Chapter 120: Conflict [Request Monthly Votes]

“What is this?” Seeing that Wu Rong was now undoubtedly dead, Xia Daoming picked up the ground-bound gourd, studying its familiar shape, then quickly looked up toward Wu Rong.

Gaunt and bony, face gaunt and sallow, clad in a black Daoist robe—exactly as the laborers and women from Gengyun Mountain had described—and this gourd resembled the one in the cave as well.

Could it be? Is this Daoist the same one from Gengyun Mountain? If so, wouldn’t his legacy rightfully pass to me?

Xia Daoming’s eyes narrowed instantly, a glint of delight flashing deep within them.

That valley was highly concealed, with a spiritual vein running beneath it, containing over ten mu of spiritual farmland; the cave was clearly the spiritual nexus of Gengyun Mountain’s earth vein, saturated with spiritual energy, nourished by ancient stalactite spirit stones that had cultivated an exquisite medicinal garden—if I could inherit it, this would be an enormous legacy!

The only issue was that there was no spiritual spring on that side; I don’t know if the overflow from the Azure Pond formed a small stream flowing through the farmland, carrying any spiritual energy at all? If it did carry even a trace, it might suffice for irrigation—no need for a cultivator to summon clouds and rain; even if the crops only ripened once every one or two years, it’d still be acceptable.

Xia Daoming’s guess was correct.

Wu Rong was indeed that Daoist from Gengyun Mountain.

Wu Rong had originally been similar to Ding Chushan—a low-level cultivator from Muzhou’s cultivation world—who accidentally stumbled upon the lair of a demonic cultivator.

Demonic and evil sects, whether in cultivation methods, spells, or crafting magic treasures, were all extreme, even willing to directly use human flesh and blood to brew elixirs, or absorb the souls and vital essence of living beings to forge artifacts.

Such cultivation methods greatly accelerated early progress, lowered the cost of artifact crafting, and produced immense power.

Like Wu Rong’s Ten Thousand Ghosts Dark Yin Mist—this artifact was immensely powerful, requiring only the souls of ordinary humans.

Mortals and cultivators were worlds apart; to someone like Wu Rong, human lives were as worthless as weeds—harvest as many as he pleased.

Thus, for him, the main cost of crafting the Ten Thousand Ghosts Dark Yin Mist was merely his own labor. Unlike most artifacts, which required precious materials and specialized artificers to forge—none of which a low-level cultivator like him could afford.

Then there was the Primordial Purple River Blood Pill, mentioned by Ma Tong, whose ingredients required a drop of fetal blood and the primordial qi still lingering within the infant after birth, before it dissipated.

The Primordial Purple River Blood Pill could enhance a martial cultivator’s vital energy and strength, as well as a Qi Refining cultivator’s cultivation base.

But this method was too cruel—even many demonic cultivators looked down on it, so even within the demonic circles, few knew of it.

After acquiring the demonic cultivator’s lair, Wu Rong, unable to resist the temptation of rapid power and cultivation advancement, secretly committed a few crimes in minor areas of Muzhou.

After several crimes, the exhilaration from his swift cultivation boost completely corrupted his nature.

He escalated his atrocities, committing crime after crime, until he finally drew the attention of Muzhou’s cultivation factions, who began hunting him down.

But Wu Rong, empowered by demonic methods, grew vastly stronger, gradually killing several Qi Refining cultivators sent after him—this inflated his ferocity, making his evil deeds even more brazen.

Once, Wu Rong killed the direct heir of a prominent Muzhou cultivation family, triggering a hefty bounty on his head.

He was also officially added to Muzhou’s list of wanted demonic cultivators.

Afterward, Wu Rong narrowly escaped death multiple times, and several artifacts painstakingly forged by him were destroyed.

Later, he fled to other regions of the Great Liang Kingdom, but the kingdom’s wanted lists were interconnected—sometimes he’d barely begin a crime before being hunted; sometimes he hadn’t even started, yet was already discovered and pursued.

