For the past year, Feng Zikang had devoted himself solely to cultivating his Dao Heart and cultivation methods. His Wuxiang Tianmo Huashen (Formless Celestial Demon Incarnation) technique was now at the tenth level, allowing him to passively survey a ten-mile radius; he could detect the slightest disturbance without conscious effort.

If he deliberately focused his intent, he could project the Wuxiang Tianmo Huashen up to a hundred miles away.

That range was certainly sufficient for spying on these barbarian tribes who practiced unorthodox magic.

The Wuxiang Tianmo Huashen drifted onward. The further it moved from the main body, the colder it became, and the essence, energy, and spirit of the incarnation would gradually deplete. If left too long, it would eventually vanish into nothingness.

However, the barbarian encampment was not far, so this level of depletion was an expenditure the incarnation could afford. After their defeat during the day, Wuduyali had retreated thirty miles, finally managing to rally his broken troops and set up camp against the mountainside.

The Wuxiang Tianmo Huashen, being formless and without substance, slipped into the barbarian camp undetected.

Wuduyali resided in a large cave near the mountain base. The interior was cleaned out, a bonfire was lit, making it spacious and warm. He was slumped against a tiger-skin rug, still gripping a bone goblet, downing strong liquor in misery. Two barbarian women attended him, serving his meal.

Nearby, a bald old man with a white beard sat upright, eyes closed, meditating.

"Alas!"

Wuduyali suddenly sighed, impatiently waving away the two women around him, his face etched with sorrow.

"My King, what troubles you?" The white-bearded old man opened his eyes and inquired solicitously. His face was sly and wrinkled, resembling a desiccated cassava root; when he grinned, it became even more repulsive.

"I, Wuduyali, broke a tiger and leopard with my bare hands at thirteen, and at fifteen, I led two hundred young braves to wipe out the entire army of the Siam natives. Later, I learned esoteric arts from the Great Master, gaining the power to manifest a ten-foot-tall Dharmakaya, possessing boundless strength. I thought myself a peerless hero, capable of leading our thirty-six Dong barbarian tribes to a better life. That's why I launched this attack on the Tang—I envisioned a future free from constraints, establishing our own kingdom, no longer subject to the bullying of the Tang people..."

Wuduyali paused, his mood deeply desolate.

"Who knew the Great Tang possessed so many powerful and unusual figures? A mere child of fourteen or fifteen nearly took my head off. What am I to do now? If I fail, my death means little, but if I drag my clan down with me, won't I become a sinner through the ages?"

He touched his neck, clearly still feeling the lingering fear.

Wuduyali, having mastered his arts, had become arrogant and self-aggrandizing, believing himself invincible. This arrogance fueled his fierce ambition to invade the Tang territory. But after confronting Feng Zikang, he realized that the cultivators of the Central Plains were indeed unfathomably deep; his own meager skills amounted to nothing.

His spirit utterly crushed, he was at a loss for what to do.

"Master Xié Mò, why don't you just take my head and send it to the Tang camp? Tell them the Mangu Dong tribe surrenders, offering tribute yearly and coming to court season after season. I, Wuduyali, will take all the blame, offering my head, just to beg them to spare our people!"

"My King, why speak such words!"

The bald old man, called Master Xié Mò, rolled his eyelids, and two fierce glints flashed in his eyes.

"While the King was fighting today, I received news: the Tang camp sent two Immortal Masters yesterday to the Heishan Dong to persuade them to surrender..."

Among the thirty-six Southern Barbarian Dongs, the Heishan Dong had always been the recognized leader. It was the largest and wealthiest of the tribes. Only later did Wuduyali rise to prominence, and the Mangu Dong supplanted its leadership. Nevertheless, the influence of the Heishan Dong among the Southern Barbarians remained considerable.

Wuduyali was greatly surprised to hear that envoys had been sent to negotiate surrender.

"What did Old Mu'an say?"

