"We've investigated thoroughly. The so-called opportunity and adventure refer to a very special island."
Legend has it that about two thousand years ago, a massive tsunami struck this place. The raging sea destroyed everything. After the waves receded, an island mysteriously appeared where the ocean had once been flat. No one could explain its sudden arrival. Some brave souls ventured onto the island, but found nothing unusual—until a cultivator set foot there and was blessed with the powers of heaven and earth.
Back then, the Zhou Dynasty had just lost its grip on power, rituals and music were in chaos, and the land was torn by warring lords. Those cultivators who gained fortune from Phantom Island seized the moment and founded new sects. Some of the great schools of thought after the Spring and Autumn period can trace their roots to these pioneers. But the Phantom Island was a fleeting miracle—gone within days, never to be found again.
Five hundred years later, after the Age of Warring States fell and Qin ruled all, another tsunami struck, waves towering and shaking the land for miles. Phantom Island reappeared. But after centuries of war, its secret was all but forgotten. Even fishermen who landed found nothing. It was only when a cultivator named Fred Fox happened to travel here that things changed. He sailed out, spent a whole day on the island, and when he returned, legend says he walked on water, gliding across the waves like an immortal.
Fred Fox's fame spread everywhere, even the First Emperor of Qin, Ying Zheng, called him a true immortal. Ying Zheng, lamenting the brevity of life, ordered Fred Fox to seek the elixir of immortality. Fred Fox knew all his powers came from Phantom Island, so he sailed out again and again—but the island vanished once more. Unwilling to give up, he gathered boys and girls, performed great rituals, and set out to sea, never to return. And as for Ying Zheng, well, he never found immortality either.
After Fred Fox, countless imitators tried their luck, but the huge island left no trace. A hundred years passed with nothing, two hundred and the craze faded, three hundred, four hundred and it was all but forgotten. But five hundred years later, another tsunami hit and the strange island appeared again. Martial artists and wanderers flocked to the site, and the most famous among them—surely you've heard the name—was none other than Leo White, the so-called Immortal of Wine.
After Leo White set foot on the island, he was never seen again, vanishing along with the mysterious isle from the eyes of the world. So, according to the official chronicles, that's the year he died. But some say he didn't perish—he sat on the island, pondering the Dao, drinking and singing madly, and invented a set of martial arts that shook the heavens. Those who returned from the island didn't all ascend to immortality, but each gained something. Rumor has it, during the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms era, heroes and prodigies sprang up everywhere, martial arts flourished, and it was all thanks to the hidden influence of this legendary island.
As for what's actually on Phantom Island, no one will say for sure. Maybe it's a peerless martial arts manual, maybe rare treasures that can remake your body. Whatever it is, with all those legendary tales, you can bet there's some extraordinary fortune waiting there. The rumors are wild—rebirth, youth restored, illnesses cured, lifespan extended, you name it. Who knows how much is true and how much is just tall tales?
And this year marks exactly five hundred years since the last tsunami. By all calculations, Phantom Island is due to appear any day now.
In a hidden courtyard, two Bronze Priests, one Silver Priest, and a Daoist named Hundred Loss—who'd been specially allowed to sit in—were all gathered here. If the Zhao Song court knew so many big shots from the Eternal Sky Cult were meeting, they'd send the troops in a heartbeat. But right now, they're keeping a low profile. After all, with Song and Mongol locked in war, the Eternal Sky Cult has long planted secret agents throughout Zhao Song territory.
A faction is like a big tree—if you want to stand tall and shield yourself from wind and rain, your roots in the darkness below have to be strong. You plant secret agents, I plant secret agents; all those hidden lines crisscross until they form a tangled web in the shadows. And this web of truth and lies is the breeding ground for most of the schemes in the martial world, and the perfect training ground for any would-be hero.
Of the big shots present, the Seventh Bronze Priest was the master of intelligence networks. He preferred to recruit defectors from the south, so he naturally handled all the intel. After his slow, deep explanation, the other three were clearly intrigued. With names like Fred Fox and Leo White in the mix, they couldn't help but take the legend of Phantom Island seriously. If the stories are true, that island is basically a full-package deal for fortune and power.
But everyone here is no spring chicken—add up their ages and you've got several centuries. They’ve got plenty of patience and scheming between them.
The Silver Priest mused for a moment, fiddling with a glowing stone, and said, "There's something odd about all this. Guo Shoujing's divination proves the 'opportunity' is no idle rumor. But if Phantom Island really exists, why did no one know before, and why is it suddenly all over the place now?"
"It's not like no one knew before—every major sect with five hundred years of history has scraps of records. I even had my people check the Shaolin Archives, and found some clues in old scrolls. It was just that everyone kept it secret, so no one knew. Now, for some reason, word got out and the whole city is in an uproar." The Seventh Bronze Priest explained, then agreed, "But to say there's no problem with this situation is impossible. All the sects are hiding in the shadows, so it's hard to tell who's stirring the pot."
