Outside Wucheng, a once lush and green wild mountain suddenly seemed to lose all life, becoming bleak and deathly. The animals in the forest sensed that something was different today, their unease rising to frantic levels, with cries and howls echoing through the trees.
At the foot of the mountain, a small white pig, completely hairless and about the size of an adult’s palm, sniffed left and right diligently. Not far above it, a one-foot-long rift appeared abruptly in the air, releasing a dense aura of spiritual energy. The little white pig turned sharply, its face showing a captivated expression as it followed the scent to the rift.
Just as it was about to touch the rift, a sudden sense of danger washed over it. Its previously enchanted expression turned to shock. The pig struggled for a long while in front of the rift, finally retreating reluctantly to a safe distance.
The pig didn’t understand what the rift was, only that it seemed incredibly enticing—but dangerously so—and it needed to stay away.
The rift in the sky didn’t last long; it slowly disappeared as though it had never existed, and the lingering aroma faded. The pig anxiously sniffed around the area, confirming the rift was gone, and then reluctantly trotted toward Wucheng.
The ancestral teachings had said to cherish what is in front of you, meaning one should first secure what can be eaten in the present. Though there were frightening two-legged creatures ahead, the scent and the prize were there, and the pig could not resist—its mouth watering as it charged forward.
Soon after the pig left, the rift reappeared briefly. At the moment it vanished, a dark figure struggled to escape from it. The rift’s force held it back, and despite its efforts, the figure could not break free. With a final surge, a scream echoed as the dark figure dissipated into thin air along with the closing rift.
Far away, thousands of miles from Wucheng, there was a crisp snapping sound. A small jade token, roughly the length of a finger and wrapped carefully in a box, shattered suddenly.
A mournful scream echoed, followed by the tolling of countless bells that resonated through the sky. Farmers working their fields were struck with terror, kneeling immediately as they watched the mountains from afar. Generations of locals knew that the tolling of these bells signified ill fortune.
This mountain was known as Ailao Mountain, once celebrated for its beauty but also shrouded in mystery. Locals knew that a group of black-clad cultivators dwelled within. Rarely seen, even when outsiders ventured into the mountains, the locals would staunchly prevent them from entering, heeding ancestral warnings that any who trespassed would invite disaster.
The bells rang forty-nine times, after which countless streams of light rose from the mountain, flying southwest. Only after all the light had dispersed did the trembling farmers cautiously rise to their feet.
A young man in his twenties gazed at the southwest, eyes wide with admiration. “This is the first time I’ve seen so many cultivators at once!”
An older man beside him, face lined with wrinkles, sighed. “The bells mean ill fortune. Everyone should stay inside and be careful.”
High in the sky, a lean, grim-faced old man of about sixty flew at the front, wielding a blood-red curved blade, his eyes filled with murderous intent. Behind him, a middle-aged man in scholarly attire followed closely, stepping on a floating book while murmuring incantations.
“Senior brother, don’t act rashly. The shattering of the soul jade requires careful investigation—it may not be the Yun Tian Sect,” the scholar urged.
“Hmph. Don’t try to persuade me. Though my son disappeared long ago, his soul jade remained intact. Why should it break the moment the Yun Tian Sect arrived in Wucheng? Those so-called sects keep complaining about their elder’s loss and my Lian You Sect—surely this is personal revenge!” The lean old man hissed. “Even if it is Yun Tian Sect’s doing, I will report back to the Patriarch. I heard the sect’s elders are all gathered in Wucheng—if we act rashly and fail, it could be disastrous.”
The scholar replied with careful concern, “Senior brother, rest assured. I have brought the sect’s sacred item, the Soul Refining Banner. With it, we can trap the Yun Tian Sect disciples—they won’t escape.”
“The Soul Refining Banner?” the scholar asked in surprise.
The lean old man nodded grimly. “I’ll make sure the Yun Tian Sect pays.”
Back in the Yun Tian Sect courtyard, no one was aware of the approaching vengeance. Their full attention was on Xiao Lingyu. Once he completed his breakthrough, he would become the youngest炼境 (Refining Realm) master in history, a feat that would shake the cultivation world.
Xiao Lingyu’s current level had reached the fourth layer of the炼境, but like the previous Dan-level elders, this ascended state was unstable. To stabilize it, he would need later effort. To outsiders, however, it appeared he had only just reached炼境 one.
He focused all his mind on mastering his intrinsic skill, “Heavenly Water Without Trace,” a defensive ability. Once activated, it could form an invisible barrier around him, capable of blocking attacks up to five levels above his own. A significant advantage, indeed.
