A loud sound jolted Mo Jian out of his increasingly turbulent thoughts.

  He twitched in surprise, before looking up to see that the Myriad Distance Talisman sitting on the shelf before him had suddenly shattered. It rang out like an alarm, loud and piercing, before bursting into a flash of red light and scattering into a dozen fragments.

  ‘Too soon,’ he thought. ‘It’s too soon.’

  He’d hoped for at least a little more time to gather his thoughts, his mind still roiling from the transmigration. It had been barely two hours since he awoke in this world, in the body of Mo Jian, a late stage Core Formation realm cultivator.

  As he sifted through his memories, he quickly realized that this world was familiar—he had read about it in his past life.

  The man he had possessed, Mo Jian, was an external elder of the Greater Dharma Sect, the very sect from which the story’s heroine hailed. When she was young, her sect had faced a catastrophic threat—an attack by a demonic cultivator at the Core Formation stage. In desperation, her parents, the sect leaders, had used the myriad distance talisman to call Mo Jian for help.

  Naturally, he hadn’t answered.

  A minor antagonist in the tale, Mo Jian had ignored their pleas, taken advantage of the heroine when she fled and sought shelter with him, and later demanded a share of the profits after the sect had been rebuilt.

  He didn’t live to see the end of the story. If Mo Jian’s memory served, the hero had eventually decapitated him with a single stroke of his sword.

  And now, here he was, stuck living in the mess the original Mo Jian had made. He stared at the talisman’s broken pieces, mind racing.

  Should he go?

  A clash between two Core Formation cultivators wasn’t something to be taken lightly. He was new to this world—and this body. One wrong move, and he’d be dead.

  But if he didn’t go… wouldn’t he just be repeating the original Mo Jian’s mistake? Earning the hatred of both the heroine and the future hero?

  He groaned, burying his face in his hands. What kind of choice was this, just hours after transmigration? Where was his cheat? He wanted to demand a redo.

  Sighing, Mo Jian straightened up and tried to think it through. If he just focused on ensuring the heroine and her parents survived, that should be enough. He didn’t have to win. He didn’t even have to fight—just help however he could, while keeping himself alive.

  There were other options too. If he really wanted to take the pragmatic, morally bankrupt route, he could try to eliminate the heroine before she had the chance to grow stronger. However, he wasn't comfortable being that kind of villain.

  Pursing his lips, he realized he had already made the decision. Story or no story, people would die if he did nothing. He would keep his life as the top priority, but if he could save a few others in the process… then maybe this second chance wouldn't be so bad after all.

  Mind made up, he stood and walked toward the cave entrance. The defensive formation that had been laid over the cave earlier shimmered faintly, a veil of light rippling across the threshold. He stepped through it, emerging into bright sunlight.

  The cave overlooked the sea, nestled into the side of a mountain on a small, solitary island. Below, waves crashed rhythmically against the rocky shore, sending up sprays of mist that clung low to the ground like morning fog.

  Mo Jian raised a hand, and a small ding emerged from his body in a streak of light, hovering over his palm. It was blue and black, with three stubby legs, and a fat base which curved into a cauldron like body. The top was secured by a tapered lid, and two small handles protruded from each side of the ding. This was the Heaven Enshrouding Ding, Mo Jian’s natal artifact. He controlled it with his mind, and it surged forward, growing in size as it did so, until it was big enough to rival a wagon.

  Then, with a practiced motion he had inherited from Mo Jian’s memories, he hopped onto the lid of the ding and sat down in a lotus pose. The ding glowed with a blue light and shot forward, cutting through the air in a tremendous burst of speed as it soared towards the headquarters of the Greater Dharma Sect.

  Tens of kilometers passed beneath him in mere minutes. At this speed, he’d reach the Greater Dharma Sect’s main hall in under half an hour.

  At the Headquarters of the Greater Dharma Sect:

  High above the island, a lone figure floated in the sky, standing atop a massive yellow gourd that glided through the air. His face was shriveled and corpse-like, framed by wild, twisting hair that whipped in the wind. In one hand, he held a perfectly proportioned replica of the gourd he stood upon—from which massive flaming skulls of green fire burst forth, cackling as they crashed down upon the island’s protective barrier.

  The Greater Dharma Sect was nestled on a picturesque island—lush, vibrant, and teeming with natural beauty. Sparkling waterfalls cascaded down mossy cliffs, and fields of vivid, blooming flowers stretched between delicate structures crafted from white jade and pale pink stone. It was a place of peace and beauty, or at least it had been—until now.

