The Celestial Palace of the Nest-Builder

With a wave of farewell, Xiao Chen took leave of the Pure Land. Those three simple and peaceful years would surely leave an indelible mark on his memory.

The southwestern borderlands stretched for tens of thousands of li, a chain of mountains where many ancient tribes of the Forest Clan and the Barbarian Clan dwelled. It was one of the most mysterious regions of the continent.

The Pure Land itself was not in the extreme southwest; it lay quite close to the Central Plains. If Xiao Chen unfolded his Undying Wings and flew at full speed, he could reach the Central Plains in a single day.

Yet he chose not to fly. He walked. He did not know when he might set foot on this land again. He was a man of deep attachments, and a reluctant sadness clung to him.

He climbed treacherous ancient plank roads and followed the mountain paths carved out by the ancestors of the ancient Barbarians. In his mind's eye, he seemed to see the shadow of a distant age.

He crossed the Suiren Great Plain—a boundless, fertile expanse that stretched as far as the eye could see, vibrant with life. Legend said that the Ancestral God had once built a simple hut and lived here in seclusion, blessing the land with such abundance that whatever was planted grew with astonishing vigor.

He passed through the Buried God Valley, gazing at the collapsed mountains that lay broken and scattered. Xiao Chen's heart surged with uncontrollable emotion—how brutal must the battles here have been in ages past?

After more than ten days, he emerged from the endless, desolate mountain ranges and entered the Central Plains.

The vast Central Plains—boundless, without edge. This was the true heart of the Eternal Continent. Since ancient times, it had been a land of spiritual excellence, nurturing countless extraordinary figures.

The Central Plains was home to five hegemonic kingdoms: Xia, Shang, Zhou, Fan, and Rome. These five immense empires occupied eighty percent of the vast Central Plains. Their territories were staggeringly wide—in Great Xia, for example, the distance from north to south was fifty thousand li, and from east to west, forty thousand li.

Each of these hegemonic kingdoms dwarfed the entire Mortal World, a fact that astonished Xiao Chen.

Xia, Shang, and Zhou were predominantly Eastern races; Rome was largely Western; Fan was a melting pot of mixed bloodlines, with the majority of its population devout followers of Buddhism.

Beyond the five hegemonies, there were numerous vassal states—some spanning millions of square kilometers, others no larger than a single city. Over a hundred such small states existed, but they survived only in the cracks between the five great powers.

Very few of these vassal states were truly independent. The most famous were the eight ancient kingdoms of Qin, Han, Sui, Tang, Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing. Though they could not compare to Xia, Shang, Zhou, Fan, or Rome, each still covered over a million square kilometers—a territory equal to the Nine Provinces of the Mortal World.

All this spoke to the sheer immensity of the Central Plains. Yet this was merely the Central Plains; it could not represent the entire Eternal Continent.

And beyond—beyond the Ancient God Wasteland to the north, beyond the Million Bronze Mountains to the west, beyond the vast Eastern Sea's rolling waves, beyond the ten million desolate islands to the south—what unknown worlds lay? No one could say.

Legend claimed that even the Heavenly Gods found it difficult to enter those uncharted regions.

Once inside the Central Plains, the landscape softened. The mountains were no longer as treacherous and desolate as those of the Southern Wastes and the southwestern borderlands. Though great peaks and mighty rivers still abounded, they were for the most part graceful and picturesque, brimming with spiritual charm.

Towering peaks, wreathed in drifting clouds and mist, seemed like immortal mountains descended into the mortal realm. Surging rivers, roaring and churning, coiled like jade dragons. Vast plains, boundless and teeming with life, seemed like fallen starfields.

Immortal mountains, divine plains, sacred valleys, jade rivers—they formed a hazy celestial tapestry. A land of grandeur and poetry, magnificent and varied.

Xiao Chen entered the southwestern part of the Central Plains, within the borders of Great Shang, a hegemonic kingdom at the height of its power, peaceful and prosperous on all sides.

After traveling for days through wild forests, he saw a colossal city rising ahead of him. A sense of warmth flooded his heart—he was finally returning to the bustling society of humankind.

This was a major city on Great Shang's southwestern frontier. Inside the city walls, the streets were thronged with carts and pedestrians. Shops lined the avenues; vendors hawked their wares without end. The flow of people was incessant. It was a place of great prosperity.

Xiao Chen walked straight to a tavern and chose a seat by a window on the second floor. As he ate, he listened to the patrons discuss all manner of strange tales and news.

This tavern stood in the most bustling district of the city, hosting travelers from north and south. News traveled fastest here.

"...In the past few years, many powerful cultivators have obtained rare treasures from that place."

A wave of scoffing rippled through the crowd. Someone said, "Everyone on the Eternal Continent knows that! But the innermost palace hall can't be breached. It's been three noisy years, and there's little to be gained anymore. I went myself, but I couldn't even fly up there—just took a look and came back."

The middle-aged Taoist gave a wry smile. His face was sallow, his eyes dull, and his expression thoroughly downcast. "Now I hear that legendary figures like Kong Xuan and Tongtian are on their way there, planning to break through the final layer of restrictions."

"What?!"

A chorus of exclamations erupted in the tavern.

The down-on-his-luck Taoist smiled without another word and began eating and drinking at his leisure.

"The big players have finally stepped in. No matter what, I have to see this!"

"I'm going too!"

The crowd was electrified. Everyone wanted to witness what divine treasures would emerge when the legendary Celestial Palace was finally breached. For three years, that stretch of sky over the Tianluo Kingdom had blazed with countless rainbow-hued beams, gripping the hearts of many.

"By the way, Reverend, has that Celestial Palace been identified yet? Otherwise, why would Lord Tongtian be stirred to action?"

The down-on-his-luck Taoist smiled again. "Of course. It's the Celestial Palace refined by the Ancestral God, Sovereign Youchao."

"A palace left by an Ancestral God?!"

Everyone was stunned. Then many immediately dropped their chopsticks and set off on the spot.

The vast tavern was now left with only the down-on-his-luck Taoist and Xiao Chen. Xiao Chen was in no hurry to leave. Since the big figures were about to act, even if there were supreme treasures within, they would not fall to him. What was there to rush? If he wanted to watch the excitement, he could amble over at his leisure.

The sallow-faced Taoist glanced at Xiao Chen, finished his meal, then hurried away.

After eating, Xiao Chen wandered aimlessly through the city when he spotted the middle-aged Taoist again. The man was zealously spreading word about the legacy palace of the Ancestral God Suiren and soon led a large group of cultivators out of the city.

Xiao Chen followed along.

"Reverend, what is your name?"

"I am Shen Xibao."

"That sounds... odd," someone murmured.

Others found it familiar. "Why does that name ring a bell?"

Someone beside them said, "Don't you remember? In ancient times, there was a god of misfortune named Shen Gongbao. Because of him, countless disciples of the Original and Tongtian factions died or were wounded. He wasn't particularly powerful, but whoever met him was doomed to bad luck."

"Reverend, your name is so strange. Are you related to Shen Gongbao?"

"He was my ancestor." The down-on-his-luck Taoist answered with a beaming smile.

"What?! Descendant of the god of misfortune? I #@$%…" Half the group immediately turned and fled back the way they had come.

"Daoist, please stay."

At these words, the group that had run several dozen meters instantly froze in place—and involuntarily, they retreated back.

Such a bizarre phenomenon left many agape. Immediately, they recalled the ancient legend of the god of misfortune. That simple phrase—"Daoist, please stay"—had buried how many ancient powerhouses? For ordinary cultivators, it was even more terrifying than Tongtian's Four Immortal-Slaying Swords!