The rear courtyard of the City Lord's residence was cold and damp. After an exhausting day, Shen Qingyun—after all, nothing more than a mortal—was both physically and ntally worn out. He pulled his thin bedding tighter around himself, resisting the faint chill of the midnight air, and soon drifted into a heavy sleep amidst the chorus of snores surrounding him.
He did not know how much ti had passed when a sudden commotion jolted him awake.
At the entrance of the courtyard, lanterns blazed. A proud-looking young man strode in, followed closely by none other than the sharp-tongued steward with the goat-like beard.
The steward slipped quietly into the center of the yard, pulling a booklet from his sleeve. He began counting heads and jotting notes upon the page.
"Ninety-eight… ninety-nine… one hundred!"
As the final number left his lips, a broad smile blood across his face. Without another glance, he turned on his heel and left.
Shen Qingyun's heart gave a sudden lurch. Sothing was about to happen.
Sure enough—shortly after the steward's departure—a flash of crimson light descended from the heavens, striking the courtyard's center with unerring precision.
When the radiance faded, a man in a blood-red robe stood silently before them. He appeared to be in his thirties, with handso features, yet between his brows lingered a cold, inescapable killing aura. A faint stench of blood clung to him, so sharp that several mortals closest to him instinctively stepped back.
Shen Qingyun studied him carefully and realized his robes were nearly identical to those of Ye Xun, whom he had seen before, though the embroidery differed in detail.
"They are all present." The blood-robed cultivator swept his gaze across the hundred n in the courtyard. His voice was chilling, devoid of emotion. "Follow ."
With that, he retrieved sothing from his storage pouch and tossed it into the air.
The object expanded with the wind, and in the blink of an eye transford into a massive flying vessel more than ten zhang in length, its fra forged entirely from the bones of so unknown beast. It hovered silently in the night sky.
Faint blood-red runes flickered across its surface, radiating a power that made the heart quail. Vast and imposing, the vessel could easily accommodate several hundred mortals.
The hundred "Shen Qingyun" standing below had never seen such divine ans. One by one they gaped in awe, before collapsing to their knees and shouting praises of "Immortal!" Their yearning for transcendence no longer concealed, but openly blazing in their eyes.
"Board." The cultivator's command was short and cold. With a light leap, his figure landed gracefully on the deck of the vessel.
None dared delay. They scrambled forward, shoving and pressing, each desperate to claim a place.
Shen Qingyun slipped into the crowd in silence. Once aboard, he found a spot near the rail of the ship—quiet enough to observe the outside, yet inconspicuous.
Soon, all hundred had boarded.
The flying vessel gave a deep, resonant hum. Slowly, it lifted into the air, turned its bow, and sped into the night sky.
Leaning against the icy railing, Shen Qingyun quietly studied the vessel's direction. Its course seed roughly aligned with the mountain range where the Xuanpin Sect resided, though not entirely.
So, could this "Blood Offering Valley" truly be the fourth sect stronghold of the Grand Dao Demonic Sect?
anwhile, within her cave-dwelling, Liu ng sat cross-legged as her aura underwent an earth-shaking transformation.
Ever since the newly recruited maidens had begun dual cultivation with the n imprisoned within the cells, pure streams of spiritual energy, channeled by the domineering nature of the Xuanpin Art, had flowed unceasingly into her body.
Her cultivation surged at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Qi Refining, Second Layer… Second Layer Perfection…
Boom!
Another invisible barrier shattered effortlessly. Liu ng's aura soared higher, the "lake of spiritual power" within her dantian expanding severalfold, its essence growing thicker and more refined.
Qi Refining, Third Layer!
Yet when she reached the Third Layer Perfection, her advance halted.
Though the feedback from the maidens continued without pause, no matter how the energy battered at it, the wall to the Fourth Layer remained like an unyielding dam—immovable.
"A bottleneck…?" Liu ng slowly opened her eyes, her brows furrowing.
She could feel it clearly. She had reached the peak of the early Qi Refining stage.
The path of cultivation was divided thus: the Qi Refining stage contained nine layers—one to three were the early stage, four to six the middle, seven to nine the late. Transitioning from one stage to the next was not sothing re accumulation of spiritual power could achieve.
She guessed so special thod would be required to break through this barrier.
But where to obtain such a thod?
Ask Qin Shuang? She was in seclusion and might not answer. And even if she did, would she tell the truth?
Seek out the San Cai Market? Liu San had not found anything similar in the Treasure Pavilion, but perhaps other shops might yield results.
Or ask Su i'er? Liu ng sighed deeply. She had no desire to face that woman again. But if no other path remained, she might have no choice.
Yet her greatest concern lay not with Liu ng herself, but with her true body.
The new day had already dawned, and the system's prompt to summon another avatar had long since rung.
But this ti, Liu Ming did not summon a new body.
A stabbing pain throbbed at his temples. His spiritual sea felt like a taut bowstring, stretched to the breaking point—ready to snap at any mont.
The reason was simple: he was still only a mortal, his soul too weak.
Maintaining three avatars—Liu ng, Liu Wu, and Shen Qingyun—was already a trendous strain. If he summoned another, he feared he would lose consciousness entirely.
And if that happened, both his true body and all his avatars would collapse at once.
If he wished to summon more avatars, he had to strengthen his soul—he had to beco a cultivator himself.
But he possessed only one cultivation thod: the Xuanpin Art.
The mont he thought of it, Liu Ming shook his head.
Its side effects were too vicious. Any who cultivated the subordinate technique would be reduced to slaves and nourishnt for the one holding the mother technique, bound forever with no hope of freedom.
Though Liu ng held the mother technique, seemingly safe, who could guarantee that this so-called "mother technique" was not rely the subordinate to an even higher-level technique?
In such a sect, riddled with deception and traps, any careless step was tantamount to suicide.
He must find a truly safe cultivation art—one not controlled by others—before he could risk practice with peace of mind.
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