Chapter Seventeen: Wandering Soul Mountain and the Soul Stones

The Nine Orifices Golden Elixir was like a person’s nine apertures breathing, exhaling and inhaling a unique essence of life. Without hesitation, Wang Fan slipped the golden elixir into his pocket, knowing full well that this object might allow him to further enhance his physical body.

Wang Fan was keenly aware that his own constitution was nothing but that of a common man, his physical strength unremarkable; one of the main reasons he had previously lost to the young Wu Shi was precisely this. Now, Wang Fan knew of two ways to strengthen his body. The first was to seek out individuals with extraordinary constitutions and devour their essence—the likes of the Mysterious Yin Body, Innate Spiritual Body, Primordial Poison Body, Ancient Holy Body, Jade Bone Constitution, Five Elements Constitution, Yin-Yang Body, Heavenly Yin Female Body, Exquisite Ice-Heart, Celestial Tyrant Bloodline, Divine Infant Constitution, Primal Spirit Constitution, Divine King Constitution, Lunar Body, and so on.

If he could use the Devour Heaven Demonic Art to absorb the origin of these constitutions, his own body would gradually evolve towards the Supreme Holy Body, eventually transforming into the ultimate Chaotic Body. But such people with unique constitutions had to be found first; only then could he consume them, and only then could his constitution be strengthened. If he could not find them, he could not advance.

The second method was to seek out techniques specifically for tempering the body, but as of yet, Wang Fan had found no such methods. The third way was to consume elixirs—body-forging divine pills, for instance, the Nine Orifices Golden Elixir!

The Nine Orifices Golden Elixir could strengthen one’s nine apertures, open up the meridians, invigorate the blood, and grant boundless strength, allowing one to step beyond the limits of a mere mortal’s body. After carefully securing the golden elixir’s box close to his person, the furrow in Wang Fan’s brow disappeared, replaced by a faint smile.

He continued to search the hundreds of shelves for treasures, and as he approached the final few ancient racks, Wang Fan found yet another item that was useful to him and posed no threat to his life. It was not a weapon, nor a cultivation technique, but a tiny mountain the size of a finger, called the Soul-cleansing Mountain.

The Soul-cleansing Mountain reminded Wang Fan of a certain novel—a most unusual one, whose protagonist was not a hero, but a formidable demon lord, overflowing with demonic nature. The novel recounted tales of the demonic path. Within the demonic arts were many branches, one of which was the Soul Path; Wang Fan recalled that in the story, the Soul Path possessed a treasure known as the Soul-cleansing Mountain. By providing it with enough essence, it could produce soul stones, which in turn could strengthen one’s soul.

Wang Fan could not know if this Soul-cleansing Mountain before him was truly the same as the one in his memory. After some contemplation, he reached out to touch it. In that instant, a message flowed into his mind, explaining the methods and effects of the Soul-cleansing Mountain.

By providing it sufficient essence, the Soul-cleansing Mountain would produce soul stones—these stones were supreme treasures, capable of strengthening the souls of all living beings!

Soul-cleansing Mountain!

Wang Fan held the tiny mountain in his hand, staring at it in a daze for some time. It possessed the same properties as in the book, and bore the same name, yet, being only the size of a palm and resembling a toy, Wang Fan could not help but wonder if it was truly the same artifact.

As Wang Fan stood there lost in thought, mysterious runes suddenly flashed beneath his feet, encircling him in a glowing ring. In the next instant, he was teleported away.

The teleportation was somewhat random; Wang Fan was sent straight out of the Hall of Trials, appearing at the entrance of a coffee shop.

The Imperial Treasury returned to its tranquil state, awaiting the arrival of the next challenger who could pass the imperial-level trial.

Meanwhile, Wang Fan stood there, both hands gripping the pitch-black Soul-cleansing Mountain, his ears filled with the blaring of car horns, his entire being in a haze of bewilderment.

Did I just come out like this? There’s even a function like that!?

Wang Fan was baffled beyond words.

He had never expected that there would be a teleportation device hidden within the treasury.

Glancing at the little mountain in his hand and then patting the golden elixir box in his pocket, Wang Fan finally let out a sigh of relief when he found everything intact.

After all the life-and-death struggles and painstaking efforts he had gone through to obtain these two treasures, had he lost them during teleportation, Wang Fan would have been utterly devastated.

Just as he was breathing easier, a chorus of startled exclamations erupted around him. Wang Fan was taken aback, turning to see that all eyes were fixed on him, as if he were some sort of bizarre spectacle.

What happened to me?

Looking down, Wang Fan realized his clothes were soaked in blood. His face immediately stiffened.

Damn it!

He cursed inwardly, then mobilized the tidal waves of essence within his Sea of Bitterness, sending energy surging through his body. His escape was swift as lightning—no one could keep up. He dashed away, head down, eliciting a new round of gasps from the crowd.

After weaving through several streets, he finally rushed into a clothing store, grabbed a suit from the rack, and hurried into the fitting room to change.

He discarded all his bloodstained garments and, once clad in clean clothes, revealed his otherwise ordinary yet spirited face.

…

Meanwhile, outside the police bureau in Z City, dozens of armed officers had gathered, among them a sniper. They were all there to apprehend a criminal—a man whose name had already been identified by the police: Wang Fan. The crucial detail was that this Wang Fan was an extremely powerful cultivator, one who had seriously injured more than a dozen officers. This incident could not go unpunished.

They had been on stakeout since noon, and as afternoon wore on, the door to the Hall of Trials remained closed—nothing stirred. Yet not a single officer complained; their daily training was rigorous enough that holding a post for hours was no hardship.

At this time, Zhao Fan, the young master of the Zhao family conglomerate, was also waiting for Wang Fan to emerge from the Hall of Trials. His eyes gleamed with curiosity. He was desperate to know which level of trial Wang Fan had entered.

Over the past half-day, Zhao Fan had already realized his previous judgment had been mistaken. The Wang Fan he saw in the Hall of Trials had not failed; rather, he had battled with the police upon entering the hall. All of Zhao Fan’s previous assumptions about Wang Fan’s failure had been nothing but his own imagination.

Recognizing his error, Zhao Fan was now all the more curious—just what level of trial had Wang Fan chosen to face, and why had he yet to emerge from the Hall of Trials?