Primordial Era: I've become a cheat code by taking Yang Jian as my disciple?

There is no favoritism, and no restrictions.

"The capable shall occupy the position"—these five words are both a response to Zhong Lingyun and a constraint on the Six Saints.

Whoever has the ability to put someone on the list of gods will be able to obtain a divine position.

Whether it's the Heavenly Emperor or a righteous god, it's all about ability.

Hongjun's aura dissipated.

They come silently and leave without a trace.

He is the Way of Heaven. The Way of Heaven is everywhere, so how can it come and go?

Yuanshi Tianzun straightened up, his gaze lingering on the Chaos Bell for a final moment.

His gaze at that moment was complex—it contained wariness, apprehension, and even a very faint hint of admiration that he quickly suppressed.

Although Taiyi is dead, this bell is even more troublesome than when Taiyi was alive.

"Jade Cauldron".

"Disciple is here."

"Take them away."

Yuanshi Tianzun took a step forward, and his figure disappeared into the void.

The Twelve Golden Immortals and the Taoist Ran Deng withdrew one after another.

The golden celestial light gradually faded from the sky above the Hundred Thousand Mountains, and the Immortal Spiritual Light Array was completely dispelled.

Master Yuding left the latest.

He stood on the broken mountain ridge, his gaze piercing through the swirling dust and smoke, looking towards the heart of the Ten Thousand Mountains.

He couldn't see Yang Jian.

But he knew Yang Jian was there.

More than three years have passed, and the boy who plotted to recruit disciples but was intercepted by Chaos Bell now stands at the very center of the demon race's camp.

"Yang Jian..."

Master Yu Ding murmured the name once.

He turned and left.

Before his figure disappeared, his lips moved slightly, and he uttered something that only the wind could hear.

"See you again in the next great eon."

……

In the heart of the Ten Thousand Mountains, atop ruins.

The Chaos Bell fell to the ground, and its mouth opened.

Bai Ze, Jiu Ying, Yang Jian, Yang Chan, and all the demons who had been taken into the bell emerged one by one.

Taiyi's mirror image was still suspended in mid-air.

But now only a faint, indistinct shadow remains.

His golden pupils had dimmed to the point of being almost invisible, and the outline of the imperial robes had blurred into a patch of scattered light.

The Golden Crow's essence—has been exhausted.

Or rather, less than 20% remains.

These two parts of the original essence barely maintained the last vestige of the mirror image's existence.

Bai Ze knelt on the ground, gazing up at the fading phantom, his lips moving but unable to utter a single word.

He knew—this time, it was truly goodbye.

When Taiyi fell last time, at least the Golden Crow's essence was left behind, leaving behind the thought that "maybe we can meet again someday."

This time, however, the very essence was burned out, leaving not even a trace.

The gaze of Taiyi's mirror image—the gaze controlled by Zhong Lingyun—slowly swept over the more than 30,000 demons kneeling on the ground.

Tiger demon, snake demon, eagle demon, ape demon... incomplete, wounded, beaten to the point of barely breathing.

These are the last remaining assets of the demon race.

Back then, the number of demons under Donghuang Taiyi's command was more than a million.

There were tens of thousands of Great Luo Golden Immortals, and their army was so vast that it drew the attention of the entire prehistoric world.

And today—37,000.

Fewer than 20,000 are still alive.

The illusory image of the mirror body began to disintegrate from the edges.

Golden shards of light drifted like fireflies, landing on the scorched earth of the Ten Thousand Mountains, on the shoulders of the remnants of the demon race, and on Bai Ze's white hair.

"My Emperor..."

Bai Ze's voice was so hoarse it was almost unrecognizable, like an old bird whose neck had been broken, making its final cry.

The mirror image did not respond.

It will not respond.

It was merely a fleeting image, a remnant of the past projected by the Golden Crow's origin.

Taiyi is gone.

He has been gone since the day of the Lich King's Cataclysm.

The last ray of golden light drifted out from between the eyebrows of the mirror image.

