"I don't have any enemies," Zhou Ya said with a sigh, "but because of you all, I've ended up attracting plenty of trouble."
He gave Qiu Dahuo a sharp glare, his tone edged with frustration.
This boy sometimes made him proud, sometimes made him want to tear his hair out.
So this was what it felt like to found a sect. He suddenly wondered—how had the Sect Master managed to raise Hall Master Zhang and the others back then? And how had he developed Qingxiao Sect into such a prosperous and powerful sect?
A faint sense of regret welled up inside him. Was what he was doing now really the right thing? Maybe, for these children, living an ordinary life wouldn't have been such a bad fate.
But when he thought back to the day he'd rescued them—their terrified faces, their broken bodies, the blood that had soaked the mountain path—he knew he couldn't let them live as helpless prey again.
In an age like this, without strength, one lived worse than a beast or a dog.
Even if they hid deep in the mountains their whole lives, danger would find them eventually.
Qiu Dahuo still wanted to ask more questions, but Zhou Ya ignored him, ordering him to help move the supplies instead. The boy had no choice but to obey.
Zhou Ya had already made up his mind. He would stay no longer than two months. Then he must return to Qingxiao Sect before matters worsened.
…
The duel between Jiang Zhaoxia and Xu Ning ultimately ended in a draw. Their countless exchanges had ignited a wave of passion among the disciples.
They had shown everyone what true cultivation was.
Just watching them soar through the air had made countless disciples feel the vast, unreachable gap between immortal cultivation and martial arts—a chasm that could never be crossed.
That, after all, had been Jiang Zhaoxia's true purpose: partly to spar sincerely with Xu Ning, but also to show the disciples what the eighth layer of the Nurturing Essence Realm was truly capable of.
Meanwhile, Li Qingqiu paid little attention to their battle. His focus remained entirely on his own cultivation and mastery of the Supreme Movement Art.
He wasn't planning to teach the divine ability to his disciples anytime soon. He had discovered that divine abilities consumed vital energy at an alarming rate. Even an eighth-layer Nurturing Essence cultivator could only use the technique two or three times before being completely drained.
Moreover, the Divine Ability Imprint was far harder to cultivate than any spell. For disciples at the Nurturing Essence Realm, trying to train one would only waste precious time—unless they were true prodigies.
Li Qingqiu himself had mastered it only through Divine Ability Inheritance, taking a shortcut that others did not have.
While Li Qingqiu immersed himself in cultivation, Qingxiao Sect began to flourish rapidly. More and more disciples relocated to Ziyang Peak, yet the main sect remained lively and bustling.
Beyond Ziyang Peak, disciples were buying land, building homes, and expanding their activities across the entire Taikun Mountain Range.
Seeking Immortal Town was under full-scale construction. Zhang Yuchun had never been so busy, yet he was thrilled. Even though it delayed his personal cultivation, he felt alive every single day.
Summer passed, and autumn winds swept through the Taikun mountains.
Inside the Spirit Management Hall, Zhang Yuchun sat in his chair, flipping through rosters while listening to a disciple's report.
"The news has spread across the land," the disciple said gravely. "Lords everywhere now fear that the Qi Clan will end up like Zhao Zhi. Many are showing signs of forming alliances."
Zhang Yuchun nodded. "Not enough. Keep spreading it. The more exaggerated, the better. Make the Qi Clan sound like a clan of demons—not just vying for the world, but intending to feast upon it."
"I understand. The channels I've opened haven't gone dark yet," the disciple replied quickly.
Zhang Yuchun waved his hand dismissively, and the disciple bowed and left.
Moments later, another disciple—a young woman—hurried in.
"The Qin Clan has fallen. The Eastern Ling Province Army has invaded Guzhou, and the Qin Clan is asking for our aid."
Zhang Yuchun didn't even look up. "Delay them. Tell them I'm swamped with work."
"Yes, Hall Master."
The woman bowed and left at once—quick, efficient, without hesitation.
Zhang Yuchun rubbed his tired eyes, then switched to another roster. Just as he began reviewing it, he heard new footsteps approaching.