Finally, Wu Rong had no choice but to flee to Mangzhou, where few cultivators traveled or operated.

Upon arriving in Mangzhou, he once again entertained thoughts of practicing demonic arts and forging artifacts.

But after years of narrowly escaping death, he became extremely cautious, deliberately seeking opportunities in remote areas near Cangmang Mountain.

By chance, he discovered the Evil Withered Six Fiends slaughtering the Liu family village, which had been secretly residing in Gengyun Mountain.

Then, unexpectedly, he realized that the valley where Liu Village stood was crossed by a minor spiritual vein, and inside the cave lay thousands-of-years-old stalactite spirit stones, dripping nourishing essence that had nurtured a spiritual medicinal garden, upon which grew a single Zhuyu Fruit Tree—Wu Rong was overjoyed.

After the Evil Withered Six Fiends completed their massacre, he subdued them.

With this “vast estate” secured and his cultivation no longer a concern, Wu Rong no longer wished to endure the hardships of being hunted—he decided to retire.

Thus, he settled into seclusion at Gengyun Mountain, using the Evil Withered Six Fiends to gather dark snakes near Luogui City, continuing to refine the Ten Thousand Serpents Dark Soul Banner left unfinished from the demonic cultivator’s lair.

Luogui City was a small town near Cangmang Mountain, and since he only used the Evil Withered Six Fiends to collect a few dark snakes, he had no fear of exposure.

Occasionally, Wu Rong couldn’t resist his evil nature and would venture far, hunting in remote parts of Mangzhou to feast and cultivate his demonic arts.

Later, when the Prince of Lingzhou rebelled and launched troops to attack Mangzhou, causing widespread slaughter and death, it became the perfect opportunity to gather dark souls and cultivate demonic arts—Wu Rong finally grew restless. Added to this was the recent incident where an ordinary martial master had inexplicably breached his defenses, giving him a sense of impending danger.

Thus came Wu Rong’s concealment within Ma Tong’s army—and today’s events.

Poor Wu Rong, until his death, never knew that the man who killed him today was the same one who had looted his cave.

—

“Hand over that gourd to me!”

Xia Daoming was turning the gourd over in his hands, lost in thought, when a male voice, haughty and commanding, rang out.

Xia Daoming looked up—the speaker was the white-robed man.

Just moments ago, the white-robed man had stood atop the immortal vessel, robes fluttering, long hair dancing in the wind, exuding effortless confidence and ethereal grace, like a celestial being stepped from a painting.

Now, his hair was disheveled, his white robes splattered with blood, appearing rather disheveled.

Yet his gaze at Xia Daoming remained condescending, as if he were inherently superior.

Fuck, this ungrateful bastard—he nearly lost his life, yet dares to put on airs in front of me? Where does he get his sense of superiority?!

Deep in Xia Daoming’s eyes, a flash of cold light passed—he nearly wanted to crush him with a single claw.

But remembering these three came from a prestigious cultivation sect, that though their cultivation was mediocre, each carried magic treasures, and they possessed a flying artifact—unlike Ding Chushan, the impoverished cultivator from a third-rate sect—they were incomparably more formidable—Xia Daoming suppressed his anger.

Qingyuan Sect—given his current status and strength, he absolutely could not provoke them.

If he gave in to rage and killed them, and Qingyuan Sect launched an investigation, it would be disastrous.

Impulse is the devil. Forget it—no point quarreling with this spoiled child who’s never felt the world’s cruelty.

“Hey, how rude are you? It was my younger brother who killed that Daoist and saved your lives!” But Xia Daoming didn’t want to argue with these cultivation brats—already bloodthirsty and still unsatisfied, the bearded giant Yu Chi Xiao had stomped over, shouting before he even arrived.

So what if they’re cultivators? I’ve beaten plenty before—what’s so special?

