Chapter 39: Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Vast and the Primordial Are of the Same Kind

This time.

He no longer condensed his breath into a single qi curtain, hoping to envelop the “Cold Dip True Qi” in one decisive stroke… Instead, he deployed it like a military formation—deceiving with emptiness, revealing with substance, planting hidden troops everywhere.

But at the final moment, his breath still failed to fully suppress the “Cold Dip True Qi”’s surge; one misstep let the cold energy shatter his heart chamber, and he collapsed dead on the spot.

…

Chen Hang frowned, once again settled his new mental image, pondered carefully, then calmed his spirit and began anew.

And this time, due to a clumsiness in moving his breath, his mental image spat blood and fell again.

Third attempt, died with intestines pierced.

Fourth attempt, the “Cold Dip True Qi” reversed and swallowed half his breath; lacking follow-through, his blood withered and he died.

Fifth attempt, the true qi had barely been condensed when it exploded on its own; the cold poison sank into his organs, and though he clung on for half a stick of incense, he still had to give up.

Sixth attempt, his skull cracked and he died…

…

Chen Hang no longer knew how many times he had died; each death brought a novel cause, strange and varied.

Eventually, he grew numb, stopped counting how many times he had died or how many days had passed in the True Dharma Realm—only endlessly circling his breath to block the true qi, memorizing every gap, restarting from the beginning, dying and starting again.

Fortunately, his will was cold and unyielding; had any ordinary man endured such daily torment, he would long ago have shattered mentally and lost all cohesion.

Every drop of blood, every pang of pain in this realm was utterly real; dying dozens or even hundreds of times in a single day amounted to a peculiar form of torture.

Thus it went.

He spent four days of grueling effort—equivalent to forty days within the True Dharma Realm—without knowing how many failures he had suffered.

Yet correspondingly, his ability to move and circulate his breath surged forward, fully adapting to the surge of his breath…

The transitions between soft and hard, the expansions and contractions—all were now second nature; compared to before, he was nearly a different person.

Chen Hang was confident that among Qi Condensation cultivators of his realm, few could match his skill in dividing and circulating breath—even if not one in ten thousand, they were certainly rare.

Those who could decisively surpass him? Perhaps only the disciples of the Eight Sects and Six Clans, as the legends claimed…

But how to refine the “Cold Dip True Qi” still showed no significant progress; in his most recent attempts, he was always just one step away from extracting it from his body—yet always failed at the final hurdle.

This led Chen Hang to wonder whether the “Tai Shi Yuan Zhen” qi he had absorbed at the Third Level of Qi Condensation could even handle this true qi.

Yet he held his patience, repeating the attempts endlessly—each death, he told himself, was merely tempering his breath.

Then, one day, Chen Hang suddenly had a flash of insight, a sudden spark in his mind.

A look of joy crossed his face; he immediately followed that elusive intuition, steadied his spirit, and set his breath in motion.

After some indeterminate time, when Chen Hang ceased his refinement and opened his eyes from meditation…

In his palm lay a pale, cold, deep blue-green true qi, undulating, surging, racing…

“Cold Dip True Qi—this is your true form?”

Chen Hang sighed softly, silently contemplated the transformation within his heart, then slashed his own throat with one palm and began anew.

Thus he tried dozens more times; only when he felt no further flaws remained did he communicate with Jin Chan to send himself out of the True Dharma Realm.

…

The real world.

Still inside the cabin, countless clouds surged high—but this ordinary scene now appeared to Chen Hang in an entirely new light.

During those dozens of days spent cultivating within the True Dharma Realm, he had not only tempered his surging breath into a balance of softness and hardness, moving it freely at will, but had also learned to extract the “Cold Dip True Qi” from his body and transform it into a deadly technique.

Recalling how, in those early days of this world, he had suffered endlessly under the “Cold Dip True Qi,” his pitiful state haunting him night and day, Chen Hang felt as if it had all been a dream.

Just then, a sliver of golden light pierced through the window; his profile, bathed in this clear, bright sky-light, appeared even more exquisite, radiant as brocade.

“Its beginning and end never cease; mortals are not primordial qi—how could they linger with it long? Grass does not thank the spring wind for its bloom, trees do not resent autumn for their fall…”

Chen Hang fell silent for a moment, then smiled, reciting aloud:

“I shall embrace the vastness of creation—my spirit harmonizes with the boundless void!”

As he spoke, his sleeves suddenly billowed, his white robe stirring without wind.

…

Half a day later.

As the Mo Yun flying vessel neared Rong Country’s Yuanjing, Tu Shan Ge ascended from the lower cabin to report—yet the moment he opened the door, he saw a startling sight.

The cabin floor was coated with a thin, brittle layer of frost; stamping his foot made it crackle.

In the center of the cabin, a pale, cold true qi curled around Chen Hang in spiraling ribbons, like a long serpent, as if ready to break free and soar into the heavens, never to return.

Hearing the door open, Chen Hang glanced over and gave Tu Shan Ge a slight nod.

“Master, what is this?”

“Cold Dip True Qi.”

