, could not escape the fate decreed by heaven and vanished into dust.

Gonggong, witnessing Zhurong’s self-destruction, was blasted far into the distance by the furious shockwave before he could react.

He sped to the site of Zhurong’s final battle and, standing in the vast crater, recalled the joyful times shared with his brothers. Suddenly, Gonggong burst into wild laughter. “Everything is just an illusion—everything, a fantasy!”

Indeed, such victory was hollow. What use is power gained at the cost of one’s kin? With no family left in this world, what meaning did conquest hold?

Gonggong’s gaze turned to Buzhou Mountain, to the Zixiao Palace atop it. His heart steeled itself. “If this is the way of Heaven, let me be merciless in return!”

And with that, he flew toward Buzhou Mountain and crashed headlong into its central peak.

Just then, a desperate cry rang out: “Brother, don’t!”