Chapter 56

Zhen Daoren had just killed the child, yet he felt no remorse; upon returning to the Wei household, he mused silently: “I joined the Wei family hoping to leverage their power to find the thief who stole my strange snake’s bones. But I never expected to spot, on a Qi-refining cultivator, a superior embryonic flying sword—and this man is almost certainly the one who ruined my plans.”

“Acting against him now isn’t without cause!”

“Previously, when I tested the Wei household, Wei Leting proved a cunning fox with no intention of taking risks for me. I had planned to trick them into killing the boy, then steal the flying sword and flee, leaving all consequences to the Weis.”

“But now it’s clear Wei Leting only covets my alchemy techniques and has no intention of clearing the path for me. Yesterday, to gain his trust, I had to reveal some of my skills to my so-called disciple. The Wei family does possess some alchemical lineages, but they’re far inferior to what my sect taught me. My lineage has always been solitary… we never take disciples unless our lifespan is nearly spent.”

“This so-called disciple…”

A flash of murderous intent crossed Zhen Daoren’s eyes; he sneered inwardly: “Since you won’t act, I’ll force your hand!”

He rose and summoned Wei Taiping. Wei Taiping bowed to his master, only to hear his so-called master say: “You’ve entered my sect today and offered many gifts. I should bestow something in return. But all my magical artifacts are bound to my life and cultivation— I cannot lightly give them to you… Only after my death will I pass them down.”

“Though the Wei family has some wealth, it’s all held by a few senior Elders with deep cultivation. Only close younger relatives receive gifts. Your father is still in his prime, and the family’s resources must be reserved for your elder brother.”

“So I see you have no magical artifacts… I have an opportunity for you.”

Wei Taiping was overjoyed. He had originally planned to learn his master’s alchemy, then find a chance to ambush and kill Zhen Daoren with his father’s help, seizing his artifacts. But he worried—his father always favored his elder brother. Even if this man was his master, he doubted much would truly fall into his hands.

Yet here was an opportunity! He immediately kowtowed twice: “Thank you, Master, for your generous gift! Your grace, this disciple will never forget!”

“Not so fast…” Zhen Daoren smiled. “This opportunity requires your own effort. Here is an excellent artifact embryo… the other day, when I slew the strange snake, I discovered that the great plum tree in San Yang Village held hidden mysteries—it took root upon a vein of earth yin poison, which allowed the snake to grow powerful.”

“This plum tree is a rare variety, having absorbed poison for a century, nearing maturity. It’s an ideal embryo for crafting magical artifacts.”

“Cut down the tree, refine it with your cultivation— you won’t find it hard to forge a fine artifact…”

Zhen Daoren gave him a few more pointers. Wei Taiping readily agreed, then withdrew, elated. His mind was filled entirely with the future artifact; greed burned fiercely within him, and a faint, insidious shadow clouded his spiritual sense. After bowing out, he was about to report this to his father—then paused.

“Father always favors my elder brother. What if he gets the spiritual material and gives it to him instead?”

“Better to secure it first, then make it a fait accompli.” He summoned his trusted servants and enforcers, and with their escort, strode boldly toward San Yang Village.

After dancing with his sword over Jiuzhen Lake that night, Qian Chen ventured into the edge of the Great Marsh. The saying that deep mountains and vast marshes abound with dragons and serpents was no idle tale. Along the way, Qian Chen encountered countless venomous creatures—many so tiny they died at a touch, yet even a Golden Core cultivator, if careless, could be killed by them.

For instance, the venomous mud-sprites lurking in toxic swamps, or the minuscule, invisible ying insects—billions strong, rising like white mist when they flew.

Through subtle spiritual perception, Qian Chen also sensed several veins of poison energy.

But either they were too impure, or their essence too weak.

Superior poison energy originates from earth yin turbidity. Yet corpses piled high, filth breeding, insects and snakes multiplying, even sexual acts can generate poison energy—such as peach blossom poison, an exotic type born of yin-yang union. Though these are exotic energies, they are vastly inferior to the myriad strange energies of the Seventy-Two Earthly Poisons.

Moreover, such poison energy arises from the transformation of all things, carrying more impurity than the natural creation of heaven and earth.

Thus, superior poison energy is pure; inferior poison energy is impure. When it’s both low-grade and impure, it’s useless to Qian Chen.

Yet the spiritual herbs growing alongside earth poison mists often have good quality. Qian Chen harvested some, usually taking only one-third—roughly a three-to-one ratio.

This preserved the herbs’ roots and honored the principle of not exhausting nature’s bounty.

Though the Great Marsh was vast and deep, even if Qian Chen poured all his strength into harvesting, he couldn’t exhaust its resources. Even if all the martial artists of Jiuzhen Commandery—or the entire realm—entered to gather herbs, they’d barely scratch its depths. But Qian Chen came from a Qianshi industrial society; he knew well how unchecked human exploitation could devastate the environment.

