The steam rising from the herbal tea was the only thing that felt honest in this corner of Bailing State. Jiang Dao sat in silence, his fingers tracing the rim of a porcelain cup, listening to the low, frantic murmurs of the Spirit Removers at the adjacent table. For half an hour, he didn't move. He simply absorbed the rumors—the whispers of vanished cultivators, the strange blood sacrifices staining the outskirts of the state, and the growing shadow over the world. But as the conversation drifted toward trivialities and local gossip, he signaled his attendants. The tea was good; it had a sharp, cooling bite that cut through the internal heat threatening to boil his blood. He had the shopkeeper fill several extra gourds and returned to the waiting carriage.
Ding-ling. Ding-ling.
The rhythmic chime of horse bells signaled their departure. The caravan, a small village on wheels consisting of dozens of souls, pushed forward through the dust. They traveled for another day and a night, the landscape shifting from rolling hills to the jagged, imposing silhouettes of the mountains. By the dawn of the third day, the horizon opened up to reveal the entrance to Yellow Wind Valley.
Yellow Wind Valley was not merely a geographic location; it was a monument to power. As the preeminent force in Bailing State, its influence was woven into the very soil. You didn't need a map to find it; you only needed to follow the fear and the respect of the locals. Upon arrival, Jiang Dao looked at the four attendants who had followed him through the freezing winds and the treacherous mountain passes. Their loyalty had been absolute, and it was time to settle the debt.
But there was a more pragmatic reason for what he was about to do.
Inside Jiang Dao's veins, the Fire Poison Malice was a roiling, agonizing tide. It was the price of his explosive growth—an excess of raw, violent energy that felt like needles of white-hot iron stitching through his muscles. He called the four men forward and, with a swift, calculated motion, struck each of them on the shoulder with a heavy palm.
He didn't hurt them. Instead, he opened the floodgates.
A decade and a half's worth of his excess cultivation poured into each man. It was a terrifying, exhilarating gift. For Jiang Dao, the relief was instantaneous; the sharp, stinging pain that had been his constant companion for weeks finally ebbed away to a dull thrum. For the attendants, the world changed in a heartbeat.
"You have served me well," Jiang Dao said, his voice as level and cold as a frozen lake. "This fifteen-year boost in internal energy is your reward. Cultivate it well when you return. It should be enough to push you into the Divine Strength Realm within the month. When you get back, seek out the Right Protector. Tell him I have authorized your promotion to Branch Leaders."
He detached a jade pendant from his belt—a symbol of his absolute authority—and tossed it to the leader of the group. "Take this. He won't question you."
The four men stood frozen, their eyes wide, their bodies vibrating with the sudden influx of power. To have fifteen years of high-level internal energy forced into their systems was like being struck by lightning and surviving. They felt the cold of the mountain air vanish, replaced by a volcanic warmth that surged through their limbs. They didn't just feel stronger; they felt reborn.
"We thank the Gang Leader for his grace!" they roared, dropping to their knees in the dirt. Their devotion, once born of fear, was now cemented in awe.
Jiang Dao dismissed them with a slight nod. He watched them depart before turning his gaze toward the valley. Yellow Wind Valley sat nestled in a gargantuan canyon, a fortress of limestone and ambition. The only way in or out was a single, narrow passage flanked by strange, black flora. These weren't ordinary plants; their leaves were serrated like obsidian knives, shimmering with a dull, metallic luster that suggested they were as much weapon as they were vegetation.
As he walked through the gates, Jiang Dao noticed he wasn't alone. Hundreds of Spirit Removers had converged on the valley. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and various spiritual fluctuations—some sharp and aggressive, others deep and suffocating. It felt less like a sect and more like a refugee camp for the powerful.
"What the hell is going on here?" Jiang Dao wondered.
He moved through the crowd, his presence unnoticed by the gate guards, who seemed too overwhelmed to vet every newcomer. In the center of the valley, a tall, imposing man with hair the color of bone stood atop the roof of a sweeping pagoda. This was the Third Elder, and his voice boomed across the plaza with a resonance that shook the lungs of those below.
