As their emotions gradually settled, the two of them realized that the surroundings had quietly changed. This was no longer the corridor from before.
They now stood inside a chamber of an entirely different style. Bronze wind chimes hung from wooden beams, and a faint spiritual aura lingered in the air. Gu Qing pushed the door open. His field of vision widened at once, and only then did he realize that they were already near the very core of the palace.
Before them stretched a semi-transparent bridge suspended over the void. Gu Qing and Milton stepped onto the immortal bridge side by side. The surroundings were silent, broken only by the interwoven echoes of wind and footsteps. Light flowed through the body of the bridge like a drifting galaxy, reflecting their figures in its shimmer.
When they entered the main hall, a presence—both unfamiliar and strangely familiar—washed over them.
Gu Qing paused slightly. His gaze swept across the room—the layout, the placement of tables and chairs, the carved patterns on the corridor pillars, even the latticework of the windows. All of it was identical to the Tianjian Sect in his memory.
Chess pieces still rested on the board. The tea set had long since gathered dust. Old books were piled in a corner, and the sword rack lay beneath a thin layer of grime. In the sword practice room, chaotic blade marks scarred the walls, leaving behind the awkward traces of a novice. In the forging chamber, the spiritual furnace still held remnants of half-refined spiritual artifacts.
Gu Qing’s expression darkened as he walked, observing every detail. The sense of dissonance in his heart grew stronger with each step.
This immortal palace was layered with mechanisms and bound by severe spiritual suppression. Only high-level cultivators could approach it. Yet those sword marks and those unfinished artifacts clearly belonged to someone with meager cultivation—an absolute beginner.
“…This is not right,” he murmured. “It is as if someone once studied… and lived here.”
They turned into a treasure chamber. The four walls were lined with spiritual tools, spirit stones, and seeds of spiritual plants. Every treasure was exceedingly rare and arranged in orderly fashion.
Only at the very center stood a small puppet statue.
Its craftsmanship was crude, its facial features blurred—like something carved by a child. And yet it had been placed at the heart of a spiritual formation, layered with multiple protective seals. The fluctuations of spiritual power around it were clear and formidable.
The Heavenly Dao Little Dumpling floated around it several times, sounding confused. “Eh? What is this thing? Why use such high-level spells to protect something that looks… well, indescribable?”
Milton and Gu Qing exchanged a glance. Neither spoke.
The puppet looked ordinary, yet it was treated as a treasure. Behind such an act likely lay deeply private emotions.
They lingered in the treasure room for a long while before circling toward the back, where they accidentally discovered a door almost fused with the wall itself.
Beyond it was another room.
Unlike the previous chambers filled with traces of life, this place was silent to the point of stagnation. There were no fluctuations of spiritual energy, no scent of dust. The room was empty. The walls were spotless white, the floor unnaturally clean. There was not a single trace of habitation.
Too clean.
Gu Qing stood at the doorway, brows slightly furrowed, hesitating to step inside.
The Heavenly Dao Little Dumpling hovered at the edge of his sea of consciousness and muttered softly, “This place… is so strange. It is nothing like the others. Do you not think this room feels like it was deliberately… erased?”
Milton also frowned, calmly surveying the space. “It does not seem unused. It feels more like… someone completely wiped away every trace.”
As if someone had used immense power to forcibly eliminate all aura that once lingered here.
They stood in silence for a moment before ultimately choosing to leave.
Yet that abnormally pristine empty room clung to their minds, impossible to dispel.
They continued their exploration and pushed open the deepest door within the main hall.
This should have been the master bedroom.
The room was in utter disarray. The desk and floor were piled with unfinished spiritual artifact components and formation boards. Fragments of spiritual tools were scattered everywhere. The spiritual array in the corner had shattered, deep scorch marks suggesting a violent clash of spiritual power had once erupted there. Even the furniture lay overturned and broken.
Only upon the jade bed did a strand of silver light coil like a serpent, chains winding coldly through the air, emanating a chilling aura.
The Nine Nether Soul-Locking Chain.
Gu Qing recognized it at a glance. It was a soul-binding chain specially designed for top-tier cultivators. It could restrain the physical body and seal the soul itself—cruel beyond measure.
He stopped walking and remained silent for a long time.
Even the Heavenly Dao Little Dumpling quieted down, as if sensing something heavy.
Milton looked at Gu Qing, wanting to speak, yet the gravity in Gu Qing’s eyes silenced him.
Who had once been imprisoned here?
And who had been willing to expend immense spiritual power, laying down layer upon layer of seals, merely to protect those trivial objects?
And did any of this have something to do with Gu Qing?
At that moment, Gu Qing noticed a small desk polished from immortal wood in the corner.
The desk was plain in appearance—no spiritual engravings, no defensive formations. Yet he approached it instinctively and pulled open the drawer. Inside lay a ring.
Milton stepped closer as well. His gaze paused when it fell upon the ring.
It was a silver ring engraved with intricate Qingluan patterns.
The petals were semi-transparent, like white jade carved thin and luminous. The stamens shimmered like the tail feathers of a phoenix, vivid and radiant, emitting a faint immortal glow. Several Flame Phoenix Red Seals adorned the ring—brilliant crimson stones blazing with spiritual energy, rare treasures even within the cultivation world.
Gu Qing’s eyes sharpened. He immediately recognized the primary material—extremely rare Star Soul Cold Jade, hard and icy, capable of withstanding a full strike from a peak Nascent Soul cultivator. It was a supreme forging material. In both craftsmanship and substance, the ring was extraordinarily precious.
Yet it bore no spiritual engravings, no offensive properties, not even a defensive formation. It functioned primarily as a spiritual energy storage device.
To Gu Qing, such an arrangement was nearly a reckless waste.
“…This is not meant for practical use,” he said quietly, his tone edged with certainty.
The design was contradictory: exquisite styling, gentle carvings, rare materials—yet almost no practical function. It was as if its purpose had never been for battle.
It resembled far more a gift infused with profound emotion and painstaking care.
And yet such a precious gift had been left here casually, without seal or protection, as though its owner no longer cared.
Gu Qing lowered his eyes, his expression complicated. He slipped the ring into his sleeve. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing.
The Heavenly Dao Little Dumpling floated out again. “Eh? This thing feels strange… Gu Qing, why do you look so serious? Do you… have some kind of clue?”
Gu Qing shook his head. “It is too soon to say.”
But in his heart, a vague premonition had already taken shape.
This ring was likely deeply connected to the true master of this immortal palace.