The True Cultivation Begins

He swung it down.

The bamboo pole struck the golden light barrier—with a sharp crack, the pole snapped.

But the golden light barrier cracked as well.

A tiny fissure appeared on the surface of the golden light barrier.

Everyone fell silent at once.

Yang Jian's third eye widened abruptly—he saw a power that had no business being on this bamboo pole. The magic power of the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, lingering in the bloodline of Zhi Zun Bao, had been activated by a near-death realization.

"Again." Zhi Zun Bao looked down at the broken bamboo pole.

He walked to the mountain gate and picked up a new one—the fifth.

He raised the pole and assumed the same posture—the Sun Wukong Opening Stance.

Inside the golden light barrier, Goten watched his back—that back overlapped with the back of his father, Sun Wukong.

Zhi Zun Bao swung down. The bamboo pole shattered—the golden light barrier was completely destroyed.

Twelve hundred Grass-Head Gods groaned in unison, their formation thrown into chaos—the Immortal-Trapping Array was broken.

Zhi Zun Bao threw away the broken pole.

He looked down at his hands—both were bleeding, not from being struck, but from the splinters of the bamboo pole. Yet, he felt no pain.

"Who..." he muttered, "who the hell am I?"

No one answered him. But the sound of a zither rang out once more from the mountain peak. Ding—as if in response to him.

Yang Jian pulled his Three-Pointed Double-Edged Spear from the ground.

"Since the Immortal-Trapping Array is broken—we proceed to the second plan." He leaped forward, his Three-Pointed Double-Edged Spear descending upon Goten with the force of a thunderbolt!

Clang!!!

Goten blocked the strike with his arms—the blade bit into his forearms, emitting a deafening sound like metal striking metal!

Goten retreated three steps, and Yang Jian retreated three steps as well.

Yang Jian's eyebrows twitched slightly. "You are... much stronger than you were three days ago."

"I've made quite a bit of progress in these three days," Goten grinned.

The corners of Yang Jian's mouth lifted slightly—the first time he had shown anything resembling an expression throughout the entire encounter. "Then let me see—where your limits lie."

The ensuing battle was the most exhilarating fight Goten had experienced since arriving in this world.

It was not a one-sided slaughter, nor a suppression—it was a true, evenly matched duel.

Yang Jian's Three-Pointed Double-Edged Spear attacked like a raging storm, every strike carrying immense weight; Goten met the blows with his fists, used his Origin Energy perception to predict the trajectory of the blade, and utilized Saiyan speed to dodge and counterattack.

The two fought from the mountain gate to the mountainside, from the mountainside to the peak, and from the peak back to the mountain gate. Wherever they passed, rocks shattered, trees toppled, and the Grass-Head Gods scrambled to stay out of the way, not daring to get close.

Zixia stood at the edge of the battlefield with her sword in hand, not intervening—because she knew this was Goten's fight. She only needed to watch—to ensure he would not die.

Zhi Zun Bao sat on the threshold of the mountain gate, looking down at his bleeding hands—he was wondering whether he was truly Zhi Zun Bao or Sun Wukong.

But he realized this question was not important—what mattered was that he had just shattered the Jade Emperor's Immortal-Trapping Array. That mountain bandit leader who could only sit around no longer existed.

Zhu Bajie leaned against the wall, watching the battle, and smacked his lips: "This kid—did he really only learn for three days?"

"He isn't learning Immortal Art," Sha Wujing said, breaking his silence with a rare, long sentence. "He is learning how to become himself."

When the battle between Goten and Yang Jian reached the three-hundredth round—Goten finally caught a flaw in Yang Jian's defense.

It wasn't that Yang Jian had made a mistake—it was that his Origin Energy perception had captured a momentary fluctuation in Yang Jian's power. In that instant—he "saw" the trajectory of Yang Jian's next attack.

He sidestepped the thrusting Three-Pointed Double-Edged Spear, closed the distance, and slammed a fist into Yang Jian's chest!

Boom—!

Yang Jian was sent flying—the first time he had been truly struck in this battle.

He crashed heavily into the stone tablet in front of the mountain gate—the tablet of Lingtai Square Inch Mountain and Slanted Moon Three Star Cave—a crack appearing where his back struck it.

Yang Jian slid to the ground, kneeling on one knee, a trickle of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.

But he did not fall.

He looked up, all three eyes fixed on Goten—with a trace of an emotion Goten could not decipher.

"You win."

Yang Jian's voice was calm.

He stood up, wiped the blood from his mouth, and sheathed his Three-Pointed Double-Edged Spear. "The Immortal-Trapping Array is broken—I have been defeated—according to the Jade Emperor's decree, if I am defeated—we are to withdraw the troops."

He turned and raised a hand. "Retreat."

The twelve hundred Grass-Head Gods receded like a tide.

Yang Jian walked at the rear. When he reached the mountain gate, he stopped. Without looking back, he said only one thing: "Patriarch Bodhi—you were right. He is indeed not Sun Wukong."

He paused for a moment. "He is the better one."

Yang Jian left. The golden light faded. Square Inch Mountain returned to silence.

Goten stood before the mountain gate, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. Yet, he did not collapse.

He had done it—he had held off twelve hundred Grass-Head Gods single-handedly, and he had defeated Erlang Shen, Yang Jian.

On Fangcun Mountain, he had achieved the first true victory of his life since arriving in this world.

That evening, in a pavilion atop Fangcun Mountain, Patriarch Bodhi sat by a stone table with a pot of wine—not Spirit Mist Tea, but wine. He poured two cups. Goten walked into the pavilion and sat down across from him.

"Old man—did you know all along that Yang Jian would retreat?"

Patriarch Bodhi picked up his cup but did not drink. "This old man did not know Yang Jian would retreat—but I did know that he did not come to kill you."

Goten was stunned for a moment. "Then why did he come?"

"To see if you were worth his gamble."

"Gamble on what?"

Patriarch Bodhi fell silent for a moment, then said something Goten could not quite grasp: "A gamble—that the future of the Three Realms should not be dictated by the Heavenly Court."

He raised his cup. "This one—is for you."

Goten picked up the other cup and clinked it against his. Patriarch Bodhi drained his in one gulp. Goten followed suit—this time, he wasn't burned by the heat of the liquor.

"After today's battle—in as little as a month, or as long as three—the Heavenly Court will return." Patriarch Bodhi set his cup down. "And next time, it won't just be twelve hundred Grass-Head Gods."

Goten nodded. "I know."

"Are you afraid?"

Goten thought for a moment, then said earnestly, "I am. But I am more afraid—of it all ending before I've done anything at all."

Patriarch Bodhi looked at him. In those aged eyes, which had witnessed too many partings, a faint light shimmered.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

Patriarch Bodhi stood up; under the moonlight, his white hair flowed like a silver waterfall.

With his back to Goten, he gazed at the distant mountains shimmering in the moonlight—in that direction lay the ruins of Five Finger Mountain.

"Ready—to become the only variable in this world."

Goten stood up, his golden aura burning slowly beneath the moonlight. "This day—I have waited a long time for it."

Patriarch Bodhi smiled—it was the most complex expression Goten had ever seen on him—a mix of gratification, worry, anticipation, and a hint of farewell.

Tomorrow, his true training would begin.

And the legend of Fangcun Mountain—had only just begun...