In the ancient times, gods and demons were indistinguishable, and all living beings were incomparably powerful—some towering like hills, some with three heads and six arms, able to summon wind and command lightning, some with eyes like the sun and moon, holding the four seas in their palms. Ever since Nuwa Phoenix gathered the bloodlines of the ancient people and fashioned living beings, the blood of later generations has been mixed with that of the ancient gods and demons.

The Divine Sect and Demonic Order use profound methods to seek out that trace of ancient true spirit within their blood, to nourish and strengthen it, ultimately returning to their origins and transforming into the bodies of gods and demons. Their power is naturally formidable, and this is also the true path to immortality.

Brian Carter had been practicing the Blackwater True Method for just over a month, and had not even mastered the first level of the heart method, so naturally he was not yet at the stage of tempering his body. However, through day and night cultivation, nourished by the energy of true water, his body had become more than twice as strong as before. Yet the energy of true water nourishes things silently, and he himself was still unaware of it.

This time, with a small test of his abilities, a hint of the extraordinary was revealed.

Brian Carter focused all his attention on the changes in his body, and thus did not notice the shy expression appearing on Emily Foster's pretty face. Secretary Harris was a senior official who had served three emperors, and his family was a noble clan with centuries of history. This mansion was extremely vast, with dozens of courtyards alone. Although Brian Carter had slipped in, the Minister's residence was a labyrinth of corridors and doors, and he had no idea which way to go. It was Emily Foster who took his hand and led the way. The girl moved as if she were in her own home, winding through several courtyards without alerting a single member of the The Harris Estate household, and soon they arrived beneath the tall tower.

This tower was built by Secretary Harris to pray for his mother's blessings. He specially commissioned craftsmen to construct it according to the highest Buddhist standards, with thirteen stories, each with a Buddha, and at the very top enshrined a statue of the Great Peng Ming King brought from the Grand Fulong Temple in Chang'an. Although its official name was the Cien Pagoda, everyone in Chang'an called it the Ming King Pagoda, or the Great Peng Ming King Pagoda.

Secretary Harris's family was wealthy, and this Great Peng Ming King Pagoda was built with great grandeur, made entirely of blue bricks from top to bottom, solid and unyielding. Because people often came to worship, it was usually left unlocked, though few visited. Brian Carter and Emily Foster, hand in hand, ascended the steps, finding a unique tranquility. When they reached the thirteenth floor, the highest point of the Great Peng Ming King Pagoda, the mat-fighting contest had already begun, and all of Chang'an could hear the thunderous cheers.

The current emperor Samuel Thompson, after all, was a centenarian ruler who had held the throne for decades—not a mediocre man. He also worried that the extraordinary people he had summoned were mere charlatans, so at the Water and Land Assembly, he set up this mat-fighting contest, allowing monks, Daoists, and eccentrics from all directions to display their skills, with rewards for the victors.

In front of the imperial city, a wooden platform sixteen feet high and a hundred paces wide and long had been erected. At this moment, two Daoists were already dueling atop the stage. The Daoist on the west side wore a yellow robe and a tall crown, standing with hands on hips, while a pine-patterned sword spun and darted wildly around him, flying up and down. His opponent was an elderly Daoist with white hair and beard, dressed in a rather old-fashioned robe, his eyes half-open, half-closed, holding a horsetail whisk between his hands, muttering some great incantation.

Both Daoists were quite remarkable, their spiritual aura three to five times stronger than ordinary people. Especially the yellow-robed Daoist, whose body exuded a spirit energy like a spiritual serpent, manipulating the ancient pine-patterned sword to fly with astonishing agility, making Brian Carter deeply envious. He thought to himself, "I've cultivated for over a month and can only control a bit of water vapor, but this Daoist, without moving his hands or feet, can wield his sword with just a surge of spiritual energy. He must be the legendary sword immortal? But his skills are limited—those blue and white lights that besieged my master the other day seemed far deeper than this yellow-robed Daoist's power."

Brian Carter was completely absorbed in watching, while Emily Foster paid no attention to the duel on the mat, instead scanning the crowd with her beautiful eyes. When she spotted the beggar with the bow, she finally let out a slight sigh, a surge of resentment rising in her heart.

The yellow-robed Daoist had been wielding his sword for a while, then glanced slightly toward the imperial city tower, thinking to himself, "I've put on quite a show; the Tang emperor should have seen my superb swordsmanship by now. This old Daoist is just putting on airs—I'll knock him down first and show off my might." With this thought, the yellow-robed Daoist let out a loud shout and spat out a breath of true energy. The pine-patterned ancient sword shot forward like lightning, stabbing fiercely at the old Daoist.

Although there were more than ten paces between them, the yellow-robed Daoist's sword-controlling technique was incredibly swift. In just a single breath, the sword light reached the old Daoist's head and neck. The yellow-robed Daoist was feeling quite pleased; he had no intention of harming anyone, just wanted to scare the old Daoist into stumbling off the high platform and make a name for himself before the crowd.

The old Daoist gave his horsetail whisk a shake, and the silver threads in his palm suddenly expanded, transforming into a sky-filling web that enveloped the yellow-robed Daoist's pine-patterned sword. Then, with a leisurely gesture, he flicked out a strand of silver thread, knocking the yellow-robed Daoist off the platform. The duel was swift and dramatic, the situation reversing in the blink of an eye. The yellow-robed Daoist was knocked off the stage, not even daring to retrieve his sword, and fled in embarrassment.

After his resounding victory, the old Daoist bowed toward the imperial city tower, then stood on the high platform, half-asleep, as if he didn't care at all about the thunderous commotion below.