The ray of light did not dissipate into the air, but instead slowly drifted down and landed in Yang Jian's palm.

It's warm.

Like the sun.

Yang Jian grasped that ray of light.

The mirror image vanished.

From then on, Donghuang Taiyi could never reappear in the Chaos Bell!

Taiichi is gone.

This time, he's really gone.

……

The Chaos Bell rested quietly on the scorched earth, its surface patterns dull and lifeless.

Zhong Lingyun shrank into his physical body, his consciousness space was empty.

That golden ball of light that had accompanied him for hundreds of thousands of years, that warm, proud, and eternally pulsating presence—

Is gone.

In the center of the bell's interior space, only a small, almost invisible halo of light remained.

Zhong Lingyun's consciousness sat in the corner of the space, remaining silent for a long time.

"Is it worth it?" he asked himself.

What Taiyi gained in exchange for the last trace he left in the world was the qualification for the demon race to participate in the Investiture of the Gods, the right to compete for the position of Heavenly Emperor, and the promise made by Hongjun himself: "The capable shall rule."

does it worth?

Zhong Lingyun didn't know.

But he knew one thing—if Taiyi were still alive, he would slap the wall of the Chaos Bell and laugh three times, then say:

"Well done, old buddy."

Then he turned around and went to fight Yuanshi Tianzun.

Zhong Lingyun's consciousness smiled slightly.

It bent slightly and then pulled back.

……

Outside, Yang Chan was already busy.

She squatted on the ground, spreading all the pills out on the floor, muttering a distribution plan.

"Those who are seriously injured should take the Rejuvenation Pill first; those with severed limbs should apply the Bone-Setting Powder externally; those who have been hit by the Chan Sect's Immortal Light should use the Antidote Pill—third-grade pills aren't enough, second-grade will have to do—Hey! You tiger-headed guy! Don't scratch your wounds!"

Bai Ze sat on a pile of pebbles, watching Yang Chan bustling around, his withered fingers pointing to the animal bone ring on his wrist.

"Lord Zhong Ling."

The bell of Chaos trembled slightly in response.

"How much of the original essence... is left?"

"Less than 20%."

Zhong Lingyun's voice was very calm, as if he were talking about a number that had nothing to do with him.

Bai Ze nodded and didn't ask any further questions.

Yang Jian stood at the highest point of the ruins, his palm outstretched, looking at the wisp of light in his palm that had solidified into a golden bead.

Taiyi's final gift.

The seed of the Great Sun Burning Heaven Technique.

He pressed the golden bead against his chest, and the bead silently sank beneath his skin, settling beside the incineration fire seed in his dantian.

The moment the dark golden flame touched the golden bead, it emitted a faint buzzing sound—like a resonance at some level of bloodline.

The flame of the Burning Technique... has changed.

A ring of extremely fine lines appeared on the dark gold surface—that was the seed of the Great Sun Burning Heaven Technique taking root.

He is still a long way from truly mastering the Great Sun Burning Heaven Technique; he will have to wait until he breaks through to the Golden Immortal realm.

But the seed has already been planted.

Yang Jian withdrew his hand and looked south.

The State of Yan is in that direction.

Fish Bridge Street, the dock, the reefs, the smoky atmosphere of grilled squid tentacles, and a dragon princess in a sea-blue dress with a loud voice.

He made a mental note of it.

Then he turned and walked toward Yang Chan, who was distributing medicine.

"Do you need any help?"

Yang Chan didn't even look up: "Go and bring those three great demons over there. They're the most seriously injured; they'll die if we don't treat them soon."

"it is good."

Yang Jian strode toward the pile of wounded soldiers.

His steps were steady, landing silently on the scorched earth.

The wind from the Ten Thousand Mountains swept through the ruins, carrying the scent of ash and blood.

But beneath the ashes—Yang Jian could feel it—the earth was still warm.

It is not the lingering warmth of chaotic turbulence.

It is the temperature that belongs to this land itself—the temperature of life.