I just became the Pirate King, and you're telling me I also time-traveled at the same time.

Chapter 1104 Breaking the Seal

He placed one hand on the pillar, closed his eyes to sense it for a moment, and then opened them.

"Chifeng lost," he said.

Mo Yunzi sat on a futon beside the hall, flipping through a scroll of bamboo slips.

Hearing this, he raised his head, his white eyebrows twitching slightly.

"He lost? Chifeng's cultivation is almost invincible in the southeast coastal region. Who can defeat him?"

"The Heavenly Pillar did not sense any specific details of the battle." Xuan Chengzi removed his hand from the pillar, the burn marks on his fingertips were deeper than before, the three scorch marks almost burned into his bones.

He looked at the injury on his fingertip and frowned. "But I can deduce a few pieces of information from it."

First, the opponent has a master whose cultivation is no less than Chifeng's, and may even surpass it.

Second, the Golden Core remains in its original location and has not been moved.

Third—the opponent did not use lethal force.

Chi Feng and Jiang Yan are still alive; their auras on the Heavenly Mystery Pillar have not yet faded.

Mo Yunzi put down the bamboo slips, stood up, and walked to Xuan Chengzi's side.

"Then he is not one of Yin Wuyai's people."

If it was a contingency plan left by Yin Wuyai, he wouldn't have let Chifeng return alive.

"I know," Genseiko said. "This also means that things are more complicated than we thought."

Yin Wuyai's golden core fell into the hands of one or a group of third parties. These people were not enemies of the Tiangang Sect, but they were unwilling to hand over the golden core.

They had the ability to defeat Chifeng, but they didn't kill him. This suggests they had principles, but it might also mean they didn't understand what this golden core meant to the Tiangang Sect.

"Or rather, they know, but they don't care," Mo Yunzi added.

The two people looked at each other.

The hall fell silent for a moment, with only the red light on the Heavenly Mystery Pillar pulsating rhythmically.

"How soon can we send more people?" Mo Yunzi asked.

"After Chifeng returns, we'll gather the intelligence before making a decision." Xuan Chengzi walked back to the Heavenly Mystery Pillar, looking up at the red light dancing on its surface. "If the enemy truly possesses combat power exceeding that of a Great Demon, then simply sending more people won't solve the problem." He paused, "We might need to consider initiating a higher-level pursuit plan."

Mo Yunzi's expression changed slightly.

"You mean that thing?"

Xuan Chengzi did not answer.

He simply stared at the Heavenly Mystery Pillar, his gaze gleaming with an unfathomable light under the crimson glow.

The patterns on the Heavenly Mystery Pillar continued to rotate, unhurriedly, like an ancient clock that never rushes.

In the far southeast, the aura of the Golden Core flickered, like someone lighting a lamp in a cave, the wick swaying in the wind but not going out.

The second group of people from the Tiangang Sect arrived at Huaguo Mountain on the evening of the third day.

There was only one person.

The visitor did not travel by flying boat, nor by sword, nor by any flying magical artifact.

He walked across the northern sea—literally "walked," his feet touching the water. With each step, the seawater beneath his feet would automatically freeze into a three-foot-square ice floe, supporting his weight.

He walked slowly, his steps so even they looked as if they had been measured with a ruler, each step exactly the same distance apart.

The sea breeze made his robes flutter, but the rest of his body remained perfectly still—his hair, his sleeves, and even the jade pendant at his waist didn't sway an inch.

He was like a precisely calibrated ruler, with every inch in its proper place.

When he was still three miles from the coastline of Huaguo Mountain, Sun Wukong opened his eyes by the pool.

Sun Wukong was sitting cross-legged on his big rock, his hand supporting his chin, watching the rock and a group of monkeys practicing their boxing on the flat ground with a bored expression.

The stone's fist stance has improved significantly since three days ago. After three days of breathing exercises in the cave, its demon bones have absorbed enough spiritual energy. When it throws a punch, there is a faint white light on its fist surface, and the sound of it hitting the tree trunk is no longer a muffled thud, but a crisp "snap," like a bamboo clapper striking a stone.

Just as Sun Wukong was about to offer some pointers, he suddenly frowned, lowered his hand from his chin, and sat up straight.

He sensed it.

It wasn't a fluctuation of spiritual energy, nor was it the spread of demonic energy; rather, it was a more profound sense of oppression, almost integrated with the heavens and earth.

