Chapter Seventy-Three: The Gate of Realms

I have always been shameless; just look at my face. Dao Sansheng pinched his own cheek and pulled it up. Chao Xiong let go and walked away. I accepted my bad luck.

On the easternmost sea of the Fengxing Continent, an old man accompanied a young girl dressed in white, while a young man followed beside them, scanning the surroundings. The sea beneath their feet surged, and fish of all sizes were tossed up onto the surface, struggling desperately, their bodies shimmering with spiritual energy—these were low-ranked spirit beasts. The two men looked down impassively, but on the cold face of the young girl, a trace of compassion emerged. Helpless to intervene, she remembered herself years ago, powerless and resigned to fate.

"Let them go," the girl suddenly said. Her words caught the men off guard.

"Do you know why I brought you out here?" The old man replied. "It's because I saw your cold, detached nature—yet still pure and lovely. Since you've spoken, I'll grant you your last wish before leaving this world." With that, the old man restrained the spiritual power beneath his feet.

He began chanting an unknown incantation, forming intricate hand seals with increasing speed, his voice growing louder. As his fingers danced, the energies of heaven and earth surged, drawing spiritual energy from a hundred miles around. The sky formed a massive vortex, within which a black arched gate slowly appeared.

Only then did the old man halt his actions. The gate’s suction force wildly absorbed the surrounding spiritual energy, taking several minutes before it stabilized and the shape became clear.

"Uncle Lin, return to the clan. Give my regards to my mother. After I keep watch for a hundred years, I will return to the clan, and then we can meet again." Tears welled in the young man's eyes, but quickly dried.

The old man turned to him, his tone earnest. "Lin Zhi, you and Uncle Lin are both of weaker talent in the clan, so you’re assigned to guard this plane. But it’s not without benefits—here, you are already the strongest among them. Don’t worry, Uncle Lin will take good care of things at home."

With a strange chuckle, the old man pulled the girl toward the black gate, and in the blink of an eye, they vanished from the young man’s sight. As they disappeared, the space twisted and warped, the vortex faded, leaving only the young man standing alone on the sea.

Dao Sansheng and his three companions drew ever closer to the central plaza, but noticed the crowd thinning strangely.

"Have you noticed? There are so few people here—it doesn’t make sense!"

The three looked at Dao Sansheng, confused, and spoke in unison. "There aren’t many people, but what do you mean, ‘doesn’t make sense’?"

Dao Sansheng was exasperated—he’d dug a hole for himself and now had to fill it. With a quick glance, he said, "It doesn’t make sense because it’s too pleasant. Isn’t it nice to have no crowds?"

The three nodded in understanding.

Before long, they reached the venue and saw a mess of garbage on the ground; even the stage had collapsed into scattered parts. The area was deserted, and far from the grand opening ceremony of the trade conference, it looked more like a rubbish heap—filth and chaos visible everywhere, stirring irritation.

Seeing this, Dao Sansheng’s mind went blank. Clearly, there had been a fight, but he wondered if his sister was safe. All he could do was ask around and learn what had happened.

"This place has definitely seen a fight, probably quite exciting. Too bad we missed it," Chao Xiong remarked.

Before he finished, Li Zihong slapped the back of his head with a crisp sound that drew the attention of those nearby. Li Zihong’s anger still lingered.

Chao Xiong rubbed his head, furious. "Big sis, you’ve been hitting me the whole way! Can’t you stop? My name isn’t for nothing—I’m really fierce," he said, opening his mouth wide.

"Dao Senior’s sister is a disciple from Violet Immortal Palace, performing the trade conference dance on stage. Now everything is in chaos. If you hadn’t gotten up so late, would this have happened? And you’re gloating—how do you think Dao Senior feels? He’s always wanted to see his sister."

Chao Xiong looked guilty, stepping forward to Dao Sansheng. "Dao Senior, I didn’t mean it. Really, I didn’t."

Dao Sansheng patted his shoulder. "Let’s go! We’ll find a place to ask around and see what happened," he said, glancing at the others.

"I know a tavern in the eastern city. Disciples from all sorts of sects stay there, and rogue cultivators often go for drinks—it’s a good place to get information," Zhao Jinqian suggested, and the group looked to Dao Sansheng.

"Lead the way, Zhao Junior," Dao Sansheng replied.

Zhao Jinqian took the lead, heading eastward through winding streets and alleys. At last, they stopped before a splendid tavern, its five stories towering above all nearby buildings. The exterior was crimson, with sixteen massive columns, wooden balconies, and a large flag atop the roof bearing a bold character for ‘guest’. The plaque above the door was inscribed with ‘Violet Immortal Tavern’ in grand script.

Even before entering, they heard the bustling voices inside. Ascending twelve stone steps, they finally entered.

A chubby-faced attendant greeted them, a white towel over his shoulder, beaming. "Sirs, all our rooms are full. We can only offer food and drink. May I..."

Before the attendant could finish, Chao Xiong strode to an empty table. "Bring the menu—I want your best and most famous dishes," he said, licking his lips.

The attendant hurried to the table, wiped it down, then went to fetch the menu from the counter.

Dao Sansheng and the others sat down as the menu was placed before them. "Order whenever you’re ready," the attendant said, preparing to leave.

Chao Xiong grabbed his arm. "Wait, I want to ask you something—why is the central plaza of the trade conference in such chaos?"

"Sirs, I’m busy, but those tables up front are discussing just that. If you listen carefully, you’ll find out," he replied, pointing to the tables ahead.

At one table sat two people—a man of sixty or seventy, likely an elder from a small sect, and a child of about ten, probably his apprentice.

At another, six burly men drank together, all dressed identically, most likely disciples from a major sect attending the conference. As they drank heartily, the young man seated furthest inside was discussing their search.