"The Great Sun Golden Peng Bird?"
"Isn’t that the legendary mount of the Seven-star Sword Saint? After the Sword Saint perished, this Divine Beast left the Taixu Sword Sect and rarely appeared again. Why is it here today?"
"Could it be that it never truly left the Sword Sect?"
"And there’s someone standing on its back! That is the Void Nether Divine Beast—who in this world can possibly dominate such a creature?!"
The Great Sun Golden Peng Bird swept in, its wings stirring panic among those on both banks of the Beiyin River.
Eight hundred years ago.
Taixu Sword Sect dominated the Seven States, with the unparalleled ’Seven-star Sword Saint’ reigning as the era’s foremost invincible force. His mount, the Great Sun Golden Peng Bird, rose to fame alongside him, generating countless legends.
Even among the gathered elite masters who had never actually seen the Great Sun Golden Peng Bird themselves, they had heard of it, seen painted renditions, or read detailed descriptions in text.
Now that they laid eyes upon it, recognition came instantly.
The once-dreaded Void Nether Divine Beast, though still among the upper echelons in the present day, no longer harbored the same level of threat if it retained its strength of old.
What gave Zhang Jian and the others cause for greater concern, however, were the three figures standing atop the Great Sun Golden Peng Bird’s back!
The gales roared as the great bird descended.
Three figures leapt from the back of the Great Sun Golden Peng Bird, landing on the southern bank of the Beiyin River.
A flash of golden light swept through—
A treasured sword returned to its scabbard, now held firmly in the hand of a young man.
The crowd saw clearly.
From the Great Sun Golden Peng Bird descended two men and one woman.
The first was a muscular figure with flowing white hair, holding a long spear, whose very bearing commanded an imposing gravity.
The second was a strikingly handsome youth dressed in a refined green robe, with an elegant sword tied at his waist—the very sword that had just rescued Wang Tuan and sent Zhang Jian flying.
The last was a captivating woman donned in well-fitted Black Armor, accentuating her graceful figure. In her hand, she gripped a treasured sword, her willow-shaped eyebrows sharp like blades, adding a hint of martial ferocity to her beauty.
Those observing the three strained to recognize them, pondering over their identities but arriving at no answers.
Even those who began to suspect dared not believe their own thoughts.
After all, these figures belonged to an era six hundred years past.
But Wang Tuan, Sun Zhenshan, and others who witnessed this had their hearts thrown into turmoil, their eyes betraying sheer shock.
Especially Wang Tuan.
A moment ago, he had faced the brink of death, his life stolen by the blade of Zhang Jian pressing against his throat. His imminent execution was certain, yet someone intervened to save him. This act alone left Wang Tuan with emotions tumultuous as roaring waves. Upon realizing who had intervened, it felt as if a bolt of lightning struck him motionless.
Scenes burst forth from his mind—
Depictions from the Ancestor Hall of Pengshan City cascaded through his thoughts.
At the center of the hall was the revered Sword Ancestor.
And beneath the central figure—
Most strikingly—the portraits of the Revival Three Ancestors, ’departed’ six hundred years ago, glared at him.
The three before him seemed to have stepped straight out of those paintings.
As the mightiest of Taixu Sword Sect’s contemporary generation, Wang Tuan found it impossible not to recognize them.
He stood frozen in awe.
It was Sun Zhenshan who recovered first, his face lighting up with delight. He approached Chen Jichuan and the other two, bowing deeply and respectfully saluting, "Disciple Sun Zhenshan pays his respects to the three Ancestors!"
By the measure of years elapsed,
Chen Jichuan, Li Qingshan, and Wang Yan were figures whose origins stemmed a millennium prior. Within Taixu Sword Sect, any living member encountering them would offer the honored address of ’Ancestor.’
Sun Zhenshan was no exception.
And not only Sun Zhenshan.
Wang Tuan, witnessing the former’s actions, quickly composed himself, stepping forward to join Sun Zhenshan in salutation before the three, also respectfully calling out ’Ancestor.’
With the lead of the two,
The thirty-three elite Void Realm and God Realm masters sprawled along the southern bank of the Beiyin River scattered in disarray before—all rose despite injuries, their faces filled with mixed shock and joy, paying homage to the three figures.
A sweeping wave of reverence erupted, leaving Chen Jichuan, Li Qingshan, and Wang Yan as the sole figures standing upright amidst the scene.
"Wang Tuan and Sun Zhenshan—both veteran Void Nether cultivators—what sort of figures could they revere as ’Ancestors’ with such solemnity?"
"Could it be individuals from centuries past? Rumor has it that Taixu Sword Sect possesses Undying Grass, which the Taixu Three Ancestors consumed in the past, granting them five additional centuries of life, their power reigning over an era. Could these three be Void Realm survivors from four to five hundred years ago, preserved by such means?"
Wang Tuan and the others prostrating in unison stunned everyone present.
For figures as renowned as Wang Tuan and Sun Zhenshan in Yuezhou to offer reverence so humbly, lineage alone could not suffice; strength and prestige would have to transcend ordinary limits.
Yet no matter how intensely they tried to fathom the situation, none could conjure any prior record within the Sword Sect of three Void Realm cultivators resembling those before them.
Though—six hundred years ago—the Taixu Three Ancestors too were composed of two men and one woman.
Still, few dared to entertain such a notion.
With Wang Tuan and the others bowing beneath the three figures, murmured speculations buzzed among the crowd.
Chen Jichuan remained unmoved, noting the conflicting emotions on Li Qingshan’s face. He spoke calmly, signaling to the gathering disciples to rise.
Wang Yan and Li Qingshan stared out at the spectacle before them, consumed by a whirlwind of thoughts.
A slumber spanning six centuries.
Upon awakening, the world was unrecognizable.
The disciples of this generation’s Taixu Sword Sect—their faces were alien to the trio. Strangers, yet connected by the bonds of their sect, sparking a faint sense of kinship.
But for Li Qingshan, deeply bonded with the sect, witnessing its current desolate state weighed heavily upon him.
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Li Qingshan, emotionally tethered to the sect, struggled to reconcile the huddled, injured figures of Taixu Sword Sect’s masters and the grim spectacle of the hundred-strong army of rival factions looming on the northern bank.
His mind was a chaotic storm he failed to organize.
Chen Jichuan refrained from interference, recognizing the severity of injuries sustained by Wang Tuan and the others. He retrieved three bottles of Pills from within his robes and handed them to Wang Tuan: "Distribute these—one pill per person—to stabilize your injuries immediately."