"Citizens of Bailing State, fellow practitioners," the Elder shouted, his eyes scanning the sea of faces. "We are aware of the atrocities. We know the blood sacrifices have left no corner of our state untouched. Yellow Wind Valley has exhausted every resource to investigate these horrors, but the enemy is shadows and mist. Worse still, the darkness has breached our own walls. We, too, have suffered."
The crowd erupted into a frantic murmur. If the most powerful sect in the state couldn't protect its own, what hope did the rest have?
"But we will not cower!" the Elder continued, his voice rising. "Our disciples are spread thin across the Great Yu Empire, and it will take time to recall them. Therefore, Yellow Wind Valley is opening its gates. Anyone with strength at the Extermination Level or higher is invited to join our ranks. Stand with us, and we shall find the source of this rot and cut it out!"
Jiang Dao watched the reaction with a cynical eye. It was a clever play. The people were terrified, and terrified people sought the biggest shield they could find. By offering sanctuary, the valley was effectively absorbing every independent mercenary and minor practitioner in the region, turning them into a frontline defense force.
I don't need their title, Jiang Dao thought, but I do need that flower.
His original plan involved using the old Taoist's jade pendant to negotiate his way in, but the valley's sudden "open door" policy made that unnecessary. He could simply blend in.
As the sun dipped behind the mountain peaks, casting long, skeletal shadows over the valley, the registration process finished. To his surprise, the sect was generous with its accommodations. Jiang Dao was assigned a private courtyard—a quiet, three-room affair that felt more like a cage than a suite. He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes closed, letting his senses drift.
The temperature plummeted. Outside, the wind began to howl, carrying the first whispers of snow. And then, he felt it.
A pulse.
It was a cold, rhythmic vibration that didn't belong to the natural world. It was the same Yin Qi he had sensed earlier, but now it was localized, sharp, and hungry. It was the unmistakable signature of something ancient and malicious.
Jiang Dao's eyes snapped open. He didn't move a muscle, but his aura vanished, retracting into his body until he was effectively invisible to any spiritual detection. He sat in the dark, a predator waiting for a reason to strike.
Meanwhile, deep within the bowels of a subterranean hall beneath the valley, the Third Elder was no longer the dignified leader he had appeared to be hours before. He sat in the center of a stone circle, his clothes shredded into rags. His skin was the color of raw beef, bulging and pulsing as if a thousand snakes were fighting to escape from beneath his flesh. His body had doubled in size, his hands elongating into blackened, chitinous claws.
Behind him, two other high-ranking elders were channeling streams of dark spiritual energy into his spine.
"The Blood Malice... it's backfiring," the Elder wheezed, his voice a guttural rasp. "I nearly lost control in front of the recruits. I can feel it... I'm so close."
"Be careful," one of the elders behind him warned, his face pale with exertion. "The people we brought in today aren't all fools. If you lose control now, if you are exposed before the transformation is complete, we cannot protect you. You need to stabilize the Blood Malice before you consume more."
"I don't have time to stabilize!" the monster roared, half-turning with a face that was more mandibles than man. "The midnight hour is here. The malice is at its coldest. I only need five more. Five more Extermination-level souls, and the Fiend-Demon Transformation will be perfected. I will have the power of the gods, and this valley will be my kingdom."
He stood up, his joints popping with the sound of breaking dry wood. He looked like a god of the abyss, his back covered in jagged, bone-white protrusions. With a flicker of motion, he vanished into the shadows of the hall, heading toward the guest courtyards.
Back in his room, Jiang Dao heard the soft crunch of snow. Then, a knock.
"Brother? Are you awake?"
Jiang Dao recognized the voice. It was Han Guyi, a Spirit Remover he had seen during the registration.
"Go away," Jiang Dao said, his voice flat. "I prefer the silence."
"I understand," Han replied, his voice tinged with a nervous tremor. "It's just... something feels wrong tonight. A few of us are forming a pact. For safety. If you change your mind..."
