Chapter 8: Drawing the Milky Way Into Dreams

The night was clear and bright, the Milky Way sprawled across the sky; Chen Ye quietly climbed the hillside and gazed upward at the brilliant, boundless star river.

"Master, I'm going to Cui Xian."

Chen Ye's sudden words struck like thunder, jolting Hearing Mo Ci's spirit so violently he couldn't help but curse: "Wretched disciple, have you gone mad?"

In Cui Xian now, rogue bandits are impersonating Qinghe Sword Sect cultivators, hunting down boys and girls everywhere—anyone with eyes can see this is a vile trick of the demonic path. Those demons who use boys and girls for cultivation must have cultivation far beyond Chen Ye's, deep and unfathomable.

Moreover, just days ago, that swift Qinghe sword light streaking across the sky was clearly heading straight for Cui Xian. Right now, Cui Xian is a whirlpool of righteous and demonic forces gathering—though open war hasn't broken out yet, it's become a cauldron about to boil, perilous beyond measure.

Chen Ye, this greenhorn little shrimp, if he rashly storms in, he'll only add a pinch of "seasoning" to that pot.

But Chen Ye calmly explained: "Master, although we've solved the problem of the Beast Blood Pill causing madness, its efficacy has plummeted—halved at least. The quantity needed has multiplied several times over. Even if we slaughtered every wild beast on these nearby hills, we'd still fall far short."

The Beast Blood Pill was already weak in effect, vastly inferior to pills forged from human blood. Now, when the residual soul fragments drift away, they also drag off most of the pill's spiritual energy—so the Beast Blood Pill's efficacy is now less than one in ten, utterly useless.

Chen Ye now fully understood why this seemingly solvable problem was never studied by the demonic sects. Looking back, even if some elder had discovered the same method, they'd have deemed it far too inefficient, too time-consuming and laborious compared to killing people for blood, so it was never recorded in demonic scriptures.

No matter the reason, hunting in these forests alone can never meet our needs.

Hearing Mo Ci snorted and pressed: "So what does this have to do with you going to Cui Xian?"

Chen Ye tilted his head slightly, gazing into the distance, and said slowly: "Cui Xian is just a county town, but it's the most prosperous city nearby, and the confluence point of three great rivers. Trade flourishes there, the population is dense, and livestock is countless. I asked Zhao Hezhou—he told me many of the local landlords are wealthy merchants in the fur trade, with herds of cattle and sheep. Master, I urgently need vast quantities of beast blood to forge pills. Looking around, only Cui Xian can provide it."

Hearing Mo Ci listened, momentarily speechless. The path of cultivation is always strewn with thorns, riddled with hardship and peril; scarcity of resources has always been the most common obstacle.

But Hearing Mo Ci still warned anxiously: "If you encounter Qinghe Sword Sect cultivators and your identity is even slightly exposed, you'll die without a doubt."

Chen Ye smiled, a confident curve on his lips: "Master, don't worry. I'm only at the Awakening Realm. As long as I don't reveal my demonic techniques and have never harmed the innocent, even if Qinghe Sword Sect cultivators see me, they won't immediately unleash their swords to cut off my head."

Righteous cultivators mostly advocate solitude, quiet desires, and deep cultivation. Though each sect has its own style, they all uphold one fundamental moral line: never kill the innocent.

If someone arbitrarily labels another a demon and kills them, and later gets exposed, they'll truly be branded a demon and eliminated.

Ordinary mortals might be fooled, but the righteous elders' Inner Reflection techniques—how easily could those be deceived?

Leaving aside minor heretical sects, today's renowned righteous sects require their disciples to regularly undergo Inner Reflection rituals to confirm they haven't strayed onto the demonic path.

Any misstep in daily conduct cannot be hidden. Thus, cultivators from major righteous sects rarely act unjustly out of momentary anger.

Hearing Mo Ci snorted again and said to Chen Ye: "If you take me with you, this Ten Thousand Souls Banner is ironproof proof of your demonic identity. With your half-baked disguise skills, you won't fool the Qinghe Sword Sect's Sword Heart Sensing. When that happens, you won't seriously plan to throw me out as a token of allegiance, will you?"

"Master, come on, I was just joking earlier—you can't still be holding a grudge," Chen Ye replied with a grin.

"Hmph. So what's your real plan?"

Hearing Mo Ci knew his disciple was clever and wouldn't recklessly walk into death—but he racked his brain and couldn't imagine how Chen Ye could possibly deceive the Qinghe Sword Sect's sword cultivators.

