Domain of Whispering Winds

Bai Fan let out a mocking laugh, though it was unclear whether he was laughing at Fang Fei or Zhang Dai; either way, it mattered little to him. The countless beings in the world were no different from ants in his eyes, and the things he cared about were but a handful: cultivation, longevity, and...

After the demonstration of power, those disciples who harbored a hope of escaping quickly fled, leaving the square significantly emptier. With their departure, the oppressive mood within him finally settled into calm.

Bai Fan’s effortless killing only served to elevate the reputation of the Azure Armored Guard. He glanced around at the people nearby, paying no mind to the admiration in their eyes, nor to the sparkle in the eyes of female disciples.

When all was settled, he led the six Azure Armored Guards away. Among the disciples, a few knowledgeable ones suddenly shouted, “Farewell, Senior Brother Bai Fan!”

The rest finally came to their senses and echoed, “Farewell, Senior Brother Bai Fan!” Their voices merged into a wave that reverberated throughout the valley.

Qin Chuan, unwilling to stand out as an oddity, bowed with the others, quietly saying, “Farewell, Senior Brother Bai Fan.” Yet he couldn't help but feel his voice lacked something, a certain essence—perhaps a kind of 'spirit'...

He cursed himself for overthinking. What mattered now was to quickly register his name and return to the Sword Lodge to continue his practice.

Bai Fan’s presence weighed heavily upon Qin Chuan. If that mysterious Azure Snake technique had targeted him instead of Zhang Dai, he doubted he would have fared any better.

The world was vast, filled with countless cultivators of extraordinary talent. Qin Chuan knew he was lacking; to catch up, he must reach the Postnatal Realm within a year.

When the sect’s grand competition came, he would strive to see if he could touch upon the opportunity of the Innate Realm.

The Innate Realm was the ninth level of Qi Refining. Countless sought to cross from the eighth to the ninth, but few succeeded. The Innate Realm was not a mandatory step on the path. Even disciples at the sixth level could achieve Foundation Establishment, let alone those at the seventh or eighth.

Those who reached the eighth level were all exceptionally gifted. Most disciples considered Foundation Establishment at the sixth or seventh level.

With the obstacles gone, Qin Chuan registered easily, nothing noteworthy happened, and afterward he quickened his pace toward the Sword Lodge.

He cultivated until dawn, the exhaustion from a month and a half of pill refining nearly replenished. Even so, he had caught up to his pre-pilling state. If he fully recovered, he would likely surpass it by far; his soul seemed tempered by the furnace, thickened by nearly thirty percent.

He was delighted; it was an unexpected fortune. He was certain that once his soul had fully recovered, paired with the Dust Art, his control over spiritual energy would be stronger than before.

Even if Bai Fan’s Azure Snake attacked him head-on, at the very least, he could react, if not counter it in some way.

Yet, his spiritual energy showed no growth, which had become his greatest obstacle. Ordinarily, if a disciple consumed as many pills and used as many spirit stones as he had, they would have broken through to the third level of Qi Refining by now.

His spiritual energy was abnormally condensed, but he could not break through, nor could he sense the arrival of a bottleneck.

This left him puzzled as to his current strength; in this past month, he had had no suitable opponent to compare with. Even on Linpu Mountain, if he had wished to end the farce quickly, Lei Ya would not have lasted a single exchange. His subtle spiritual energy, paired with agile movements and fist technique—not to mention the daily refining of sword intent, which made his swordsmanship increasingly natural.

He needed to learn a movement technique; whether for travel or combat, it would be a great boost. Once this visit to Qingyang was over, he would seek a movement technique in the Scripture Pavilion.

With these thoughts in mind, he hurried toward Qingyang. The Yin-Yang Thunder Pearl was finally refined, potent enough that he could give a few to Zhang Huai and Zhu Ran for protection.

Dew clung to the leaf tips, catching the morning light and making his body slightly chilled—it seemed autumn was near. In childhood, elders would remind him to dress warmly before going out, but such days were long gone.

He traversed roads and paths, climbed hills and valleys, passing many outer disciples rushing to fulfill sect tasks for meager resources to support their cultivation.

Qingyang Mountain, among the myriad peaks, was ordinary—not tall, not short, not broad, not thin—but to Qin Chuan, who had lived there for half a year, it was familiar.

