Battle of Fangcun Mountain

Daylight broke.

The morning at Lingtai Square Inch Mountain was as quiet as ever—the chirping of insects, the calls of birds, and the distant sound of the waterfall.

But today, there was an additional sound—not the wind, but the beat of war drums.

It came from the horizon, dull and rhythmic, like a drum beating against the very hearts of those who heard it.

Goten stood before the mountain gate, a golden aura flowing slowly around his body.

After a night of rest, his condition was even better than yesterday.

The two powers within him—the Saiyan ki and the life energy—had undergone a deeper fusion while he slept.

He clenched his fists, feeling the energy dancing in his palms.

Zixia stood to his left, her Violet-Azure Treasure Sword already unsheathed; the purple light on the blade shone exceptionally bright in the morning sun.

She had not slept all night—not out of nervousness, but because she was contemplating one thing: if she died today, would she have any regrets? The answer was no.

Because she had already met the person she wanted to see—five hundred years later, she had encountered a youth with a soul as fiery as Sun Wukong's.

Zhi Zun Bao stood to the right, holding a new bamboo pole in his hand—his fourth one.

He did not speak, but his eyes were different from yesterday.

He had a dream last night—in it, he stood before the South Heaven Gate, backed by one hundred thousand Heavenly Soldiers, holding a staff that glowed with golden light.

He did not know what it meant—but he was no longer afraid.

Zhu Bajie stood in the back row, clutching his Nine-Toothed Rake—the only piece of luggage he had brought from the Axe Gang.

He usually never used this rake, as he felt it was too embarrassing to be seen with it. But today, he had brought it out.

Sha Wujing stood beside him, gripping the shoulder pole he had spent the entire night polishing. The pole shone so brightly it could reflect a person's image.

Patriarch Bodhi did not stand at the mountain gate. He sat in the pavilion atop the mountain peak with a zither on his lap, eyes closed, as if waiting for something.

In the distance, the golden light grew brighter. The formation of the twelve hundred Grass-Head Gods appeared in the morning glow—silver armor like a forest, banners obscuring the sun.

At the front of the formation, a figure stood alone—Three-Pointed Double-Edged Spear in hand, clad in silver armor and white robes, the third eye on his forehead slowly opening.

Yang Jian had arrived.

Yang Jian did not attack immediately. He walked alone to the mountain gate and stopped ten zhang away from Goten.

His three eyes looked at Goten simultaneously—scanning him up and down—before he spoke words that caught everyone off guard.

"The power within you... has fused."

Goten froze for a moment. He had not expected Yang Jian to notice—let alone at first glance. "You—"

"My third eye can see through the essence of all power." Yang Jian's tone was calm, as if stating a fact. "Three days ago, what I saw were two unrelated forces fighting within you. Today—they are no longer fighting."

Goten did not know what to say. Yang Jian's attitude was not what he had anticipated—he had not come to declare war; he seemed to have come to confirm something. "Yang Jian—are you here to fight or to chat?"

Yang Jian was silent for a moment, then performed an action that shocked everyone—he thrust his Three-Pointed Double-Edged Spear into the ground. "I am not here to fight."

The entire scene fell silent.

"I am here to see—if the Jade Emperor's choice was truly wrong."

Yang Jian's words landed like a boulder in a calm lake. Zhu Bajie's rake nearly slipped from his hands.

Zixia's grip on her sword tightened slightly. Zhi Zun Bao stood stunned—he had expected a brutal battle today, only for the opponent to say, "I am not here to fight."

Yang Jian's gaze moved past Goten toward the mountain peak—at the old man sitting in the pavilion playing the zither. "Patriarch Bodhi—someone asked me to deliver a message to you."

The music on the peak stopped.

Yang Jian's voice was neither loud nor soft, yet every person present heard it clearly: "The Jade Emperor says—hand over the youth from the other world, and Lingtai Square Inch Mountain shall be spared. If not—I will raze Lingtai Square Inch Mountain to the ground."

Patriarch Bodhi did not answer. He simply plucked a string of the zither.

Ding—a crisp sound echoed down from the peak, cutting through the morning light, passing through the ranks of the twelve hundred Grass-Head Gods, and traveling far, far away.

Then he spoke—his voice was not loud, but everyone heard it: "Let him try."

The battle began.

Yang Jian did not move—but the twelve hundred Grass-Head Gods he brought did. They did not charge—they surrounded.

The twelve hundred men scattered simultaneously, laying out a massive containment formation with Lingtai Square Inch Mountain at its center.

Golden light ignited beneath the feet of every Grass-Head God, connecting on the ground to form a massive net—similar to the Heavenly Net, but far more intricate.

Goten did not wait for them to complete the formation.

He lunged forward—his golden aura exploded, his speed far greater than it had been three days ago.

With the two powers within him now united, his speed reached the level of his normal state in the Dragon Ball World for the first time—not a suppressed state, but his true speed.

BOOM!

He crashed into the formation of Grass-Head Gods, sending three of them flying with a single punch!

Golden light shattered as the three Grass-Head Gods tumbled through the air several times before hitting the ground—a gap had been torn in the formation.

But the gap was immediately filled—more Grass-Head Gods surged forward, not to swarm him, but to enclose the area around him, trapping him in a space that grew smaller by the second.

Goten realized their tactic—they weren't trying to defeat him, they were trying to trap him.

He pushed off the ground with all his might, shooting toward the sky, but a layer of golden light blocked his path overhead. He had been encased within a golden dome.

Zixia's Violet-Azure Treasure Sword left its scabbard. A streak of purple sword light slashed against the golden barrier, emitting a sharp, metallic clang.

The golden dome shuddered violently, but it did not break. Zixia gritted her teeth and struck again—still, it did not break.

"This is the Immortal-Trapping Array, personally empowered by the Jade Emperor." Yang Jian's voice drifted in from outside the formation, devoid of any emotion. "The combined spiritual power of one thousand two hundred Grass-Head Gods, bolstered by an imperial decree from the Jade Emperor—it can contain any existence below the level of a Great Luo Golden Immortal."

Goten was trapped.

His strength could not be fully unleashed within the formation; every punch landed against the golden light, causing it to ripple, but his fists could not break through.

He began to pant—not from exhaustion, but from depletion. The array was draining his power.

"Hold on!" Zixia's voice came from outside the barrier. She stood beyond the golden dome, locked in combat with a commander of the Grass-Head Gods.

The Violet-Azure Treasure Sword danced through the air, forcing the commander to retreat step by step. But she alone could not break the entire array.

Zhi Zun Bao did not join the fray. He stood at the mountain gate, clutching that bamboo pole, watching Goten trapped within the golden dome.

His heart hammered against his ribs—not from fear, but because of what he saw.

Within his field of vision, Goten's silhouette overlapped with the figure of another.

Five hundred years ago, someone else had stood within such golden light. He wore a tattered suit of Chainmail Armor, held a Golden Cudgel in his hand, and was surrounded by a perimeter of one hundred thousand Heavenly Soldiers.

He stood alone in the golden light, with no allies and no path of retreat—yet, a smile hung on his lips. That smile was identical to the expression on Goten's face at this very moment.

Golden light began to emerge within the pupils of Zhi Zun Bao.

He did not know when he had walked out—by the time he regained his senses, he was already standing before the golden dome.

He raised the bamboo pole in his hand—not as one would hold a weapon, but as one would wield a staff.

His posture shifted—it was no longer the stance of a bandit holding a wooden stick; it was the stance of Sun Wukong holding the Golden Cudgel.