Chapter Sixty: The Ghost King of Mount Mang

At that moment, another upheaval erupted in the air. The giant floated high above, laughing heartily, his voice booming, “Hahaha, it’s been ages since I’ve moved like this! Boy, your skills are impressive—worthy of me going all out. Come then, let me show you my true strength!”

Leng Bingyan’s heart leapt in alarm as he listened. Had the giant been holding back earlier? The very thought unsettled him; even with some restraint, the giant had still suppressed Leng Bingyan at full force. If he were to unleash his true power, what would that be like?

Up in the sky, the giant exulted, opening his mouth wide and spewing forth countless streams of air, all suffused with a bleak, ancient energy. As Leng Bingyan watched, he felt the air around him grow thick and heavy, his very breathing becoming restricted. With a mighty roar, the giant’s body began to swell, growing taller and taller—twenty feet, forty, eighty, a hundred and sixty... expanding ever larger, as if there were no end to it. Simultaneously, the pressure on Leng Bingyan grew exponentially with each passing moment.

At last, the giant halted his relentless expansion, now towering as large as a mountain.

“Careful, Bingyan!” Zi Ling called out in concern. “He’s a ghostly being—he can freely alter his size. It seems this is his true form; before this, he was suppressing his strength.”

“Boy, prepare to receive my full-force blow!” the giant declared. With that, his mountain-sized fist came crashing down, swift and agile despite its size, and, if anything, even more powerful for it.

Shocked by the suddenness of the strike, Leng Bingyan watched the enormous fist hurtle closer, growing ever larger, the wind from its passage lashing his face until it stung.

It was like the weight of Mount Tai descending from above—truly formidable. This blow contained the entirety of the giant’s power. Though it was a simple punch, the simplicity only amplified its destructive force severalfold, even tenfold.

Leng Bingyan raised his violet sword, determined to fight with all he had. His aura surged forth, though he had not yet assumed his plumed form. However, the crescent star disc emerged first to shield its master. The crescent star disc had formidable offensive capabilities, but its true nature was protective—it was essentially a defensive artifact. Sometimes Leng Bingyan wondered, since the disc had two sides and he possessed only the defensive one, might the other be an offensive type?

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The thunderous clash echoed unceasingly, as three colors melded in the air in a spectacular display. The blue-gray light radiated from the giant’s energy, the dazzling violet came from the sword, and the blazing white starlight was the power of the crescent star disc.

The violet sword drew upon raw power; its nature was neither good nor evil—it became what its wielder made of it. The crescent star disc, however, radiated a sacred brilliance, embodying the purest righteous energy of heaven and earth. Naturally, not just anyone could wield it.

“Well done!” As the dust settled, the giant had returned to his original size. He shouted in exhilaration, “It’s been so long since I’ve felt so alive! I owe it all to you, boy.”

Leng Bingyan’s face was pale, a trace of blood at the corner of his lips—he was clearly injured. Yet this battle had greatly solidified his mastery of energy, and he managed a wry smile. “Then, senior, might you—” He left the rest unsaid, but his meaning was clear: he wanted the second Divine Dragon Cauldron.

“We’ve talked so long, fought so long, and you’ve yet to say who you are. How can I hand over the cauldron to someone who doesn’t even give his name?” The giant’s tone was half-joking, half-serious.

Leng Bingyan started in realization. He’d never introduced himself! He hurriedly said, “My name is Leng Bingyan.”

“Leng Bingyan?” The giant mouthed the name a few times, then looked puzzled. Leng Bingyan? He had never heard of him! With power this great, how could an Immortal Emperor be so unknown?

Seeing the giant’s confusion, Leng Bingyan quickly offered an explanation. “I have been cultivating in the Valley of the Ends and have only recently emerged. That’s likely why you haven’t heard of me.”

“Oh, I see.” The giant nodded, apparently understanding. But then a thought struck him, and he exclaimed, “What? You’re from the Valley of the Ends?”

“Yes, the Valley of the Ends. Is there a problem?” Leng Bingyan was bewildered by the giant’s strong reaction, unable to fathom the reason.