  Near the center of the island stood the main hall, a modest building with a gently curved roof and lanterns hanging from each of its four corners. Just outside it, an ancient wisteria tree spread its twisted branches, draped in cascades of pink, purple, and blue blossoms that fluttered like ribbons in the smoke-laced wind.

  Inside, Sect Leader Bai Zhou and his wife, Bai Zing, stood side by side, faces pale and drenched in sweat. Their eyes were locked on the golden dome of the defensive formation that shimmered faintly over the island. It flickered, dimming under the onslaught of green fire raining down from above.

  All around them, the sect's disciples scrambled to respond. Some channeled spiritual energy into the formation cores, feeding the faltering formation with whatever strength they could muster. Others worked quickly to lead the younger and weaker members into the underground shelters hidden beneath the compound.

  Everyone knew the truth: the barrier wouldn't hold much longer.

  Bai Zhou shook his head bitterly, tasting a novel and unwelcome sensation: helplessness.

  As a cultivator at the late stage of Foundation Establishment, he was rarely a helpless figure. But now, standing beneath the shadow of a Core Formation cultivator's assault, he felt like nothing more than an ant before a hurricane.

  His fists clenched, knuckles turning white as he tried to channel his growing dread into something useful. However, only one thought echoed endlessly in his mind: The barrier will last half an hour at most. After that... we all die.

  More than anything, he wished his daughter could escape. Yet the truth was cruel. There was no way off the island, and even if there were, none of them could outrun a Core Formation cultivator—not in this lifetime.

  “Husband, you contacted Senior Mo earlier. Has he responded?” Zing’s voice was soft, clinging to hope. “Only with his help can we survive this crisis.”

  Zhou smiled bitterly.

  The relationship between the Greater Dharma Sect and Mo Jian was purely transactional. The only reason they’d secured him as an external elder was because they paid him twenty percent of the sect’s annual profits in tribute. There was no bond beyond coin. Besides, knowing his nature, Zhou couldn’t imagine he’d come. Risk his life for them—for anyone? That wasn’t the kind of man Mo Jian had ever been.

  Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to crush the last sliver of hope in his wife’s voice.

  “I’m sure he’ll come,” Zhou said instead. “Senior hasn’t responded yet, but our sect has always treated him with respect. He’s not the ungrateful sort.”

  A young voice piped up behind him, making him jump.

  “Senior Mo? From our sect? I’ve never met him before! What’s he like? Is he really coming to beat the evil cultivator trying to attack us?”

  Zhou whirled around in alarm, while Zing sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead.

  “Ning’er, what are you doing here? You should be in the underground caverns with your senior brothers and sisters. It’s not safe up here.”

  “Hehehe,” the girl giggled, far too cheerful for the moment. She clearly didn’t grasp the full weight of what was happening.

  Zing pinched her daughter’s ear, earning an immediate pout.

  “Mother, that hurts!”

  “Good,” Zing said firmly. “Maybe it’ll make you listen.”

  She turned to Zhou and gave him a brief, knowing nod before pulling her daughter along and heading for the shelters herself.

  Zhou watched them go, his gaze lingering. He etched the image into his mind—his beautiful wife, graceful even under pressure, and his daughter, still cheerful and full of life despite the chaos around them.

  Then he turned away, a quiet fire lighting in his chest. No matter how hopeless things seemed, he had to do everything he could—for their sake.

  He straightened his back, fists clenched at his sides. Waiting for the formation to fall would do no good. Instead, he might as well take the fight to the enemy. He was already preparing to charge out, to unleash everything in one desperate, surprise attack.

  He had no illusions about the outcome. Against a Core Formation cultivator, his chances of victory were non-existent.

  Still, if he could catch the enemy off guard… maybe he could buy a few precious seconds. Just enough for some of the disciples—his daughter—to escape.

  That would be enough.

  …………

  Flying was a wonderful thing.

  Even now—rushing straight toward a fight that could very well end in death—the thrill of soaring through the sky remained undiminished.

  Mo Jian’s Heaven Enshrouding Ding sliced through the air at astonishing speed, wrapped in a shell of blue light. The energy curled gently around him, forming a protective sphere of stillness. Outside, the world blurred past in roaring winds and streaks of motion—but inside, he sat untouched, suspended in calm.

