Three days passed like drifting ash.

  Chen Mo’s eyes opened.

  Golden light shimmered within them, deep and steady, like sunlight piercing through a hidden canyon.

  The Spatial Dominion Art had advanced.

  No—

  It had transformed.

  The second stage was complete, polished to perfection, and he had stepped cleanly into the third.

  Within his Sea of Consciousness, the golden spatial threads were no longer fine strands. They had thickened into luminous filaments, denser, heavier, humming with restrained authority. They wove through his inner world like the framework of an unseen throne.

  Space itself felt… closer.

  More intimate.

  He could sense distortions in the air around him. Subtle folds. Invisible seams. Points where reality thinned like worn silk.

  A strange enlightenment bloomed in his mind.

  Distance.

  Compression.

  Directional collapse.

  Spatial shear.

  Ideas flooded him one after another, wild and breathtaking. He could twist space to redirect attacks. Compress space to increase impact force. Stretch it to slow incoming projectiles. Perhaps even create miniature ruptures that swallowed enemies whole.

  And then—

  A sharper thought.

  Tear it.

  Not just manipulate.

  Tear.

  Chen Mo raised a hand slowly.

  The air before his fingers trembled faintly.

  He was certain now.

  With sufficient force—

  He could rip space directly.

  A dangerous smile flickered across his face.

  But just as quickly, he felt the limitation.

  His body.

  The moment he imagined unleashing spatial tearing at full force, his meridians pulsed with strain. His muscles tightened instinctively. His bones felt as though they would crack under backlash.

  The spatial laws were obedient.

  His flesh was not yet worthy.

  The realization settled heavily.

  “The stronger my Primordial Body Art becomes,” he murmured softly, “the more I can unleash spatial power without tearing myself apart.”

  It was a simple equation.

  Space was a blade.

  His body was the handle.

  If the handle was weak, the blade would wound its wielder.

  Chen Mo exhaled slowly.

  His path was clear.

  Hunt.

  Refine.

  Strengthen.

  Then bend space until even the heavens noticed.

  Outside the cave, the mountains lay quiet.

  But around Chen Mo, the very air seemed subtly displaced, as though reality itself had taken half a cautious step back.

  Chen Mo withdrew the second jade slip of the Xuan family legacy.

  This was the one that had granted him the second chapter of the Primordial Body Art… and then sealed the rest behind inscrutable inscriptions, like a door that judged the strength of the hand pushing it.

  Now—

  He was qualified.

  Stage Three of the Spatial Dominion Art.

  Golden threads dense and sovereign within his Sea of Consciousness.

  He infused his spiritual senses into the jade slip once more.

  This time, the reaction was immediate.

  The slip trembled faintly, as if recognizing something long awaited. The sealed inscriptions flickered, responding not to brute force, but to the newly matured golden spatial energy flowing through him.

  Then—

  Click.

  Not a physical sound.

  But something unlocking.

  A single stream of information poured into his mind.

  No technique.

  No scripture.

  No grand lecture.

  Just coordinates.

  Precise.

  Absolute.

  The location of a hidden spatial pocket.

  A private dimension.

  A relic space belonging to the Xuan family.

  Chen Mo’s expression grew serious.

  He traced the coordinates mentally, overlaying them with his knowledge of the Azure Continent’s geography.

  And then his brows slowly knitted together.

  The entrance was not hidden in some minor valley.

  Not beneath a quiet forest.

  It pointed directly toward the heart of the infamous mountain ranges that divided the southern region of the Azure Continent from the rest of the land.

  A place whispered about in cautionary tales.

  A place where demonic beasts of terrifying rank roamed freely.

  A place where even Foundation Establishment cultivators vanished without a trace.

  Chen Mo felt a complicated mix of emotions stir within him.

  Excitement.

  Temptation.

  And caution.

  A hidden Xuan family space pocket…

  What lay inside?

  Resources?

  Ancient techniques?

  Weapons capable of distorting heaven and earth?

  Or perhaps something far more dangerous.

  He exhaled slowly.

  The mountains did not welcome the weak.

  And right now—

  He was still weak.

  His fingers tightened slightly around the jade slip.

  “Not yet,” he murmured.

  The coordinates burned clearly within his mind like a star pinned in the darkness.

  The inheritance was calling.

  But the path toward it would carve through one of the most dangerous regions of the continent.

  Chen Mo closed his eyes briefly.

  If the heavens wanted to test him—

  He would prepare properly before answering.

  And so, the days settled into rhythm.

  Chen Mo rose before dawn, violet fire qi circulating through his meridians like a quiet furnace. He would refine his cultivation first, tempering the Immortal Fire Scriptures layer by layer, stabilizing his fifth level of Qi Refinement while nurturing the faint ambition of a breakthrough.

