The street was lit by ornate lanterns, bustling with a steady stream of people, and shops stood row upon row. More vendors set up stalls by the roadside, loudly calling out to attract customers.
Lin Feiyuan’s gaze swept over them one by one.
The beggars holding bowls, the women carrying children, the children eating sweet cakes—all seemed like deliberately disguised, ill-intentioned spies.
The scissors for cutting cloth, the small knives for slicing beef, the flying knives of street performers, the heavy hammers of blacksmiths—all seemed like weapons poised to strike, ready to fly out at any moment.
Even the carriages with drawn curtains, the oxcarts pulling large barrels, and the baskets covered with white cloth seemed to hide several highly skilled assassins, specialized in killing Nascent Souls.
"Never mind, it’s just my occupational habits acting up." Lin Feiyuan shook his head vigorously.
Hua Wei City was dazzling, and his mind was starting to feel muddled.
Song Qianji pointed and said, "If you really want to go, just go."
Following his finger, Lin Feiyuan saw the sign at the silk shop’s entrance that read "New Arrival: Lotus Brocade." "Don’t insult my amateur hobby," he retorted.
As the top assassin in the business, with years of experience and never a failed mission, couldn’t he be given some basic respect?
"Alright, alright." Song Qianji thought about giving him some pocket money to buy fabric. "Everyone else has gone off to have fun."
But when he patted his Storage Bag, he found no money inside.
"Just because they’ve gone, I won’t," Lin Feiyuan said, still trailing behind Song Qianji as he wandered.
Meng Heze, Ji Chen, and the others thought like normal people, but he thought like an assassin.
The more peaceful things seemed, the more alert he became; the more fearful he felt, the greedier he grew.
"You... brought money, right?" Song Qianji asked.
"What for?"
Seeing his expression, Song Qianji knew he must have some. Turning to the vendor selling soup dumplings, he called out, "Boss, two baskets."
"Why two baskets? I’m not eating!" Lin Feiyuan protested.
People like him always carried all their belongings with them, just in case they suddenly died one day with money left unspent.
That would be a huge loss.
As the sunset glow faded, paper lanterns were lit along the roadside.
The stall was cramped, and the two of them squeezed onto low stools.
Lin Feiyuan shook out a handkerchief and meticulously wiped the chopsticks. "Eating at set times—are you even a cultivator anymore? It’s all the bad habits Song Courtyard has given you. Here, take them."
"I’m just in a good mood today," Song Qianji said, accepting the chopsticks.
Ziye Wenshu had agreed to his unreasonable request and promised to share information with him promptly.
From now on, every time he broke through, he could control it to happen after the other.
He had also found a way to suppress his cultivation.
When Hua Wei Mountain bloomed, the vitality of heaven and earth infused his spiritual platform, and he saw his "wheat field" again.
The wheat was thriving, and the field was even more expansive than before. A few of the wheat ears showed faint signs of turning from illusory to real.
From now on, he would use the abundant Spirit Qi in his body to solidify his "Domain."
This bottomless gold-devouring beast could continuously absorb Spirit Qi, and Song Qianji no longer despised his unimpressive "wheat field."
With these two advantages, even if Xian Jianchen showed up, he could manage to bluff his way through.
Now, returning to Thousand Canals wouldn’t delay the spring planting.
The soup dumplings arrived, their fragrant steam wafting over.
Lin Feiyuan picked up the largest one.
By the time Song Qianji started eating, half the basket was already empty.
On days when others celebrated with wine and song, drinking wildly and getting drunk, he could only eat a few soup dumplings.
Along the entire snack street, most vendors sold hot foods to warm people’s stomachs in the deep winter.
Wisps of white steam passed through the lanterns’ pale yellow light, blurring the faces of the diners.
The warm mist drifted into the night sky, like ethereal immortal clouds or leisurely wisps of smoke.
...
Carefree Palace was hidden among the immortal clouds.
Curtains hung low, and faint smoke curled upward.Chen Hongzhu had taken the elixir, and her complexion had regained its rosy hue. She lay quietly on the bed, breathing evenly, appearing very docile.
"You were much better as a child—no matter how willful, unreasonable, or coquettish you were, it was all just minor mischief." Xu Yun sighed. "Have a good sleep."