  Above, the sky stretched wide and brilliant, scattered with drifting clouds that cast shifting shadows over the ocean below. Sunlight poured across the sea in golden waves, warm against his skin. Beneath him, the water rolled and glittered, its white-capped crests like scattered jewels. Every now and then, a star-spine fish leapt from the surf in a shimmering arc, then vanished once more into the deep.

  He was close.

  It had been nearly half an hour since he’d departed, and dozens of small islands had passed beneath him. Now, just ahead, the Greater Dharma Sect’s island lay within reach—mere minutes away.

  As he closed in, Mo Jian rifled through the original's memories, hoping for some insight that might give him an edge in the fight to come. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much. The original Mo Jian had been a coward. He avoided conflict whenever possible, especially if the odds weren’t heavily in his favor. In the rare cases he had fought, it was either to flee or against weaker enemies.

  He had never once exchanged blows with another Core Formation cultivator in earnest—just a few friendly spars, if those even counted.

  Still, one truth stood out: at this level, no one was easy to kill. Achieving Core Formation was more than a testament to spiritual strength; it marked a cultivator who was cunning, resilient, and dangerously prepared. Each person who had reached this realm had done so by climbing a mountain of tribulations, and anyone foolish enough to underestimate them rarely lived long enough to regret it.

  Even as he turned that over in his mind, the island came into view.

  It gleamed faintly in the distance, bathed in the soft light of its faltering formation. From afar, it still retained much of its inherent beauty—lush greenery, elegant white-jade architecture, and the glint of waterfalls threading between the cliffs. Yet its protective barrier, meant to shield the sect from danger, now shimmered weakly in the air, flickering like a dying ember against the bright sky.

  A lone figure hovered before it, suspended in the sky. He was directing a relentless assault against the defensive formation, and the gourd in his hand pulsed with an eerie green flame.

  The moment he sensed Mo Jian, he paused.

  Their spiritual senses met in mid-air, clashing invisibly like two unsheathed blades. Mo Jian felt the tension immediately—an invisible force locking eyes with him across the void. In response, the demonic cultivator drifted back slightly. The gourd in his hand split into ten identical copies, each glowing with the same ominous fire as they formed a rotating barrier around him.

  Mo Jian slowed as well, halting about a li from him in mid-air. The distance was respectful—neither too close nor too far.

  Now face-to-face, he narrowed his eyes and studied him carefully.

  His first impression? The demonic cultivator looked like a homeless man.

  Pushing aside that slightly ridiculous—and admittedly uncharitable—thought, Mo Jian still couldn’t help but feel that his opponent could use a good night’s sleep, a hot meal, and maybe a proper bath. Also, someone needed to run a comb through that hair. He wasn’t exactly a paragon of beauty himself, either in his last life or in this one, but the demonic cultivator in front of him looked more like a wandering hobo than the fearsome villain attacking a righteous sect.

  His aura, though, was another matter entirely. It pressed down on Mo Jian like an invisible mountain, thick and oppressive. Just floating there, he could feel the weight of his cultivation. It wasn’t something that could be faked.

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  Mo Jian’s own preparations were already visible: A thin barrier of blue light shimmered around him, forming a dome of protection, while the Heaven Enshrouding Ding shone with a blue light, qi honed and ready. It was a clear and deliberate gesture—not a threat, but neither an admission of weakness. He was prepared to fight, but not eager to.

  Across the sky, the demonic cultivator studied him in turn. His gaze swept over the protective dome and the Heaven Enshrouding Ding. For a brief moment, the space between them seemed to stretch taut with unspoken tension, like the breath held before a storm.

  However—surprisingly—he didn’t attack.

  Instead, he spoke.

  “Who is your esteemed self?” he rasped, his voice hoarse and oddly echoing. “I am Daoist Chao Qinzi. I don’t believe I’ve had the privilege of meeting you before?”

  It was almost comical. He sounded exactly like someone trying to cosplay an evil overlord. The voice, the robes, the aura—it was like he’d found a checklist and meticulously ticked off every item.

  The sheer absurdity of it didn’t make the situation any less dangerous, but the internal humor took the edge off Mo Jian’s nerves.

  “I am but a humble Daoist, wandering these seas,” Mo Jian replied evenly. “I wonder—what offense have the people below given you, friend, that you attack them so fiercely?”

  Mo Jian was hoping, perhaps foolishly, that it was something minor—something that could be resolved without bloodshed. It might sound absurd, but people in this world were prone to exacting elaborate, almost theatrical revenge over the smallest slights.

