Chapter 7

Jinping Mountain Villa had suffered a great disaster, but Liu Xiaolou had no heart to pity them. As a lowly cultivator with no sect, acquiring cultivation resources was incredibly difficult—what right did he have to pity others?

Moreover, though Jinping Mountain Villa lay far in southern Xiang, he had heard enough of its situation: the Zhang family was an outer sect force of Dongyang Gate, relying on Dongyang Sect as their backing, monopolizing the cultivation world within a hundred li of Jinping Mountain. Rare spiritual herbs and exotic beasts growing in the forests and marshes dared not be touched; any promising young cultivator was claimed first by them; merchants and traders had to pay tribute; those who suffered injustice could only swallow their anger.

Otherwise, this grand call for heroes would not have drawn such active participation from local magnates like Gao Feiyan and Wan Jianxin.

Liu Xiaolou knew his place. Though Zhang Xianbai was dead, the Zhang family still had cultivators stationed there. He dared not rush into the fiercest battle zones; instead, he stuck close to the walls, entering any main hall he found to search.

Along the way, he encountered many fierce Zhang clan members and servants, often wielding sharp weapons, ambushing him from corners—some even possessed martial skills—but they were all mundane fighters, nothing but clay chickens and broken dogs before Liu Xiaolou, felled one by one within a few moves.

After searching several rooms, he acquired a few dozen taels of scattered silver and gold, plus a few ordinary jade pendants.

Silver and gold held little use for cultivation, but made daily life far easier. Liu Xiaolou was no man who craved comfort, so he cared little for such things—taking a little was fine, but taking more would only become a burden, slowing him down during escape. Thus, he searched desperately for spirit stones, spirit pills, rare flowers and herbs, magic treasures, and talismans—but after much searching, found little.

This approach wouldn’t work. He began moving toward the villa’s center, while searching intently for Dai Shenggao’s figure.

He didn’t find Dai Shenggao, but spotted Longshan Sanren—this man’s beard made him easiest to recognize—so he hurried after him.

Longshan Sanren glanced back and said, “Xiaolou, follow!” Then continued swiftly toward the northwest of the villa.

Liu Xiaolou felt grateful and sprinted after him, passing several courtyards and ponds, until ahead appeared a rock garden. Here, activity surged suddenly: dozens of people crowded together, launching colorful magic treasures in forceful assaults—someone inside had betrayed them, revealing this as the storage site, and all were united in breaking the protective array.

Longshan Sanren called out, hurling his coiled dragon cane. Liu Xiaolou imitated him, tossing his Three Mystery Sword into the fray.

This protective array for the storage was far weaker than the villa’s outer defense, and offered only defense, no counterattack. After prolonged assault, the crowd finally shattered it, revealing the door behind.

The door was small, barely wide enough for one person to pass. With so many, no one could squeeze in—anger flared instantly. The heroes no longer cared for honor; blades and swords flashed, magic treasures slammed against the rock garden, which collapsed instantly.

Now no one could tell what was storage or secret chamber—only shattered rocks, dust, broken wooden racks, wooden chests, silver and gold, and bottles and jars lay scattered.

Liu Xiaolou joined the crowd of elders and heroes rushing forward, bending low to search amid the chaos. The scene fell silent—no more shouting, only the constant rustling of hands rummaging.

Liu Xiaolou found several jars beneath a row of broken wooden racks. Breaking one, he discovered it held spirit wine. Others found the same—crowds surged toward them.

Liu Xiaolou clutched one jar tightly, pushing to the edge. He had no storage treasure and no bottles prepared—carrying a whole jar was impractical. In haste, he simply lifted it and drank deeply, gulping several mouthfuls. A warm current flowed into his dantian—rich, potent spiritual power.

At that moment, Liu Xiaolou was so moved he nearly wept.

He wanted to drink more, but the spirit wine’s potency overwhelmed him—he feared passing out here, which would be a laughingstock. Just then, Longshan Sanren arrived beside him. Liu Xiaolou shoved the jar into his hands: “Elder, spirit wine!”

Longshan Sanren caught it, cried, “Thank you!” and immediately drank deeply. His cultivation had reached Qi Refining tenth layer—far stronger than Liu Xiaolou’s. He finished the entire jar without getting drunk, only his face flushed crimson as fire.

Liu Xiaolou continued searching, and finally found a crystal the size of a thumb.

Spirit stone!

Spirit stones contained the purest spiritual power, highly effective for converting into true qi, and extremely dense. Just this one stone would sustain Liu Xiaolou’s cultivation for half a month—how could he not be thrilled?

This trip was worth it!

Liu Xiaolou, ecstatic, forced himself to calm down and tucked the spirit stone away. He looked around—everyone was quietly striking it rich; no one would boast of their gains.

He kept searching, and beneath the rubble found a herb. At night, he couldn’t tell what kind, but its fragrance was overwhelming, its scent refreshing—surely a spiritual herb.

As he slipped the herb into his robe, a man beside him stared at him, eyes flickering: “Young brother, did you find a spiritual herb? That plant...” he whispered.

Liu Xiaolou shook his head: “You’re mistaken.”

The man persisted: “Two spirit stones for it.”

Liu Xiaolou’s face darkened. He glared fiercely back: “No spiritual herb! Don’t make things up!”

Longshan Sanren, hearing the commotion, stepped over and glared at the man. They locked eyes for a moment—then the man lowered his gaze, stepped back, and moved away.

Liu Xiaolou whispered thanks: “Thank you, Elder.”

Longshan Sanren patted his shoulder: “Family doesn’t speak in two tongues.” Then turned and returned to searching for treasures.

Liu Xiaolou exhaled in relief. Seeing no one else watching him, he bent his head and kept rummaging.

Suddenly, several mournful flutes sounded. A clear, commanding voice rang out: “Who dares attack Jinping Mountain Villa? Do you think Dongyang Sect has no one?”

The voice had begun far away, yet by its end, it stood at the villa’s gate—arriving with terrifying speed.

Another voice shouted from the southern edge: “Gu true qi of Dongyang Sect is here! Out, thieves, and face death!”

The villa erupted in chaos.

“Dongyang Sect has arrived! Run!”

“It’s Gu true qi! Truly Gu true qi!”

“Ye Zhenba is here too!”

“It’s Su Zhenjiu!”

“All the inner sect’s seventh, eighth, and ninth have come!”

Longshan Sanren stood close beside Liu Xiaolou, his face grim: “Three Foundation Establishment cultivators have arrived.”

Liu Xiaolou’s face turned pale.

Never mind the vast gulf between Foundation Establishment and Qi Refining cultivators—even among peers, those from a prestigious sect like Dongyang Sect were not something these scattered heroes could oppose. Their cultivation methods were extraordinary, their sect’s heritage deep, their inherited techniques and killing arts endless, their magic treasures all mid- to high-grade, often protected by divine pills—how could they fight?

If Old Wang were willing to step forward, and these hundred heroes united, they might stand a chance. But Old Wang had yet to appear—would he dare? And even if he did, how could this disorganized mob of mud and sand possibly coordinate?