I Am the Fated Villain Chapter 1299: The clues of the Pool of Creation
Previously on I Am the Fated Villain...
“Oh? Are you referring to my mother?” Nan Qing lifted the teacup, dropping her eyes to dispel the rising heat, her long lashes quivering just a touch. She mentioned it offhandedly, showing little interest.
“No,” Ling Yuling denied, shaking her head.
For some unknown reason, while staring at Nan Qing right there before her, Ling Yuling inevitably recalled that particular silhouette.
This notion left Ling Yuling feeling perplexed.
Still, as she scrutinized Nan Qing’s perfect, immaculate features with care, Ling Yuling couldn’t tell if her prior reflections played a role, yet the outlines of her brows and eyes truly carried a certain likeness.
“Has your mother ever spoken of your father?” Ling Yuling inquired, as though driven by an unseen force.
Nan Qing set down her teacup without thinking and shook her head. “She never brought it up.”
Ling Yuling gave a nod and let the matter drop. She tucked the old scroll away securely and got ready to depart.
Yet prior to leaving, she paused briefly and warned Nan Qing, “Should we not succeed this round, it might confirm your earlier suspicion. If that shadowy power lurking in the shadows seeks to eradicate the heirs of the old confederates, then tranquility in this place could soon crumble…”
“You should brace yourself.”
Nan Qing nodded faintly, her face staying neutral, like such issues barely touched her.
Once Ling Yuling had gone, Nan Qing grasped the teacup once more, stroking it softly. Within her pure, unclouded gaze lingered a trace of reflection.
“Does it truly bear a resemblance?”
All at once, a subtle grin curved her lips.
Her already stunning, faultless brows and eyes now radiated a stunning allure.
Nan Qing’s features swiftly settled back to serenity, and she rose to her feet. Clad in verdant robes, the breeze stirred around her, while her flowing raven locks danced in the peak’s gusts, evoking mist-shrouded clouds poised to drift off on the air.
Her sight turned below, toward the expansive wilds at the base of Holy Ancestor Mountain. There, a youthful, exceptional figure clashed intensely with multiple primeval, savage creatures.
Nearby timeless trees lay in ruins, summits crumbled to powder, turned to rubble. The ground bore fissures spanning thousands of li.
In the domain of Holy Ancestor Mountain, all cultivation faced restraint. Even a Dao Realm powerhouse might not outmatch a standard Immortal Path practitioner from beyond. The young, outstanding warrior held his own against those fearsome archaic beasts, revealing his formidable prowess.
“Born with godlike might to challenge a genuine dragon, it’s unfortunate that despite the years, he hasn’t yet roused his authentic Panzhu lineage…” Nan Qing’s look remained icy, her eyes devoid of ripple as she observed the youth, almost whispering to the wind.
As dusk fell and night ascended, she lingered atop the peak, witnessing the young man wage savage war against the archaic beasts, sharpening his edge heedless of wounds, displaying a bold, dauntless spirit akin to courting doom.
Amid this harrowing clash, the youth seemed to lose control, unleashing frenzied punches and strikes, flailing limbs without pattern or form, charging wildly.
Nevertheless, he resembled an invincible deity of battle, brimming with warlike zeal, pressing fiercer with each exchange.
From his frame erupted a potent surge of vital essence and vigor, spilling from every pore as gleaming godly force, empowering him to confront archaic beasts each rivaling a half-immortal sovereign in might. Though his realm lagged, he managed to wound and daunt them.
Ultimately, behind the youth loomed a colossal, dominant shadow, bearing the skies upon its shoulders, gripping a dreadful hatchet, an indistinct, basin-shaped form hovering over its crown.
This grand, awe-inspiring phantom, merely brandishing its hatchet forward, warped the weave of time and void, ripping through primal disorder.
The hatchet’s glow blazed with such ferocity and dread that it could annihilate all—substance and being in equal measure.
“Kill!” The youth bellowed, and at that instant, he fused with the phantom at his back. His bare hands now clutched the hatchet itself, and with a powerful arc, he cleaved downward.
Splash!
Crimson spurted forth, gleaming sharper in the night’s chill.
The handful of horrifying archaic beasts had no chance to cry out before splitting apart in flight. Their sturdiest craniums burst open, cuts as even as polished mirrors, essences extinguished instantly, perishing outright.
“Pool of Creation…”
From her perch on the summit, beholding the spectacle, Nan Qing’s form quivered subtly. Her stare locked onto the youth. Her breathing quickened a fraction, and her eyes sparkled with intensity.
To be exact, her focus wasn’t on the youth proper. She fixated on the archaic, hazy phantom behind him and the basin-like form above its head.
In that instant, Nan Qing’s feelings betrayed a spark of astonishment, yet she drew a steadying breath and composed herself, restoring tranquility.
“Xiao Die, escort Zhu Xuan to the Ancestral Saint Pavilion and notify Old Zhu that Zhu Xuan wore himself out battling the savage beasts and requires some recovery time,” she instructed evenly.
“Yes, miss.”
The atmosphere rippled, revealing a servant girl with her tresses in classic buns, bowing in deference.
She morphed into a beam of sacred radiance and sped toward the Great Wilderness.
Following the clash with the archaic savage beasts, the youth had slumped in fatigue, sprawled insensate amid the wilds.
“After such prolonged waiting, I’ve at last uncovered the Pool of Creation’s location. The final heir of the Panzhu Clan has indeed surfaced in him.”
“Lacking him, the Pool of Creation might stay hidden eternally.”
“The forebears of the Panzhu Clan spared no effort to shield the Pool of Creation from outsiders’ grasp.”
