Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Power of a Single Word

Falling Cloud City.

It was the largest city within the Hundred Thousand Mountains, where the Sole Self Sect resided. Blessed with abundant spiritual energy, nestled among mountains and rivers, the land was rich and prosperous.

Within Falling Cloud City, there were no mortals—only cultivators. The daily flow of visitors was immense, and disciples from several major sects nearby often came here seeking amusement.

Many shops and makeshift markets run by cultivators lined the streets, offering up spiritual artifacts and techniques they found useless, available for trade among fellow cultivators. For this reason, the city became a thriving hub of exchange.

The city’s greatest power was the City Lord’s Manor. The lord himself was a cultivator at the Golden Core stage—insignificant in the eyes of a behemoth like the Sole Self Sect, but to the smaller sects, it was already a formidable strength, nearly equivalent to the master of a sect.

For decades, Falling Cloud City had remained stable and prosperous. All cultivators required such a gathering place for exchange and trade, and so, none had ever sought to disrupt it.

At the city gate, only a handful of guards kept watch, allowing cultivators from every sect to pass freely.

The disciples of the nearby sects were easily recognizable by their distinctive attire. One could tell at a glance which sect each belonged to, so there was no need for inspection—Falling Cloud City had few rules.

When Wang Ran arrived, it was midday. He saw a steady stream of cultivators coming and going.

From time to time, outstanding talents from other sects would appear, drawing the awed attention of ordinary cultivators.

At this moment, a young man in blue strode by, his face etched with pride, as many pointed and whispered.

“Isn’t that Gao Han from the Flowing Cloud Sect?”

“I heard he’s their top talent, a six-star Foundation Establishment cultivator.”

“Six stars? No wonder he’s so arrogant!”

“He’s the jewel of the Flowing Cloud Sect now—of course he’s proud.”

“I envy these prodigies.”

And so the murmurs went.

The Flowing Cloud Sect was a mid-tier sect. Though it could not compare to a colossus like the Sole Self Sect, to ordinary cultivators, it remained lofty and unattainable.

Wang Ran glanced at the youth from the crowd. There was nothing remarkable about him. A six-star Foundation Establishment might rank among the prodigies of the Sole Self Sect, but only in the middle tier—there were far too many stronger than him.

Ignoring the youth, Wang Ran continued on his way, but at that moment, a streak of rainbow light shot across the sky. In a blink, it vanished, and a figure emerged.

The newcomer wore a familiar robe of purple and white, his face carrying a trace of gloom. The moment he appeared, silence fell for a heartbeat.

“That robe... That’s an inner disciple prodigy from the Sole Self Sect!”

“I recognize him. That’s Bei Minglie!”

“Heavens, Bei Minglie? The one who established his foundation with a seven-star technique?”

“The prodigies of a grand sect are indeed beyond compare with the likes of the Flowing Cloud Sect.”

Hearing the crowd’s whispers, Wang Ran was momentarily surprised. He hadn’t expected to encounter Bei Minglie here.

He had not seen Bei Minglie since the latter was sent to meditate in penance at the Beast Mountain by Elder Feng Yazi.

Yet here, fate had brought them together again.

Bei Minglie’s arrival sent ripples through the crowd. Even Gao Han, the prodigy of the Flowing Cloud Sect, wore a look of respect and dared not act out of turn.

The guards at the gate hastily stepped aside, bowing with clasped fists to open a path.

The Sole Self Sect was a power that Falling Cloud City dared not provoke.

Bei Minglie strode forward, pride evident in his bearing. But as he advanced, his expression shifted—someone ahead did not move aside.

Curious looks gathered; then the crowd began to whisper with malicious glee.

“Who’s this fool? Doesn’t even recognize a prodigy from the Sole Self Sect?”

“He dares block Bei Minglie’s way? Isn’t he afraid he’ll lose his head by tomorrow?”

“Blind as a bat.”

“Judging by his clothes, he doesn’t belong to any sect.”

“Could he be a rogue cultivator?”

“Heh, this should be entertaining!”

The nearby cultivators folded their arms and sneered, eager for a spectacle.

Bei Minglie frowned, displeased by this strangely dressed cultivator. Before he could speak, a disciple at his side stepped forward.

“Hey, kid! This is Bei Minglie, prodigy of the Sole Self Sect. If you know what’s good for you, get out of the way!”

The odd cultivator’s lips curled in amusement. He glanced back and replied coolly, “Oh? Bei Minglie? Is he supposed to be impressive?”

At these words, Bei Minglie’s eyes narrowed, annoyance deepening.

His toady, sensing a chance to shine, stepped forth and barked, “Blind fool! You don’t even recognize Senior Brother Bei? Let me teach you a lesson!”

With that, he lunged forward, swinging a fist straight at the odd cultivator’s face.

That odd cultivator was none other than Wang Ran. Watching the oncoming fist, his brow darkened. In the next instant, two fingers shot out, catching the disciple’s fist in mid-air, holding it fast.

The disciple’s punch was halted, unable to advance another inch. Sweat beaded on his brow, while Wang Ran remained utterly still, as if the assailant were no more than a bothersome fly.

A hush fell over the crowd.

Bei Minglie’s pupils contracted. This lackey of his was also an inner disciple, already at the fifth level of Foundation Establishment—a punch from him was no small matter.

Yet this strange cultivator had caught it with just two fingers!

Wang Ran gave them no chance to recover. His eyes flashed, and he uttered a single word—yet it struck like thunder.

“Begone!”

The moment the word fell, an invisible wave of force erupted from his body, sweeping across the scene with the majesty of an emperor descending, a sovereign’s aura subduing all.

The weaker cultivators saw darkness before their eyes, their minds ringing, and many collapsed unconscious on the spot.

Even those above the fourth level of Foundation Establishment found their legs weak, sweat pouring from every pore.

As for the disciple directly before Wang Ran, the shock was overwhelming. Though he did not lose consciousness, his strength deserted him, and he collapsed to his knees.

Bei Minglie’s expression froze, cold sweat dotting his brow—he, too, had been shaken.

The entire square was silent as death. Under Wang Ran’s domineering aura, everyone trembled.

Wang Ran gave a low snort, turned, and walked away at a measured pace. Not a soul dared speak.

Only after his departing figure had vanished from sight did the crowd begin to recover, gasping for breath.

“Who was he? Such terrifying strength!”

“For a moment, I felt like a beast was stalking me.”

“Even Senior Brother Gao Han from the Flowing Cloud Sect is trembling!”

“Never mind Gao Han—look at Bei Minglie from the Sole Self Sect. Wasn’t he too scared to utter a word?”

Whispers rippled through the crowd, all stunned by Wang Ran’s display.

Bei Minglie stood frozen for a long time before swallowing hard.

“With a single word, he could unleash such power. I cannot fathom his cultivation—at the very least, he must be at the Golden Core stage.” Bei Minglie’s heart raced. Suddenly, his eyes flared with a new light. “But the aura he used just now must have been some form of offensive technique. If I could learn it, perhaps I could finally deal with Wang Ran...”

Bei Minglie’s gaze flickered, and for once, there was a hint of fervor—and even respect—in his eyes.