Chapter 724: The Yellow Millet Dream: Peach Blossom Spring—Second Master Appears, the Mansion

When you slowly opened your eyes, it seemed you had fallen into a dreamland.

Suddenly, you encountered a peach grove, with no other trees among them; fragrant grass was fresh and beautiful, and petals fell in a dazzling flurry.

At the end of the peach grove, a clear stream murmured gently; following it upstream, you suddenly saw dark green mountains. Among the hills lay fertile fields and winding paths, mulberry and bamboo trees shading the scene, and a clear pond like jade—utterly like a realm beyond the world.

Everywhere, spiritual energy was abundant, even denser than within Bianjing.

Did I stumble into the Peach Blossom Spring?

As you drew closer, you saw a pond, bordered by vivid red peach trees; the water rippled gently, reflecting the setting sun across the sky.

You regained your senses and immediately understood: this was Third Master’s true essence—“The Yellow Millet Dream of Holding the Lamp.”

Borrowed five years of life? Living within this Peach Blossom Spring?

At this moment!

The eighth sword intent within the dantian suddenly stirred, as if about to burst free.

With a flicker of thought, a sword shadow materialized from empty air.

These are the nine swords bestowed upon you by Second Master at his ascension; you have already mastered the first seven, fully comprehending their subtleties.

Only this eighth sword has always eluded you.

Upon the grass, the sword intent’s figure seemed different from before.

Its once hazy outline gradually solidified; what was once like viewing flowers through mist or the moon through water now revealed drifting clouds gathering and dispersing, pure qi surging.

Now, the airflow converged like white clouds, and from within them stepped forth a clear human figure—a young man in white robes, elegant and radiant.

Dressed entirely in white, like a single pear tree in full bloom in a courtyard; his hair tied high in a ponytail, the black strands fluttering lightly; a vermilion dot on his brow, beneath his arched brows his gaze was clear and moist, devoid of sharpness, radiating only an otherworldly aura.

Your eyes flickered slightly—you realized this was Second Master’s Yang Shen, re-manifesting here within the “Peach Blossom Spring.”

The white-robed youth was also startled, staring at his own hands. “Is this… Third Master’s Yellow Millet Dream? Indeed, one’s true essence is always tied to one’s cultivation method and nature.”

“Third Master always wished for a place like the Peach Blossom Spring—but how could such a thing exist?”

The white-robed youth gazed down at himself, his fingertip brushing the fluttering sleeve hem. “So… I am but a figure within a dream!”

“Am I the Yang Shen I left behind in the mortal world?”

The youth stood frozen for a moment, then softly laughed: “So this is how it is. You anticipated even this step. No wonder you had me leave the true meanings of the nine swords within the Xie Family’s Grand View Garden.”

He raised his head to the sky, a faint sword qi humming in his sleeve: “Even if I could not cut open the Heavenly Gate, you had already prepared a backup plan… Ah Hong, you truly went to great lengths.”

In your heart, clarity dawned—the nine swords you received in the Grand View Garden were all pre-planned moves by Senior Xie Hong.

The white-robed youth turned his gaze toward you, his eyes like drifting clouds: “Do not misunderstand—I am not his true self. Merely a lingering memory, coupled with a complete sword heritage.”

He summoned a half-inch sword tip of light, his tone indifferent: “I do not know your name, but if you have received my sword intent, you are no ordinary person.”

“I swore long ago: if I could not become the first among those with true talent in the Dao, I would rather let my sword become a withered bone in my grave.”

Before his words ended, the white-robed youth held in his hand a sword forged from primordial spirit: “This lingering soul may endure for about three years. Can you unravel the eighth sword?”

The youth dissolved into a thousand flying petals: “Let your destiny decide… Watch closely!”

You were still pondering the hidden meaning in Second Master’s words when suddenly the white-robed figure transformed into a blade of light, lunging toward you.

In an instant—

Before the blade reached you, eight residual shadows bloomed in the air, like a white rainbow piercing the sun, like thunder chasing lightning. You had no time to activate the “Yin Fu Jing” substitution technique—your body disintegrated inch by inch under the sword intent, utterly obliterated.

Then, you reformed your body not far away.