“Then do you know the Ancestor?” the giant asked excitedly.

The Ancestor? Could he mean Grandpa Mo? Leng Bingyan’s mind raced. It seemed increasingly likely—did this giant know Grandpa Mo? Judging by his expression, he even seemed to hold Grandpa Mo in high regard. Maybe this connection would help him acquire the Divine Dragon Cauldron. With this in mind, he asked, “Are you referring to the Ancestor of Ten Thousand Demons, Grandpa Mo?”

“Exactly—the Ancestor of Ten Thousand Demons! Wait, you call him Grandpa Mo? You are—?” The mention of the Ancestor’s name electrified the giant. Noticing Leng Bingyan’s informal address, he pressed for clarification.

Leng Bingyan did not answer directly. Instead, he produced the Order of the Nine Nether Death God from his robes. The token floated into the air, radiating faint golden light, drawing all the desolate energies in the vicinity toward it. The very atmosphere trembled, as if the seas and mountains themselves were upheaving, waves of violent force surging layer upon layer.

It was a scene of apocalyptic power. Leng Bingyan stared in awe, scarcely able to believe the Order of the Nine Nether Death God possessed such might. In truth, he didn’t fully understand it. As the token of the Ancestor of Ten Thousand Demons, commanding the allegiance of all demonic creatures, how could it be a mere ornament? Every trace of deathly energy in this world belonged to it, and here in the giant’s realm, desolate spirit energy was especially abundant—hence the overwhelming reaction.

While Leng Bingyan was astonished, the giant was utterly submissive, his eyes filled with reverence as he gazed at the Order now enveloped in swirls of deathly energy.

After a long while, the token finally floated back into Leng Bingyan’s hand. The look in the giant’s eyes had changed—now it was a mixture of awe and deep respect, even a trace of fondness.

In Leng Bingyan’s astonished gaze, the giant suddenly dropped to one knee and intoned respectfully, “Mang Mountain Ghost King of the Spirit Ghost Realm, under the jurisdiction of the Nine Nether Demon God World, greets the Emissary.”

Leng Bingyan was utterly stunned. A moment ago, this being had been shrouded in mystery, yet here he was, kneeling before him—and more importantly, this giant was far stronger than Leng Bingyan himself, and certainly much older. Such a transformation, all at the power of the Order. So this was its true might? The Mang Mountain Ghost King belonged to the Spirit Ghost Realm, the only subordinate realm of the Nine Nether Demon God World, responsible for overseeing mortal life and death.

It seemed the Ghost King’s reaction was entirely due to the Order of the Nine Nether Death God.

In truth, the Mang Mountain Ghost King, though called a king, was far beyond the realm of ordinary ghost kings—his true cultivation was at the late stage of Ghost Emperor, on the verge of transcending the tribulation and ascending to the Nine Nether Demon God World, easily surpassing Leng Bingyan’s early Immortal Emperor level.

(Spirit Ghost Realm hierarchy: Earth Soul, Heaven Soul, Ghost General, Ghost King, Ghost Marquis, Ghost Emperor)

The Mang Mountain Ghost King was one of the rare elite cultivators of the Spirit Ghost Realm, though he was a wandering rogue, preferring a carefree existence and never involving himself in affairs of state. That was why he’d come to the Origin Star, seeking a parallel world to settle down.

As one of the top cultivators beneath the God and Demon God Realms, the Ghost King’s act of kneeling left Leng Bingyan at a loss for words for quite some time. At last, he said, “Please, senior, rise—I am not truly an Emissary, I merely—” In truth, he didn’t know how to explain.

“No, one who holds the Order of the Nine Nether Death God is the Emissary—there’s no mistaking it! Especially as you are closely connected to the Ancestor of Ten Thousand Demons. Either reason alone would entitle you to the title,” the Mang Mountain Ghost King insisted. No matter how Leng Bingyan tried to dissuade him, he was immovable. Left with no choice, Leng Bingyan had to accept the role, however reluctantly.