The footsteps receded. Jiang Dao listened as Han walked away, joined by another man. They whispered about unity and survival, unaware that in the world Jiang Dao inhabited, unity was often just a way to die in a group.
Then, the silence was shattered.
A scream, high-pitched and abruptly cut short, tore through the night. Then another.
Jiang Dao was out the window before the echoes died. He moved like a ghost, his feet barely touching the ground. A few hundred yards away, he found them. Han Guyi and his companion were sprawled in the snow. They weren't just dead; they were hollow. Their skin was parchment-white, every drop of blood and spiritual essence sucked out of them in a matter of seconds.
The Yin Qi in the air was so thick it was almost visible—a greasy, black fog that tasted like copper and rot.
"So, the valley has a leech," Jiang Dao whispered.
A crowd began to gather. Panicked shouts of "Blood sacrifice!" and "It's inside the walls!" filled the air. The Third Elder—now back in his human guise, though his eyes remained a fractured, unnatural red—appeared shortly after. He played his part perfectly, feigning outrage and promising justice.
But Jiang Dao wasn't looking at the Elder's face. He was looking at his shadow. It didn't match the man's movements.
He waited. He watched as the bodies were carted away. He watched as the "supervisor" gave his hollow reassurances. When the crowd finally dispersed, retreating into their rooms to pray for a dawn that seemed increasingly unlikely, Jiang Dao didn't go back to bed.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a mask—a heavy, demonic face forged from cold iron. He strapped it on, his eyes glowing with a predatory amber light behind the slits.
He didn't care about the politics of Yellow Wind Valley. He didn't care about the Elder's descent into monstrosity. He wanted the Purple God Flower. It was rumored to be kept in the Restricted Area, a place guarded by the sect's most ancient seals.
He moved through the shadows of the pagodas, a silhouette against the moonlight. His Illusionary Form Technique was active, bending the light around him until he was nothing more than a smudge in the darkness. He passed the library, the armory, and the main halls, heading toward the northern cliffs where the air grew heavy with the scent of ancient herbs and damp earth.
Suddenly, he stopped.
A flicker of movement caught his eye. A massive, hulking shape was darting across the rooftops with impossible speed. It was shrouded in a black mist, its back a forest of serrated bone spikes. It was the monster from the subterranean hall, and it was hunting again.
Jiang Dao watched as the creature paused above a courtyard, its head tilting like an insect's. It didn't use the doors. It simply dissolved into a shadow and passed through the stone wall as if it were smoke.
A muffled cry came from inside. A few seconds later, the monster emerged, looking even more bloated and grotesque than before. It let out a low, wet hiss of satisfaction.
You're the one, Jiang Dao thought.
He didn't wait for the monster to find its next victim. He launched himself from the rooftop, his body cutting through the air like a spear. He didn't use a weapon. He didn't need one.
The monster felt the shift in the air a fraction of a second too late. It turned, its claws raised, but Jiang Dao was already there. He didn't strike to kill—not yet. He reached out with a hand that had been tempered in the fires of a hundred battles and seized the creature by the throat.
The monster's eyes widened. It tried to let out a piercing shriek, but Jiang Dao's other hand clamped down over its mandibles with the force of a hydraulic press.
"Don't," Jiang Dao whispered, his voice vibrating through the iron mask.
He didn't stay to be discovered. He tucked the struggling, thrashing creature under his arm and sprinted. They blurred past the sleeping courtyards, past the guards, and deep into a secluded ravine miles away from the valley center.
He slammed the monster against a jagged rock face, his left hand pinning its skull so hard the stone began to spider-web. He slowly removed his right hand from its mouth.
The creature gasped, its black blood dripping from its jagged teeth. It looked at the man in the iron mask and saw something it hadn't encountered since it began its transformation. It saw a predator higher on the food chain.
"One word," Jiang Dao said, his voice as sharp as the black leaves of the valley. "If you make a single sound that isn't an answer to my question, I will swallow your soul. Do you understand?"
The monster, the terrifying Third Elder of the Yellow Wind Valley, didn't scream. It didn't fight. It simply trembled.