# Chapter 608: A Hidden Dragon in the Fields
Golden Wing Little Peng King was first stunned, then furious—having become illiterate was the worst and most ridiculous misfortune imaginable. He wanted nothing more than to swallow this hateful enemy whole.
Ye Fan was extremely disappointed, his expression sour. He had finally captured an ancient creature, hoping to have him translate the Immortal Tear Green Gold Book, yet the creature couldn't recognize a single character.
"What about the Nine Heavens Azure Fallen Bell King?"
"It was sent to the Northern Plains."
"Nonsense! Hand it over now!" Ye Fan glared.
Golden Wing Little Peng King's heart pounded with terror as he carefully explained, "The Azure Fallen Bell is the weapon of an invincible king from a past generation, but it was defiled. I had someone send it back to my clan for purification..."
"Your Golden Clan has Earth Divine Milk?" Ye Fan was surprised.
"We have some. It should be enough to restore the treasure to its former glory." Golden Wing Little Peng King responded cautiously.
"When will they send it to you?" Ye Fan pondered. With a rare treasure like Earth Divine Milk, the Azure Fallen Bell could certainly be cleansed.
"I don't know..."
"Then what use are you?" Ye Fan shouted in frustration. He had encountered an ancient creature who couldn't read ancient script, and even the Bell King had been sent away. The more he looked at this creature, the more irritating he found him.
"Spare my life, and I'll pay any price." Golden Wing Little Peng King begged, sensing the killing intent.
"You ambushed me three times, and you still want to live?" Ye Fan didn't want to say more. He shook his golden war spear, shaking the creature into a bloody pulp—body and soul annihilated.
"No..."
In the distance, three Supreme Elders who had rushed over witnessed this scene. Their hearts and livers seemed to split apart. This was their young master, dead like this—they would have a hard time explaining it.
Ye Fan departed without looking back, leaving only a faint afterimage that vanished into the boundless horizon.
"Life is but a dream, how long can it last? Life brings more worries than joy. No one grants me the art of immortality, so on spring mountains I sing long..."
The forest was lush, thin vines coiled around old trees, and a bluestone path led step by step into the mountain depths. A woodcutter sang loudly, creating a rather poetic atmosphere.
Ye Fan had traveled westward, choosing this mountain range over a thousand li from West Dam City. He intended to go into seclusion here and break through to the fourth transformation of the Dragon Transformation Realm.
This place wasn't particularly beautiful, but it had mountains and water. A lake dotted the foothills, and a dilapidated Daoist temple sat in the mountains. It wasn't an immortal land, but it had a flavor of returning to simplicity.
Ye Fan saw the woodcutter from afar, walking down the bluestone path from the mountain, carrying a bundle of firewood on his back. He had a sturdy build and a face full of bristly beard.
"Elder brother, I heard your song. Are you a cultivator?"
"You misunderstand, young friend. I'm just an ordinary man, no cultivator at all. I only memorized it after hearing an old Daoist chant it."
Ye Fan was surprised. "Where might I find this master?"
"There's a Daoist temple in the mountains. An old Daoist used to live there, but it's been abandoned for years. The old man was too old—he died a few years ago."
Ye Fan's heart stirred. He bid farewell to the woodcutter and followed the bluestone path into the mountains. After crossing nine peaks and looking across the mountains, he finally saw a broken Daoist temple perched on a low hill.
On that low hill, there were no green bamboos or verdant pines, no spiritual herbs or jade plants. It was simple—a small vegetable plot that had gone to waste, overgrown with weeds.
"Dharma, dharma, dharma—the origin has no dharma. Emptiness, emptiness, emptiness—is not true emptiness. Stillness and noise, speech and silence, are originally the same. In a dream, how can one speak of dreams? Use within uselessness, apply merit within meritless deeds. Like fruit that naturally reddens when ripe—don't ask how to plant or cultivate..."
Two hunters emerged from the mountains, wearing animal hide clothes, walking with vigorous steps, carrying bows and arrows on their backs, and hauling a wild deer. They showed no signs of sweat, their physiques strong.
"Elder brothers, what are you reciting?" Ye Fan approached to ask.
"Oh, this? We often heard an old Daoist chant it and memorized it without realizing. Every time we return from hunting and pass here, thinking of him, we can't help but sing it." One hunter replied.
This was a master, Ye Fan could now confirm. The old Daoist on that low hill was no ordinary person.
"What a pity. He was too old—died two or three years ago." Said the other.
Ye Fan asked a few more questions and learned that the old Daoist had also taught them some breathing techniques. They were simple but could strengthen bones and muscles, most suitable for ordinary mortals.
"Young friend, are you seeking immortals and the Dao? Unfortunately, you've come too late..."
Clearly, the two hunters held great fondness for the old Daoist. They lingered and spoke a few more words.
The old Daoist was very old. Even their grandfathers said they remembered this old Daoist existing when they were young. No one knew how many years he had lived alone on that mountain.
"Thank you, elder brothers." Ye Fan left. This time, he finally climbed the low hill along the mountain path.
A small Daoist temple, dilapidated and low, like a thatched cottage. It had been abandoned for years, with no one coming or going—desolate and lonely.
In front of the small temple stood an ancient pine tree, its trunk hollow, wide enough for many people to encircle. The branches were gnarled and strong, but the leaves were sparse—the old tree was nearly dead.