  The original story hadn’t gone into much detail about the demonic cultivator who attacked the Greater Dharma Sect. He was more a plot device than a character—just the force that burned down the heroine’s peaceful life so her rise could begin. With the original Mo Jian already filling the role of minor villain, there hadn’t been a need for another. Chao Qinzi had been quietly dealt with offscreen.

  Now, though, he was very much on screen.

  Chao Qinzi gritted his teeth, face twisting. For all his courteous words, his expressions were wild, unfiltered. “What offense they gave me is my business, friend,” he snapped. “Unless you’re related to them, why bother interfering for a bunch of ants? In fact—” his lips curled into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, “—help me slaughter the lot, and you can take your pick of the treasures on the island. I only want one thing. Everything else can be yours.”

  A chill crept down Mo Jian’s spine at the ease with which Chao Qinzi spoke of mass murder.

  Right. This was a demonic cultivator.

  Before he could answer, a voice rang out from below—unrestrained, joyous, utterly sincere.

  “Sect Elder! You really came! I, Bai Zhou, will never forget this benevolence in my life. The Greater Dharma Sect will forever be indebted to you!”

  Chao Qinzi’s expression darkened immediately. He floated back another li, face twisting further into suspicion and rage. Clearly, he thought Mo Jian been stalling him—baiting him into a trap.

  “Good. Very good,” he spat, venom in every word. “I didn’t know this minor sect had a Core Formation elder. Looks like I was too late. You must’ve seen the truth of the girl and joined them—waiting for her to awaken her bloodline. Very good. I, Chao Qinzi, am in awe of your deep schemes.”

  He did not look awed. He looked like he wanted to rip Mo Jian’s face off.

  Honestly, Mo Jian had no idea what he was talking about. What girl? What bloodline?

  His first thought was the heroine, of course—she was the heart of the original story—but he didn’t remember anything about a special bloodline. If anything, it was the hero who had awakened a legendary Dragon Physique, not her.

  Still, that didn’t matter now. Bai Zhou’s loud declaration had painted a very clear target on his back. His cover was gone.

  He tensed, ready to strike—and Chao Qinzi didn’t disappoint.

  The gourds circling his opponent suddenly fused, swelling until a single, massive vessel loomed in the air, its mouth wide enough for a grown man to walk through. From its dark opening, a torrent of seething green fire erupted, roaring through the air toward Mo Jian. It tore across the distance in seconds—a streak of blistering heat and warped spiritual force.

  The Heaven Enshrouding Ding reacted instantly. It turned translucent, shifting from solid matter to radiant light, and expanded outward, encasing Mo Jian in a glowing shell. The inferno struck, engulfing him in emerald flame—but the barrier held. It shimmered under the impact, rippling like disturbed water.

  Still, this was not a position he wanted to be in.

  He was ceding the initiative. On the defensive. And that wasn’t acceptable.

  Mo Jian hadn’t seen Chao Qinzi use any sort of defensive tool or spell, and decided to punish that oversight immediately. He gestured at the ding, and it immediately fractured into three glowing copies—one remained around him, maintaining the barrier, while the other two shot forward like arrows. As they flew, the dings twisted, reshaping into gleaming swords—deep blue, with azure flames flickering along their edges.

  Chao Qinzi barely spared them a glance.

  He snorted—dismissively.

  The swords struck.

  A shimmer—an invisible barrier Mo Jian had failed to sense—flared into view. The swords slammed into it and bounced away, but not without consequence. The shield cracked, then shattered completely in a burst of light. Chao Qinzi himself was flung backward, hurtling through the air. He barely managed to regain control before he hit the sea, hovering low and unsteady.

  The massive gourd halted its attack and returned to orbiting around him once more.

  Mo Jian pressed the advantage.

  The illusory ding encasing him shrank and solidified, hovering at chest height. With a sharp gesture, its lid flew off, revealing a churning vortex of blue flame interlaced with silver lightning. At once, the sky darkened. Black clouds rolled into existence overhead, thick and roiling with energy. Forks of silver lightning danced through them like serpents, writhing and converging into a single, titanic bolt that screamed down from the heavens.

  At the same time, Mo Jian flicked his hand toward the swords Chao Qinzi had previously deflected. They righted themselves midair, spinning together in a blur of motion, before merging into a single, massive blade. With a shriek of wind, it surged forward—an azure streak tearing across the sky toward its target.