It's hard to describe that feeling—it's like you're sitting in a room with the doors and windows closed, and suddenly the air feels heavier, so heavy that each breath takes twice as much effort as before.

Chu Yang stopped washing his dagger by the waterfall.

His hands were still immersed in the water, half of the blade submerged, water flowing over the blade and swirling at his fingertips.

His perception was not as sharp as Sun Wukong's, but he could tell from Sun Wukong's expression that something was wrong. In all the days he had known Sun Wukong, he had never seen him show such an expression.

It wasn't fear, but an extremely rare seriousness, so serious that even the hint of cynicism he usually wore on his lips had completely vanished.

"One's here." Sun Wukong stood up and pulled the golden cudgel out of his ear.

The golden cudgel grew larger in his palm, and the golden light emanating from the cudgel was somewhat dimmer than when he fought Master Chifeng three days ago—the scorch mark on the cudgel was still there, and the mark left by the final blow from the Crimson Blade was not so easy to erase.

"Much more powerful than the last one."

Chu Yang took the dagger out of the water and shook off the water droplets.

"How amazing?"

Sun Wukong remained silent for two breaths.

"I don't know."

But I could sense that his aura didn't erupt or release; he just walked over quietly.

Even the most skilled fighters will inevitably reveal some of their aura when they get close to their opponents; the more nervous they are, the less they can hide it.

But he's different.

He concealed his presence so completely that I couldn't detect him from three miles away. He paused, then continued, "I've only ever seen this level of self-control in one other person."

"Who?"

"Bodhi Patriarch".

Chu Yang remained silent.

He tucked the dagger into his waistband, bent down, took off his shoes, and stepped barefoot into the mud.

This action has no practical significance—being barefoot wouldn't make him fight faster—but it's a habit he developed in the desert.

The desert ground can tell you a lot: distant footsteps, underground water sources, the direction of sandstorms, and you can feel all the information separated by your shoes when you're barefoot.

At this moment, the ground of Huaguo Mountain was cool, and there was moisture in the soil. He could feel that the tidal rhythm of the sea three miles away had become disordered—not because the tides themselves had changed, but because something was interfering with the natural flow of the sea.

That person is changing the environment wherever he goes.

It wasn't that he actively tried to change things, but rather that his very existence was so powerful that the surrounding spiritual energy of heaven and earth automatically gave way in front of him, like a group of small fish encountering a shark.

A low, rumbling sound came from the other side of the coastline.

The sound wasn't loud, but the frequency was extremely low, so low that you could feel the vibration through your teeth.

The monkey troop sensed that the monkeys practicing their boxing had stopped and all turned to look towards the coast.

Stone pulled back his fist stance, landed on all fours, lowered his body, and made a low "whooshing" sound from his throat.

It possesses demonic bones, making its perception of danger thousands of times sharper than that of other monkeys.

Its tail was puffed up into a perfect ball of fur, with every single hair standing straight up.

"Let the monkeys go up the mountain," Chu Yang said. "All of them, all of them, go up to the top of the mountain."

Stones too.

Sun Wukong glanced at Chu Yang.

Chu Yang's expression was calm, just as calm as he was before each of his attacks.

Sun Wukong understood that this calmness was not a sign of fearlessness, but rather that he had suppressed his fear to some corner so that it wouldn't affect his judgment.

"Stones!" Sun Wukong shouted, pointing towards the mountaintop, "Take them up there."

No matter what happens down there, don't come down.

Stone looked back at Sun Wukong, then at Chu Yang.

For the first time, hesitation appeared in its eyes. It hadn't hesitated when fighting the black bear, nor when standing in front of Master Chifeng, but now it hesitated.

It wasn't out of fear, but because it gleaned a message from Sun Wukong and Chu Yang's expressions: this time, the enemy was different.

It wanted to stay and help, but it also knew it couldn't.

Three days of breathing exercises in the cave transformed him from a strong monkey into a minor demon just beginning his cultivation journey. But in the face of the being that was approaching, the minor demon was no different from an ant.

Its teeth clenched, and its lips turned up, revealing two rows of yellow teeth.

Then it suddenly turned around, looked up at the sky and let out a long scream—a signal to retreat.

Within moments, the monkey troop had assembled. The older monkeys picked up the younger ones, and the younger ones followed behind the rocks, climbing up the mountainside.

