The sky above the Spirit Realm island remained in eternal dawn, the sun half-risen but never climbing further, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath.
Mo Tianzun had lost track of how many days had passed since his arrival.
Time moved strangely here.
Each morning, he woke under the shade of a divine tree whose leaves whispered in languages older than man. He would rinse his face in the ocean, cold as melted moonlight, and feast on spirit fruits that glowed softly in the dark. They tasted like starlight and ash, sweet and bitter at once. Some fruits gave him dreams. Others burned through his veins like golden fire, refining his qi until his meridians screamed.
He did not mind.
His old body—reborn, reshaped by the storm of energy within—was becoming more powerful with each passing day.
And this island… this sanctuary… was not ordinary.
Magical beasts roamed freely, their auras blinding. A qilin with scales like molten silver had trotted beside him one day before vanishing into mist. He had seen a bird the size of a mountain wing, feathers made of clouds and sunfire. A white ape bowed to him once—then vanished into the treetops like a shadow. Each day, he wandered further into the island's mysteries, absorbing the energy of the land and slowly regaining control over every layer of his cultivation.
Some areas of the island buzzed with pure yang energy—bright, sharp, violent.
Others oozed yin—cold, still, and terrifying in its quiet.
But at the island's center, where the skies were clouded and the trees grew in twisted, mirrored patterns, he discovered something even rarer.
Balance.
Yin and yang in equal force. Not fighting. Not blending.
Existing.
Holding the land together in perfect tension.
It was there that Mo Tianzun's steps paused one morning as he pushed through thick golden ferns into a clearing he had never seen before. A strange silence fell, different from the natural hush of the woods. It was oppressive, heavy.
He took a breath—and felt it.
A call.
Something beneath the earth, humming like a heartbeat, old and dangerous.
Mo Tianzun followed the pull of it.
Eventually, his path brought him to a hidden cliffside. Moss and vines concealed a jagged entrance, barely large enough to crawl through. The air that leaked from within was ice-cold, reeking of rot and old metal.
A cave.
No— a tomb.
He crouched, then stepped inside.
Darkness swallowed him.
The walls were lined with fossilized roots, and claw marks scarred the stone. The deeper he walked, the more the walls bled. Not sap—blood. Old and black, but still dripping from unseen veins in the stone.
Bones littered the floor.
Some were small—birds, deer, foxes. Others were massive. Beast skulls the size of carriages. Human remains wrapped in shredded robes, their weapons still buried in their skeletal hands.
"Someone tried to take what's in here," Mo Tianzun murmured. "And failed."
The air grew colder.
A bat fluttered past, brushing his shoulder with icy wings. Far in the distance, he heard water dripping—slow and rhythmic, like a ticking clock. And something else.
A faint melody.
No instrument played it. No one sang it.
It was like the cave itself was humming, low and mournful.
Then, in a final chamber lined with jagged crystal and blood-red vines, he saw it.
Floating in mid-air.
A flute.
Long, carved of obsidian and white bone twisted together in perfect spiral. The yin and yang energies swirled around it in ribbons, slow and alive. It pulsed like a beating heart, like a sleeping dragon. It called to him.
He stepped forward.
But then—"SSSSSSSSSSSS."
The hiss tore through the cave like a thunderclap.
Tianzun froze mid-step.
The bones around him rattled. The cave trembled.
From behind him, the air twisted—and a massive shadow slithered across the wall.
Then he turned.
A head—larger than a house—loomed from the darkness.
Jet-black scales glistened with cold light. Fangs the size of spears jutted from its maw. Its eyes were twin moons, pitch-black with rings of crimson, locked onto him with a gaze that held no hunger—only fury.
A serpent.
A divine serpent.
So large its body coiled through the entire cave system like a mountain given life. It didn't just move through the cavern—it was the cavern.
"So this is the guardian," Mo Tianzun muttered, raising his hand slowly.
The serpent raised its head higher, blocking the path to the flute.
Its tongue flicked out once—sensing.
Then, it let out a deep, rumbling growl.
It did not see him as prey.
It saw him as a threat.
For a heartbeat, the two stood in silence.
One reborn devil lord.
One ancient guardian beast.
And between them—the most balanced weapon in the realms, born of harmony and destruction.
Mo Tianzun narrowed his eyes.
His pulse was calm.
His voice, quiet.
"…Then let's see who deserves it more."
The serpent's eyes narrowed.
It lunged.
And the cave exploded into motion.