There was no medicinal field, only a ridge of vegetable plot that had gone to waste. Additionally, there was a grapevine with withered tendrils, bearing just two or three clusters of purple grapes.
"This Daoist temple and ancient tree have existed for at least four thousand years..." Ye Fan's heart trembled. He sensed an aura of time.
Had the old Daoist built this temple himself? Had he planted this ancient tree with his own hands? If so, this was absolutely a terrifyingly powerful expert.
Ye Fan entered the broken temple and searched carefully, hoping to find some clues. However, the dust inside was thick, and there were no ancient texts or stone carvings whatsoever.
It was very ordinary, no different from a typical Daoist temple. A worn-out meditation cushion, a few tattered Daoist robes, and a fly whisk chewed to pieces by insects—nothing unusual.
Ye Fan walked out and went behind the temple. There was a small grave mound, with no tombstone, no inscription—just a simple mound of yellow earth.
"This is his grave. He died leaving not a single word. No one knows who he was. He didn't even pass down his cultivation methods..."
Standing before the yellow earth grave, Ye Fan activated his Source Heaven Divine Eye, gazing into the ground to see what realm the skeletal remains belonged to.
"Eh..." He was startled. This was an empty grave—no bones inside.
"No, there are tattered Daoist robes, a hairpin, and shoes..." His heart stirred. Could this be a cenotaph?
"Dao Dissolution!" He was greatly shocked. He finally confirmed that there should have been a skeleton, but before death, the person had dissolved himself. This was absolutely a master.
Generally speaking, only those at the Peerless King level and above could undergo Dao Dissolution, returning themselves to heaven and earth. This was true Dao Dissolution, not mere self-destruction of the corpse.
"Truly, deep mountains hide tigers and leopards, fields conceal unicorns. In such a small place, there was an old king—perhaps even a Sage who achieved nirvana here!"
Ye Fan was very surprised. This person's name was unknown to the world. No one knew of him. He had simply died in obscurity.
"It's not that there are no experts in the world—they just remain unknown. Here lies a supreme master, likely no weaker than the Peerless Divine King Jiang Taixu, perhaps even... a Sage."
Yet this person had died like this, leaving nothing behind. Even his name was unknown.
Ye Fan searched the place thoroughly, probing the meditation cushion, fly whisk, and Daoist robes with his divine sense, but found no treasures.
"Too thorough. He truly left nothing for later generations. For such an unimaginable existence to have his inheritance severed is an incalculable loss."
Ye Fan decided to stay here. This place was peaceful, suitable for his secluded cultivation and enlightenment, with no one to disturb him.
The low hill and broken temple had an indescribable Dao resonance, perfect for quiet cultivation, with a flavor of returning to simplicity.
"Yes, how could his hermitage be ordinary land? And since he underwent Dao Dissolution here, this place will surely become a sacred ground for cultivation in the future."
Ye Fan had obtained Dragon Marrow, but that didn't mean consuming it would allow him to enter the fourth transformation of the Dragon Transformation Realm. Everything still depended on his own enlightenment.
The Dragon Marrow contained fragments of the Great Dao's laws, which could help, but they weren't the fundamental key to breaking through. The first essential element lay in the cultivator's own heart.
Deep in the night, all sounds ceased, stars dotted the sky. Ye Fan sat cross-legged before the temple, his five hearts facing heaven. A great dragon rose from his spine, eventually taking form and coiling around him as it danced.
"By chance I came beneath the pine tree, pillowed my head on stone to sleep. In the mountains there are no calendar days, winter ends without knowing the year..."
Suddenly, a soft murmur startled Ye Fan awake. He snapped his eyes open.
At that moment, a dark cloud drifted by, blocking the stars and moon in the sky. The earth was plunged into darkness, and the mountains were pitch black, impossible to see five fingers before one's face.
In front of the temple, before the ancient tree that many people could encircle, a figure appeared out of nowhere. The voice had come from him.
Ye Fan's heart shook. What kind of person was this? To evade his spiritual perception and appear at such close range—it was terrifying.
He activated his divine sense and observed carefully. In an instant, his hair stood on end. An old Daoist, thin and short, wearing an ancient Daoist robe, appeared beneath the withered tree.
The worn Daoist robe was familiar—identical to the ones in the temple, no different from the garments in the yellow earth grave.
A chill ran down Ye Fan's spine. He looked at the old man's hair—a broken wooden hairpin, also familiar, exactly like the one in the tomb.
"Seeing ghosts!"
Ye Fan leaped to his feet and retreated many steps. How could someone who had already undergone Dao Dissolution possibly appear again?
"Many times the mortal world has turned to mulberry fields. Though fields change, the painting remains. Who can attain immortality from a painting..."
The thin old Daoist walked beneath the ancient tree, murmuring to himself, merging with the pitch-black night.
"You..." Ye Fan retreated.
A clear breeze blew, bringing the fresh scent of grass and trees. The dark cloud in the sky drifted away. The clear breeze still lingered before the temple, but the old Daoist had vanished without a trace.
Ye Fan's scalp tingled. His gaze hadn't shifted even a fraction, fixed firmly ahead, yet the old Daoist had evaporated like steam, leaving no trace.