Chapter 46: The Supreme Path of Forgetting Emotions

One of the others, in stark contrast, appeared gaunt and withered, resembling an elderly man of seventy or eighty. His eyelids drooped, spiritless, like an eggplant struck by frost. Were it not for the pale, almost delicate hands extending from his sleeves, one might have mistaken him for an ordinary old man on the street.

As the girl approached, Qin Chuan took a cautious step back, warning her not to come any closer. None of those gathered here were easy to deal with, and Qin Chuan had already noticed certain oddities about the girl. He could not afford to let down his guard.

“Stop there. If you have something important to say, speak now,” Qin Chuan interrupted, preventing her from coming any nearer.

“Little brother, if you don’t want to die, you’d best obediently join my group...” The annoyance in the girl’s eyes flashed and was gone, her words though laced with murderous intent, were soft and tender, almost enough to melt into Qin Chuan’s ears.

Qin Chuan was about to refuse when the silent old man finally spoke. “The time has come. The opening of the Boundary Gate is of great importance. You must retrieve a stalk of Mystic Dust Grass.”

“The records state that three such stalks will appear. You will split into three groups, each responsible for one.”

“When the moment comes, I will use this formation’s power to open the gate for three breaths. Pass through quickly. If you exceed the time limit and become lost in the turbulent Nether Domain, you’ll have no one to blame but yourselves.”

With that, he began chanting an incantation. With a sharp cry, a fierce spiritual light flew from the center of his brow, swelling with the wind and condensing in midair into a great purple cauldron.

The old man’s face blanched. He bit the tip of his tongue and spat forth a mist of blood, which shrouded the purple cauldron, making it appear all the more sinister. Once the cauldron absorbed all the blood mist, it once again grew several feet taller, almost rivaling the enormous cauldron suspended above the clearing.

“Rise... rise, rise!” he chanted, raising his hand and sending the purple-red cauldron crashing into the great one above.

A resounding clang rang out—not through the ears, but imprinted directly in the mind, radiating outward in waves that struck the ephemeral Boundary Gate.

The gate, a ghostly image formed of swirling gray mist, shuddered as the waves crashed over it; the ashen color peeled away like flakes of rust, revealing a shimmering light screen within.

The light screen hung half a foot above the ground, and were it not for the eight thick, blue-black iron chains anchoring it, it would have floated away. Through the screen, one could make out the Wind Listening Domain beyond—grasses bent low by fierce gales, branches of shrubs bowed against the wind.

“Hurry inside!” The old man’s cheeks flushed as he spoke, clearly pouring all his strength into maintaining the gate.

Seeing the gate open, the girl shed any pretense of timidity. She hurriedly withdrew a stalk of grass resembling foxtail from her pouch. “Take this Shade Branch. With it, you’ll pass safely through the gate.”

Qin Chuan hesitated, but seeing the others behind the girl each produce similar herbs, he quickly accepted the Shade Branch, stepped forward, and entered the gate.

Though they had only three breaths, the small number of people made it sufficient; one after another, they passed through. As the last person entered, the curtain of light flickered and fell silent.

The gray mist reformed, slowly enveloping the gate once more. The old man’s flush faded, and after swallowing a pill, the pallor of his cheeks eased a bit. He meditated briefly, cast a deep look at the gate, then departed.

This Wind Listening Domain was both the most dangerous and the safest place, unbroken by outsiders for thousands of years.

This journey into the land of inheritance was both an opportunity and an extremely perilous mission. He hoped some would return safely, and some would never come back.

As for Qin Chuan—

He stepped into the light, buffeted by erratic gray currents that stung his face and forced his eyes shut. It was as if countless gray serpents twisted around him, seeking to burrow into his flesh.

The currents even seeped through his clothing without resistance. Focusing his mind, he circulated his spiritual energy to resist the outside forces, forming a hazy barrier around himself.

He could vaguely sense himself in a mysterious realm, with no up, down, left, or right—no concept of time, as though this was the turbulent Nether Domain the old man had spoken of.

Strange as this place was, he felt no panic. The sect had gone to great lengths—not to send him to his death.

He had learned the details beforehand and was prepared.

This Wind Listening Domain was also called the Dust Realm of Yin Winds. Everywhere he looked, currents of dust and mist swirled. Ordinary cultivators who entered would trigger a phenomenon known as “Dust Burial.”