"Mm." The Silver Priest nodded, then turned to the Sixth Bronze Priest. "Old Six, you've always been interested in this. Any progress?"
"Ha! Relax, just stir up some muddy water and the big fish will show themselves!" The Sixth Bronze Priest said confidently, "My crew's been itching for action all along, so it's the perfect time to let them loose. That old Zhao dog is close by—if we cause a bit of chaos under some pretense, we'll trigger a storm at just the right moment. All we have to do is sit back and enjoy the show; everything will become clear soon enough."
(This chapter isn't over yet~ Please click 'Next Page' to continue reading the exciting story!)
But before he finished speaking, a firework rocket shot into the night sky, bursting into a shower of sparks. The display was at least thirty miles away, but with the perfect angle and clear air, it was easy to see.
That was an alarm signal—the Ironfang Guards had run into an enemy they couldn't handle!
"Ha! The fish has bitten!" The Sixth Bronze Priest jumped up, rushing to the door. "Let me see what kind of catch we've got!"
But as he stepped into the courtyard, a hand suddenly reached out from the shadows and grabbed his shoulder with a snap.
It happened so abruptly, so impossibly, that the Sixth Bronze Priest's pupils shrank to pinpoints and his hair stood on end. Hundred Loss Daoist shot up, bracing for a fight, his aura surging like crashing waves. The Seventh Bronze Priest also tensed, clenching his fist and going on full alert.
So many masters gathered here, yet someone managed to sneak this close without being noticed? The Sixth Copper Sacrifice is a top-tier expert, and even he was caught off guard with a slap on the shoulder? Honestly, with the skill and perception of whoever did this, you'd think only a true immortal could pull off such a stunt!
If he'd wanted to kill, the Sixth Bronze Priest would already be dead!
Who on earth is this?!
But the owner of that hand didn't attack. Instead, a stiff voice came from the shadow of a big tree: "Go. Don't."
"Oh, it's you..." The Sixth Bronze Priest let out a long sigh of relief. He knew that voice well—the one he feared most among all the Bronze Priests. His abilities were special, enough to handle most experts, but this person alone could truly threaten him. He glanced back at the ever-composed Silver Priest, surprised to find that this southern trip wasn't just two Bronze Priests, but three.
Three—more than half the Bronze Priests. And with four Priests in total, that's over half the entire priesthood. The power the third Silver Priest brought was beyond any usual limit. The Seventh Bronze Priest's eyes flashed, then he hid his thoughts deep within.
"Fifth Brother, you came too!" The Sixth Silver Priest greeted with caution as a figure seemed to "flow" out from the tree bark and appeared in the courtyard. He was of average build, wearing a bronze mask—lighter and more discreet than the others, with a unique look. He didn't seem good with words, speaking in a jumbled way, but his meaning was clear: "Fireworks. Bait. You. Fish."
The Sixth Bronze Priest froze, his face turning ashen beneath the mask.
Someone used the firework rocket as bait—which meant his Ironfang Guards were probably doomed. Even if a few survived, they were expendable to him. Nothing mattered more than his own safety.
Suspect the Fifth Bronze Priest?
Ha, that thought never crossed his mind.
In matters like this, no one ever suspects the Fifth Bronze Priest.
Still, losing all his Ironfang Guards in one go stung. To him, they were precious test subjects, and losing them for no clear reason made his blood boil.
"Who did this!" the Sixth Bronze Priest cursed, gritting his teeth. "If you dare eat my meat, just wait for me to poison you to death!"
All night, the land was quiet. Everything slept, except for the priestesses at Lady Mother Temple, who were busy working. They didn’t know much, but they all believed something big would happen tomorrow. Because after waiting all night, that white-haired man left—with nearly thirty heads in tow.
The next morning, just after dawn, the roosters crowed.
Early-rising elders opened their doors and windows to enjoy the cool morning air. They yawned, rubbed their eyes, and felt wonderfully refreshed—until they froze, mouths hanging open in disbelief at the scene before them.
After two minutes of dead silence, someone finally snapped out of it and screamed at the top of their lungs, "Murder—has—happened—!!"
On Putian's widest street, nearly thirty heads were arranged in a neat display. In the middle of their gruesome pattern, bold, wild characters were carved into the stone. Officials soon arrived, scooped up the heads, and cleaned up the scene. But the words carved deep into the flagstones were harder to erase. All they could do was roughly shove the crowd aside and bark warnings: No rumors, no spreading the news.
But in less than half an hour, everyone in Putian had already heard every word of those characters:
[The killer is the Flower-Thief, Jia Tengying]
And once again, the martial world was thrown into chaos.