Chen Hang drew the true qi back into his sleeve:

“It had merely entered my body and remained still—I nearly died from its torment, forced to take Xiao Bai Yang Pills just to suppress it. Now, by sheer luck, I’ve swallowed the elephant whole and refined it. Tell me—”

“If I unleash it at full force, could even Tong Gaolu, a Qi Condensation Seventh Level, be frozen in place?”

Tu Shan Ge froze, then burst into laughter.

“Bring that Tong Yi up. I need to use him.” Chen Hang said coolly.

Soon, Tu Shan Zhuang brought Tong Yi onto the upper cabin.

In just a few days, the boy’s face had lost its former arrogance and indulgence; his spirit was dull, and upon seeing Chen Hang, he trembled, involuntarily shuddering.

“Y-You want to do what to me?!”

Tong Yi’s voice was sharp with fury.

“Young sir, please.” Chen Hang did not reply; only gave a slight bow.

Hearing this, Tong Yi’s courage shattered—he remembered those very words from their first meeting, when the man’s sleeve had unleashed a thunderbolt and severed his arm.

“My father is Tong Gao—”

As Tong Yi had feared, before he could finish, a pale blue-green true qi shot from Chen Hang’s sleeve straight toward his face.

Puff!

There was no escape; the true qi touched his face and dissolved into his meridians.

Tong Yi, terrified and stunned, rolled his eyes back and fainted instantly.

“This kid’s heavy—clunk, clunk…”

Tu Shan Ge stepped back, avoiding Tong Yi’s falling body: “Master, you plan to kill Tong Jizhen first, then ally with the Rong royal house to eliminate Tong Gaolu?”

Chen Hang nodded.

“While you were in seclusion, I learned another story about Tong Jizhen from Tong Yi—might be useful to you.”

“You’re quite skilled at interrogation.”

“Heh, there’s an old saying: he who understands the times is a hero. I’ve got all sorts of tools—I won’t have trouble prying his mouth open!” Tu Shan Ge smirked proudly.

He crept close to Chen Hang and whispered something; even with Chen Hang’s composure, his brow furrowed.

“Are you certain?”

When Tu Shan Ge finished, Chen Hang asked.

“Certain, certain.”

“Tong Jizhen… has a fondness for young men?”

Chen Hang turned his gaze to Tu Shan Zhuang; the fox felt his fur tighten and instinctively reached for the door to flee.

“You’re skilled in transformation arts, aren’t you?” Chen Hang’s tone was a question, yet carried absolute certainty.

Tu Shan Zhuang: “…”

Nearby, Tu Shan Ge was doubled over with laughter.

“You go help him too—two of you will keep better watch.”

Before he could finish laughing, Chen Hang turned to him: “Don’t alert the snake. Don’t let Tong Gaolu suspect a thing.”

Tu Shan Ge’s face darkened.

…

…

Rong Country, Yuanjing.

A large red palanquin halted before a mansion gate; under the support of several eunuchs, a man clad only in sheer gauze, his makeup flamboyant, stepped out, his expression curious.

His name was Ji Yu, the current top performer at Rong Country’s Chunhua Pavilion—a premier male brothel in Yuanjing. Ordinarily, Ji Yu’s value made it difficult to secure his services.

But this time, the payment was too generous to refuse.

He arrived with a full chest of gold and silver—such extravagance could even overwhelm a god!

So Ji Yu, despite being deeply entangled with Tong Jizhen, quietly arranged a palanquin and came to the mansion.

But as soon as he entered the courtyard, Ji Yu sensed something was wrong.

Such a vast estate had only two servants—and the ground was untidy, as if hastily swept on the surface, with no further care taken.

That wasn’t the worst part.

Especially the way the two servants looked at him—complex, filled with hatred, confusion, blankness, disbelief, and something else Ji Yu couldn’t decipher.

It was… a look of earnestly learning, imitating?

Ji Yu wanted to turn and run, summon the eunuchs outside, jump into the palanquin, and flee at once.

But then he remembered the chest of gold and silver, and quelled his urge, silently bolstering his courage.

As he wandered in thought…

The two servants led him into a small courtyard; one, especially muscular, was particularly hostile and secretly extended his leg, trying to trip him.

"I don't know what trick the young master wants to try tonight, but this servant knows every trick in the book—gentle plucking, slow twisting, pressing and picking, I can play, sing, blow, and chant all with equal skill, and even—"

Reciting mechanically the script his madam had taught him, Ji Yu looked up—and froze.

The man standing silently in the courtyard was unmistakably a celestial being.

His black hair was pinned with a wooden hairpin, his long robe white as snow, shimmering with cold moonlight, unadorned yet radiating extraordinary grace; his expression was distant and icy, like the heaviest early-spring dew—just one glance, and every thought within you would be laid bare, utterly exposed.

Before such a figure, no one, no matter how proud of their beauty, could stand without trembling, consumed by shame.

Wait!

Ji Yu’s mind raced—was this today’s client?

No!

Who was paying whom here?

I’ve hit the jackpot! Hahaha!

I’m rich!

Ji Yu straightened his robes with exaggerated care, about to smile and speak—when a surge of qi struck him down.

"Alright, work it out among yourselves."

Chen Hang retracted his finger and said coolly:

"Who wants to play him?"