  Both attacks struck at once.

  For a breathless instant, Mo Jian believed he had won.

  But then Chao Qinzi pointed at the gourd—and spat.

  What left his mouth wasn’t spit, but a swirling red mist, thick with the reek of blood and iron. It struck the gourd like a curse. Immediately, a massive orb of green flame erupted from its mouth, rising into the sky before twisting violently into the shape of a burning skull.

  The skull opened its jaws—no, unhinged them—and swallowed the descending lightning whole.

  An instant later, it exploded. A deafening roar split the sky as the skull detonated, unleashing a shockwave of green fire and distorted spiritual pressure that rolled outward like a tidal wave.

  However, the lightning was gone. Snuffed out.

  At the same moment, Mo Jian’s sword attack was intercepted mid-flight. The gourd spun with unnatural speed, placing itself directly in the sword’s path. The massive blade struck with a clang—and rebounded, deflected and sent tumbling back through the air.

  Mo Jian watched, grim-faced, as Chao Qinzi floated back up through the smoke until he was level with him once again—eyes wild, grin sharp with malice.

  “Haha! Not bad, not bad at all,” Chao Qinzi crowed, eyes gleaming with mad delight. “It seems you’re not just a deep schemer—you’re a powerful fighter, too.”

  Then, suddenly, his tone shifted again—greasy, conspiratorial.

  “Friend, why fight at all? We can share the girl. You can have her first, and once you're done, I’ll make do with what’s left. In fact,” he grinned, wide and expectant, “I know a fantastic method to refine her into a Cauldron. It’ll nearly double her effectiveness. What do you say?”

  A chill ran down Mo Jian’s spine.

  Chao Qinzi’s words were vile—but his smile was worse. There was something deeply, viscerally wrong about him. Even in a world where power often dictated morality, there were lines. He had not just crossed them—he had set up camp on the other side.

  However, his words told Mo Jian something important.

  First—he wasn’t a particularly strong fighter. For him to mistake Mo Jian’s average moves for true strength spoke volumes. Everything he knew about the original Mo Jian—both from his new memories and what he remembered from the story—suggested he’d been strictly average as a cultivator. If that was impressive to Chao Qinzi, then this man relied far more on tricks and fear than raw combat skill.

  Second—the mention of turning someone into a Cauldron.

  It was a practice as cruel as it was disgusting: forcibly turning a living person into a cultivation tool to enhance one’s own power. Most of the time, the victims were women. Moreover, given the people who practiced such things, it was always tainted by other, sicker desires and violations beyond just the spiritual.

  Just hearing him say it made Mo Jian’s stomach churn.

  Up until now, he had seriously considered retreat. If Chao Qinzi turned out to be too powerful, there was no sense in dying here. Yet now?

  Now he was certain. This man needed to be taught a lesson. Mo Jian was more than willing to be the one to deliver it.

  So, he smiled—pleasant on the outside, locking the boiling disgust behind a mask of calm. If he could get Chao Qinzi to drop his guard, the strike would be that much easier—and that much more satisfying.

  “You make a compelling offer, friend,” Mo Jian said lightly. “But before I agree, perhaps you could point out which girl you’re after? I’d hate for us to target different ones and end up with a... misunderstanding.”

  Chao Qinzi’s eyes narrowed. For a moment, Mo Jian thought he’d overplayed it.

  Then Chao grinned, sharp and lecherous. “Not a problem. It’s the sect leader’s daughter. Just a little thing now, sure—but give it a few years...” He made an hourglass shape with his hands. “She’ll ripen nicely.”

  Revulsion coiled in Mo Jian’s gut. From both his inherited memories and what he recalled from the story, he knew—the girl couldn’t have been older than fourteen.

  Disgusting.

  Still, he forced his smile wider and gestured down toward the island.

  “Excellent. Looks like we’ve got the same target, then,” he said smoothly. “And since I already have ties with the people down there, how about I talk them into lowering the shield? I’ll say it was all a misunderstanding—that you're now my honored guest. Once it's down, we strike together. Sweep the place clean.”

  Chao Qinzi chuckled, visibly pleased. “See? I knew you were the reasonable type.”

  Mo Jian gave him a relaxed nod, then turned his gaze toward the island. His voice rang out, calm and easy.

  “Bai Zhou!” he called. “It was all a misunderstanding. This fellow Daoist comes in peace. Open the barrier—I’ve taken responsibility for him.”