They moved even faster than during their training, their claws tearing fine stone chips from the rock face. Dozens of monkeys surged up the mountainside like a brown stream, only stopping when they reached the dense forest at the summit.

The one-eyed old monkey was the last to climb up. Its chest wound hadn't healed yet, and it had to catch its breath with every step it took. The blue-eyed old monkey was beside it, pushing its buttocks to help it climb higher.

The person on the shore walked across the beach.

His feet touched the sand, but no footprints were left—not because he was light, but because with each step he distributed his weight evenly over an incredible area, lifting his feet before the sand could even settle.

He walked across the beach, past the rocky reefs, and into the edge of the peach grove in Huaguo Mountain.

He stopped and stood in front of the broken peach tree stump that Sun Wukong had broken when he fought Chifeng Zhenren three days ago, and looked down at the broken end.

The wood shavings at the break have dried and turned from white to light brown.

He stretched out two fingers and rubbed them on the broken edge.

He had a small pinch of sawdust on his finger. He rubbed it between his fingertips, turning the sawdust into powder, and then clapped his hands to shake off the powder.

He looked up toward the waterfall, his gaze passing through the peach grove, the pool, and the spray from the waterfall, landing precisely on Sun Wukong.

"The Golden Cudgel," he said.

The voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly across the entire peach grove, as if he were speaking right in front of Chu Yang and Sun Wukong.

"The Ruyi Jingu Bang weighs 13,500 jin."

"Those who can wield this staff are few and far between in the Three Realms." He shifted his gaze from Sun Wukong to Chu Yang, looked at him for a few moments, and then looked away.

Chu Yang's aura was too weak, so weak that it wasn't worth his attention.

He stepped through the peach grove and headed towards the waterfall.

His stride was even, neither fast nor slow, each step landing on the flattest spot on the peach orchard floor, as if he were walking a path only he could see.

The shadows of the peach tree swept across him, and sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on his dark blue robe.

When he reached the scree slope, traces of the battle three days earlier still remained on the ground—scorched soil, broken stones, and fissures cut open by the blade's edge.

He looked at these marks as if he were reading a report, memorizing every detail.

"The Chifeng sword broke here," he said, his tone devoid of emotion—neither regret nor anger, but simply stating a fact.

He stood where Master Chifeng had thrown the Crimson Blade three days ago, looked around, and then nodded slightly, as if confirming something.

Finally, he walked to the edge of the pool and stopped about ten steps away from Sun Wukong and Chu Yang.

He looked to be in his early forties, with a thin face and some gray hair at his temples, but not much.

His eyes were dark brown, with a very faint amber sheen on the surface of his pupils that seemed to move with the changing light, as if his eyes contained two clumps of diluted resin.

He wore a dark blue, wide-sleeved robe. The material was neither silk nor cotton or linen, but a fabric that looked like water. The folds on the robe were constantly changing, and every time you blinked, the position of the folds was different, as if the whole robe was a frozen seawater.

He wore a silver belt around his waist, from which hung three things: a sword, a folding fan, and a bamboo flute.

He did not introduce himself.

He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, as if his words were the final verdict, requiring no further explanation.

"The Heavenly Gang Sect has been searching for Yin Wuyai's Golden Core for ten thousand years."

You can't protect them.

Sun Wukong slammed his golden cudgel into the ground, the end of which sank three feet into the mud.

Seven or eight cracks appeared in the mud, spreading outwards from the end of the stick. The cracks stopped automatically when they reached the person's feet, as if blocked by an invisible dam.

"Whether we can protect them or not, we'll only know after we fight," Sun Wukong said.

That person glanced at Sun Wukong, his gaze as calm as a stagnant pool.

"You are indeed very strong."

In my perception, you are suppressing your power—there is a trace of being sealed within you, a seal that is not meant to imprison you, but rather to restrict you.

"If you want to break the seal, your power can at least quadruple." His tone was completely calm, neither praising nor provoking, but simply that of an appraiser authenticating an antique, listing its materials, age, and craftsmanship.

"But even if you unleash everything, you still can't beat me."

Sun Wukong's fingers tightened slightly as he gripped the golden cudgel.

It wasn't because I was provoked, but because the other person was right.

He immediately saw the seal within Sun Wukong's body, realizing that most of his power was sealed away.

Those who can see through this are few and far between in the Three Realms.