This arrogant declaration echoed in the canyon, and Mo Fan indeed followed through with it.
Thoroughly tossing that claustrophobic, dark underground abyss that nearly cost him his life to the back of his mind, Mo Fan changed into a clean, refreshing cyan robe.
With his hands clasped behind his back, strutting with an arrogant, wide-legged swagger that recognized neither kith nor kin, he wobbled out of the canyon like a retired grandpa walking his bird in the park early in the morning.
When a person's extremely exhausted and taut nerves suddenly relax completely, the brain secretes a compensatory mechanism called "endorphins."
At this moment, Mo Fan was in this state of near self-hypnotic euphoria.
Because he hadn't rested properly in so long, everything he saw today looked incredibly pleasing to the eye.
That little heart of his, perennially suffering from persecution paranoia, went into temporary hibernation. His brain automatically applied a Level 10 Beauty Filter to this originally desolate and ruined abandoned mine mountain.
"Mm!"
Passing by an abandoned spirit vein that had been dug full of holes, bare without even a single blade of grass growing, Mo Fan took a deep breath, nodding repeatedly in admiration.
"Not bad! Truly not bad! What a piece of rugged, raw beauty! Unspoiled by artificial carving, lacking the pretentious affectations of the secular Main Peak! This is the truest bone structure of Mother Nature!"
Walking a few steps further, he saw another massive crater, several tens of feet wide, freshly blasted by Zhao Ziwei a few days ago. The bottom was scorched black and still emitted a faint, pungent smell of sulfur.
Hiss—!
Mo Fan stroked his chin, sucking in a breath of cold air, his eyes full of appreciation.
"Look at these irregular, cracking patterns. Look at this deep, scorched-black texture, and this residual violent tension!"
"This simply radiates the artistic vibe of post-modern abstract expressionism! Senior Brother Ziwei's artistic attainment in blowing up mountains is increasingly showing the demeanor of a master."
Even the slightly harsh and glaring, somewhat dry early autumn sunlight hitting his face today felt like "Mother Nature's warmest, most affectionate caress."
Total decompression.
No tactical deductions, no crisis radar.
In this state of near-blind optimism and euphoria, Mo Fan unknowingly followed the small path along the ridge.
Enjoying the scenery like viewing flowers from horseback, he leisurely climbed toward the higher elevations of Hundred Forging Peak.
He didn't know how long he walked, but the mountain terrain grew increasingly steep.
When Mo Fan passed through a sparse, sickly bamboo forest with yellowing leaves...
Whoosh——
A strong, biting alpine gale hit him head-on, blowing his black hair wildly behind him and making his cyan robes flap loudly.
The field of view before him abruptly and extremely suddenly opened up.
Mo Fan froze for a moment, halting his steps.
Only then did he realize that he had unknowingly strolled his way directly to the absolute summit of Hundred Forging Peak!
Standing here, with nothing obstructing his view, looking down from a commanding height, he could extremely clearly and intuitively gaze far into the distance, right into the true core territory of the Azure Cloud Sect.
That was an immortal painting grand enough to make any mortal prostrate themselves in worship.
In the distance, the several inner sect main peaks towered into the clouds. Midway up the mountains, spiritual energy swirled, transforming into iridescent, auspicious clouds lingering among them.
From time to time, elegant immortal cranes could be seen shuttling and crying in the clouds.
One could even see several floating immortal islands, suspended in mid-air by massive array formations, like dazzling pearls inlaid in the horizon.
The streaming lights of flying swords wove between the peaks like a meteor shower, fully displaying the grandeur and prosperity of a top-tier immortal cultivation sect.
That was a true holy land of immortals, the center of resources, power, and immortality.
Mo Fan lowered his head slightly, looking back down at his own feet.
Bare rocks, soil stained pitch-black by abandoned ore slag, a few blades of withered grass shivering in the wind.
This Hundred Forging Peak couldn't even grow a decent tree; it simply looked like an ugly drop of black ink accidentally spilled onto that flawless immortal painting.
An extremely intense visual contrast.
If an ordinary bottom-tier servant were standing here, looking at the prosperity in the distance and the barrenness at their feet, they would highly likely feel a deep sense of inferiority, discouragement, and even resentment toward the unfairness of fate.
But Mo Fan at this moment was entirely different.
He had just experienced a mental life-and-death tribulation in the abyssal depths, facing that terrifying torrent capable of instakilling him. He had even witnessed the world-destroying spell battle of Golden Core mighty figures before that.