  There was a pause. Below, the Greater Dharma Sect stirred, rippling with nervous energy. Mo Jian felt the sect leader’s spiritual sense brush against his own—hesitant, confused.

  He responded with a quiet pulse of reassurance. Just trust me.

  Slowly, the golden barrier wavered—just a flicker, a crack of opportunity. Enough.

  Chao Qinzi floated a little closer, his back now partially to Mo Jian as he looked down on the island with a predator’s hunger. “Good. Let’s go together and cleanse the rot—”

  Mo Jian moved.

  His hands, folded behind his back, had been ready. The Heaven Enshrouding Ding—shrunk to the size of a peach pit—rested between his fingers, glowing faintly with suppressed power. Now, with a burst of qi, he hurled it forward.

  It tore through the air like a bolt from a crossbow, trailing arcs of blue flame.

  Chao Qinzi turned, but too late. The ding punched through the hasty barrier he raised and slammed into his abdomen. He folded over with a grunt as blue fire exploded across his body, igniting his robes and setting his hair ablaze. A raw, animal howl ripped from his throat.

  He thrashed violently in midair, writhing in pain and fury. Yet for all the screaming, Mo Jian could tell the damage was superficial. Striking Chao Qinzi felt like hitting old, dried wood—tough, weathered, and stubbornly intact. Still, it was enough to throw him off balance.

  Mo Jian recalled the ding back to his side, and simultaneously, flicked a sealing talisman forward, its lines glowing red-hot as they ignited midair.

  The sealing talisman landed squarely on Chao Qinzi’s chest, and red lines formed by the talisman characters burst out, crisscrossing his body. He struggled, howling and cursing, his entire face contorted in rage. “You rat, how dare you! How dare you! I’ll kill you, rip out your tendons, and make a cloak of your skin. Do you hear me? You are dead!”

  For a moment, Mo Jian was taken aback. Beneath them, the golden shield of the island had already solidified once again. Mo Jian shook off his hesitation and, this time, struck with his strongest attack. The Heaven Enshrouding Ding expanded once more—but this time, it didn’t stop. It surged outward, swelling past the size of a house, then a hall, then a village, until its vast form cast a shadow wide enough to engulf the entire island below. The air trembled beneath its weight.

  High above, the colossal ding rotated slowly, its sheer mass blotting out the sky. Compared to it, the two cultivators suspended in the air were like insects beneath a falling mountain.

  Mo Jian raised a finger, pointing directly at Chao Qinzi, who had grown pale and silent at his actions, and the massive ding slowly moved. Blue flames licked along its sides, flickering at first—then flaring all at once, as if the entire ding had been soaked in oil. Fire raced across its surface, and streaks of silver lightning arced within the glow, humming with violent potential. There wasn’t much distance to cover. The ding was simply too big. It had barely moved before it hit the tiny figure of Chao Qinzi like a boulder falling on a gnat.

  The impact detonated in a cataclysm of blue fire and silver lightning—blinding, immense, and deafening. It tore through the sky like divine judgment.

  The shockwave slammed into Mo Jian, hurling him back as arcs of stray lightning lashed outward. The clouds above were blown apart. The sea below surged into towering waves, and the golden barrier protecting the island trembled—then collapsed in a burst of light. He was left huffing and panting, his qi dangerously low.

  Slowly, the fire and lightning dissipated. The winds from the explosion abated, and Mo Jian could finally make out what had happened to Qinzi. He had to blink rapidly to ensure he was seeing correctly, but yes – Qinzi was encased in a huge, blood-red translucent lotus. It was in a sorry state – most of the petals had fallen off, and the base was cracked as well. However, it had done its job. It had blocked Mo Jian’s most powerful attack. His heart sank. He had suspected Qinzi might have one last trick—but he had hoped, foolishly, that his final strike had been enough to break it. Evidently not.

  However, Qinzi didn’t seem to have any confidence left for attacking either. He had gone pale and bloodless, and unlike before, he remained silent. Then, without a backward glance, the lotus sped off into the sky. He was fleeing. Mo Jian watched him for a moment in a daze before finally exhaling in relief. He had won.

  He hovered there for a moment, the adrenaline slowly leaching out of his system, leaving him shaky and drained. His qi felt like a half-empty well, a stark contrast to the overflowing power he'd wielded just moments ago.