He lit calming incense to soothe dreams, then silently closed the door.
"Let Hongzhu rest," he instructed the maidservant. "No one else is to disturb her."
"Master," Yuan Qingshi said softly, "I am leaving now."
His expression was calm, his fists clenched, but his eyes betrayed tension and unease.
"The arrow is already on the bowstring—it must be fired. Go ahead." Xu Yun patted his eldest disciple's shoulder and smiled. "Your master believes you can handle this."
A white crane spread its wings and soared into the night clouds, carrying Yuan Qingshi away.
A single, mournful crane cry echoed downward.
After seeing off his disciple, Xu Yun headed toward the back mountain.
No Daoist pages attended him, nor were there any Deacons or elders following.
Alone, he entered a concealed dark room.
Thick blue smoke filled the room, carrying the musty odor of decaying wood.
There were no tables, chairs, lamps, or silk curtains—at first glance, the room appeared empty.
After nightfall, the grand halls of the Huawel Sect shone brilliantly, as bright as daylight, making such a dim room a rare sight.
Five voices sounded in the room: "Sect Leader."
The five Peak Lords of the Huawel Sect had been waiting in the darkness for some time.
Xu Yun nodded, pushed open a small window to let in a sliver of moonlight, illuminating the wall—covered with memorial tablets, their eerie glow chilling to the soul.
From all directions, densely packed tablets of varying sizes and inscriptions, dedicated to eternal life, were stacked layer upon layer, reaching high into the darkness.
So high the top could not be seen.
This place was actually the sect's ancestral hall!
After the sect's senior experts fell, their memorial tablets were enshrined here, receiving endless incense offerings from the mortal realm and imbued with the power of faith and vows from the Huawel Sect's territories.
For decades, centuries, millennia, day and night, they silently protected the sect.
The ancestral hall was a sacred ground, opened only for major events.
In other words, whenever it opened, a significant matter was at hand.
If Chen Hongzhu's engagement ceremony had proceeded smoothly today, she and her fiancé would have come to pay respects in this hall.
Now, the joyous occasion had turned into a scandal, yet the Sect Leader and Peak Lords had still gathered here.
They lit incense, bowed three times respectfully, and carefully placed it in the censer.
Though plans had long been made, when the moment truly arrived, some still hesitated: "Must we take this step?"
"This is the best opportunity—they will never expect it." Zhao Taiji said coldly. "Kill Song Qianji and reclaim Thousand-Ditch Prefecture. The Zhao Family will not take a single share of the mineral deposits in Thousand Canals. All will be offered to the sect!"
"Peak Lord Zhao's righteousness is commendable!" With these words, the resolve of the other four Peak Lords solidified.
In truth, they all understood that the mineral deposits were trivial; the sect's standing was what truly mattered.
Within the Western Sky Continent, the Huawel Sect had once stood unchallenged. Many weaker sects, small nations, and clans had no choice but to cling to this great tree, offering treasures and tribute to the Huawel Sect, kneeling and currying favor.
Among them were those who did not truly respect the Huawel Sect, even harboring secret resentment, but with no other branches to rely on, they bowed their heads for survival.
Thousand Canals had been like a sprouting seedling, just beginning to show its tip, with all sides watching intently. Only rogue cultivators of humble origins, with nothing to their names, dared to take root there.
At today's banquet, Song Qianji played a tune, single-handedly confronting the Celestial Sound Sect's orchestra, displaying his sharp edge.
If Song Qianji were allowed to return smoothly to Thousand Canals and his Song Courtyard, who knew how many weaker forces would flock there with their families in tow?
After all, the Spirit Qi in Thousand-Ditch Prefecture was gradually recovering, and Song Qianji did not collect taxes.The upper echelons of the Huawel Sect all understood this principle.
Xu Yun said in a deep voice, "Begin."
Together, they sliced their palms and pressed them onto the altar table, chanting incantations that grew from soft murmurs to resonant cries.
Blood splattered, forming trickling streams on the floor tiles.
A cold wind rushed through the windows, dispersing the thick smoke and bringing a bone-chilling cold.
Hundreds of spirit tablets trembled slightly, emitting rustling sounds.