It seems that within this Yellow Millet Dream, you are like your primordial spirit—able to regenerate with a single thought, without pain, without exhaustion, and immortal.

Second Master stood with sword on back, robes fluttering: “This is no longer the original sword intent—only form. Within this Yellow Millet Dream, I am near the realm I held sixty years ago.”

He lightly lifted his sword tip; a single peach petal split cleanly into eighty-six fragments.

“Try to defeat me!”

You blinked in surprise—Second Master, near the realm he held sixty years ago?

Sixty years ago, Second Master had already forged his true essence; his three-foot sword made all cultivators in the world bow their heads.

You recalled the scene of Third Master fighting Second Master—and now understood more clearly: the realms of the Ten Great Sects are as distant as heaven and earth to ordinary cultivators.

Like sweeping away mosquitoes with a dust whisk, extinguished with a flick of the finger.

Second Master raised his sword finger again; instantly, the “Wind’s Chime” technique emerged from the nine sword intents.

Before the blade arrived, the piercing sword intent had already crossed space, pressing against your brow!

You activated the “Yin Fu Technique” incantation—the substitution form barely appeared—

But the white-robed youth’s three sword intents suddenly merged into one, forming a blade of moonlike radiance—“Demon-Slaying Sword.”

As your spirit trembled, your body vanished.

When you reformed, you saw Second Master leaning against a peach branch, idly plucking a petal: “What on earth did I see in you? Did I go blind in my old age?”

You wore a helpless expression: “Again!”

The sword light flared—before three exchanges, you were defeated again.

The white-robed youth spun his sword, sneering: “Front and center only, a brute.”

“Again!”

This time, barely five moves—you were struck down again.

“Oh? You’ve learned to guard your back now,” the youth flicked his swordtip. “Too bad your front is wide open.”

“Again!”

“Tsk. Even a broken peach branch would suffice to dispatch you.”

“Again!”

The youth yawned: “Mediocre talent…”

“Again!”

“Fine. I’ll let you use one hand… Still need to train.”

This cycle repeated over a dozen times; the sword forged from primordial spirit had long been replaced by a Suishouzhexiadekuzhi . The white-robed youth leaned against the peach tree, half-lidded, clearly bored.

You took a deep breath, the veins on your forehead throbbing faintly—

Suddenly, you missed the silent sword intent shadow of old. Where was the cold, stoic, wordless Second Master you remembered?

Time in this Peach Blossom Spring was frozen; the horizon forever held that sun, sinking but not yet set.

You noticed the spiritual energy swirling through the peach grove was several times purer than outside; each breath felt like drinking nectar.

You carved marks into the peach trees to count the days.

Where your blade passed, ninety grooves had been etched into the trunk, all equally deep.

You are no fool—you understood that defeating Second Master at his current realm was like a cicada trying to shake a tree.

Only through cultivation—when you reach the ninth realm of martial arts and your primordial spirit ascends to Yang Shen—will you have the right to hold a sword before Second Master.

So after a few trials, you accepted defeat and turned your focus entirely to cultivation.

Your primordial spirit grew steadily more solid, yet still could not touch the barrier to Yang Shen.

You asked Second Master: “What is Yang Shen?”

The white-robed youth was using a peach branch to tease fish in the pond; every day he amused himself in this Peach Blossom Spring, or idly watched you cultivate.

Yet this place was strange—it felt real, as if it truly existed: the fish in the pond, the peaches on the trees, all were genuine.

He lazily lifted his eyes: “My lingering soul… has no memory of that. Only a few scattered insights: water flows naturally, it’s all about accumulation.”

Second Master drew a circle: “Yang Shen is the heavens’ last resort. You may understand it this way.”

You frowned, puzzled: “Last resort? Isn’t Yang Shen the ultimate state of primordial spirit?”

The white-robed youth’s casual demeanor vanished for once; his peach branch suddenly bloomed three crimson petals: “In the Daoist text ‘Zhong-Lü Chuan Dao Ji,’ Yang Shen is defined as ‘a purely yang spirit without yin.’ It is the state a cultivator reaches after refining essence into qi, qi into spirit, and spirit back into emptiness—when the primordial spirit becomes so refined it transcends the physical body.”