He wouldn’t preach to the human race, still expanding its living space, nor condemn those martial artists risking their lives for a single herb, nor the struggling cultivators struggling to survive… Yet when he faced the same situation, he always left a margin.

After all, Qian Chen didn’t lack for such things…

Leaving some for the creatures here may seem wasted in the mouths of snakes and insects—but aren’t these guardians themselves part of the herbs’ life cycle? Many herbs need these creatures to propagate and expand their populations. Otherwise, with the Great Jin possessing thirteen provinces, why would such abundant herbs grow only in these perilous places?

Qian Chen emerged from the marsh’s outer edge, riding his Flying Cloud Purse, disheveled.

Today, beyond gathering a few herbs, the most important thing was realizing the marsh’s dangers. The Gui hexagram signifies entrapment—within this marsh, besides demonic beasts, venomous insects, mists, and yin poison, there were also many natural arrays: traps and confinement arrays, combined with venom and mists, holding unpredictable peril.

Worse still were the marsh’s environments. For instance, the Kongqing Marsh he’d encountered looked like an ordinary mud puddle—but the mud was actually decayed spiritual fungus from poisonous fly mushrooms. Countless poisonous flies laid eggs within it, and the mud was dozens of times lighter than water, like foam. A gust of wind would lift it, and if it touched the skin, it caused total rot, becoming nourishment for maggots hatching from the eggs.

Qian Chen had ridden his Flying Cloud Purse the whole time, never touching ground. Had he not seen a crimson-scaled giant serpent plummet into a pool, he’d never have noticed this danger.

That serpent, spewing mists and possessing strength comparable to the one Qian Chen had slain on the plum tree, vanished in an instant into a pool of rotting flesh. The maggots on it, exposed to air, transformed into poisonous flies—swarming toward Qian Chen. He was forced to draw his Seven Demon Banner and annihilate them.

Such layered dangers forced Qian Chen to constantly fly low, clinging to the ground with his Flying Cloud Purse, while keeping his Heaven’s Net Umbrella open against accidents.

During this time, he was attacked by venomous snakes like dry branches, three-tailed venomous scorpions, centipedes as thick as a child’s arm, hair-thin venomous earthworms, and other bizarre monsters. Qian Chen couldn’t help wondering: how did martial artists, armed only with martial skills and basic talismans or spells, survive long enough to carry herbs out of here?

Qian Chen knew these martial artists followed paths previously explored and knew how to avoid some venomous beasts.

Yet to survive with such meager abilities was truly a testament to the boundless potential of life.

After leaving the marsh, Qian Chen flew into the clear heavens to gather the Nine Heavens’ pure spiritual energy, then landed on the lake’s surface, unfolding a green cloud, seated within to refine Qi, transforming it into his own true qi.

Qian Chen had not yet condensed his true qi into true talismans to become magic power. He intended to refine his true qi’s purity to match the Nine Heavens’ pure energy, then see if he could use the Dao Dust Pearl to condense the Primordial One Qi Supreme Pure Talisman. Such Supreme Pure magic power, brimming with true force, was said to be eternal.

This meant even a single true talisman’s power could cause permanent changes in primordial energy.

To shrink an object was to shrink it forever—the power never faded, never vanished. Even turning stone to gold would not revert; after ten thousand years, it remained true gold. No cultivator, no matter how immense their power, could wear away that Supreme Pure force—all illusions and transformations became real.

This was the supreme realm of transforming falsehood into truth.

Awakening from meditation, Qian Chen lazily stretched, releasing the seals to let the lake’s breeze brush in. The crisp wind cleared the faint fatigue from his bones. He reclined on his cloud bed, letting the Flying Cloud Purse drift on the lake’s surface. The cloud bed swayed gently; the lake was utterly still, save for the shadows of waterfowl gliding across.

While enjoying this peace, the Ear God slipped over unnoticed, ready to crawl into Qian Chen’s ear.

Qian Chen pointed a finger, pinning the small creature to his fingertip, smiling: “Don’t crawl into my ear. Just speak like this—if your news is useful, I have something good for you.”

He pulled out a pinch of jade dust, crushed from a spiritual pill—something he’d found useful for deceiving small guardians of herbs when entering the marsh, so he’d crushed another and kept it on him, specifically to reward such minor spirits.

The Ear God darted to Qian Chen’s fingertip, a bean-sized figure sitting atop it, happily gnawing on the jade dust as large as its head, chattering incoherently.

As Qian Chen listened to the Ear God’s report, his smile faded, replaced by profound stillness.

Soon after, a sword-light sliced across the lake, landing outside Jiao Bu Town. The ghostly emissary, who had been searching for him, immediately manifested, bowing: “Are you the Immortal who slew the demon on the plum tree? The City God has sent me with news!”

Qian Chen glanced at him, his expression icy: “I already know your purpose.”

“Tell the City God: Qian Chen does not repeat mistakes… I accept his favor.”