The empty ancestral hall suddenly felt extremely crowded, and gradually, some began to feel short of breath, struggling to breathe:
"Sect Leader, has it—has it succeeded?"
Xu Yun shouted sharply, "Manifest!"
Faint moonlight slanted through the doorway, elongating their shadows.
Though only six people stood in the ancestral hall, the wall distinctly bore one more shadow!
The skeletal black shadow swiftly spread over the skin, forming facial features.
A Peak Lord trembled violently, "Mas—Master…"
Xu Yun roared angrily, "Do not speak the name!"
The Peak Lord immediately snapped to attention and fell silent.
Seven, eight, nine… one after another, ethereal shadows rose swirling in the blue smoke.
Until the hall was packed to the brim, sharp shrieks grew from faint to deafening, nearly bursting eardrums.
Xu Yun looked up to see hundreds of human-shaped black shadows dancing wildly in midair. They howled, cackled, and collided, causing the walls to shake violently.
Were it not for the protection of the Grand Formation, the overwhelming spiritual pressure would have already shattered the ancestral hall.
This was Zhao Taiji’s first time participating in the ritual. Confronted with such a bizarre scene, he felt instinctive fear, his legs trembling, yet his eyes shone brightly, unable to suppress his excitement.
This time, even if Song Qianji had three heads and six arms or heaven-defying abilities, he was surely doomed!
A sect’s true foundation is measured by the auspicious Spirit Veins it occupies, the territories under its protection, the secret manuals it possesses, the spirit mines it exploits, the Mystic Treasures it holds, and the number of Transformation Stage, Great Ascension, Lesser Ascension, and Nascent Soul Realm experts within its ranks—as well as how many exceptionally gifted disciples such experts have nurtured, those who stand out among the younger generation.
But these are merely the "visible cards"—tangible and measurable.
In the vast, turbulent seas, tides rise and fall—who can remain prosperous forever?
Minor and mid-sized sects, if fallen on hard times, can only pin their hopes on the "next generation."
Major sects, like the Huawel Sect, have an additional path: if this generation fails to produce a Sage of the Transformation Stage, there is still the previous generation.
If the previous generation also falls short, surely the one before that had produced one.
Generation after generation, the legacy is passed down, life perpetuating endlessly.
When descendants encounter troubles they cannot resolve, their ancestors provide the safety net.
The "contingencies" left by these ancestors form a sect’s hidden strength, foundation, and trump cards.
These include the protective Grand Formation, secret mountain-guarding treasures not to be used lightly, and escape routes for instant teleportation…
And the ancestors themselves.
Of course, they are no longer truly "human."
Their physical forms have dissipated, leaving only fragmented souls forcibly lingering in the mortal realm. Half their wits are lost, all past grievances forgotten.
Their sole purpose: to protect the sect’s existence.
…
Since the founding of the Huawel Sect, people gathered and came in continuous streams, gradually forming Huawel City.
This city, backed by the immortal sect, saw every household offering incense. The deep-rooted power of faith became one of the sect’s unshakable foundations.
And Song Qianji was now in this very city.
He had eaten soup dumplings, celebrated the day’s gains, paid the bill with Lin Feiyuan’s money, and continued strolling through the streets.
The farther he walked, the sparser the crowd became, the moonlight gradually dimming. The deeper the night, the stronger the wind grew.The wind rustled through the wide sleeves of Song Qianji's ceremonial robes. With few people on the street, Lin Feiyuan relaxed and decided to buy a needle case as a reward for himself.
"Young masters, what would you like to see?"
The vendor's cart was filled with an dazzling array of items—not just needle cases, but also woolen thread, embroidered handkerchiefs, sachets, and other small trinkets.
Lin Feiyuan leaned down to examine the needles closely.
Suddenly, Song Qianji asked, "Where are we?"
Too lazy to respond properly, Lin Feiyuan snorted coldly. "I told you you drank too much. If this isn't Hua Wei City, then is it Thousand-Ditch Prefecture?"
"This is neither Thousand-Ditch Prefecture nor Hua Wei City," Song Qianji said.
Lin Feiyuan looked up.
He suddenly realized something, and a chill ran down his spine.
"Where's Xiao Meng and the others?" Song Qianji's voice remained calm.
