There are still three thousand years left...

For someone as detached from worldly desires as he was, being able to amass such vast wealth over three thousand years was primarily thanks to the Sacred Soul Ring. Its greatest advantage lay in stockpiling grain and buying low to sell high at just the right moments. The method might have been simple, but with the Sacred Soul Ring acting as a cheat device, wealth was practically his for the taking.

The storage space within the Sacred Soul Ring was unimaginably vast, and the contents he kept inside were in utter disarray. Everything was stashed away according to the time it was acquired, not by type. Beyond grains, the ring was filled with an abundance of fruits, vegetables, and both slaughtered and live wild animals and birds, as well as heaps of aquatic products. Many of these creatures he’d never even seen before. Apart from foodstuffs and meats, the next most plentiful category was medicinal herbs. Wild ginseng of impressive age, various kinds of ganoderma, musk, bezoar—all were collected in large quantities at different periods.

There were also treasured ingredients from land, sea, and air, as well as silks and garments of all sorts. A dizzying array of miscellaneous items filled the space, but these were the most significant. With so many things on the left side of the ring’s space, Xiao Yao could only take a cursory glance.

He then began to examine the items stored in the right side of the space. This side, where time flowed normally, contained far fewer objects than the left, but their value was incalculably greater.

Pan Wu had been born during the Western Zhou dynasty; at the very front of the right-hand space lay a staggering collection of bronzeware in every conceivable form, far more diverse than anything unearthed by archaeologists. Xiao Yao had no expertise in bronzeware, and after a brief look, he moved on.

The right side’s items were also arranged chronologically. Apart from bronzeware, there were strange gold and silver works, jade pieces, and wooden artifacts—large nuggets of natural gold and uncarved jade among them. As time passed, bamboo slips, books, calligraphy and paintings, porcelain, woodenware, lacquerware, clocks, and more began to appear. Xiao Yao, unversed in antiques and art, could only glance over them, unable to judge their worth.

What truly held his interest were the gold, silver, gems, jade, diamonds, pearls, agate, coral, ivory, rhinoceros horn, and precious woods that Pan Wu had collected over the centuries. With the exception of items banned from trade, these could easily be sold for cash. Compared to antiques and works of art, their collectible value was not so high, and if he ever needed money, selling these raw materials would hardly be wasteful.

The treasures glittered and gleamed, dazzling to the eye. Because they were arranged by time, the assortment looked chaotic, making it impossible to estimate the quantity of any particular item. After a general survey, Xiao Yao had no intention of making a detailed inventory; there was simply no need. Just the gold amassed in each era—mountains of it—would be enough to last him ten lifetimes if converted to cash, and that was only what Pan Wu had gathered in the last twenty years.

Once his mind emerged from this ocean of gold and silver, it took quite a while for his excitement to subside. The old steward’s mention of a five-billion-dollar inheritance had already left him reeling, but having seen the contents of the ring, he realized Pan Wu’s legacy far exceeded that: even the wealth of a medium or large nation might pale in comparison.

This was true wealth, rivaling that of a country.

Of course, such excitement could only be indulged in private. In reality, even the richest tycoons would struggle to acquire the rare treasures hidden in the Sacred Soul Ring, and selling them off in large quantities would not be easy. But this didn’t trouble Xiao Yao in the least; the four hundred million yuan already in his bank account was more than enough for his needs.

For all their astonishing value, the ring’s contents were not the most important part of Pan Wu’s legacy. What he truly inherited was Pan Wu’s three thousand years of painstakingly accumulated knowledge and culture. That was the greatest inheritance of all.

Pan Wu had been able to reincarnate continuously since the Western Zhou, living to the present day; his art of immortality would tempt anyone. Beyond his mysterious longevity, he’d mastered countless arcane techniques of the ancient Qi refiners. In three thousand years, anything that piqued his interest—medicine, divination, astrology, music, chess, calligraphy, painting, talisman creation, fortune-telling, feng shui—he had refined to an extraordinary level.

Pan Wu’s ultimate aim was immortality; all other skills served that one purpose. His studies in astrology and talismanry were to understand the mysteries of the universe; his mastery of shamanic medicine to unlock the secrets of the human body; his immersion in the arts to cultivate his mind.

Three millennia of study and research had brought every skill to perfection. By merging with Pan Wu’s soul, Xiao Yao inherited all his skills and knowledge. Of course, how much he could truly master depended on the depth of the fusion; it would take a long time to become Pan Wu’s equal.

Compared to the three thousand years of knowledge and culture, the vast fortune accumulated over that time seemed less impressive. When wealth exceeds all personal needs, the surplus is nothing but a number, carrying little practical significance. Having inherited everything Pan Wu left behind, Xiao Yao no longer felt the urge to pursue riches; he would go with the flow. What mattered more were the secret skills and knowledge—each of which could absorb a lifetime of devotion.

Among these intangible assets, the most precious was the Sacred Soul Foundation. The fruit of Pan Wu’s three thousand years of effort, this foundation was now entirely his.

Though Pan Wu had achieved three millennia of life through reincarnation, it did not mean he was truly immortal. If, in his next rebirth, his soul survived but the attempt failed, he would have only one more chance to possess an infant’s body. And only once; if he could not, within another three thousand years, establish the Sacred Soul Foundation, he would perish utterly.

But Xiao Yao, having gained the Sacred Soul Foundation, was in a different realm entirely. It was said that with this foundation, one was no longer limited by the number of reincarnations—one could possess new bodies endlessly, always carrying memories from past lives. With this, Xiao Yao’s soul would never perish, and his physical aptitude for cultivation would be greatly enhanced. If he worked hard enough, even a truly immortal body was not out of reach; at the very least, his lifespan would be dramatically extended.

Of course, this was all legend—whether it truly worked, Xiao Yao could not say. He harbored no extravagant wish for his current body to live forever. But if, when nature finally claimed him, his soul had another chance at rebirth, he would gladly accept it.