  Afterward, he would shift to body refinement.

  Demonic beasts brought back by the puppet were stacked neatly outside the cave entrance, their blood still warm when delivered. The construct worked tirelessly, sweeping across the mountains within the range of Chen Mo’s spiritual senses, executing its orders with mechanical precision.

  Efficient.

  Emotionless.

  Deadly.

  Chen Mo supervised its movements carefully, occasionally adjusting commands through the control token. The puppet had already proven its worth, hunting beasts that would have taken him time and energy to track down himself.

  By nightfall, the cave would glow with firelight.

  Meat roasting.

  Primordial Body Art circulating.

  Muscles tightening and strengthening with each refined strand of essence.

  Between cultivation sessions, Chen Mo immersed himself in the scroll library left behind by Huo Zhenwei.

  History records.

  Formation diagrams.

  Demonic ritual outlines.

  Notes scribbled in impatient strokes.

  The more he read, the clearer the picture became.

  Huo Zhenwei had not simply been ambitious.

  He had been obsessed.

  Soul stabilization techniques. Possession arrays. Forbidden contracts. Even references to shadowy organizations that dealt in corpse refinement and spirit trading.

  Chen Mo’s gaze often lingered on those darker scrolls.

  Useful.

  Dangerous.

  He did not practice them.

  But he memorized everything.

  Knowledge was a blade. It did not matter whether it was forged in light or shadow. What mattered was who held it.

  Days blurred into one another.

  Hunt.

  Refine.

  Study.

  Advance.

  The mountains grew quieter around his territory. The demonic beasts had begun to sense that something was systematically thinning their ranks.

  Inside the cave, however, power accumulated silently.

  Chen Mo was no longer scrambling for survival.

  He was building.

  Piece by piece.

  Thread by golden thread.

  Somewhere deep within the vast mountain range that guarded the Xuan family’s hidden pocket space, something ancient waited.

  And Chen Mo was preparing to one day knock on its door.

  A few days later, a brilliant streak of blue light sliced across the sky and halted above the secluded valley where the ruined immortal cave lay hidden.

  From within the light, a small black spirit boat descended slowly, its hull engraved with faintly glowing runic lines that shimmered like restrained lightning. The air grew tense as the vessel settled above the valley floor.

  Several figures stepped out.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  At the front stood Jiang Beichen, a late-stage Foundation Establishment expert from the law enforcement division of the Azure Pine Immortal Sect. His expression was stern, his aura steady and disciplined like a drawn blade kept deliberately sheathed.

  Beside him stood Nangong Yuexi, a middle-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator and the master of Sheng Xia. Her robes fluttered lightly in the lingering currents of spiritual energy, yet her eyes carried a cold intensity that revealed the storm beneath her composure.

  She had insisted on accompanying the investigation team.

  When the sect learned that Sheng Xia’s soul lamp had extinguished, Nangong Yuexi had personally requested involvement. Whether it was grief, suspicion, or the quiet resolve of a master seeking answers for a fallen disciple, none of the law enforcement members dared refuse.

  Below them, the valley remained silent.

  Too silent.

  Even the wind seemed reluctant to pass through.

  Another Foundation Establishment expert stood among the investigation team: Gu Changfeng.

  Old Gu Changfeng was not only a seasoned cultivator but also a respected formation master from the sect’s divination department. He was adept in secret investigative arts and possessed deep knowledge of strange and obscure techniques. Whenever complex or unusual incidents occurred, the law enforcement division routinely relied on the divination department to uncover hidden traces that ordinary methods could not detect.

  With the team assembled, Jiang Beichen calmly raised his hand and gave the signal.

  The three Foundation Establishment masters immediately rose into the air, flying toward the direction of the ruined immortal cave. Behind them followed several late-stage Qi Refinement disciples, maintaining formation as they swept across the valley like a disciplined hunting party closing in on a silent battlefield.

  Upon reaching the entrance of the cave, the group slowed their descent.

  What once had been a concealed and heavily protected formation site was now completely exposed.

  The stone wall that had originally blended seamlessly with the valley cliffs was cracked and partially collapsed, as if the mountain itself had exhaled its last breath. Faint scorch marks spread across the rocks in irregular patterns, forming dark veins that hinted at violent spiritual fluctuations not long ago.

  The air was unnaturally cold.

  A thin layer of frost clung to the surrounding vegetation despite the region’s warm climate, and wisps of pale mist drifted lazily from the cave entrance. The contrast was striking. Residual fire-attributed spiritual energy still lingered deep inside, yet the outer area carried a chilling yin-like suppression, evidence that opposing forces had clashed and destabilized the environment.

  Old Gu Changfeng narrowed his eyes.

  “Residual formation traces… but they’re collapsing rapidly.”

