It was amazing how much progress could be made when two minds worked in tandem, especially when two professionals focused on the sa problem.
Ideas bounced between us, overlapping and refining, and in the process, Song San and I learned a lot from each other. Well, at least I learned from him. The guy was a snake and cockroach kind of person, but he was undeniably smart.
“We should catalog our discoveries and write a book on this,” I told Song San, as he fiddled with the poison ampule, trying to see if there were more acuities to uncover. When it ca to poisons, it seed that no matter how long he spent studying it, he never got bored.
He dipped his pinky into the vial I’d handed him, the one containing poison from the hybrid creatures, and gave it a lick like he was tasting soup. Then he wiped his finger around the corner of his mouth.
“This used to be much easier when I wasn’t immune to most poisons,” he grumbled, either displeased by the taste or the lack of reaction.
We worked together well enough, but I couldn’t pretend I really understood him.
He turned to , and he finally caught on to what I told him. “Oh? Books? I don’t know about that. If you want to, go right ahead.”
Song San didn’t seem interested in the idea of recording our findings. He simply left a syringe of poison on his research table which was a ss of tubes, scrolls, and glassware that looked like a deranged alchemist’s desk and he paced around without cleaning up.
He was sloppy.
“You can use whatever we learn together, however you want. But I’m too busy with other things to concentrate on writing a book,” Song San added. “Anyway, what do you think about Zun Gon’s healing ceremony? Are you going?”
At least he was willing to let do my thing. He was a lot like his sister in that way.
“I’m not sure,” I shrugged.
Of course, I was going to the ceremony. But I didn’t like Song San knowing my movents, where I was going, or what I planned. I liked him as a research partner, but that didn’t an I liked him as a person.
After that, there wasn’t much else to do in his hut, so I left after a brief goodbye. Song San didn’t even look my way, already focused on his next experint.
It wasn’t as if either of us was interested in spending ti together beyond utilizing each other’s expertise.
I levitated into the air and rose above the clouds for a mont, checking the sun’s position. Almost dinnerti.
I shot through the sky like a rocket back ho.
When I landed on the soft green grass, Batsy looked almost ready to pounce. But for so reason, she was more restrained today.
I sensed Song Song’s presence in the house. That probably explained it. So harsh “lessons” had likely been involved for the fiery bat to act this politely.
Song Song seed to be sleeping.
Who knew how many weeks she’d gone without a wink of sleep? She usually never missed dinner.
As a Core Formation cultivator, she didn’t need to eat or sleep often. But she’d clearly pushed herself lately, concentrating too hard on mastering her new Sky Grade Technique.
It might seem a bit extre, but I smiled at the thought. Song Song wanted this. She was living her best life in these peaceful tis.
I stepped into the stone house and went straight for the kitchen, where Fu Yating and Wu Yan were cooking. Without much fanfare and barely a greeting, I sat down at the wooden table and sighed like a middle-aged man returning from a long day of work.
Fu Yating turned toward and smiled. “How was your day?”
“Pretty good.”
Wu Yan looked between us, narrowing her eyes like she expected an argunt. When none ca, she relaxed and sat down as Fu Yating brought over the food.
“This is a new recipe. I know how you love your steaks, so I tried sothing different. I got so monstrous beast at; there were so cow-type beasts in that army. I used those with the new spices, and–...”
She launched into the full explanation of the preparation process. I nodded politely but didn’t really listen, and just took a bite.
Yep. Delicious as always.
…
The next day didn’t begin as lazily as the one before. No casual stretches. No peaceful yawns. No sunlight gently filtering through curtains.
Instead, my eyes snapped open, every nerve screaming alert.
Killing intent.
Thick. Suffocating. Unmistakable.
It flooded the room like a rising tide, coiling around my limbs and pressing on my chest. And it wasn’t just a whiff. It was targeted. Focused.
But despite the instinctual panic, my mind was calm.
The arrays around my building hadn't been triggered. And I could sense the Qi signature it was coming from.