But lower-level disciples could use the Wind Listening Token to slow the erosion of the dust. If he activated the token in his pouch, the dust would not resist him so fiercely.

Yet suddenly, a peculiar thought arose: this Dust Burial was so similar to his own Yin-Yang Thunder Pearl!

The deeper a cultivator’s practice, the less dust within, and the more violent the Dust Burial. Resonance between spiritual and dust energies meant that a Foundation Establishment cultivator stepping in might be swept away instantly.

The Dust Breath Mantra surfaced in his mind, and his consciousness withdrew to his spiritual platform. Wisps of dust passed through his barrier, striking his body with muffled “puff, puff” sounds.

He shut his eyes tightly, relaxed his features, and relinquished focus everywhere—even his heartbeat slowed, once every three, then every hundred breaths...

His lungs ceased to expand, his blood stilled, even sound faded; he sat alone in the turbulent darkness, like a stone statue, keeping watch through endless years.

Then, in silence, his soul’s mind’s eye opened. The formless, mist-like soul within him grew a pair of eyes—neither white nor black, but a bottomless void, as if they could swallow starlight across the cosmos.

Suddenly, a heartbeat echoed in the gray void—a sound not heard for countless ages.

In the haze, Qin Chuan’s awareness struggled, as if this were his final heartbeat, and failing to awaken now, he would never awaken again.

In that instant, his soul’s eyes acquired whites—no longer hollow.

He saw, as if he himself had become dust, wandering the turbulent Nether Domain for ages, drifting outside the bounds of heaven and earth. No longer in a state of detachment, but in utter transcendence.

A heartbeat in ten thousand eons—it called his soul back. In oblivion, all things return to dust.

For ages he had kept watch in a dream, and now, when he looked, all things were dust—even he was but a speck.

What is dust? Qin Chuan opened his eyes, and understanding dawned.

He did not know how long he had sat thus, his barrier long since shattered, no longer protecting him.

But was it needed? The dust was himself, and he was the dust.

Gray currents passed through his body unimpeded, even mingling with his spiritual energy without conflict, as if this had always been the order of the world.

When Qin Chuan opened his eyes, all his doubts were resolved. Why his spiritual energy had ceased to grow, why it clashed with the dust—now he understood.

“So that’s how it is…”

Gazing at the dust swirling in his palm, as if playing like a child, he smiled gently. He had only lacked a single opportunity—perhaps it awaited him here in the Wind Listening Domain.

Elsewhere in the turbulent Nether Domain, the others who had entered the gate—

The girl, the only female disciple to enter, was named Wan Tong, at the fourth level of Qi Refinement. Her expression was grave, one hand gripping the Wind Listening Token tightly, the other channeling the Shade Branch.

From time to time, she placed a pill in her mouth; here there was only dust, no spiritual energy, so she kept her reserves at the ready.

Seeing the last tuft of green on her “foxtail” herb fall away, she finally allowed herself a relieved smile.

She thought of the others, hoping silently that they would all emerge safely. Her thoughts lingered briefly on Qin Chuan and his weak cultivation, and she frowned.

She trusted the others to survive the Nether Domain, barring mishap, but Qin Chuan was unfamiliar, and the sect had made it clear—this alchemist must not die.

She offered a small prayer and pressed on. With a few quick steps, she reached the edge, and as she crossed the final threshold, the gray sky and currents melted away without a trace.

In the turbulent Nether Domain, there was no sense of direction—only the Shade Branch could guide the way. Without it, not one in ten thousand would survive, but would be buried in the drifting dust.

This was no secret in the sect. If someone lacked a branch, the sect would provide one before they entered.

Once Wan Tong stepped into the Wind Listening Domain, she surveyed her surroundings with curiosity.

The place was little different from the outside world, save that the sky was dim, as if shrouded in eternal clouds. The biting wind sliced through clothing, whipping the treetops and making them howl.

Strangely, the vegetation flourished without sunlight.

Once she acclimated to the winds, she nodded inwardly—just as the records described. The yin winds here truly did temper body and soul.

She spotted some herbs and ores, all containing dust energy, like Geng Soil Stone. She collected a few samples, not for their value but in hopes they might reveal the domain’s secrets.

Suddenly a shadow darted by her side—a short figure. It was one of the three on her left.

Startled by the sudden movement, Wan Tong relaxed only upon recognizing her companion.