Chapter Fifty-Six: The Heavens Veiled by Clouds

Yang Fan moved forward with utmost caution.

The closer he got, the greater the pressure he felt. It was as if endless dangers lay in wait ahead. Bracing himself, by the time he reached the massive serpent, his body was already drenched in sweat. The pressure was overwhelming—who knew what strength these two giant beasts had possessed in life? Even in death, the oppressive force radiating from their corpses was formidable.

When Yang Fan finally reached out and touched the serpent’s head resting on the ground, a sensation he couldn’t describe washed over him. The instant his hand made contact, a chill surged from the depths of his soul, followed by an involuntary shudder. He withdrew his hand, but when he reached out again, the feeling was much improved.

At that moment, Yang Fan was finally certain—this was just a corpse. Even though he’d judged as much before, it only felt real now that he touched the giant serpent’s head. No true powerhouse would allow a weakling to touch them so freely, especially a giant beast rather than a human.

...

Half an hour later, Yang Fan sat before the two enormous beasts, staring into the void.

He gazed at the monsters, utterly at a loss. In those thirty minutes, his courage had grown bolder. First he punched them, then struck with a knife, and finally even bit down with his teeth, but not a single scale came loose.

Slumped to the ground, Yang Fan wore a face full of worry.

Could it be he would leave empty-handed this time? This strange place had swallowed him by accident, and he’d already tried every method to open the bronze doors—nothing worked. These two giant beasts were the same; nothing he tried would move them.

He even chopped at the chains with his blade, but the chains remained unscathed while his blade gained nicks, which pained him terribly.

He sat for a long time, feeling helpless. There was nothing more he could do, no matter how hard he racked his brain.

This trip had been filled with anxiety and hardship, and in the end, he’d gain nothing. The thought was hard to accept.

Even a few night pearls would have sufficed, but all the cave had for illumination were battered candlesticks, most with only stubs of wax remaining.

He was unwilling, but there was nothing to be done.

“Damn it, if I get nothing this time, I’ll come back next time—and when I do, I’ll take both of you with me. You’ll be my ultimate gear from now on,” Yang Fan swore fiercely, then stood up and left without looking back.

He didn’t want to glance at anything here again. It was too tempting—how many treasures could be made from the bodies of these two beasts?

Unfortunately, he couldn’t take them now. He’d return once his strength grew. He knew the way, so it would be easier to come back when he was stronger.

Yang Fan walked back to the place where he’d awakened and plunged into the water. Carrying the heavy blade made movement awkward. After a few attempts, he realized that as long as he brought that nine-hundred-pound blade, he’d never get out.

Breaking the surface again, Yang Fan looked longingly at the sword he’d thrown ashore. His eyes grew red with reluctance—thirty-six million yuan! The greatest fortune he’d ever possessed, and he would have to abandon it here?

He stared at the blade stuck in the ground for a long time. Then, gritting his teeth, he dove underwater.

The river was calm, with little turbulence. Yang Fan swam along the channel, and just as he was about to run out of air, he finally saw the exit. He summoned all his strength and swam upward.

Zhou Yiyi and the others were still waiting on the shore, but a pall hung over everyone’s hearts. It was almost certain Yang Fan had met a grim fate.

Mu Qingshan stood aside, stroking his longsword, tormented by guilt. It had been hours—what did it mean to spend hours underwater?

Just as everyone was about to lose hope, a figure suddenly broke through the surface—it was Yang Fan.

He floated there, gasping for breath. He’d come dangerously close to drowning; as he left the cave, he was nearly out of air, and then aquatic plants entangled him, costing him even more effort to break free.

“Such rotten luck,” was all Yang Fan could think to describe himself.

Since entering the Great Ten-Thousand Mountains, mishaps had come one after another: wolves on the first day, people from the Shadow Realm on the second, and now, on the third, a tour of the lake’s depths and a near-drowning on the way back.

It was all too thrilling.

When everyone saw Yang Fan surface, their faces changed sharply—then erupted in joy.

Yang Fan swam to shore, where Mu Qingshan immediately reached out to help.

Yang Fan slapped his hand away. “Remember what I said? If I lived, you’re dead meat! Damn you, you nearly got me killed!”

Without waiting for a reaction, Yang Fan swung a heavy fist at Mu Qingshan.

Mu Qingshan fled, laughing as he ran. As long as Yang Fan was safe, a few punches were nothing. During those hours, he’d been tormented enough to consider following Yang Fan to the grave.