"That old fool..." Master Xié Mò spat contemptuously. "He was always wavering. They say when those two Immortal Masters displayed their powers, he kept kowtowing, begging for mercy and offering his entire tribe's surrender!"

"What?"

Wuduyali’s face fell, turning ashen. After a long silence, he stammered, "If that is the case, then so be it. If even the Heishan Dong has surrendered, our few thousand men have no backup. Within days our provisions will run out—what is there left to fight for? Master, let us follow the plan I just proposed!"

He thrust his neck forward, closed his eyes, and waited for death.

To think that Mò Lí and the Cold Golden Cicada managed to subdue a whole Dong so quickly. It seemed their strategy of one playing the good cop and the other the bad cop was quite effective, Feng Zikang thought, nodding internally.

Unexpectedly, Master Xié Mò’s expression twisted, and he spoke harshly, "Your Majesty, listen to the end!"

"The Heishan Dong was indeed preparing to surrender, but Little Mu'an accidentally learned the news from a few days ago: the Tang army massacred the Cangjiang Dong! Incensed, he confronted his father to argue the matter. Old Mu'an, being aged, was muddled, timid, and dared not retract his words, so his son struck him down, severing his head! Now, Little Mu'an is in charge of the Heishan Dong, and they just sent a blood letter moments ago, vowing to fight the Tang army to the death!"

This patricidal atrocity was recounted by Xié Mò as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Wuduyali was first shocked, then overjoyed.

"If the Heishan Dong fully supports us, our chances of winning the war have increased..."

But recalling another complication, the brow that had relaxed immediately furrowed again. "However, that cultivating brat is difficult to deal with. If we don't eliminate him, even three times our current army won't be enough to destroy the Tang forces. What are we to do about him?"

"Your Majesty need not worry. I heard from the soldiers that the brat was only an equal match for Your Majesty on the battlefield. I presume that even across the vast Central Plains, such figures are few. I have used a blood-sacrificial rite to petition the Great Master to send Your Majesty's senior martial brother, Dà Shān, to face the enemy. The Great Master has agreed; Venerable Dà Shān should arrive within three to five days."

"Ah!" Wuduyali was overjoyed, leaping to his feet. His immense strength caused dust to shake loose from the cave walls.

"If Senior Brother comes, I have nothing to fear!"

"Senior Brother Dà Shān’s Fǎxiàng Huàshēn (Dharma Image Incarnation) technique has reached the peak of the twentieth level, and he is protected by the supreme treasure, the Pagoda-Bearing Heavenly King Banner, which borrows the great power of the Heavenly King. With him here, why should we fear that cultivating brat?"

Wuduyali laughed loudly, his previous worries and fears vanishing into thin air.

They were narrow-minded and self-important, believing the Central Plains held no masters, Feng Zikang sneered inwardly. However, he had a few lingering doubts: first, Wuduyali’s absolute confidence in his senior brother suggested he was not to be trifled with, requiring careful handling; second, why did Mò Lí's mission to persuade the Heishan Dong, which had seemed completely successful, encounter such a twist?

He vaguely sensed that the unrest in the Southern Border involved deeper currents than he had initially perceived.

These thirty-six Dong tribesmen were simple-minded and were clearly being used as sacrificial pawns by certain factions. He just didn't know how many hidden undercurrents were at play beneath the surface.

But that concerned him little. His merit was secured by defeating Wuduyali; this simply meant expending a bit more effort. As for how the rebellion in the Southern Border would evolve, he cared not at all.

Back in the Tang camp, Feng Zikang's body shimmered as he retracted his Wuxiang Tianmo Huashen. He slowly stood up and paced a few steps.

"Wuduyali’s senior brother's Fǎxiàng Huàshēn technique is at the twentieth level. Based on the technique alone, he is merely equivalent to the tenth level of Qi Induction. Without protective Dao methods, I do not fear him. As for the Pagoda-Bearing Heavenly King Banner that borrows the Heavenly King’s mighty strength, I am eager to see what abilities this Southern Barbarian demonic arts faction truly possesses?"