Unseen Immortal of Three Hundred Years

Chapter 1

During the Tian Shu era, a massive snowfall blanketed Mianzhou, covering a stretch of ten thousand li (5000 miles), reaching all the way to the northern expanse of Canglang.

The cold here was unbearable, with dead waters floating under thin ice.

Wu Xingxue stood on a withered tree in the water, washing blood off his hands.

His hands were long and thin, pure white, devoid of any worldly taint, as if they had only ever played with the birds of the Yao Palace and admired the flowers of the Immortal Capital.

But not long ago, those same hands had callously removed several heads.

So he washed meticulously, showing no inclination to speak, causing the people on the shore to remain silent.

After a long pause, they finally heard a question.

"What year is it?" asked Wu Xingxue.

His voice drifted across the water, slightly muffled.

The people on the shore hesitated before hurriedly replying, "The twenty-fifth year of Tian Shu."

Wu Xingxue sniffed his cleaned fingers and turned to look. "Tian Shu."

"Yes, Tian Shu."

"Tian Shu," Wu Xingxue softly repeated the unfamiliar era name.

The person who had answered quickly added, "It was changed by the Hundred Schools of the Immortal Sect."

"Oh."

Wu Xingxue lowered his hands, causing a light clinking sound, reminiscent of a chain being undone.

The people on the shore were greatly alarmed by this sound, their scalps tingling. They cautiously looked towards the man in the water.

Wu Xingxue wore a plain blue robe that almost blended with the cold mist.

But whether it was the wrist between the sleeves or the ankle bone exposed by his bare feet, they were all pale and clean, without a trace of a chain.

Yet the clinking sound was undeniably real.

Someone murmured softly, "What is that sound?"

"Shh! If you're crazy, you can keep talking. If you want to die, don't drag us into it," someone else interrupted, using an almost inaudible voice for fear of being heard by the person in the water.

Unfortunately, he was heard.

"What is it?" Wu Xingxue asked. "Don't stop, continue."

The people on the shore hesitated in their breathing, swallowed their saliva, and the fingers hanging at their sides trembled slightly. "We didn't say anything, really, we didn't say anything."

It was widely known that the northern territory of Canglang was even more terrifying than the Demon's Lair.

The demons in the world did not fear retribution or the immortals and buddhas, only death in this place.

The imprisoned demonic entities were all bound with heavy celestial locks, unable to see or resolve their predicament, thus requiring accountability from the heavens. Whether their imprisonment was brief or prolonged, it was undoubtedly torturous, leading to the dispersal of their souls and the destruction of their spirits and bodies.

As a result, the Northern Region of Canglang had hung over the Wuduan Sea for five hundred and thirteen years, with no entry or exit permitted.

Except for the demon king Wu Xingxue.

He was the sole being locked there for twenty-five years and still alive.

This demon king, now adorned with an invisible chain, softly uttered, "What is this clang sound? Tell me." Who would dare to respond seriously?