"Weren't they just over there..." Lin Feiyuan narrowed his eyes.
The path they had taken was now swallowed by thick night fog, no longer visible.
The bustling market vanished like a dream in an instant.
The vendor, seemingly oblivious to their conversation, still asked, "Will you be buying anything, young master?"
Dark clouds drifted over, obscuring the moonlight. Two crimson lanterns hung at the far end of the street, swaying in the wind like ghostly flames.
The night wind swept through the long street, making the entire road seem to flow like a rushing river.
"Tsk, they've really gone all out this time," Song Qianji murmured. "They moved an entire city just to kill me. Just when I want to lie down, they force me to stand up."
From the depths of the night fog at the end of the street, a figure emerged.
Then, like a rising tide, countless figures poured out, densely packed.
"Did you bring your sword?" Song Qianji asked Lin Feiyuan.
Lin Feiyuan replied expressionlessly, "You broke it at Thousand Canal Bazaar."
...
Meng Heze, Ji Chen, and the others found themselves back at the starting point for the sixth time.
Ji Chen held an Array Disk, rapidly performing calculations. Yet no matter how hard he tried, the disk only occasionally trembled, displaying chaotic and disordered lines.
They walked down one street, only to find themselves on the same bustling street again.
It was an endless loop, as if they were walking in a circle.
Pretending not to be anxious was impossible, but their formation remained orderly.
The twenty-four disciples who had come out this time were all skilled hunters and elite members of the Guard Squad.
By the seventh time, Ji Chen directly put away his Array Disk, stopped, and shook his head.
Meng Heze exclaimed in surprise, "You're giving up?"
Ji Chen's face was pale. "Brother Meng, there must be a formation first before it can be broken."
"What do you mean?" Meng Heze frowned.
"This isn't a formation. There are no life gates or death gates, so there's no way to break it," Ji Chen explained.
One of the disciples swallowed hard and asked weakly, "If it's not a formation, then what kind of devilry is it?"
"It's a real space," Ji Chen sighed. "We're no longer in Hua Wei City. To put it simply, someone took a projection of Hua Wei City from a certain period of time and placed it in this space, making us think we're still in Hua Wei City."
"Once inside someone else's space, it's like a turtle in a jar—we're subject to its laws now..."
The squad stirred uneasily.
Meng Heze raised his voice to reassure the others, "If this space were truly powerful, it could have killed us directly. It seems it's not all-powerful!"
"Of course," Ji Chen snapped back to attention and also raised his voice. "Although my Array Disk is useless, and the Talismans Brother Song gave us can't be used, our cultivation remains intact. I suspect the laws of this space are simple—Magical Artifacts cannot be used; we can only rely on ourselves."
The long street remained unchanged, bustling with crowds, prosperity, peace, and laughter.
Yet hidden dangers lurked somewhere in the shadows.
Meng Heze said, "Then let's prepare to fight."The long sword was like ordinary iron, unable to absorb Spirit Qi, yet he still gripped it tightly in his hand.
Hearing this, the disciples actually breathed a sigh of relief:
"We came from the Outer Sect—back then, we didn't have any decent Magical Artifacts to rely on, nor were we used to using such things. This rule won't restrict us much."
"Who cares what kind of damned place this is? Let's charge in first and see."
Ji Chen asked Meng Heze, "Are you scared?"
Meng Heze: "Scared of what? I'm filled with righteous energy—how could evil spirits dare come near me?"
Ji Chen: "I don't have that. Can I borrow some from you?"
"You're still joking at a time like this?"
"It's exactly at times like this that we should joke!"
Ji Chen actually couldn't bring himself to laugh.
He had a habit of putting on an optimistic front, and the worse things got, the more optimistic he acted.
He kept talking, trying to liven up the team's atmosphere, as if this were just a minor scene not worth fearing.
He knew clearly that the reason this rule didn't target them was because it was meant for Song Qianji.
Song Qianji had Painted Spring Mountain and the Seven Wonders Zither by his side—equivalent to having two extra lives.
Even if he encountered an expert two Domains stronger who shamelessly tried to kill him, he could still self-destruct his Magical Artifacts to save himself.
But at this moment, he had nothing.
In Ji Chen's eyes, this was undoubtedly the worst situation.
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