His horizons and mindset had long since completed a metamorphic awakening on the edge of life and death.
Looking at those unreachable main peaks, not only did Mo Fan feel no inferiority, but he only felt his chest incomparably broadened by this long wind in this moment!
Within his chest, a wild, heroic spirit—wanting to surge against the current and trample those high-and-mighty clouds beneath his feet—was churning crazily!
The atmosphere had built up to this point. The mountain wind, the absolute summit, the distant view, the heroic spirit.
Mo Fan felt that if he didn't express something right now, it would simply be a disservice to this mood he had managed to brew with such difficulty.
As a university student who had received higher education in his past life, his deeply hidden cultivation as an "Isekai Plagiarist" ushered in its ultimate eruption in this moment.
Facing the howling mountain wind, he opened his arms, closed his eyes, and struck an extremely flamboyant, extremely flexing pose of embracing heaven and earth.
He took a deep breath, drawing up the Qi and blood from his dantian.
With extremely full emotion, his voice rising and falling in perfect cadence toward the distant Azure Cloud main peaks, he loudly recited that immortal quatrain passed down through the ages:
"Surging clouds cleanse the broad chest," "Straining eyes track the homing birds."
His voice echoed through the empty mountain valley. Mo Fan snapped his eyes open, his gaze sharp as a knife.
His voice shook the heavens as he roared the final two lines capable of swallowing mountains and rivers:
"I must ascend to the absolute summit—" "And hold all mountains in a single glance!!!"
The final syllables echoed back and forth against the cliff walls, lingering for a long, long time.
Invigorating! So fucking invigorating!
Right after shouting, Mo Fan closed his eyes, deeply intoxicated by his own peerless demeanor of "boundless heroism and overflowing talent."
He even felt that his back figure at this moment must be filled with the aura of an aloof, unrecognized swordsman who would eventually look down upon the masses.
However.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Just as Mo Fan was at the peak of his self-intoxication.
Not far behind him, on a large bluestone probably less than five steps away, a crisp sound of clapping hands keeping the beat erupted extremely abruptly!
"Good poem!"
Accompanied by the applause, a voice—slightly raspy, somewhat aged, yet revealing extreme appreciation and hard-to-conceal fanaticism—drifted over leisurely.
"What a line, 'I must ascend to the absolute summit, and hold all mountains in a single glance'!"
"This old man has sat withered on this barren mountain summit for years, my ears filled only with petty, dog-eat-dog calculations."
"It has been a long, long time since I've heard a world-shocking masterpiece with such mountain-swallowing spirit and broad-mindedness!"
"Good poem! Good spirit! Truly, heroes emerge from the youth!"
Hiss—!
Mo Fan's body stiffened abruptly.
The self-intoxicated expression instantly froze on his face, followed immediately by a biting chill that shot straight up to the top of his skull!
Cold sweat soaked his back in an instant.
It wasn't because of the "social death" of being caught plagiarizing poetry.
It was because of—Terror! Extreme terror!
After all, even in a relaxed state, the rustling of the wind and grass within dozens of meters couldn't escape his intuition.
Yet just now, less than five steps behind him, a person had actually been sitting there!
And he, from beginning to end, hadn't detected even the slightest trace of aura, heartbeat, or even fluctuation of life!
If the other party hadn't clapped just now, but had launched a sneak attack...
Mo Fan immediately withdrew that flexing pose, the muscles all over his body instantly tensing to the absolute limit, and he whipped his head around to look.
On the large bluestone.
Sat a gray-robed old man with grayish-white hair, a somewhat gaunt figure, looking so frail a gust of wind could blow him over.
The old man even held a blade of grass in his hand used for picking his teeth, looking just like any sloppy old geezer you could find anywhere in the countryside.
But those eyes sunken deep in their sockets were terrifyingly bright at this moment!
It was a gaze as if he had seen some kind of "peerless treasure," even carrying a bit of neurotic and paranoid fanaticism.
Being stared at by this gaze made Mo Fan's scalp tingle, and he subconsciously wanted to step back.
"May I dare ask this little friend's esteemed name?"
The old man put down the blade of grass in his hand and stood up from the large bluestone, smiling merrily at Mo Fan. But that smile exuded a hair-raising fanaticism.
He didn't wait for Mo Fan to answer. Instead, he dusted off his clothes and extremely naturally introduced himself:
"This old man feels quite destined with you, little friend. Let this old man introduce himself first..."
The old man smiled slightly.
"Hundred Forging Peak."
"Lin Dong."