The Sacred Leaves Family's Wishes for Peace

Inside the crimson pearl—no larger than a fist—besides the essence of over a hundred Saint Kings' lifeforce, there was something else.

Upon closer inspection, Fang Ting discovered a faint, sleeping divine soul lingering within.

When his divine sense made contact, a deep, wrathful voice erupted:

"Who dares disturb this sovereign?!"

The voice exploded in Fang Ting's mind like thunder. At the same time, a trace of Emperor's Might surged forth from within the orb.

That pressure felt like endless mountains collapsing onto his body. Fang Ting nearly lost consciousness on the spot.

Fortunately, the divine soul inside was far too weak. The impact, though terrifying, wasn't enough to overwhelm him.

Fang Ting steadied himself and asked coldly:

"Who are you?"

"You've stepped into this sovereign's territory and dare ask my name?" the voice replied with displeasure.

Though he'd already guessed, Fang Ting still felt a chill when the truth hit him:

Wan Shan Di isn't dead!

It wasn't entirely impossible. Emperor Realm beings had extremely long lifespans, and for someone like Wan Shan Di—who had reached the Great Emperor Realm—surviving for over a hundred thousand years wasn't out of the question. If uninjured, one could easily live from the ancient era into the present.

But the news of Wan Shan Di's death in a cataclysmic battle had long been common knowledge.

Before Fang Ting could process the shock, the voice asked:

"How long has it been since the Ancient Era?"

"One hundred sixty thousand years," Fang Ting replied.

Wan Shan Di fell silent for a moment.

Then he said:

"You possess the Flawless Sacred Body —an extraordinary natural gift. I'll give you a chance: become this sovereign's disciple."

"I don't need a master," Fang Ting replied flatly.

"You—!"

Wan Shan Di hadn't expected Fang Ting to refuse, let alone so bluntly.

"Do you even know who I am? I am Wan Shan Di, an Emperor from the Ancient Era! I ruled over one continent and commanded six more! Under me were thirteen Quasi-Emperors! And you—a mere Saint King—dare refuse me?!"

His voice thundered like rivers bursting their banks, pounding in Fang Ting's head.

But Fang Ting merely smirked.

"Your rage and urgency make it obvious—you're not mad that I rejected you. You're just afraid that without me, your plans will fall apart."

Wan Shan Di went quiet again.

Fang Ting didn't know everything, but he had guessed the essentials:

Wan Shan Di hadn't died. He had likely used a forbidden technique to preserve a sliver of his divine soul.

Then, in his personal small world, he set up a trap—leaking word of his inheritance to lure Saint-level cultivators in.

Anyone who climbed the mountain would fall prey to a deadly, undetectable poison. After death, their essence would be drawn into the crimson orb, which in turn nourished Wan Shan Di's divine soul.

Though the power of Saint Kings was insignificant compared to an Emperor, quantity made up for quality. With time, Wan Shan Di could fully restore his soul, rebuild a body, and be reborn. Perhaps even go further—toward the Heaven Emperor Realm.

But he hadn't anticipated encountering someone like Fang Ting—someone with the Flawless Sacred Body, who was immune to all poisons, both physical and spiritual.

Worse yet, Fang Ting had discovered his secret.

Wan Shan Di spoke again:

"How about we make a deal?"

"Not interested," Fang Ting replied casually.

He didn't need to hear the offer. It would boil down to: help me recover, and I'll give you something in return.

But if Fang Ting couldn't surpass Wan Shan Di before his revival, then the Emperor would certainly eliminate him as a threat. It was too common a tale.

His indifference only further enraged Wan Shan Di.

"I can give you everything in this world! Isn't that enough?!"

Never had Wan Shan Di imagined that, as a great Emperor of the ancient age, he would have to beg a mere Saint King—let alone be refused so casually.

"Why would I strike a deal?" Fang Ting said. "I could just erase your divine soul, read your memories, and take everything anyway."

"You dare?! Would you really risk perishing alongside this sovereign?!" Wan Shan Di's tone turned cold, killing intent radiating.

Fang Ting remained calm.

"Are you really in a position to threaten me?"

"Try me."

Fang Ting wasn't attacking yet for one reason: caution. He feared Wan Shan Di might have some final trump card, so he was prodding to learn more.

Wan Shan Di, on the other hand, saw through the game and gave nothing away—leaving Fang Ting unable to judge whether he was bluffing.

A long silence fell between them.

Then, Fang Ting said suddenly:

"What if I set up a formation and hid this entire mountain from the world? What then?"

"You—!!"

Wan Shan Di nearly exploded with fury.

To heal his divine soul, he needed more victims—Saint Kings to fall prey to the poison and feed the crimson orb. If the mountain was hidden, no one would find it. And if no one found it, he would never recover.

More importantly, Fang Ting would gain nothing by doing this. It would be pure spite.

"You madman!" Wan Shan Di fumed. "You'd go so far just to ruin me?!"

Time passed.

Eventually, Wan Shan Di relented, his voice heavy with sorrow and resignation:

"I will give you the location of my Emperor Weapon and Emperor Technique. Everything here will be yours. I will also swear a Great Dao Oath that I will never harm you. Just… leave, and tell no one about this place."

"If you still refuse, I will use my final card and die with you."

This was the deepest concession he could offer.

Emperor Techniques could be found in legacies—but Emperor Weapons were different. They were the core of an Emperor's power, a priceless treasure among treasures.

That Wan Shan Di was willing to give his Emperor Weapon to Fang Ting spoke volumes of how desperate he had become.