This time, the person stopped before the desk but didn't speak.
Zhang Yuchun looked up. It wasn't one of his trusted aides—it was a regular disciple of the Spirit Management Hall.
Zhang Ping.
The young man stood there, hesitating, as if unsure whether to speak.
Zhang Yuchun leaned back slightly and asked, "What is it?"
"Hall Master," Zhang Ping said after a long pause, "can I trust you?"
Zhang Yuchun chuckled. "If you can't trust me, who else could you trust?"
He wasn't wrong. Since joining the sect, Zhang Ping had always been treated kindly by him—never scolded, never overlooked. But by nature, Zhang Ping was reserved, slow to trust, cautious to a fault.
He took a deep breath and pulled a thin, blue-bound book from his robes, setting it gently on the desk. "This was obtained when I went down the mountain to train with another senior brother. It's a manual—but it also contains something… strange. A legend. I thought it was best to give it to the sect."
Zhang Yuchun didn't seem particularly concerned. He nodded and said, "Alright, I'll take a look later."
But Zhang Ping continued, "Hall Master, do you know Bai Ning'er? I went on that trip with him."
"Of course I do," Zhang Yuchun replied casually. "The Sect Master favors him a lot—he's been granted plenty of privileges. What? Did he give you trouble?" His eyes returned to the roster in his hand.
Zhang Ping glanced around to ensure no one was nearby, then lowered his voice. "Hall Master, I think Bai Ning'er is… strange. There's something wrong about him. He makes people like him too easily. Everything he does goes smoothly. This manual—we got it because of him. But I don't believe anyone's luck can be that good."
Zhang Yuchun looked up from his papers, puzzled. "What do you mean? Can't a man just have good luck?"
"I can't explain it clearly," Zhang Ping said with a troubled sigh. "I'm worried he'll run into trouble—or worse, bring trouble to the sect. He acts recklessly, without the slightest restraint in anything he does."
He didn't say what truly weighed on his heart—he believed Bai Ning'er was dangerous.
During their trip down the mountain, the two had been attacked by a venomous creature. He had instinctively shoved Bai Ning'er out of harm's way, taking the bite himself. Though he survived in the end, the memory still made his skin crawl.
He couldn't shake the feeling that Bai Ning'er wasn't human—that perhaps he was some demonic being reborn, capable of bewitching others without them realizing it.
Whatever the truth, Zhang Ping had made up his mind—he would stay far, far away from him from now on.
"Reckless, huh? Then he needs to learn patience," Zhang Yuchun muttered thoughtfully.
Zhang Ping quickly added, "I'm not asking you to suppress him, Hall Master. He's a good person, truly. Loyal, kind, always willing to help others. I just think it's best if he goes down the mountain less often."
Zhang Yuchun rubbed his temples, his tone exasperated. "So first you tell me he's dangerous, and now you're praising him. Are you here to confuse me on purpose?"
Zhang Ping's face froze. Realizing there was no point arguing, he bowed respectfully and backed away.
With a wave of his hand, Zhang Yuchun dismissed him, then turned back to the rosters before him.
As Qingxiao Sect continued to expand rapidly, the amount of administrative work had grown overwhelming. Beyond the inner, outer, and registered disciples, there were also records of visitors and guests temporarily staying in the mountains—all of whom had to be registered carefully to avoid chaos.
Outside, the sun sank slowly beyond the horizon. Dusk settled over the Taikun Mountain Range.
Zhang Yuchun set the register aside, stretched his arms, and let out a long breath. His eyes drifted to the blue-covered manual Zhang Ping had left behind. After a brief moment of hesitation, he picked it up.
Zhang Ping was steady and meticulous—if he had gone out of his way to deliver this manual personally, there must be a reason.
"Divine Manifestation of the Ji Emperor…"
Zhang Yuchun couldn't help but chuckle. "What a pompous name."
He flipped open the book, skimming the first few pages—but the beginning contained no cultivation method. Instead, it recorded an ancient legend.