Nan Qing averted her eyes from the Great Wilderness, her graceful strides carrying her away from the peak like fleeting vapor that had never been.
Among the relics of the lost era with traceable signs stand the Mirror of Reincarnation, the Door of Immortality, and the Coffin of the End of the World. At last, hints of the Pool of Creation emerge.
The following morning, within the Ancestral Saint Pavilion, Zhu Xuan awoke with a throbbing skull, massaging his temple as he sat up. The harsh glare streaming through the window forced his eyes to narrow.
Right then, he sensed every bone in his frame as broken, each pore ripping with agony.
“Just what transpired last night? I recall only clashing wildly with those archaic beasts, fighting unrestrained as I haven’t in ages. Then my head ached, and nothing after sticks.”
Zhu Xuan massaged his forehead, murmuring to himself.
He failed to recollect the night’s precise events. All he knew was the fierce bout with archaic beasts in the Great Wilderness below Ancestral Saint Mountain, tempering his battle prowess.
“Hold on, I vaguely recall a shadowy form, a being who directed my fighting moves, imparting the path to parting the skies, and uttering words to me… but who could it have been?”
“…”
Zhu Xuan strained to summon the night’s occurrences, but the harder he pushed, the fiercer his headache stabbed, threatening to burst his skull. He couldn’t suppress sharp intakes of air, his visage paling from the torment.
“You overdid it last night. Stay put and recover well.”
“I warned you against stirring trouble. It was Xiao Die from Saint Mountain herself who carried you home last night. Even Qingxianzi ordered me to ready healing herbs and spirit items for you…”
A robust herbal scent wafted into the chamber as an elder man of middling years stepped in with a bowl of brew. He chided while approaching.
“Grandpa…”
Zhu Xuan eyed Old Zhu, a sheepish scratch at his nape. Yet hearing Old Zhu’s closing words sparked shock and thrill across his features.
“What? Grandpa, you’re saying Xiao Die herself fetched me back?” Ignoring his ache, he bolted upright from the bedding, clamping Old Zhu’s arm firmly.
“More like Qingxianzi directed Xiao Die to retrieve you. You keep dashing to the Great Wilderness beneath Saint Ancestor Mountain. Without their watch, trouble’s inevitable.” Old Zhu cast him a sour glance.
Zhu Xuan grinned and downed the brew in hasty swallows, unmindful of its scald.
Seeing this, Old Zhu could only shake his head in resignation.
“Qingxianzi never vowed to take you as apprentice. She merely tossed you some combat methods to train on, yet you persist in naming her ‘Master.’ It shames me on your behalf.”
Zhu Xuan shrugged it off with a smile, “Regardless, she watches over me. Why else send Xiao Die to haul me back? I head to the Great Wilderness to sharpen my combat edge, hoping she’ll spare time to instruct me.”
Old Zhu eyed him sternly and cautioned, “Mind your words, and curb your fancies. Ties to Qingxianzi aren’t for casual grasping.”
Zhu Xuan, a touch irked, countered, “I harbor no improper thoughts. I simply revere Qingxianzi, who preserved my life.”
At those words, Old Zhu let out a sigh, memory stirring.
“Without Qingxianzi’s intervention then, mending your frame and letting you harness that innate godlike might, you’d likely not draw breath now.”
Zhu Xuan’s esteem for Qingxianzi made perfect sense.
“Still, your habit of claiming discipleship embarrasses even me, your grandsire.”
Though Qingxianzi appeared young, as Saint Ancestor’s offspring, her rank and years dwarfed the common.
“Folks of the Floating Continent have grown under Qingxianzi’s shelter from youth.”
“As a mere babe, pursuers hounded you. Swathed in a gore-drenched cloth, you drifted to Floating Continent’s fringes. Qingxianzi discovered you first and bid me shelter you…”
“In truth, Qingxianzi has spared your life on two occasions.” Old Zhu shook his head while recounting.
After years, hearing this anew twisted Zhu Xuan’s expression into complexity.
“I’m aware of it all. And I’ll unearth my lineage’s secrets, to exact vengeance for my kin and bloodline…”
A glint of malice flickered in his gaze.
Though long past, those hazy visions resurfaced often in his thoughts.
Beneath a shadowed moon, gore painted the earth scarlet. Icy gales howled amid wails and carnage. A lean, chill silhouette perched on a ridge under the crimson lunar glow, silently surveying the horror.
Shadows cloaked in gloom, like harvesters of souls, plunged from the emptiness, brandishing arms and reaping lives without pity. Despite his kin’s desperate stand, those deathly foes proved unstoppable.
All faced doom, throats bared for the blade.
Gusts fanned the blazes, which roared to life, devouring hamlets, farmlands, halls, and isles.
The breeze tousled that figure’s locks, flames etching their indistinct visage. Their detached stare overlooked the writhing ants below like vermin.
This vision haunted Zhu Xuan frequently. He recognized it as the architect of his clan’s massacre, identity unknown. Yet he vowed that someday, he’d track them down and settle the score for family and line.
And thus drove Zhu Xuan’s relentless pursuit of martial mastery.
To immortals, mere days passed in a flash.
At Yu Xian Palace’s expanse, primordial vessels shrouded in turmoil pierced the cosmos, arriving from every realm. Countless rays, divine fowl, soaring blades, and steeds streaked the starlit void, ferrying mighty presences with ominous might.
Yu Xian Palace’s forebear had awakened, proclaiming to all realms—a grand affair shaking the Xiyuan civilization to its core. Every notable lineage, faction, or realm dispatched key envoys, none daring to slight Yu Xian Palace.