“The fusion of martial qi dan and Yang Shen aligns with Daoist cultivation of life and nature—the dan is the foundation of life cultivation, Yang Shen the culmination of spirit cultivation, and together they forge one’s true essence.”

“In the end, it is still… a last resort.”

You seemed to understand. You felt that after the ninth realm of martial arts, there should be another level—but a restriction seemed to block it.

Beyond the upper three realms of martial arts, the true qi within the body began to transform; the dantian no longer produced true qi, but true yuan to nourish the body.

Yet this had a flaw: though the human body is wondrous, it cannot endlessly generate true yuan.

A well cannot forever yield water without end!

Thus, once a martial cultivator enters the middle three realms, he encounters a heavenly chasm; no matter how powerfully he crushes mountains or splits the earth, he cannot escape the ninety-year limit of mortal life.

To break this constraint, one must shift to primordial spirit cultivation, using spirit to nourish the body, thereby extending life by several decades.

The Masters of the Academy and the ancient monsters of the Ten Great Sects all live beyond several decades by this method.

“Yet this is not the true path—it is like drinking poison to quench thirst,” Second Master sighed faintly. “For three thousand years—or perhaps longer—the beings of this world have struggled desperately, and in the end, the path they forged… is the method of forging a true essence.”

He suddenly smiled: “But it remains like a floating weed without roots—ultimately empty, never achieving true immortality.”

“When I was thirty, I touched the edge of this world’s limits. Only then did I realize: the heavens and earth are flawed—they lack the true substance to nourish both flesh and primordial spirit.”

Second Master looked at you: “Perhaps the world beyond ascension is different!”

“Or perhaps this world will change again!”

You fell into quiet thought—ascension?

A breeze stirred; the peach trees rustled. On the rough trunk, ninety more grooves, equally deep, had been carved.

A full one hundred and eighty!

Suddenly, you felt your qi sea churn, as if waves thundered within.

The dantian, once like a clear pond, now became a vast lake; true yuan surged through the meridians like tides—the sign of achieving the eighth realm of martial arts: “Observing the Sea.”

To reach “Observing the Sea” means possessing immense true yuan, sufficient to condense once more into a dan.

With a flicker of thought, your primordial spirit leapt from the dantian. The once-phantom spirit body now solidified like jade, casting a faint shadow beneath the setting sun.

When the primordial spirit casts a shadow, the Purple Star Eternal Realm is complete.

Indeed, your talent for cultivating the Primordial Spirit surpasses that of martial arts—you always advance faster than your martial cultivation.

“Huh?” The Second Master watched you with a complex gaze, murmuring under his breath, “This boy’s cultivation… is it too fast?”

The white-robed youth said indifferently, “Another advancement in your realm—congratulations. Shall we duel again?”

You gladly accepted the challenge, and golden Buddhist light erupted instantly around you.

A three-zhang-tall Buddha manifestation rose from the ground; the newly formed true qi lake within your dantian surged violently, making the Buddha manifestation far more solemn and majestic than before—fully three zhang tall, like a small pavilion.

Suddenly, demonic energy churned; you clenched your right hand, and a long spear wrapped in pitch-black malevolent aura materialized from empty air.

Buddhist light and demonic flame intertwined around you, forming a strange equilibrium—golden radiance compassionate, black aura sinister—yet inexplicably unified as one.

The Second Master clapped his hands and laughed, shaking petals from the peach trees: “Using Buddhism as the bone, transforming demon energy into the blade? Quite original.”

He flicked a peach branch with his fingertip, producing a clear, sword-like chime: “It seems that when martial arts reach their ultimate limit, all methods ultimately stem from the same source!”

“Pay attention!”

Xie Fu.

Xie Yuan sneaked into the Xie family with several martial artists of the upper three realms.

“Damn it, what’s wrong with the Xie family?”

“It’s like a haunted house.”

Xie Yuan planned to visit the Grand View Garden to check on the Old Lady.

The Old Lady still doted on him deeply.

After passing through three moon gates, the pavilion at the lake’s center came clearly into view.

The lake’s surface was covered with floating, belly-up koi; the stench of decay mixed with the dampness of rain struck his nostrils.

Suddenly, a splash rang out as a massive form slowly rose from the water.

It was… a mound of flesh, three stories high, glowing a corpse-wax pale, seemingly a human abdomen.

