Chapter 100: Chapter Three: Host

Pei Ye didn’t know how to respond; he had never imagined the man who had just been laughing and chatting could suffer such a setback, yet his face showed nothing of it.

His cultivation path had been nearly severed at the waist.

He had just ascended the Crane List and was about to climb with full ambition; last night he still said he wanted to become a Sword Master—only one out of four would remain, and even his status as the First Disciple might not be safe.

Pei Ye looked at Xing Zhi: “Then, what do we do?”

Xing Zhi shook his head: “I don’t know. We can only go back and see.”

Pei Ye fell silent, remaining so until they reached the front courtyard, where they prepared to part ways.

“It’s fine, don’t worry too much—Master Bo deeply cares for him,” Xing Zhi said. “He’s always been proud and accustomed to being the senior brother—look how he was just thinking of sending his disciples to Yunlang Mountain for training.”

Pei Ye nodded: “Brother Zhu is the kind who takes all responsibility onto his own shoulders.”

“Yes, since childhood he’s been the most respected senior brother,” Xing Zhi sighed. “He’s used to bearing the burden first, giving benefits to others first, and handling everything alone—hopefully this time he’ll change his nature.”

The two exchanged a few more words, then bid each other farewell and returned to their rooms.

Pei Ye pushed open the door to his quarters; the room was pitch black, still carrying the lingering scent of blood from earlier wounded. Most of the injured had been claimed by their families; those from the province were lodged in the rear dwellings.

Too tired to light a lamp, Pei Ye felt his way onto the bed, sprawling his stiff, weary body across the plank, letting out a low, drawn-out groan.

These past few days had been utterly exhausting.

The overuse of his body was obvious, but his mind had never once relaxed.

Pressure, tension, unease, anxiety, grief—he had been trapped in extremes of emotion, and now, in the dark, with his eyes closed, images and sensations rose and fell endlessly in his mind.

Knives, water, blood, tentacles, swordlight, golden vertical pupils, deep-blue fluid, urgent shouts, wails, old men’s whispers…

Though his body was utterly spent, his mind had not yet accepted that it could rest.

Aches across his body surfaced; Pei Ye slowly shifted his limbs, and then remembered something.

He now had True Qi.

He directed the flow in his abdomen to circulate through his body; wherever it passed, a cool sensation seeped into his weary muscles. As comfort spread, fatigue began to recede rapidly.

Of course, full recovery would still require considerable time.

In fact, this was the first time Pei Ye had the chance to truly feel the presence of his Vein Tree.

And whether it was an illusion or not, he felt this True Qi seemed slightly more robust than when he first awakened.

Upon closer inspection, the slender stream had indeed widened a little—perhaps the difference between his index and middle finger.

Pei Ye sank his spirit into his dantian; the Vein Tree appeared in his mind with every detail clear. Such inner vision was not an easy ability, but for Binlu, it came as a side effect.

In Pei Ye’s “vision,” fine threads of Qi were drawn from the outside into the Vein Tree, which, like drinking dew and basking in sunlight, slowly transformed them into nourishment for growth.

Xuan Qi.

This ability to absorb energy from heaven and earth for growth had not vanished with the seed’s sprouting—it still functioned within Pei Ye’s abdomen, continuously converting Xuan Qi into True Qi.

This was precisely the foundation for its astonishing awakening after eighteen years of dormancy—the ceaseless cultivation aid; even if the host lay in bed, he could likely reach the Eighth Birth realm within four years.

How, then, does a normal Vein Tree develop?

Just as it produces a person’s second blood, its nourishment comes from within the body itself.

Martial artists rely on diet and training to forge their bodies, but the body always has limits—that is the ceiling of the Dry Duck’s power.

For Vein Tree cultivators, this excess energy can be absorbed by the Vein Tree and converted into True Qi; once sufficient True Qi accumulates, it further stimulates the Vein Tree’s growth.

Thus, diet and innate constitution determine one’s rate of progress in the Vein Tree realm.

Those of modest means, like children in martial schools, eat multiple meals daily, train relentlessly, and ensure ample meat; those of noble lineage, like great sects, take internal tonics and rare delicacies constantly; and at the pinnacle of martial sanctuaries, a single Spirit Pill swallowed, paired with True Qi circulation methods, suffices.

Of course, regardless of method, the difference lies only in the energy provided; how much one can absorb and convert still depends on one’s innate constitution and the Vein Tree’s quality.

Pei Ye himself possessed top-tier innate constitution, and Binlu was a supreme dantian seed; now he could feast on Xuan Qi without lacking energy—truly, none of the three factors had any deficiency. His progress speed was naturally unimaginable; no wonder he could already feel the True Qi strengthening after just one day.

Pei Ye carefully observed the Vein Tree absorbing Xuan Qi, suspecting he could reach the Second Birth realm within a month.

He wanted to plan his days before the Jin Qiu Martial Competition, but the comfort of fatigue being washed away by True Qi made his eyelids heavier and heavier, until his consciousness finally sank completely into darkness.

The next day.

Pei Ye awoke to a jumble of voices; he opened his eyes, and bright light streamed through the window, striking his face.

It was nearly noon.

Pei Ye raised his arm to cover his eyes with his forearm and lay still for a while, returning from the chaotic dreams to the reality of his situation.

He sat upright on the bed, sitting dazed for a moment to process his emotions, then rubbed his face and rolled off the bed.

He stepped out into the courtyard, drew a gourd of cold well water, bent over to wash his face—actually, he needed a bath; the grime from these past days had never been washed off.

Then, as he wiped his face and looked up, he saw a tall man in a thin robe, towel draped over his shoulder, emerging from the bathhouse, his long hair still damp, his clean face glistening with droplets.

“All the wounded have been moved; the bathhouse is empty now,” Zhu Gaoyang smiled. “You slept almost until noon.”

“Has the Purple Microcosm Master returned? What’s the current situation?” Pei Ye asked. Last night’s dream had shown the Immortal Lord’s claw piercing his heart, the cold golden pupils vivid before him.

“He returned, said he found no lingering traces,” Zhu Gaoyang said, handing him the towel. “Anyway, the Divine Capital Immortal Platform will take over from here—let them worry about it. Go wash up first, then eat something?”

Only then did Pei Ye realize his hunger was unbearable; he took the towel but remembered to ask: “Miss Ming said yesterday she’d teach me swordplay—is she still waiting?”

“She won’t mind waiting a bit—I’ll let her know. Go ahead,” Zhu Gaoyang chuckled, clearly having already enjoyed a pleasant meeting with the Moon of Sword Dao this morning.

Pei Ye nodded and turned toward the bathhouse.

The crisp autumn well water struck his skin, making every pore contract; Pei Ye opened his mouth and took a deep breath, forgoing True Qi protection, enduring the chill shiver.

This had once been his favorite thing to do after returning from martial school, when his body steamed with heat; later, his injured body could no longer bear the cold, and he had never felt it again.

Now, as the accumulated grime of these days was washed away by the icy, clean water, this dark, bizarre period seemed to close, and he felt as if he had returned to those years.

But certainly, some things were different.

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(End of Chapter)