  Below, on the island, a cheer went up. It started as a ragged shout from a few disciples closest to the collapsed barrier, then spread like wildfire, growing into a unified roar of relief and elation. Even through his exhaustion, a small, genuine smile touched Mo Jian’s lips. He couldn’t help but feel a little proud. In his last life, no one had ever cheered for him like this.

  Bai Zhou shot up from the island, coming to a respectful halt at a distance. He cupped his hands in greeting. “Senior, you drove him off. I am in awe of your profound abilities. Please, come with me to the sect headquarters to rest. I’ll prepare our finest room for you.”

  His tone was sincere, filled with genuine gratitude. Mo Jian paused briefly before nodding. He needed to recover his qi—and more importantly, he had to speak with the sect leader and his wife about Chao Qinzi’s goals. The demonic cultivator had been repelled for now, but there was no telling if—or when—he might return.

  Zhou led the way in a streak of purple light. As they flew, Mo Jian noticed disciples emerging from underground shelters, their faces alight with relief at their survival. They landed outside the main hall, where Bai Zing waited, flanked by the sect’s most senior disciples. The moment they spotted Mo Jian, all bowed deeply. He quickly waved his sleeve, signaling them to rise.

  “Senior Mo, please,” Zhou said, gesturing for Mo Jian to enter first.

  Mo Jian gave a small nod and stepped inside the elegant building. The scent of wisteria drifted through the air, while soft jade and pink hues soothed the eyes. The Greater Dharma Sect clearly had a refined aesthetic. In the center of the hall, a pool shimmered with floating lotuses, and from its heart rose a gracefully twisted tree. Its branches stretched toward the ceiling, heavy with small white flowers that glowed faintly, casting delicate light across the room.

  Impressed, Mo Jian watched as Bai Zing approached, her expression warm and welcoming. “Senior, we have prepared a banquet in your honor. Or, if you prefer, your rooms are ready, and Su Li can escort you.”

  She gestured toward a beautiful young woman clad in purple and white robes—clearly an elite disciple—who bowed deeply.

  Mo Jian didn’t hesitate. A banquet felt like a burden, and he was thoroughly spent. Rest and recovery took precedence.

  “Your hospitality is impressive,” he said, “but I would prefer to rest first.” He paused, then added, “Later, I hope to speak with you and the sect leader. I learned some things from the demonic cultivator that may concern you.”

  Bai Zing exchanged a quick glance with her husband before replying, “Of course, Senior. It would be our greatest honor. Su Li, please lead Senior Mo to his quarters.” Turning to Mo Jian, she added, “If you need anything, simply let Su Li know. She is assigned to serve you during your stay.”

  Mo Jian nodded politely but sighed inwardly. As an introvert, he preferred to suffer in silence rather than engage in unnecessary conversation. Su Li was likely to find her duties disappointingly quiet.

  Su Li led him swiftly to the top floor—the sect’s best rooms.

  Upon entering, Mo Jian immediately laid down formations to suppress spiritual sense and visibility, followed by others for protection and privacy. Only then did he allow himself to relax.

  The room was stunning—broad and open, with small corporeal clouds serving as chairs and tables. Behind a delicate partition, a bed carved from glacial jade exuded a comfortable chill. Lights danced across the ceiling, spirit stones arranged in constellations shifting in a slow, intricate rhythm. A small brook crossed the room diagonally, spanned by a narrow red bridge. Though he could cross it in a single step, he had to admit—the effect was undeniably pleasing.

  He let his shoulders slump and crossed to sit on a hovering cloud. It felt like the softest, most luxurious cushion in the world—soft enough to swallow him whole. He shifted around for a moment, savoring the sensation, then settled down. Straightening his posture, he closed his eyes and began to cultivate.

  He wasn’t aiming for a breakthrough—just accelerating his qi recovery—so the process felt smooth and simple. Or so he thought.

  When he opened his eyes again, night had fallen.

  Starlight spilled into the room in streaks of silver and shadow. Through the balcony doors, the island lay bathed in moonlight. The moon hung high, like a polished silver coin glinting in the dark—quiet and serene.

  He hadn’t realized how much time had passed. Some cultivators locked themselves away for years in closed-door cultivation, but it was still surprising how easily time slipped away when focused inward.

  Mo Jian rose slowly, feeling his qi circulating steadily through his meridians and dantian. Every channel flowed cleanly, the energy vibrant and whole. He had fully recovered what he had expended—and his mind felt clearer, sharper, rested.

  It was time to have that conversation with the sect leader and his wife.