"No one else may privately cultivate the Xiantian Dharma Gate you offered."
Yun Long turned those words over and over in his mind.
Every word carried profound meaning.
He understood in an instant.
This was both the dynasty's utmost regard for the Xiantian Dharma Gate.
And an invisible form of protection for the Yun Clan.
As the words fell, True Person Yuan He exchanged a glance with Zhang Qiwang.
Their figures swayed slightly.
Then, like two wisps of green smoke, they drifted upward.
The entire process lacked even the faintest trace of worldly smoke and fire.
They did not tear through space.
Nor did they reveal any earth-shattering might.
They simply drifted lightly into the clouds.
In the end, they vanished completely beyond everyone's sight.
As though they had never set foot upon this newborn immortal island they had personally created.
All that remained were the cultivators scattered across the ground.
Stormy waves churned in their hearts, impossible to quell.
For a long, long time, they could not calm down.
Within Evergreen Valley—or rather, within what was now the Yun Clan's immortal island—the celebration continued in name.
The sounds of strings and flutes rose once more.
Yet the music was no longer as cheerful and fluid as before.
Instead, it carried a touch of cautious probing.
As well as an impossible-to-conceal gravity.
The cultivators from every household still held their wine cups.
Yet their gazes kept drifting, again and again, toward Yun Long.
And toward this grand and magnificent immortal island floating above Wanfang Lake.
The shock in their hearts, like the fiercest tempest, had yet to subside.
Awe, envy, and even faint, indescribably complex emotions intertwined within them.
The dynasty's reward had already been so astonishing that it was enough to shake all of Nanchuan Commandery.
Yet before departing,