Chapter Thirty-Two: The Final Battle in Cold Mountain Valley

Qingyuan Pavilion sat on East Street, which at this hour was deserted, with most shops shuttered. As Su Fan passed by the Qingyuan Pawnshop, he found its doors wide open, the interior in complete disarray, as though it had been ransacked. Inside, a corpse lay across the floor—someone Su Fan recognized as a clerk from the pawnshop's first floor. Alarmed, Su Fan hurried towards Qingyuan Pavilion.

The grand gates of Qingyuan Pavilion stood shut, the usual doormen nowhere to be seen. The crimson doors radiated an aura of severity, as if even the pavilion's name inscribed above them exuded a chilling presence. Vaulting inside, Su Fan found the courtyard empty of servants, his brow furrowing as he dashed toward the ancestral hall where he had glimpsed Mo Hanfeng earlier.

Mo Hanfeng was the master of Qingyuan Pavilion, a notable figure in Luo City. He was indeed within the ancestral hall, along with Mo He and many cultivators unfamiliar to Su Fan, their gazes sharp and oppressive. It was clear that everyone present possessed formidable cultivation, any one of whom could easily extinguish Su Fan.

Maintaining a composed demeanor, Su Fan stood at the entrance, observing those within. Mo He glanced at him, paused, and said with a smile, “Fellow Daoist Su, what brings you to our Qingyuan Pavilion?”

Su Fan swept his gaze over the crowd and replied, “Ran Suo Sect has declared war on Qingyuan Pavilion. Though your feud is longstanding, it was chiefly caused by me. Now that Qingyuan Pavilion faces hardship, how could I stand idly by?”

The cultivators inside regarded Su Fan with derision, though a few nodded in admiration. Su Fan remained calm, continuing, “I know my cultivation is meager, perhaps unable to aid Qingyuan Pavilion greatly, but this is my principle: I always repay kindness.”

Mo He was about to find an excuse to decline, but Mo Hanfeng waved his hand and smiled, “Su Fan, if you truly mean it, come here at dawn tomorrow. We’ll go to Ran Suo Sect together.”

A senior seated nearby objected, “Master, this is our pavilion’s affair. How can an outsider be involved? This junior’s cultivation is low, he’ll only slow us down.”

Su Fan glanced at the elder but said nothing. Mo Hanfeng smiled, “It matters not. Su Fan, prepare yourself—tomorrow will be a fierce battle.”

Su Fan acknowledged, turned, and walked out. The inn was as usual; Su Fan’s spiritual sense swept the surroundings, sensing the presence of cultivators—evidently stationed to protect the inn.

He sighed deeply and slipped into his cave dwelling. The conduct of Qingyuan Pavilion puzzled him, but since they had gone to such lengths, he could only repay their kindness. Now that Qingyuan Pavilion faced peril, Su Fan knew he could not remain uninvolved.

Upon entering his cave, Su Fan sat in meditation, feeling the spiritual energy gradually flowing into his body once more. Cloaked in red light, a Taiji diagram hovered above his crown, radiating eerie blood-colored brilliance. These were defensive arrays he had laid; though the cave was well-hidden, Su Fan had taken precautions just in case.

Mist churned around him; his gray hair moved without wind, lending him an ethereal air. After several hours, Su Fan opened his eyes slightly and murmured, “The battle with Ran Hua was perilous, but it made my spiritual energy more condensed. That day I killed Ren Da—I seemed to enter a frenzied state, my mind uncontrolled, burning my lifespan to fight Ran Hua desperately. If I fight again under such conditions, I might not have today’s luck.

That gray aura is very strange—it survived a strike from the Phoenix Feather Crossbow without dissipating. The crossbow is a spiritual artifact; its blow should have slain anyone at the mid-foundation stage.”

Thinking thus, Su Fan beckoned, and the gray aura on his shoulder floated into his palm, spiraling gently. He closed his hand, the gray mist slipping through his fingers, docile and obedient.

Su Fan did not recognize the object, but sensed that if allowed to grow, it would become extremely powerful. With a wave, the mist returned to his shoulder, and Su Fan smiled faintly, stepping out into the courtyard.

Night had fallen. Su Fan stood in the inn’s rear courtyard, gazing silently at the sky, his heart troubled. He was by nature kind, unwilling to bear the taint of killing, yet since entering the cultivation world, he had first slain his master, then was forced to kill Hu Peng. Afterward, he began to waver in his conviction; first, Hong Yuan and Hu Peng had tried to kill him without cause, then Ren Da and Ren Ping sought to rob him. Su Fan had repeatedly tolerated, reluctant to kill, but Hu Peng turned on him, leaving Su Fan no choice. Ren Da and Ren Ping brought in the more powerful Ran Hua to deal with him.

Perhaps Lan Yifeng was right: if others harm me, I must kill them. If he had killed Hu Peng at the outset, he would not have been betrayed. If he had slain Ren Da and Ren Ping when provoked, perhaps there would have been no further trouble.

Su Fan gazed at the cold moonlight above and murmured, “Perhaps Miss Fan was right—I lack backbone.” He laughed at himself, chuckling softly, then returned to his cave to meditate, keeping himself at peak condition for tomorrow’s battle.