The Qinghe Sword Sect is the number one sword sect in the world today. Back then, Hearing Mo Ci went to great lengths to conceal himself, hiding so thoroughly—yet still, they sensed his aura from afar and sent a piercing sword light that nearly severed his soul.

Such an extraordinary ability—slicing through ten thousand techniques—is brutally overwhelming, chilling to the bone.

But Hearing Mo Ci never expected Chen Ye's next answer to shock him even more.

"Master, I know I can't hide the Ten Thousand Souls Banner perfectly. So, Master and disciple must part ways for a while."

Hearing Mo Ci's face turned pale with alarm; he cried out urgently: "Wretched disciple, what are you saying? Are you going to abandon me?!"

Hearing Mo Ci now hides within the Ten Thousand Souls Banner; nominally, he comes and goes freely, unbound. But his spirit is so fragile that a gust of wind could scatter him—no exaggeration. Once removed from the banner's protection, his spirit would instantly vanish into nothing.

If Chen Ye doesn't take him to Cui Xian, is he planning to abandon him in this desolate wilderness? What's the difference between that and killing him outright? Is this wretched disciple finally revealing his demonic sect's cold-hearted nature?

Chen Ye gazed at the Ten Thousand Souls Banner, his expression earnest: "Master, I would never cruelly leave you in this wilderness. Zhao Hezhou and his family—you know—they're honest, humble, kind people. I plan to entrust you to them. They can't live like wild animals on the mountain forever. I'll persuade them to settle in a southern county town and properly venerate you."

"Master, though you're now weak, protecting this family of three and helping them rebuild a peaceful life shouldn't be hard. When I've made progress in my cultivation, I'll come find you."

Hearing Mo Ci wanted to refuse outright, but the words died on his lips, replaced by another: "Are you truly going to risk your life? There are surely other places besides Cui Xian with abundant livestock. Master and disciple could travel farther. You're still young—delaying three or five years isn't a big deal."

Chen Ye didn't answer immediately. He silently gazed at the starry sky. After a long while, he slowly shook his head, voice firm: "Master, if I delay three or five years this time, next time it might be seven or eight. I may look young, but how much lifespan do I have to waste?"

"I must open the Immortal Gate. I must draw the Milky Way into my dreams, roam freely between heaven and earth. I won't pause my cultivation for anyone—not even my own master."

"Master, I will condense my dantian qi sea in the shortest time possible, then climb step by step to the pinnacle of cultivation. I must go to Cui Xian."

Hearing Mo Ci fell silent for a long while, as if accepting this farewell.

Chen Ye was about to offer comfort when Hearing Mo Ci spoke: "You're still a greenhorn little demon. You're not ready to graduate."

The moment he spoke, countless black vapors surged from the Ten Thousand Souls Banner, instantly swept away by the mountain wind.

Chen Ye exclaimed in shock: "Master! How did you scatter your cultivation?!"

"I've now discarded all my demonic arts. With a little disguise, the banner will appear as a sentient artifact—not a demon reborn. Unless someone searches your soul, even the Qinghe Sword Sect's sect master won't detect a thing."

Hearing Mo Ci's tone was proud, but his voice was extremely weak.

"But if you do this, Master… you…"

"Yes. With this, the Ten Thousand Souls Banner will let me live three more years at most."

Chen Ye couldn't help but rage: "Are you tired of living? What's the point of me going through all that trouble to forge the Ten Thousand Souls Banner for you?!"

Hearing Mo Ci scoffed: "I was going to die anyway—whether sooner or later makes no difference. You said you want to become immortal? If you reach the Dao-Union realm in three years, I might still be saved."

Chen Ye sighed helplessly: "You might as well just ask me to become immortal in three years."

Dao-Union is the final barrier to immortality—once crossed, ascension is imminent. Three years to Dao-Union is no different from three years to immortality.

Hearing Mo Ci mocked: "What happened to your grand ambition? If you're discouraged already, why bother cultivating at all?"

Chen Ye knew it was a provocation, but he couldn't help but respond: "I may not become immortal in three years, but I'll find a way to save you within three years."

"Foolish child. First condense your qi sea before boasting. I'm going to sleep. Unless I'm about to die, don't bother me."

Hearing Mo Ci's voice faded into silence; the Ten Thousand Souls Banner became nothing more than a rag, showing no trace of its former marvel.

Chen Ye looked up at the brilliant star river and said nothing more.