Chapter 1: The Profound Art of Eight and Nine

Heaven's Eye, the Yang Clan—one of the most elite families within the Supreme Dao Alliance. Every member of the Yang Clan is born with divine eyes, capable of discerning the flow of an opponent’s vital energy, able to anticipate their moves before a strike even begins.

Because of this, the Yang Clan enjoys great prestige within the Dao Alliance, its power second only to the Sovereign Sword and the royal Wang family.

Today was a day of celebration for the Yangs.

The family head, Yang Yifang, was marrying off his daughter, Yang Yan. The entire clan was filled with distinguished guests, and the avenue was awash in a crimson glow for miles.

The bridegroom, in truth, was only a minor captain in a local division under the Dao Alliance. Although Yang Yifang himself felt this marriage was hardly a fair match in status, like all fathers, he could not resist his daughter’s persistent pleading. In the end, he relented and gave his blessing.

At the banquet, laughter rang out, some genuine, some merely flattery. Yet in a quiet corner, a child watched Yang Yan upon the stage with an expression tinged with pity.

The boy’s name was Yang Qingyuan, also of the Yang Clan’s blood. But unlike his peers, his status was somewhat unusual.

“What a farce—a perfectly fine wedding, about to be ruined by a pack of rabid dogs running wild...” he thought, unable to suppress a shake of his head.

Unbeknownst to most, Yang Qingyuan had already been in this world for eight years. Having transmigrated into the world of Fox Spirit Matchmaker, into one of the Dao Alliance’s top families, one might expect fortune to smile upon him. Yet luck had not favored him so.

Unlike prodigies like his peer Yang Yitan, Yang Qingyuan had never met the parents of his new life. He was raised with the servants, his food and clothing no different from theirs.

But these things hardly troubled him. What was wrong with living like a servant? It was free, after all—and he never went hungry. Wasn’t it better than struggling each day in his previous life just to keep afloat with endless overtime?

Yet the real problem wasn’t just the lack of privilege. As long as he remained a Yang and bore the Heaven’s Eye on his brow, he could always rely on the family name for influence.

But while Yang Yitan and the other children had long since awakened their divine eyes by age six, his own had shown not the slightest sign of activity. Years had passed, and still there was nothing. Yang Qingyuan could not help but feel a little frustrated.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Yang Yitan were a genius, but even the average Yang child awakened at six—none had ever been as late as him.

Gradually, Yang Qingyuan accepted that he was destined to be a failure at cultivation. So much for all those stories where transmigrators become unrivaled prodigies—the novels lied.

Resigned, he decided that when he was older, he could simply make a living as a fortune-teller, deceiving the common folk with his Heaven’s Eye. But just as he turned six, a mysterious technique appeared in his mind.

“To master the Eight-Nine Arcane Art, one roams the world unfettered.”

Just these opening words set his heart ablaze. Others might not recognize them, but as an avid fan of Journey to the West and Investiture of the Gods, Yang Qingyuan knew them by heart—this was the Eight-Nine Arcane Art, praised by the Jade Cauldron Immortal!

The Eight-Nine Arcane Art, also known as the Ninefold Primordial Art, was the divine skill of the Chan sect, chronicled in Investiture of the Gods. Eight is the highest yin number, nine the highest yang; multiplied, they represent the ultimate number in Daoism—hence the nine palaces and eight trigrams, seventy-two earthly transformations.

It was not only the path to the Golden Core but also a collection of myriad magical abilities.

And when it came to the Eight-Nine Arcane Art, how could one not mention the legendary True Lord of the Wondrous Dao, Yang Erlang of Guanjiang Pass?

As a devoted admirer whose very name echoed the title of Erlang Shen, Yang Qingyuan’s previous life knew all the legends—splitting mountains to save his mother, racing the sun with a mountain on his back.

He didn’t know why this divine technique had appeared in his mind, but since he had already transmigrated, what seemed impossible now felt entirely reasonable.

Of course—a world with traces of the Great Sage must have followers of the Little Sage as well.

And so, Yang Qingyuan understood.

Why bother with the Heaven’s Eye on his brow? Could it compare to the origins of the Eight-Nine Arcane Art?

The ultimate achievement of the Eight-Nine Arcane Art was becoming a saint in the flesh. If one attained the ninth transformation, so long as the spirit within the Niwan Palace endured, the body would never die; even if the spirit fled, the body could endlessly regenerate. Coupled with transformation at will, it was the very definition of immortality.

In this world, the human lifespan barely exceeded a century. For both ordinary folk and cultivators, the temptation of immortality far outweighed any other art.

“Since I began cultivating the Eight-Nine Arcane Art, it’s already been two whole years. Yet in all this time, I’ve only just perfected the first transformation. Isn’t this a bit too slow...?”

The thought brought a pang of frustration. Clearly, his talent for cultivation was abysmal—even a heaven-defying technique like this couldn’t help him progress much faster.

Still, frustration aside, cultivation must go on. If nothing else, after practicing the Eight-Nine Arcane Art, he could visibly sense both his body and soul growing stronger over these two years.

But as he had never fought anyone, and rarely saw others display their skills in the Yang estate, he had no clear sense of where he stood in this world’s hierarchy of power.

Thinking of this, Yang Qingyuan slowly gathered his thoughts and turned his gaze back to the high stage, where Yang Yan’s face was aglow with happiness.

In truth, his ability to remain in the Yang household for so many years was thanks to this kind-hearted lady. If not for her compassion when he was a helpless child, taking a stand for him, he would have been cast out long ago—left to fend for himself.

He sighed.

“You there, child—today is your family’s grand occasion. Why are you hiding in the corner, sighing all alone?”

Yang Qingyuan looked up to see a little girl, about his age, her face as delicate as carved jade, gazing at him in puzzlement.

When he only stared back in silence, she frowned and muttered under her breath, “Judging by that Heaven’s Eye on his brow, he must be from the Yang family, right?”