Song Song was up to her usual shenanigans.
Groaning, I pulled the pillow over my head, trying to block out the light and the tension prickling at my skin. She kept her killing intent aid directly at for a good ten minutes. That ant she had no plans to go out and train her Sky Grade Technique today. She was bored.
No matter how accustod I was, my body still reacted after a while. Blood flow slowed. My limbs felt cold. My heart pounded sluggishly. If this keeps up, I might pass out.
I really wanted to go back in ti and slap my past self for creating a technique like this.
I opened my eyes again, pillow still over my head, and squinted at the morning sunlight spilling through the window. Then I let out a long, muffled grumble.
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“We have so many things to do today,” Song Song said.
“What do you have planned to be saying sothing like that this early?” I sighed.
“Well, I wanted to ask you a couple of things about the soul to help get a handle on this thing. Sky Grade Techniques are much harder to learn than I thought they’d be,” she said.
I shrugged. “Let’s talk about this over breakfast first. I need a mont to figure out how best to categorize what you need.”
"Has your way of speaking always been so dry?" Song Song raised a questioning brow but still waited by the door of my room as I got ready for the day.
"No, but getting woken up with a fresh dose of killing intent does that to you."
We walked to the kitchen and ate breakfast together. Fu Yating had already prepared the food before either of us woke up.
“So,” Song Song began between bites, “how would soone go about cutting sothing immaterial?”
She asked it casually, using her Qi-infused chopsticks to slice the steak Fu Yating had made.
Steak for breakfast might seem a bit much, but Fu Yating knew my tastes. I ate like a rich man who rarely got to enjoy fine food. Mostly because I was broke during my previous life, I mostly ate microwaved two-dollar steaks on a good night. Even when I had the ti to go out on a nice outing, I would rather spend it at ho sleeping or relaxing in so way to get rid of the ntal fatigue of working during the whole week.
“That depends on whether you’ve perceived your own soul. Can you sense or see it?” I asked.
Song Song nodded.
“While I can’t exactly see it, I can sense the core of my soul, sowhat,” she said.
“Really? Already?” I exclaid, surprised.
Although it wasn’t completely shocking, this was Song Song, but still. That was fast. Her talent was terrifying.
She had only been training with the technique for about a month. At this pace, she might actually be able to use it properly within the next three or four months.
We spent the rest of the breakfast discussing the matter, examining it from different angles. But there was only so much we could say before the rest beca theory she’d have to explore herself.
Even “seeing” one’s soul was more taphor than literal. It was often a constructed illusion that the mind used to interpret sothing fundantally incomprehensible.
After breakfast, we flew toward the location where Zun Gon was holding his healing ceremony.
The eting place was the old Sect Leader’s main hall. A building that had barely survived the Heavenly Calamity. What once stood as a proud symbol of authority and grandeur now looked more like a shrine and a relic caught between ruin and ruinous mory.
The roof had half-lted, leaving charred beams and gaping holes through which the sky now stared down like an indifferent god. Sunlight filtered through in jagged shafts, casting long, uneven shadows on the cracked stone floor.
Yet, signs of renovation dotted the ruin: new wooden supports clashed with old stone; patches of fresh tiles lay over scorched ones; and faint, delicate traces of protective arrays were etched into the foundation.
It was as if the sect had chosen not to restore the hall to its forr glory, but to leave it wounded, letting it wear its scars like a badge of survival.
Had Zun Gon planned it that way? To subtly show that, just as he was healing… so was the Sect?
I could see the reasoning. Disaster after disaster, loss after loss, and the Blazing Sun Immortal himself had practically said he didn’t care about the place anymore.
Yeah. The Sect was on its last legs. One more disaster, and people would start grabbing their bags and running for greener pastures.
I scanned the hall, noting who had co and who hadn’t. Every inner elder had been invited.
So sat in silence, others whispered quietly among themselves.
But not everyone had shown up. Anxiety. Politics. Apathy. Whatever the reason, their absence hung in the air like smoke over an abandoned battlefield.