“Insolent! How dare a mere martial cultivator speak to this True Person like this!” The white-robed man’s face darkened instantly; he formed a hand seal, and wind surged in the air, coalescing into a whip that lashed toward Yu Chi Xiao.

Seeing the white-robed man summon a whip so effortlessly, Yu Chi Xiao’s scalp tightened.

Holy shit, this guy is way stronger than Ding Chushan!

Though internally cursing, Yu Chi Xiao wasn’t panicked.

Isn’t my younger brother here? What’s there to panic about?

Indeed, Xia Daoming’s eyes flashed cold again—but vanished just as quickly.

He raised his hand through the air; a gust of wind arose, forming a scaled dragon claw that seized the whip.

“Hmph!” The white-robed man’s heart jolted—he suddenly remembered this young man was a martial master. But confident in his superior spellcraft, he rapidly formed hand seals; the whip writhed like a living serpent through the air, dodging the dragon claw, still aiming for Yu Chi Xiao.

But Xia Daoming remained calm, his palm twisting with effortless precision—the dragon claw followed like a shadow, then—*snap!*—it clamped down and seized the whip.

The white-robed man’s face darkened with fury; his remaining spiritual power surged wildly.

Born into Qingyuan Sect, though he held no real status within it, since entering the mortal world, he’d been revered everywhere, treated as an honored guest—even once, when encountering a Grand Master, he’d been treated with utmost courtesy.

Today, he’d suffered a crushing defeat at Wu Rong’s hands, his prized artifact nearly destroyed, his life nearly lost—he’d already felt humiliated and seething with rage. Now even a mere martial cultivator dared defy him—this was an unbearable insult.

The whip writhed and twisted beneath the dragon claw, but to no avail.

“A gentleman uses words, not fists. You’re a cultivator—someone speaks a word to you, and you retaliate with magic? Is this the demeanor of an immortal?

Besides, my elder brother didn’t lie—I did save your lives. You don’t even thank us, yet turn around and repay kindness with hostility? This rudeness disgraces the cultivation world and brings shame to Qingyuan Sect!”

Xia Daoming spoke with growing anguish, his expression one of bitter disappointment, until finally, as if losing control, the dragon claw clenched violently—the whip burst like a balloon, dissolving into a gust of wind, vanishing without a trace.

The blue-robed woman lowered her head in shame, as if wishing she could sink into the earth.

The white-robed man and the arriving red-robed woman’s faces flushed crimson and pale in turns, their temple veins throbbing visibly.

Is there any justice left?

A mere martial cultivator dares to rebuke a disciple of Qingyuan Sect!

Yet the white-robed man and the red-robed woman remained speechless for a long while.

Xia Daoming’s words were razor-sharp, each one grounded in fact and reason—what could they say?

Most crucially, their artifacts were damaged, their spiritual power nearly depleted, while the opponent had three Grand Masters—if they fought, they might well perish here.

Though they surely wouldn’t dare.

But these were crude martial cultivators—barefoot men fear no one in shoes; what if their blood boiled over?

Even if their sect later avenged them by slaughtering every one of them, it still wouldn’t be worth it!

Cultivators’ lives were far too precious!

The red-robed woman breathed in and out rapidly, her chest heaving—she needed this to calm herself.

The white-robed man’s fingers trembled, forming and breaking hand seals repeatedly.

Ji Yuanzhen, Liang Jingtang, Yu Chi Xiao, and the hastily arriving Zhuo Xingji and others stared, dumbfounded.

Is this even allowed?

But damn, it was so satisfying!

“Yu Chi Xiao, you must learn from now on! Speak like your younger brother—logical, well-reasoned, and forceful,” Liang Jingtang said to Yu Chi Xiao in a solemn, low tone.

Yu Chi Xiao sneered, unconvinced—didn’t I make sense just now?

But strength doesn’t allow it—what good is logic?

Seeing Yu Chi Xiao’s dismissive expression, Liang Jingtang considered reprimanding him—but then thought better of it, with outsiders present.

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Today’s update is complete.

(End of Chapter)