Xiao Lingyu repeatedly simulated using the skill in his mind, increasing his casting speed. For three full days, Wu Yunzi and the sect disciples maintained their meditative positions, guarding him. By the fourth night, the courtyard grew dark as clouds swallowed the moon. The wind whistled ominously.
Wu Yunzi suddenly opened his eyes, forming a hand seal. A dazzling white light shot toward the southeast corner of the courtyard.
“Ah!” A scream pierced the night as a crimson light rose. The white light continued, meeting resistance midair.
Wu Yunzi adjusted his incantation, amplifying the white light. The barrier seemed to open a gateway to the netherworld, ghostly wails filling the air.
By the time the light reached its full potential, Wu Anguo and others had already rushed to his side, disciples brandishing their weapons, forming a vibrant, protective ring around Xiao Lingyu.
The first ghostly wails caused all their faces to turn grim.
“Lian You Sect!” Wu Anguo gritted his teeth.
“Yes, it’s them,” a sinister voice echoed. “Old Zhao, was it your doing that Wu Shi died?”
Wu Anguo quickly replied, “I don’t know how Wu Shi died, but you killed my son! Now you’ll pay!”
A green light suddenly erupted in the courtyard. Countless grotesque spirits surged toward the sect disciples.
“Not good, it’s the Soul Refining Banner!” an elder exclaimed. The Yun Tian Sect disciples turned pale; the banner’s reputation was enough to intimidate many sects.
Wu Yunzi snorted. “Such a small Soul Refining Banner dares show its face before Yun Tian Sect? Wu Shi, unleash the Lei Han Mirror!”
Wu Anguo performed the seals, sending an ancient, circular mirror soaring into the sky. It grew until it fully covered the courtyard. He shouted, “Thunder, arise!”
White lightning crackled across the mirror, striking the surrounding courtyard. Yin energy in the form of the ghosts was purged by the thunder, either dissipating or fleeing toward the Soul Refining Banner.
“Such a waste!” Old Ghost moaned, regretting the loss of the spirits. Unable to resist the temptation, he tried to absorb a few, but Wu Yunzi’s protective charms stopped them instantly.
Outside, Wu Anguo continued controlling the mirror, disciples wielding their treasures to intercept any spirits. Meanwhile, the lean, black-clad old man, seeing the massive mirror, turned to the scholar.
“You handle the formation. I’ll deal with Wu Anguo.”
Crossing paths, the scholar stepped under the banner while the lean old man readied his blood-red blade. His eyes fixed on Xiao Lingyu at the center of the courtyard, realizing the child was in the middle of a炼境 breakthrough. He had assumed that with the formation and the banner, capturing the sect disciples would be easy—but the mirror’s presence thwarted his expectations. To succeed, he would have to strike unexpectedly.
The old man unleashed a sharp blade attack toward Xiao Lingyu.
“Old Ghost! How dare you!” Wu Yunzi roared, countering with a beam of white sword light.
The black-clad old man grinned, casting two green lights that streaked toward Xiao Lingyu. The sword light collided with the curved blade, halting momentarily before dispersing. Yet the green lights continued toward Xiao Lingyu, slower but still dangerous.
“Yu’er!”
“Little one!”
“Little junior brother!”
Shouts erupted as treasures flew toward Xiao Lingyu.
“Pfft!” He coughed blood. Two strange, palm-sized weapons abruptly stopped in front of him. Wu Yunzi immediately rushed forward, blocked by the invisible barrier.
Xiao Lingyu suppressed the surge of bloodlust and performed a hand seal, letting Wu Yunzi back inside. Wu Yunzi wasted no time, pulling out a small jade vial, feeding a milky white pill infused with spiritual energy directly into Xiao Lingyu’s mouth.
“Lian Yun Dan!” an elder exclaimed in surprise. The pill was extremely rare, healing damaged meridians and restoring injuries. Wu Yunzi’s love for his disciple spared no cost, giving him the precious medicine without hesitation.
“Little Yuzi, are you alright?” Old Ghost’s worried voice echoed in Xiao Lingyu’s mind. He felt warmth and relief, replying, “No problem. Master blocked most of the power earlier. With this pill, the pain is gone.”
Opening his eyes, Xiao Lingyu saw Wu Yunzi’s concerned face. “I’m fine, Master. A warm flow entered me, the pain is gone,” he said with a soft, reassuring smile.
Wu Yunzi’s heart melted, feeling the child’s filial and considerate nature.
Outside, the lean old man regained control of the formation, spitting blood onto the banner. Ghostly energy surged, the courtyard shrouded in a terrifying atmosphere.