The whites gleamed like ice, the pupils black as abyss. The contrast was sharp enough to pierce illusions. It was not the gaze of a man.
It was the gaze of a calamity given form.
At this moment, heaven and earth did not punish nor favor him.
They were impartial, offering the profound truths of the Great Dao not out of kindness, but inevitability.
And Fang Yuan — as always — took full advantage.
As the three qi circulated, he did not merely endure.
He refined, absorbed, and ascended.
His refinement path attainment surged first, instantly recovering his supreme grandmaster realm. But he did not stop there.
Dream path. Soul path. Strength path. Wisdom path. Even elusive time and space paths — all began to resonate, rising layer upon layer.
His attainments clawed their way back to their peak — and beyond.
Where others would be overwhelmed by enlightenment, Fang Yuan dissected it with cold logic.
While others would kneel in awe before the Great Dao, he stood tall, tearing secrets from it as though prying gold from stone.
Ordinary Gu Masters struggled to balance even a thread of qi. Most perished at this stage — their bodies exploding, their souls scattering like dust.
But Fang Yuan… Fang Yuan was multitasking.
He simultaneously maintained the delicate balance of the three qi, advanced across multiple Dao paths, refined his soul, reconstructed his flesh, and deepened his comprehension — all while staying acutely aware of the external world.
This process, for most, would last moments.
But Fang Yuan had deflected tribulation itself.
He had employed luck path methods to steal.
He had forcibly drawn heaven qi, earth qi, and human qi in unnatural volumes — exploiting the system, robbing what should have taken ages.
But for every gain, there was cost.
Each stolen wisp of qi was a violation against the heavens.
And now, the heavens responded.
The True Yang Building trembled.
The void outside his blessed land darkened. Within and without, calamity brewed.
Tribulations began to manifest — not simple disasters, but transcendent, world-shaking calamities that rivaled the ones faced by Spectral Soul Demon Venerable during the refinement of the Immortal Sovereign Fetus Gu.
Where others would panic, Fang Yuan remained calm.
The ascension was not yet over.
The tribulation had not yet descended.
But he was already preparing — to conquer it, devour it, and use it.
After all, to become immortal was not to walk the heavens' path.
It was to trample it.
...
"Incredible... simply incredible…" Fang Yuan murmured, his eyes shut, his voice faint, as if speaking from within a dream.
But this was no dream — it was immortal reality unfolding within his mind.
Endless torrents of Dao truths surged into him like molten gold flowing into a flawless mold.
Each stream of understanding merged seamlessly into his consciousness, illuminating the vast, endless network of his thoughts. It was not enlightenment — it was invasion.
The Great Dao itself was pouring into him.
Ordinary Gu Masters relied on Gu — nurturing them, refining them, using them — and from Gu, they inferred the workings of heaven and earth.
Their understanding was always indirect, veiled through countless layers of abstraction.
But this… this was no longer inference. No longer speculation.
This was direct communion.
He was speaking to the heavens — and the heavens were answering.
It was a privilege no mortal could demand.
A fleeting, singular moment granted only once in a cultivator's life — and even then, it typically lasted mere minutes.
Yet for Fang Yuan, it had been over two hours.
Two hours of swimming in the ocean of truth.
Two hours of facing the raw essence of creation.
Two hours of dissecting heaven itself.
Others would have collapsed under the weight of such profundity.
Their minds would shatter, their souls implode. But Fang Yuan… he absorbed everything.
No hesitation. No fear. No reverence.
The mysteries of heaven and earth were endless — deeper than the abyss, vaster than the stars.
And Fang Yuan?
He plunged into them without hesitation.
He went beyond the limits of his past life, stepping into every path — not just walking them, but excavating their cores.
Refinement, dream, soul, strength, wisdom, time — none escaped his grasp.
With each passing moment, his understanding deepened, not just in technique, but in truth.
This was not enlightenment. This was domination through comprehension.
He was no longer simply learning from the heavens.
He was claiming ownership of their secrets.
...
Outside the True Yang Building…
Heaven and earth had descended into madness.
Tribulation fire surged like infernal waves, sweeping across the land. From the skies, violet-gold lightning poured down in relentless volleys — not as punishment, but as execution. Each bolt struck with surgical precision, annihilating all without distinction — mortal, Gu Master, or even Gu Immortal.
There was no mercy. There was no meaning.
Only destruction.
To stand still was death. To flee was desperation. To resist was futility.
And yet, amidst this endless storm of calamity, there was one place where silence reigned — the True Yang Building.
Northern Plains Gu Immortals, half-mad from the pressure of survival, caught glimpses of it through the smoke and fire. A calm amidst chaos. Not a single flame touched its walls, not a single bolt fell upon its peak.
They whispered in awe, attributing it to Giant Sun Immortal Venerable — as if that ancient shadow still lingered, still protected. Greed surged in their hearts. They wished to enter.
But they could not.
No one could.
It was sealed, locked in a strange stillness — like a coffin for something greater than death.
Across the five regions, the heavens showed no favoritism.
In Western Desert, the sand itself rose in fury. Beasts surged in endless waves — desolate, ferocious, unrelenting. For every beast slain, two more emerged. For every pair killed, four more trampled forward. The battlefield became a grinder of flesh and hope. Gu Immortals abandoned pride. No one dared to fight. They ran, scrambling like ants as the desert reclaimed its dominion.
In Southern Border, lightning rained like judgment.
Mountains shattered. Rivers boiled. Entire clans — both immortal and mortal — were erased from existence. Heritage, history, names — all turned to ash in the blink of an eye.
In Eastern Sea, the vast waters became a grave. The air was thick with electricity; each wave carried death. Seawater turned to steam, then to red mist. Countless Gu Masters were boiled alive, their screams lost beneath the thunder.
But amidst this carnage, one region remained curiously… quiet.