Chapter 68

“Ten years, twenty years—see who you’re going to kill.” Pei Ye rubbed his back.

“What, out for a trip and you picked up some divine art?” The old man chuckled lowly.

Pei Ye paused. That hit a nerve—this trip had been for the dantian seed, but the seed was alive, spun around inside his belly, then slipped away somewhere else.

“I heard the dantian seed can grow back,” Pei Ye said.

“Where’d you hear that nonsense? One person gets one, and once it’s gone, it’s gone. If you want another, you have to find a new one.”

“Really? Have you ever heard of The Bǐnglù?” Pei Ye asked.

The old man blinked: “Where did you hear about that?”

“People from outside said so.” Pei Ye wrung out a towel and began rubbing the old man’s chest. “Zhu Gaoyang came here looking for it. And that night you were asleep, Mingqitian also asked me about it.”

“Never heard of any of them.”

“Zhu Gaoyang is No. 296 on the Crane List.”

“Oh.”

“Mingqitian is No. 3 on the Crane List.”

“Hmph!”

“See? You haven’t heard of it because your knowledge is behind. They say The Bǐnglù can make the dantian seed rebirth—anyone who lost theirs can grow a new one by practicing this martial art.”

“...The Bǐnglù doesn’t create a seed from nothing,” the old man sighed. “But it does solve your problem of having no dantian seed.”

“Exactly.”

“You want this martial art?”

“It’s a path, sure—but first, there’s no info on it, and second, I couldn’t compete with Mingqitian and the others... Besides, Mingqitian saved my life. I don’t want to fight them for it.”

“Alright.”

“Alright what?”

“You want The Bǐnglù? That’s fine.”

“It’s fine, sure—but didn’t you just say there’s no info and I can’t compete?” Pei Ye rolled his eyes.

After washing, he carried the old man out, dressed him, emptied the water, and returned to the room—only to see a small black jade cat perched on the windowsill.

“Oh, you remember to come back?” Pei Ye glanced at it.

The black cat’s face held no smile. In a cool, calm voice, it said: “I know the purpose of the Taiyi True Dragon Xianjun.”

Pei Ye froze. “What?”

“This incarnation was never a spirit invocation by the Zhuanshi Sect—it was the Xianjun’s own directive.”

“!”

“It sensed, in some hidden way, that something here threatened it, so it sent a thread of consciousness to destroy it.”

“...What is it?”

“It doesn’t know. I don’t know either.”

“How do you know this?”

The black cat stretched a paw. Pei Ye picked it up. Its emerald eyes showed weariness: “My consciousness split in two—one part here; the other, in the flesh the Qiongqi bit from beneath my neck when it attacked me.”

“...”

“At that time, the Qiongqi had no trace of the Xianjun’s consciousness. I could hide myself easily.”

“So when Mingqitian came, you were inside the Qiongqi?”

“Yes. I thought if she turned and killed the Qiongqi, I’d risk exposure to cooperate with her. But she only saved you.” The black cat stared at him quietly.

“Hah.”

The black cat snorted coldly: “Don’t laugh. If you don’t find that thing, it will destroy everything. Don’t doubt it—it truly has that power.”

Pei Ye grew serious. “When?”

“Soon.”

“Then what do we do? Find the thing and give it to it?”

“...Is that what you think?”

“Yes. If we can’t fight it, we can’t let it wipe out all of Fenghuai.”

The black cat gazed silently at the boy’s clear, bright face. “In my view, even if the entire Bowang Province is destroyed, it’s better than letting it achieve its goal.”

Xincang Mountains.

Pull the perspective higher, look down from above: between the mountains appeared a circular, radiant blue. At first glance, it looked like a lake—but no lake could be this deep, this uniform. It resembled a colossal gem.

As if a bucket of dye had been spilled.

All vegetation, large or small—from leaves to trunks—was dyed a deep blue. Not a single speck of any other color remained in this realm.

The animal life suffered equally. Once a single “spore” entered the food chain, the entire ecosystem was doomed—let alone thousands upon thousands falling at once.

Every animal infused with the deep blue went mad, hunting for prey to devour, until they met and fought, devouring each other to give birth to stronger forms.

In rapid, frenzied “integration,” bird calls and insect chirps faded. The entire forest became pure, silent—like a colossal blue amber.

Then, as if a decree descended, fire began to scorch this amber. The radiant blue began to dissolve, melt, flow, and converge.

This was a sight rarely seen, heart-stopping: countless diverse, vivid lifeforms transformed into a single substance. This was death and destruction—and also rebirth and unity. No grander spectacle could be imagined than one wrought by life itself.

The moment someone discovered this trace days later would be the first time Immortal Platform directly perceived this Xianjun.

After returning to the Divine Capital, they would promote the two old scholars, grant them titles and ranks, revive a job abandoned fifty years ago, and give them the highest archival access.

In their youth, one had proposed that “Dragon Blood” was an entirely distinct energy, independent of all other substances; the other argued the opposite—that it was the “One” that encompassed all matter.

Yet no one alive could witness the miracle unfolding now.

The entire space’s deep blue coalesced into rivers, flowing toward the center, merging and compressing until it finally took the shape of a figure resembling the Frost Ghost.

Same height, same ferocity—but this form was more majestic, more regal. Unlike the Frost Ghost’s slender build, it approximated human proportions—only magnified more than twice.

Its scales were black. Faint glows of deep blue fire, dark frost, and violet lightning shimmered beneath.

In the barren, bare land, only it floated in midair—the Lord of All Life.

Golden eyes shifted slightly, locked onto direction, then vanished in a flash. The air twisted into a warped ripple.

Above Fenghuai, thin, short blue lines drifted in the wind.

When they first rose on the wind, they’d been wrapped in Xuan Wind, crossing two mountains at incredible speed.

Now they seemed to have reached their destination. The Xuan Wind faded—but they’d risen too high, caught in the upper currents, swirling endlessly, unable to descend.

Many companions like them had fallen mid-flight, snagged on mountaintop trees, or luckily collided with birds.

Only these few kept drifting, drifting—until finally, slowly descending over this small town, nestled between two high mountains where the wind was much weaker.

They drifted gently downward, adjusting their minute structures to adapt to air currents, striving to land on the moving, massive food sources.

For companions too tiny, even a slight breeze was insurmountable. In the end, they could only accept their fate.

Only a few, peanut-sized, succeeded.

A farmer paused to wipe sweat with his straw hat—suddenly, his neck itched. He slapped at it—but caught nothing.

He turned, scanning around: “Dirty flies. Won’t last more than a month.”