Its head was far too small, buried within the belly.

Its legs were far too short, stuffed inside the belly.

Dozens of corpses clung to its bloated skin like birthmarks: maidservants’ purple faces, young masters’ broken necks—each writhing with the mound’s undulations, producing a slick, sloshing sound.

Emitting an unbearable stench, Xie Guan immediately vomited.

Yet from within the flesh ball came a voice—hoarse, muffled, barely discernible.

“My son, where are you?”

A chilling dread, like fingernails scraping stone.

Xie Yuan recognized it—it was the Old Lady Xie.

He sighed. In recent days, nearly all nine great families of Bianjing had suffered the same fate—he didn’t know why.

Like possessed demons, they had become monstrous corpses.

Fortunately, these monsters seemed bound by invisible chains, unable to leave the estate.

The Zhuge family was even worse—no living soul remained.

Yet among the nine great clans, some distant collateral branches had remained unaffected.

Xie Yuan, placed under Zhang family care by his mother, had thus escaped unharmed.

Among the nine great families, distant collateral lines were already planning to flee Bianjing.

The academy gates were tightly shut; overnight, countless ministers of the Great Qi court vanished.

What had happened? No one knew.

The people of Bianjing had barred their doors; streets lay empty, not a soul in sight.

Today, Bianjing received another grim report: on the Jiangnan route, the Li family’s two pillars—sixty thousand troops—had been defeated by the Crimson-Eyed Army.

Now, the Crimson-Eyed Army was less than fifty li from Bianjing.

Bianjing could no longer be held.

“Let’s go find Guan Di .”

Xie Yuan tore his gaze away from the writhing flesh mound in the lake.

The group hurried along a green stone path, through corridors, straight toward the Xie family’s western garden.

At the gate, they all halted abruptly—

“What… is this?” Xie Yuan’s pupils widened.

The small courtyard where Xie Guan lived was shrouded in a thin, gossamer glow—faint, elusive, like smoke or mist.

The light membrane completely severed the courtyard from the outside world.

He reached out to touch it—his fingertip passed through as if into empty space, with no resistance—visible, yet untouchable.

The martial artists behind him, seeing this, immediately channeled their true qi; blade Gang and sword qi howled forth—but whether sharp slashes or powerful palm strikes, all vanished like mud swallowed by the sea, stirring not even a ripple.

“Strange…” Xie Yuan frowned, circling the courtyard several times, searching desperately for a flaw.

Yet from every angle, the courtyard’s interior remained blurred, veiled by a thin gauze—even its outline was indistinct.

After a long while, he finally sighed deeply and shook his head.

“Enough. We can’t get in.”

“Guan Di … you’re on your own now.”

Xie Yuan led the group away.

As they left through the southwest gate of the Xie estate, a twisted, towering black shadow suddenly blocked their path.

Xie Yuan’s face turned instantly pale.

The Grand View Garden held the Old Lady transformed into a flesh mound—and now, another monster lurked in the second courtyard!

This was no simple flesh ball, but three entwined corpses: atop them, a disheveled woman Xie Yuan faintly recognized as Lady Zhao—once elegant and poised, now with a green face and fangs.

Below hung a gaunt middle-aged man; between them, a faceless infant.

The three corpses twisted together like mating vipers, emitting a nauseating stench of decay.

Worse still, this monster moved with ghostly speed—it had been lurking all this time in the Xie family’s side courtyard, now following the scent of living flesh!

The three martial artists accompanying Xie Yuan immediately attacked—only to be horrified: ordinary blades could not scratch it; its corpse flesh was harder than refined metal.

The spewed corpse-fire ignited on contact; its clawed hands easily tore through protective qi shields.

The three men shielded Xie Yuan’s escape.

“Young Master, run! As long as you leave the Xie estate, these monsters won’t cross the walls.”

Screaming, the three guards were ripped apart alive.

Xie Yuan fled desperately but was caught at the estate gate; one leg was torn off—he barely rolled over the threshold onto the street.

Lady Zhao crouched on the wall, unable to step out, letting out a furious shriek, her crimson eyes fixed on the dying Xie Yuan on the street.

Yet she could do nothing!

(End of Chapter)