“All right, I’ll be the Emissary then, if that’s what you wish,” he said, exasperated.

At this, the Ghost King’s face broke into a broad smile. Rising to his feet, he presented the second Divine Dragon Cauldron to Leng Bingyan. “If the Emissary needs it, then take it. Besides, the Ancestor instructed me to assist you—I have no reason to stand in your way.”

Clutching the cauldron he had searched so long for, Leng Bingyan was awash in mixed feelings. The Order of the Nine Nether Death God was almost too effective—what had seemed a daunting challenge was resolved in an instant simply by displaying it. How wonderful!

Having obtained the second cauldron, Leng Bingyan could not refuse the Ghost King’s warm invitation and accompanied him to his dwelling. As befitted a late-stage Ghost Emperor, one of the supreme cultivators across the immortal, demon, spirit, and Buddhist realms, the Ghost King’s tastes were truly refined.

His abode was lavish and imposing, exuding the grandeur of an ancient noble house. Even more surprising was the presence of advanced technology—lighting systems, automated surveillance, television sets, video recorders. Leng Bingyan was dumbfounded. Was this the lifestyle of a reclusive ancient cultivator? He looked more like a modern executive who knew how to enjoy life!

Seeing Leng Bingyan’s confusion, the Ghost King laughed and set about answering his questions with easy candor. “Times are changing. We cultivators can’t afford to be left behind. Have you noticed that in the last ten thousand years, few cultivators have ascended to the God or Demon God Realms? Hardly anyone has even survived the heavenly tribulation. Do you know why?”

The Ghost King’s expression turned serious. “It’s because they can’t keep up with the times!”

Uh... Leng Bingyan swallowed hard.

“Look at all this technology—how marvelous! When you’re weary from cultivation, you can watch television to relax, or listen to entertainment programs on the radio. It’s so much better than those monks who just sit in endless meditation. And over here—the washing machine! No more hand-washing clothes. Isn’t that wonderful?”

The Ghost King was thoroughly pleased with himself, while Leng Bingyan was left at a loss. Washing clothes? Did a Ghost Emperor even need to wash? Weren’t those garments manifestations of energy, impervious to filth?

Noticing his thoughts, the Ghost King scoffed. “Energy-formed robes? Tacky! Utterly old-fashioned! Only those with no sense of style wear such things. True taste lies in real materials. Those who spend their lives in energy-crafted clothes will never progress in cultivation—they lack the worldly experience and appreciation for enjoyment!”

Leng Bingyan gulped down his words.

He pointed at a steaming bowl of instant noodles on the table, puzzled. “What’s this?” The packaging was a glaring red, emblazoned with large, eye-catching letters: “Master Kong.”

“Oh, that!” The Ghost King grinned. “Instant noodles—very convenient! That’s my lunch today. Would you like a bowl? They’re quite tasty.”

Leng Bingyan had no idea how he left the place, still haunted by the image of the Ghost King’s modern, stylish lifestyle. “Zi Ling, that Mang Mountain Ghost King is truly an interesting fellow.”

“Yes, indeed,” Zi Ling agreed, teasing, “You couldn’t resist his hospitality and ended up eating a bowl of ‘Master Kong,’ didn’t you?”

“Don’t make fun of me!” Leng Bingyan shouted in embarrassment.

“All right, I won’t tease you. Let’s see where the next Divine Dragon Cauldron lies,” Zi Ling said, steering them back to the matter at hand.

Leng Bingyan composed himself, taking out the second Divine Dragon Cauldron—Yazi’s Cauldron—he’d received from the Ghost King, and began probing it with his divine sense. As his Immortal Emperor-level spiritual power swept outward, covering hundreds, then thousands of miles, the search area expanded, but still the third cauldron eluded him.

He frowned, and his form began to shift—long hair, slender hands, a willowy waist, and that sacred white gown of celestial silk—he changed into his plumed form to unleash even greater power.

Now, her divine sense swept across an even broader expanse. The entire earth was within her grasp.

“Europe!” Her eyes snapped open, a brilliant light flashing in their moist, shining depths.