  The ground near the entrance showed faint circular etchings where formation nodes had once been anchored. Most were already dim, their spiritual channels broken, leaving only scattered fragments of light flickering like dying embers.

  There were also signs of forced entry.

  Several rocks bore sharp impact fractures consistent with talisman detonations. Spiritual residue floated in the air like dust, chaotic and disordered, making it difficult to read clearly without deeper divination.

  Fairy Nangong Yuexi stepped forward, her expression turning grave.

  “The aura of fire… and death.”

  The cave interior stretched inward like a silent throat, dark and motionless, yet carrying an unsettling pressure. Whatever had happened here was not a simple expedition gone wrong. The spiritual turbulence still lingering in the air suggested something far more dangerous had awakened within.

  Jiang Beichen gestured calmly.

  “Proceed carefully.”

  With that, the investigation team advanced into the cave, their figures disappearing one by one into the dim passage as the valley returned to its eerie stillness.

  Old Gu Changfeng stepped forward slowly, his sleeves swaying with measured calm. Unlike the others, his gaze was not fixed on the cave itself but on the residual traces left behind in the air, on the rocks, and even within the faint spiritual turbulence that ordinary cultivators could not perceive.

  With a soft breath, Old Gu Changfeng formed a sequence of hand seals.

  A thin silver compass disk flew from his sleeve and hovered before him, rotating soundlessly.

  “Spirit-Trace Reversal Art.”

  He lightly bit his finger and flicked a drop of blood onto the compass.

  The moment the blood touched its surface, the disk erupted with faint blue light. Countless tiny runic lines spread outward like spiderwebs, anchoring themselves into the surrounding space. Soon, faint silhouettes began to form in the air like reflections in disturbed water.

  Blurry figures appeared.

  One… two… three…

  Then five.

  The silhouettes were unstable, distorted by time and residual interference, yet their general outlines were clear enough.

  Behind him, Jiang Beichen narrowed his eyes.

  Old Gu spoke calmly while continuing to guide the technique.

  “The spiritual residue is less than ten days old. The traces are still readable.”

  The compass rotated faster.

  The five silhouettes began moving forward, reenacting their path into the cave like ghosts retracing their final steps.

  At this moment, Nangong Yuexi stepped closer, her expression tightening.

  “Five people… but the sect only confirmed three.”

  Old Gu nodded slightly.

  “The other two were not sect disciples.”

  The runic lines shifted again, sharpening two of the silhouettes.

  One carried a wind-attributed aura pattern.

  The other showed faint traces of formation spiritual fluctuations.

  Old Gu’s voice lowered.

  “The investigation earlier mentioned two loose cultivators active in the Antics Market. Late-stage Qi Refinement… Qiong Tao and Old Lei.”

  The compass flickered.

  The ghostly reenactment continued deeper into the cave until suddenly—

  The runic web trembled violently.

  The silhouettes distorted.

  Then collapsed.

  Old Gu’s brows furrowed.

  He formed another seal and pressed forward.

  A darker spiritual imprint surfaced.

  Chaotic. Violent. Suppressive.

  His pupils shrank slightly.

  “They were attacked.”

  The air grew heavier.

  The reconstructed traces showed bursts of shattered weapon signatures and broken defensive talisman residues. One could almost feel the overwhelming pressure that had crushed the five cultivators within a few breaths.

  Jiang Beichen’s expression turned cold.

  “Ambush?”

  Old Gu shook his head slowly.

  “No… not entirely.”

  He waved his sleeve, dispersing part of the illusion while focusing on the deeper residue embedded within the cave walls.

  The stone itself carried faint traces of ancient fire spiritual essence.

  Dense.

  Pure.

  And extremely old.

  Old Gu’s voice became solemn.

  “This cave is not a temporary hideout.”

  He walked forward several steps, touching the blackened stone surface where faint fire patterns still lingered like fossilized flames.

  “These formation anchors… the residual fire essence… and the layered structure of the spiritual suppression arrays…”

  He paused.

  Then spoke clearly.

  “This was most likely an immortal cave belonging to a Golden Core fire cultivator.”

  Silence fell instantly.

  Even the accompanying late-stage Qi Refinement disciples felt their hearts tighten.

  A Golden Core inheritance site.

  That alone was enough to explain why five late-stage Qi Refinement cultivators had vanished without leaving a clear trace.

  But it also meant something far more dangerous.

  Golden Core cultivators did not leave simple ruins behind.

  Their legacies often came with traps… remnants… or things far worse.

  Fairy Nangong Yuexi’s expression dimmed noticeably.

  If Sheng Xia truly died here…

  Then this was no ordinary accident.

  The cave ahead suddenly felt deeper, darker, and far more unpredictable.