Ran Suo Sect’s foundation was not in Luo City; the city held only shops, while the true sect lay a hundred miles outside in Cold Mountain Valley. The valley’s structure was ingenious—only through formation arrays could one enter, and while entry was easy, exit difficult. The space within was vast, able to accommodate ten thousand, making it an ideal arena for duels.

The origins of Cold Mountain Valley were lost to history; it was said that when Luo City existed, so did the valley. Ancient rumors spoke of countless battles and the fall of many sects and families within. There were mighty cultivators and many weak ones, but all had passed into oblivion, swept away by time—none remembered those who perished within, perhaps only the valley itself knew.

Since Ran Yuanji founded Ran Suo Sect, no battles had occurred in Cold Mountain Valley for centuries. But tomorrow, the valley would host a confrontation between Luo City’s two great powers: Qingyuan Pavilion and Ran Suo Sect.

It was said both leaders had reached the early Nascent Soul stage, their sects boasting a thousand years of heritage. Even the General’s Mansion dared not offend either side lightly. Now, their conflict drew widespread attention, and among mortals, countless wagers arose.

Early in the day, inside a teahouse, a rotund middle-aged man sat at its center, spittle flying as he passionately recounted tales of the two powers’ impending clash. The listeners were enthralled, applauding and cheering.

Outside, an old fortune-teller in gray robes and white hair passed by, ringing a bell in one hand and carrying a placard in the other. The placard read: “Stone rots, pine withers, stars shift.” The elder squinted, smiling as he muttered, “The tribulation has come—he will finally enter it.” With that, he rang his bell and moved on.

Su Fan gave brief instructions to Luo Yuan and the other three before departing; they asked no questions, understanding his purpose. Soon, Su Fan arrived at Qingyuan Pavilion, its gates wide open; he headed straight for the ancestral hall.

The hall was empty. Su Fan sat slowly in front of it, suddenly realizing why Mo Hanfeng had agreed to let him come. Su Fan sat upon the steps, staring at the withered old tree at the entrance, finding it oddly fascinating.

“Su Fan, I’ll take you to Cold Mountain Valley.” Su Fan looked up sharply to see a woman in pink, smiling as she said, “If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss Elder Mo and the others.”

Su Fan rose quickly, saying, “To enter Cold Mountain Valley, we need teleportation tokens. Without them, we can’t get in—and it’s dangerous. I can’t let you come.”

Fan Ruoyu laughed, “You’re worried about me now? Heh, Old Ku told me this morning to take you there. I said it was too risky and refused, but he said you’d find great fortune there, and assured me Qingyuan Pavilion would prevail over Ran Suo Sect. Then he gave me two tokens and told me not to worry.”

Su Fan was about to ask if Old Ku’s words were trustworthy, but recalling the elder’s remarks about him and Fan Ruoyu, he stopped himself and stammered, “I should go alone—it’s really dangerous.”

Fan Ruoyu glared at him, her face stern, “In terms of cultivation, I’m not inferior to you.” Su Fan suddenly sensed the aura radiating from her had grown far stronger, likely breaking through to mid-foundation stage. In just a few days, her progress was remarkable, while he still struggled at the Qi Refining stage.

The word “genius” flashed through his mind, and he thought of Xiao Lin—a genius as well, now in Tianyuan Sect, the sect every cultivator in Tianyuan Prefecture dreamed of joining, with boundless prospects. Su Fan could only laugh at himself.

Fan Ruoyu, noticing his astonishment, grew even more pleased. “Let’s go. I don’t need your protection.”

Su Fan sighed helplessly and followed her. Cold Mountain Valley appeared to be an ordinary ravine, but a cultivator’s spiritual sense would reveal it wrapped in countless formation arrays. These were not ordinary defenses; they could withstand the simultaneous attack of ten thousand.

Many formation experts had tried to decipher these arrays, yet none could even identify their type. Thus, rumors spread that immortals left them in ancient times. Even Ran Yuanji himself could not fully master them, only using a jade tube for partial control, yet their power was immense.

Su Fan and Fan Ruoyu stood before the valley’s teleportation array. Su Fan drew out the Mountain Soul Fan, whispering, “There are still traces of spiritual energy here—they must have just entered. Let’s prepare defenses before we go in, lest we be ambushed.”

Fan Ruoyu said nothing, producing a blood-red flower and forming a seal with her fingers, a violet crystal light encircling her. Su Fan glanced at the flower, startled; he did not recognize this artifact.

He understood, though, that as a newcomer to cultivation, there were many things he did not know. Seeing his confusion, Fan Ruoyu explained, “This is the Flower of the Other Shore, Old Ku’s life-bound artifact for me, made from ten thousand such flowers from the depths of the Nine Nether Yellow Springs. It grows stronger as my cultivation increases. It’s hundreds of times more powerful than your shabby fan.”

Such weapons are called life-bound artifacts; as their owner’s cultivation grows, they become ever more formidable. Even a mundane weapon, if refined through blood, becomes powerful as a life-bound artifact. Yet their drawback is great: one can forge only one in a lifetime, and if it’s damaged, the owner is gravely injured, risking annihilation.

Su Fan touched his nose and laughed awkwardly. “Let’s go inside, then.”