Douluo Dalu: Ascension Across the Realms

Time flowed on, as it always did—three years passed in the blink of an eye. Chen Xiaoming's journey to become the Medicine Saint of the Mort

Time flowed on, as it always did—three years passed in the blink of an eye.

Chen Xiaoming's journey to become the Medicine Saint of the Mortal World had been anything but smooth.

In fact, it had been rife with hardship. His temperament made him ill-suited to grasping the subtleties of karmic law, and his comprehension advanced slowly. But he no longer forced the matter.

Instead, he pressed westward, healing the sick and saving the dying. In those three years, he had saved hundreds. Naturally, not all encounters were benign—there were those who came looking for trouble.

But for someone like Chen Xiaoming, they were easily dealt with. In a way, he saw it as enacting the will of the heavens.

To provoke Chen Xiaoming? It could only be said they hadn't consulted the almanac before stepping out that day.

Beyond his path of healing and pursuit of the mortal dao, Chen Xiaoming once again resumed his contemplation of his own sources: the origin of time and the origin of his bloodline.

The first ten years of his cultivation journey had been squandered imitating the path of Wang Lin, leaving his comprehension of his true origin neglected. Now, he was finally making up for lost time.

After all, his cultivation base had been granted by what could only be called cheats. But the origin of bloodline and the origin of time—that was his foundation.

As for the Great Dao of Karma? To Chen Xiaoming, it was a thing of fortune if attained, fate if lost. Let all unfold as it may.

He wasn't the type to cultivate with fervor anyway. He planned to coast through this life quietly.

What was a century, in the end? Just a fleeting moment.

With no urgent need to train bitterly, he had plenty of time to try again.

It was the heart of winter, and snow blanketed the land in a heavy veil. This was the northwest frontier of a Fourth-Tier Cultivation Nation, a region defined by desolation and frost.

Chen Xiaoming wore a white fur-lined cloak, his face subtly altered through spellcraft. Even so, he couldn't hide his refined features.

"Whew, almost there."

He pulled out a map from within his robes and studied it carefully, confirming his position before setting off in the chosen direction.

The snowstorm intensified, and his figure grew smaller in the distance until it vanished completely in the flurry.

Half an hour later.

The swirling wind and snow obscured vision, but with his cultivation, Chen Xiaoming could see clearly even from ten thousand meters away.

Beneath the distant snow-capped mountains, the outline of a massive city came into view. Thick sheets of ice clung to its outer walls, mirroring the snow-laden world around it.

"Finally arrived."

Murmuring to himself, he stepped forward through the blizzard toward the city gates.

This was Hansha City, a border city of Yunkai Nation, one of the Fourth-Tier Cultivation Nations. It sat at the foot of the Yunluo Snow Mountains, which also served as the natural border separating it from Luoxia Nation, a fellow Fourth-Tier country. Hansha City existed because of the impassable range that divided the two nations.

Once inside, Chen Xiaoming scanned the streets. This bitterly cold land exuded a kind of quiet desolation—even the shopfronts seemed touched by loneliness. Few pedestrians walked the snow-covered roads, and those who did were bundled in heavy cloaks, moving swiftly through the frigid air.

Only the central road had soldiers clearing snow in small groups. The rest were buried in white silence.

He settled on a tavern and made his way inside. In mere moments, he stepped through its doors.

The interior was nearly empty. The innkeeper was nowhere to be seen. A young attendant, looking utterly unmotivated, was slumped over a table, dozing. He didn't even stir at the sound of a new customer entering.

Chen Xiaoming's steps slowed. He frowned and considered choosing a different place. But when he swept the area with his divine sense, he paused.

This entire city had only one tavern.

After a brief moment of thought, he chose to stay and picked a window seat. He placed his travel bundle beside him.

"Waiter, bring wine!"

His crisp voice carried easily through the room, landing in the ears of the dozing youth. The boy jerked awake with a start, glancing around in alarm, only to find Chen Xiaoming watching him calmly.

"I'll have a good pot of wine and a few small dishes."

With that, Chen Xiaoming turned his gaze to the window, no longer speaking. Snowflakes danced outside. His eyes gleamed faintly, as if lost in deeper thoughts.

Bang!

A loud crash from the second floor broke his reverie. He looked up to see a frail middle-aged man slam into a door, splintering it before tumbling to the ground floor.

"Hm?"

Chen Xiaoming frowned slightly. By pure coincidence, the man fell toward his table.

"Go."

Too lazy to move, Chen Xiaoming flicked his finger. A formless ripple shot forward and struck the man's back, diverting his trajectory just slightly.

Crash.

The man hit the floor hard, coughing up a mouthful of blood. His face turned red, qi and blood roiling within.

Whoosh.

From the stairs, a figure floated down lightly, with the air of one who looked down on all beings. A fake smile curved his lips.

"Well, well. Who would've thought Senior Brother Ouyang was hiding here?"

The man, who seemed no older than his twenties, exuded a subtle but unmistakable spiritual pressure.

"Interesting. A cultivator."

Still seated, Chen Xiaoming's gaze swept the newcomer and instantly pierced his cultivation.

Qi Condensation Stage, Ninth Layer. Not particularly impressive—the lowest tier of cultivators.

But to ordinary mortals, even such a level was practically insurmountable.

He shifted his gaze to the frail man who had fallen. Though faint spiritual energy lingered in his body, it was clearly crippled—his cultivation abolished. He was no different from a commoner now.

"I'm already a cripple. The sect still won't let me go?"

There was no surprise in the man's eyes—only deep sorrow. He had once been a sect prodigy. But a single misstep had brought him to this: ruined, discarded. Even now, his former sect refused to grant mercy.

"Senior Brother Ouyang, I don't need to explain the sect's rules to you."

The younger cultivator shook his head. He knew the man's history, but the sect's laws were absolute. Sympathy had no place here.

"Fine, fine… I'll go with you."

As if resigned to fate, the man lowered his head. His body lost its spirit, drained of vitality.

Seeing his cooperation, the younger man nodded and reached out to seize him.

Whoosh!

At that moment, a fireball shot out from nearby, hurtling straight toward the young cultivator.

"Hmm? There's someone else here?"

Startled, he called his sword, which flew from its sheath and cleaved the fireball in two with a burst of sword light.

His eyes snapped toward the source. There, standing protectively before the fallen man, was a girl no older than twelve or thirteen. A faint spiritual aura surrounded her—Qi Condensation, Fourth Layer.

"You won't hurt my father."

The girl's clear, resolute voice echoed through the room, unwavering.

The young man's expression darkened. The realization that he'd just been forced back by a girl no older than twelve or thirteen ignited a blaze of fury within him.

"Fine," he spat, eyes flashing. "Senior Brother Ouyang, I never thought you'd actually pass down our sect's technique to her. Don't blame me for what happens next."

A surge of aura burst forth from the young man's body. The spiritual energy within him roared to life, and sword qi erupted outward, slashing apart every table and chair within reach.

Unfortunately for Chen Xiaoming, he happened to be standing just a little too close—and was almost caught in the radiant blast himself.

Slowly stepping back, Chen Xiaoming shook his head as he watched the young man prepare to attack a child. Is this really what it's come to?

But just as the youth was about to strike, his body suddenly froze.

A cold, unfeeling voice drifted in from behind.

"You destroyed my table. Did you really think you could just walk away?"

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