The Daoist Fortune Daoist had dragged out was named Meng Shenji.
He was a genius. Three hundred years ago, in an age like this, he had already become a Creator. He had even created nine Nine-Flame Fire Dragons in the Void, each comparable to a cultivator who had survived one lightning tribulation.
In this age, an ordinary Ghost Immortal stood at the very pinnacle. Even Meng Shenji's creations had reached the level of one lightning tribulation. His strength was easy to imagine.
And in the mortal world, Yang Pan and Hong Xuanji were probably the two people who understood Meng Shenji's power best.
Twenty years ago, they had conspired to destroy Meng Shenji's Human Immortal body.
The horror in their hearts now was beyond words.
"Who exactly are you?" Yang Pan asked. This was too terrifying.
"I can't take this anymore," Meng Chuan suddenly said. He reached out, not toward Yang Pan or Hong Xuanji, but toward the depths of the Imperial Palace.
The king of divine artifacts—the Creation Boat—was kept there!
Before Meng Chuan's outstretched hand, the Creation Boat shrank and shrank until he caught it in his palm and drew it out.
Flames rose from his hand. In an instant, he melted down the Creation Boat, turning its divine materials into molten metal that flowed across his palm.
The flames burned ever fiercer, drawing the Heavenly Dao itself into the molten metal. Meng Chuan began refining it anew.
He used the artifact-refining methods of the Yang God World, along with what he had gleaned from the Other Shore Bridge.
Before long, countless divine materials appeared in the Void and fell into his palm. Flames obscured everything. Everyone stared, watching a sight that shattered their understanding of the world.
Time passed. The flames in Meng Chuan's palm gradually died