He chose the nearest mountain path and quickly reached the mountainside. From afar, he saw smoke rising—someone was already cooking spirit rice.

Spirit rice was a rare treat in Green Mountain Sect. These registered disciples usually subsisted on fasting pills, cooking porridge only every few days.

Thinking of this, Qin Chuan couldn’t help but smirk, wondering when Zhang Huai and Zhu Ran would reach the first level of Qi Refining.

The path he took did not pass by Xing Hua’s pavilion, but went straight to the Qingyang registered disciples’ courtyard.

To avoid disturbing others, Qin Chuan slipped past unnoticed, planning to climb through the window into the side room. But with so many people around, someone spotted him. Though surprised, the watcher raised no alarm, so Qin Chuan let it be.

Standing beneath the window, he heard no snoring from Zhang Huai, which surprised him—at this hour, he usually napped, but today was different.

Puzzled, he carefully opened the window, slipped his arm through, and vaulted silently onto the sill.

He was about to look at his two companions in the dim room when a sudden chill seized him, as if a venomous snake had wrapped around his neck!

Just as he was about to retreat, a voice called out, “Qin, why have you come?”

Looking closely, the speaker was none other than Zhu Ran. Cold sweat slid down Qin Chuan’s neck. “Is that… you, Zhu Ran?”

There was no candle lit in the room; only faint daylight gave him a glimpse of Zhu Ran’s outline. Though he recognized the voice, it trembled, leaving him unsettled.

Zhu Ran seemed glad to see him. “Come in, don’t hang by the window like a monkey.”

Once Qin Chuan calmed himself, he saw the familiar room and wondered if he was overthinking things. Perhaps his damaged soul was causing hallucinations; he’d rest after this affair.

The window was not high, so he hopped down easily. Seeing Zhu Ran bleary-eyed, he asked softly, “Why are you alone? Where’s Zhang Huai?”

“Don’t you know? Zhang Huai broke through the barrier and reached the first level of Qi Refining—he’s now an outer disciple!”

Zhu Ran looked surprised, folding his blanket and dressing as he spoke, then fetched water to wash.

Qin Chuan felt both joy and worry.

In Crooked Date Village, Zhang Huai’s family was well-off thanks to a windfall in earlier days, accustomed to comfort and less prone to odd ideas.

Had Qin Chuan not possessed the Dust Art and reached subtle mastery of spiritual energy, he would have lost to Lei Ya long ago. But Zhang Huai was different, without treasures or techniques.

He spent his days carrying scraps of unknown origin, thinking them precious thanks to tales and hearsay, even biting his tongue to drip blood on them in secret.

“Do you know which mountain Zhu Ran frequents?”

Outer disciples differed from inner disciples—they had neither master nor lineage. The sect left them to their own devices, and even if they found a teacher, it was usually a cultivator unrecognized by the sect.

Qin Chuan, after the ceremony, became a disciple of Fu Luan, earning inner disciple status. If Xing Hua wanted to accept disciples, it was allowed, but those without a lineage remained outer disciples.

The distinction was vast—resources, techniques, privileges—all different.

“I heard he went to the Southern School for body refinement…”

Zhu Ran hadn’t finished when the side room door burst open.

Xing Hua entered, surprised by the scene, and shouted, “Ah? You’re really here?”

Qin Chuan’s heart skipped a beat—he’d spent days focused on pill refinement and had forgotten something crucial!

“Do you know the Listening Wind Domain opens at noon today?” Xing Hua saw Qin Chuan pale and sighed inwardly.

“Well, there’s little time left. I’ll see you off. Let’s hope you make it…”

Xing Hua handed Qin Chuan the Listening Wind Token won from Wen Yuan, reminding him that today was the domain’s opening.

At the time, Qin Chuan didn’t know what the Listening Wind Domain was, but since there was a month to go, he paid it little mind.

But now, having just finished refining the necessary pills, the domain was opening.

Stories of the Listening Wind Domain surfaced in his mind, uncertain if they were true.

The Listening Wind Domain was once an ancient battlefield where countless demons and cultivators met their end, eventually forgotten by time.

It wasn’t until the Green Mountain Sect established a monument there that, by coincidence, the domain was opened.

Yet the domain had many restrictions, and even after thousands of years, it was not fully explored.

The sect had paid a heavy price to gain some understanding, setting up arrays and barriers to make it a place of heritage and secret transmission.