What kind of ga was Zun Gon playing by doing this? Openly displaying how divided the sect had beco would only serve to convince the fence-sitters to jump ship. Right now, the best move would’ve been to present a united front. Show strength. Rebuild trust.
Or…
Was this his declaration? That he was throwing his hat into the ring for the position of Sect Leader?
Zun Gon lay atop a stone altar in the center of the hall, his body propped slightly by cushions. However, it did little to hide the severity of his condition. A cluster of healers surrounded him, their faces tight with focus and urgency, hands glowing faintly with Qi as they worked.
His breathing ca in ragged gasps, each inhale strained and wet-sounding, like every breath might be his last. The entire left portion of his lower torso was gone, torn away, cauterized in places, and wrapped in layers of soaked bandages that barely held back the damage. His skin was deathly pale, lips nearly colorless, and with every wheezing breath, it felt like we were witnessing his final monts.
He was barely hanging on. It didn’t exactly paint the image of an inspiring leader.
Peeking past the bandages was a sickly black discoloration that pulsed faintly, like rot with a heartbeat. It wasn’t just a wound. It was tainted. Whatever had struck him hadn’t been satisfied with rely tearing flesh; it had laced the blow with a malevolent curse. The corruption pulsed outward with each heartbeat, spreading further and resisting every attempt at healing.
Even the Qi of the most experienced healers seed to flicker near it, as if repelled by sothing older and more hateful than ordinary poison.
One of the healers, an old man with long silver hair and a braided beard, looked toward us and the rest of the gathered elders. His frown was deep and grim.
He cleared his throat, loud enough to silence the whispers in the hall.
“We will now comnce healing the great elder Zun Gon,” he declared.
From a white jade bottle, he removed a blue pill that glistened under the light. Its coloring shifted across shades of blue depending on the angle, like a living sapphire.
It was beautiful, looking more gemstone than dicine, and gave off a sharp, stinging aroma, like bitter oil laced with Qi.
The elder brought the pill gently to Zun Gon's lips.
Zun Gon opened his bloodshot eyes with effort. The veins in his sclera were dark, his stare weary, but he still had enough strength to open his mouth and swallow.
At first, nothing happened.
His labored breaths continued, and he still looked monts from death.
But then, he inhaled deeply and opened his mouth.
A dark mist poured out.
I imdiately raised a jade barrier around myself, just in case it was poisonous.
The rot in his eyes faded instantly. The discoloration around his wounds lightened, and the corruption seed to be... retreating.
The healers moved fast. Their hands trembled as they peeled away the soaked bandages. A sharp, fetid sll filled the air.
Then we saw a gaping hole where flesh should have been. Pulsing organs laid bare to the air.
For a mont, there was silence.
Then, with an audible creak, fractured bones began to stir. Shattered ribs sprouted anew from the stumps like pale, skeletal branches, reaching to complete their cage once more.
Monts later, the organs began to regrow; a liver expanded and knit together, a stomach ford, and a kidney reford with perfect vascularity. Each organ took shape with disturbing precision.
Muscles layered over them in smooth, rippling bands. Finally, new skin closed across it all like a seamless patch of fresh pale leather.
The entire process lasted less than a minute. Still, the sheer speed and clarity of the healing were both amazing and deeply unsettling. Like watching a corpse reassemble itself, piece by piece.
New dark-silver hair sprouted from Zun Gon’s scarred scalp, though the scarring on his head and jaw remained.
Even healed, Zun Gon was still breathing hard. Not from pain now, but because his Qi reserves had been nearly emptied.
It seed the pill drew upon the user’s Qi for its regenerative effects.
Still, he stood. Strong and far more stable than he had any right to be.
He raised one muscular arm high.
And then, with a voice that thundered through the fractured hall, Zun Gon declared, “From this day forward, I proclaim to all gathered here…”
His voice echoed like a hamr striking steel. “I will soon break through to the Nascent Soul realm and beco the next Sect Leader!”
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