Who could have guessed what was going through his head when he’d thrown that heavy blade down to Yang Fan?

After a brief chase, Yang Fan stopped, exhausted. Even as a second-rank martial artist at the peak, the ordeal had left him with no energy to vent his anger.

He collapsed to the ground, still glaring at Mu Qingshan. It was all this guy’s fault that his thirty-six million had sunk—literally. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became, and he hurled a handful of dirt at Mu Qingshan.

Xie Sihua and the others stood back, watching with amused expressions. All that mattered was that Yang Fan was safe; anything else could be resolved now.

“What happened in there?” Zhou Yiyi approached and asked.

“I’m not sure myself. There was a sudden current underwater—I could resist at first, but then this guy threw my blade after me, and I was dragged down. The suction grew stronger, then there was a whirlpool, and I was swept into a huge cave and blacked out. When I woke, I was in a cave with nothing inside, so I came out. That’s about it,” Yang Fan replied.

He didn’t want to mention the bronze doors. That was his discovery; rightfully, he should be the one to explore it. He wasn’t strong enough now, but he would be one day.

If he told them now, and it was reported to Sky Net and the Academy, the best he could hope for would be a taste of the leftovers—if that. Who would care about a second-rank martial artist’s opinion, even if he was a first-class talent and an Awakened?

Zhou Yiyi and the others nodded, still puzzled, but since none of them had gone underwater, who could say if Yang Fan was telling the truth? Still, they didn’t dwell on it. He was back—that was all that mattered.

After resting, Yang Fan reached out to Xie Sihua.

Xie Sihua was confused—what did he want? A handshake?

He extended his hand, and Yang Fan shook it, but when Xie Sihua started pumping their hands up and down, Yang Fan’s face darkened. Absolutely no rapport.

“Give me the blade.”

“What blade?”

“The one from the black-robed martial artist!”

“Where’s yours?”

“It’s at the bottom of the river!”

“Then go fish it up!”

Yang Fan’s patience snapped. “You talk too much, damn it.”

A string of scuffles ensued. Yang Fan, still fuming as Xie Sihua sprawled on the ground like a dead dog, gave him another kick.

“If I could get it back, would I be wasting words with you? Damn it, I was only gone a few hours and you’re already rebelling?”

Xie Sihua lay there, aching all over, but he still felt he was right. If the blade fell in the water, go get it. If you can’t, just say so—why hit people?

Jiang Chao and Jiang Xiaoyi kept their distance. Yang Fan was becoming more and more unpredictable, always hitting people—and enjoying it, too. It was nerve-wracking.

Zhou Yiyi held her head in her hands. She hadn’t expected the mood to return so quickly. Not long ago, everyone was gloomy; now, well… they were still gloomy, but for different reasons.

Yang Fan ignored Xie Sihua and went to his pack, pulling out a broad-backed saber. It was about 1.1 meters long, shorter than his previous blade, and weighed between six and seven hundred pounds—also lighter than his old one. The back of the blade was thick, and the overall curve was more pronounced.

Yang Fan struck the ground with force, sending stones flying. He was pleased—the blade was as sturdy as his F-grade alloy weapon. He didn’t like the style, but he had no choice for now. Most importantly, the blade’s strength matched his previous one, though the material wasn’t any alloy he recognized.

No matter—so long as it worked.

“All right, let’s rest. We’ve been through enough tonight—let’s talk tomorrow. Xie Sihua and Mu Qingshan, you’re on watch.”

Without looking at the others, Yang Fan began setting up his tent.

Xie Sihua and Mu Qingshan climbed to their feet, faces long as they looked at Zhou Yiyi. This was her team, but things were getting more and more out of hand.

Zhou Yiyi ignored their pitiful looks and walked away.

“You take the first half of the night, I’ll take the second?” Mu Qingshan asked timidly.

“You idiot, have you been hit stupid? It’s already past four in the morning—there’s barely two hours till dawn. What’s the point of splitting shifts?” Xie Sihua was at his limit; Mu Qingshan must have been punched silly to ask such a dumb question.

Jiang Chao and Jiang Xiaoyi exchanged glances, bitterness in their eyes. Back at the Academy, they’d been rising stars among the freshmen, all second-rank martial artists. Thinking of their classmates' envious stares still made their hearts flutter, but on this mission, everything had gone wrong. One by one, they’d been put in their place—scolded, threatened, and beaten by Yang Fan.

So much for karma.

Jiang Chao looked up at the sky, speechless.

Too many clouds, too many trees—must be blocking fate’s eyes...