As he read on, his amusement slowly faded. His expression grew tense, and by the end, his hand was trembling slightly as he held the book.
…
Thick clouds swallowed the stars and moon.
Inside a grand hall, dim oil lamps flickered weakly, their faint light casting twisted shadows along the walls.
Upon the raised dais sat a man dressed in a golden robe, on a throne shaped like coiling dragons. The carved dragon heads at the armrests gleamed faintly in the light—ferocious, lifelike.
The man appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties. His hair, though white as snow, flowed loosely over his shoulders. His cold eyes gleamed with malice, and the crimson tint on his lips made him look more like a specter than a man.
This was Qi Tianquan, Patriarch of the Qi Clan.
His chilling gaze swept over the ten white-robed figures kneeling before him. These were the same mysterious men who had previously tried to capture Li Sifeng—the ten "Divine Attendants." Now, all of them knelt silently, heads lowered, too afraid to look up.
"My ten carefully cultivated Divine Attendants…" Qi Tianquan said slowly, his voice dripping with venom. "And you couldn't even capture Li Qingqiu's junior brother. How amusing."
His thin lips curled into a cold sneer. The air around his hands shimmered faintly with threads of white mist.
The staff-bearing Divine Attendant spoke in a low, grave tone. "Master, it wasn't that we lacked skill. Li Sifeng's martial prowess is extraordinary—one of a kind. The Emperor Xuan Sword he wields contains strange power. And Qingxiao Sect sent ten True Disciples to aid him. Against such strength, we stood no chance."
Qi Tianquan's grin widened, turning sharper, darker. "Qingxiao Sect has over three hundred True Disciples, doesn't it? So what you're telling me is that compared to them, our Qi Clan is utterly powerless?"
The ten Divine Attendants fell silent. They had no answer. Yet deep in their hearts, they couldn't deny it—they had indeed felt the oppressive might of Qingxiao Sect.
Swish—Swish—Swish—
Suddenly, black vines shot out from the surrounding shadows, coiling around each of the kneeling attendants.
Their muffled gasps echoed as they were dragged backward into the darkness. Moments later came the sickening sounds of bones snapping, followed by silence.
Qi Tianquan closed his eyes, listening to the grisly sounds as though they were a melody.
When the hall finally fell silent again, a cold, ancient voice rose from the darkness.
"That Qingxiao Sect… is not a mortal martial sect. It's a sect of cultivators."
Qi Tianquan's eyes snapped open. "A cultivator sect?"
"Yes," the voice replied, its tone raspy and low. "Though the great sects of old abandoned this cursed land long ago, they left behind traces—inheritances that have resurfaced from time to time. The so-called 'martial legends' are merely the faint echoes of that power. Even Grandmaster Jiang, the one who once bewitched an emperor, was touched by it. But none have truly revived the old ways… until now.
"Qingxiao Sect is different. This Li Qingqiu has not only attained the path himself, but has led countless disciples into true cultivation. Remarkable… truly remarkable."
There was a hint of greed in the aged voice's tone, hidden beneath its calm cadence.
Qi Tianquan frowned. "Qingxiao Sect is in Guzhou, far from Cangzhou. You cannot move freely in your current state. How do you expect us to eliminate them?"
"It matters not," the voice replied coolly. "The Divine Child is now ready. His body can serve as my vessel. Even if it can only contain one-tenth of my full power, it will suffice to slaughter Qingxiao Sect."
The words reverberated through the hall like thunder, making Qi Tianquan's heart tremble.
"Gather one hundred experts of the Innate Realm immediately," the voice continued. "Time is of the essence."
Qi Tianquan took a deep breath. "You'll have what you want in no more than ten days. But you've yet to fulfill your end of our bargain."
The tone of his voice grew firm, almost defiant.
"In due time," the old voice murmured. "Before that, you may select seven descendants to stand before me. I shall grant them divine arts. Whether they survive or perish will depend on their own fate."
The hall fell silent once more. Only the flicker of the oil lamps remained, their flames swaying weakly like dying souls.