CHAPTER 118: CHAPTER 118 - BREADCRUMBS TO CATCH AMBITIOUS FISH

Zhang Wuji led them through winding mountain paths, his steel-gray form moving with the effortless grace that had so thoroughly humiliated Zhao Chen moments before.

The young master followed in sullen silence, his bronze eyes fixed on the ground, while Yu Xiang walked beside him with her calculating mind already spinning, thinking how she could manipulate that old man.

The crippled Zhao Wuji shuffled behind them, his nervous energy palpable as sweat continued to bead on his forehead despite the cool mountain air.

They had been walking for perhaps an hour when the world itself seemed to convulse.

The air around them suddenly began moving—not wind, but the atmosphere itself being pulled in a specific direction with such force that Yu Xiang’s carefully arranged hair whipped forward, and even Chen stumbled as his robes were tugged by the invisible current.

"What in the nine hells—" Chen began, but his words died as he looked up at the sky.

Above them, perhaps a mile distant on a higher peak, reality was breaking.

A massive orb of pure void hung in the air like a wound torn in the fabric of existence. It wasn’t black—black was still something. This was nothingness, a sphere of absolute emptiness that devoured light, sound, and even the concept of space around it.

The air rushed toward it in visible streams, creating a whirlpool effect in the atmosphere that made Chen’s cultivation-enhanced vision water just from looking at it.

"Void Returning Realm," Chen whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of reality being consumed. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth creaked as the implications crashed over him like a qi backlash.

Someone was breaking through to the Void Returning Realm. Right now. In front of them.

Yu Xiang’s violet eyes widened as she stared at the impossible sight. "Another powerhouse?" Her voice carried a mixture of awe and hunger.

They had already witnessed Great Vehicle Realm power—but seeing a breakthrough with their own eyes was a different thing.

Someone was literally transcending the boundaries between existence and non-existence right in front of their eyes.

"We need to see who," Chen said, his earlier humiliation forgotten in the face of this cosmic event. His bronze eyes blazed with a mixture of curiosity and competitive fury.

Who dared to achieve such heights when he, the supposed chosen one of heaven, was still struggling at Soul Formation?

Zhang Wuji hadn’t stopped walking. If anything, he just took a leap in the air, followed by the others in light streaks, leading them directly toward the source of the disturbance.

Several disciples materialized around them as they climbed—cultivators Chen didn’t recognize, all bearing the same martial bearing and respectful deference toward Zhang Wuji that spoke of organized military structure.

When they crested the final ridge, Chen’s breath caught in his throat.

A woman sat in perfect lotus position at the center of the void phenomenon.

She was beautiful in an otherworldly way—mature, with flowing dark hair that seemed to contain starlight, and skin that glowed with inner radiance.

Most shocking of all, her body was surrounded by what looked like miniature black stars, each one pulsing as it absorbed into her dantian with rhythmic precision.

This was the Void Returning Realm—the stage where the cultivator’s soul learned to merge with the fundamental emptiness that existed between all things, returning to the source of creation itself.

"How is this possible?" Chen yelled, his voice cracking with disbelief and outrage. "Who is this woman? How is she doing all this?!"

Before anyone could answer, a voice cut through the cosmic turbulence like a blade through silk.

"Call her your grandmother, you brat."

Chen flinched as if struck, his head whipping around to find the source. There, standing casually on a nearby boulder as if the world-shaking event beside them was no more interesting than morning exercises, was a man who made Chen’s blood freeze in his veins.

Tall and perfectly proportioned, with long black hair that seemed to absorb light.

But it was his eyes that truly captured attention—red as fresh blood, holding depths of power and authority that made Chen’s soul recoil instinctively.

This was how Zhao Tianlong appeared to them—not the withered old man Chen remembered but a handsome youth.

Chen’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground together.

The memory of Zhang Wuji’s blade at his throat was still fresh, a humiliation that burned in his chest like swallowed poison. So he remained silent, biting back the angry words that wanted to spill from his mouth.

But the silence was broken by a sound that shocked him even more than the breakthrough itself.

Thump.

Zhang Wuji, the legendary swordsman whose speed had made Chen feel like a child, dropped to one knee with martial precision. His weathered hands pressed together in formal salute as his head bowed low.

"We greet our Liege Master," Zhang Wuji’s voice carried clearly over the cosmic winds.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

One by one, every single disciple who had accompanied them followed suit.

Men and women whose cultivation bases burned with Foundation Establishment and Nascent Soul Level dropped to their knees in perfect synchronization, their voices joining in unified respect:

"We greet our Liege Master!"

Chen felt his world tilt on its axis.

Zhang Wuji—the man whose mere presence had reduced him to a trembling child—was kneeling before someone in the same realm as himself.

Great Vehicle to Great Vehicle, and yet the legendary swordsman showed the kind of absolute deference usually reserved for immortals.

His fists clenched at his sides, confusion and rage warring in his chest.

The artifact at his waist pulsed with calming energy, but even its influence couldn’t completely suppress the storm building in his mind.

’Why am I getting angry at this man?’

The thought struck him as illogical. He should be afraid—anyone with sense would be terrified of someone who commanded such loyalty from legendary figures.

But instead, he felt... rage. Pure, irrational fury that made his vision blur red at the edges.

’Is it because he looks like that?’

The realization hit him like a physical blow. Zhao Tianlong wasn’t just powerful—he was perfect. The kind of masculine beauty that existed in classical paintings and heroic legends.

Standing there with cosmic forces swirling around him, butterflies dancing through his hair, red eyes holding depths... he looked like what the protagonist of a cultivation story should look like.

And Chen, despite all his advantages and destined greatness, suddenly felt like a pale imitation standing in the shadow of the real thing.

He was so lost in his internal turmoil that he almost missed the gentle hand that came to rest on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Yu Xiang’s voice was soft, concerned, her violet eyes searching his face with what appeared to be genuine worry.

Chen blinked, shocked. "What... with you?" The words came out confused, almost accusatory.

Wasn’t she here to meet the Emperor?

Now that she’d seen him in all his terrible glory, shouldn’t she be rushing forward like every other ambitious woman?

Instead, she was looking at him with care and attention, her beautiful features creased with worry for his wellbeing.

A smile formed on Chen’s lips despite everything as he sighed.

’Indeed, she isn’t like other women. She’s the woman I liked first.’