50 Shadows of the North Wind Tower

But what was unexpected was that the invasion of demonic cultivators did not destroy the Shang family; instead, it was the righteous cultivators who nearly severed the last thread of the family’s bloodline!

Family members died or fled; some crippled their own cultivation to hide deep in the mountains, cutting themselves off from worldly affairs, wandering for an unknown amount of time. Fortunately, at the final moment, the Azure Mountain Sect rose to prominence. Out of gratitude for the Shang family’s salvation, they gathered the remnants of the old house and accepted them as disciples of the sect.

The old retainers, knowing that their secret arts would only bring disaster, made a vow that their descendants would never again practice them!

But ultimately, such words were spoken for outsiders. Perhaps the secret technique was already embedded in the bloodline, impossible to erase, impossible to reveal, impossible to teach—only transmitted quietly through the veins of the family.

The first three generations of Azure Mountain’s sect leaders had all witnessed that war; out of old friendships, they indeed treated the remnants of the Shang family with much care.

Yet the later sect leaders sought to strip away the great power hidden within that bloodline. Worse still, there was a long, dark era when the Shang family passed down its legacy through only one person at a time.

The clan chief became the sect’s stud, caged and bred, his spiritual blood and essence harvested day and night!

The eighth and now the ninth generation of sect leaders may have gradually abandoned—or perhaps simply discarded—such ambitions, and at last made up their minds to act against the Shang family.

They intended to sever the bloodline completely, to cast it into the dust of history, to cover up the shameful deeds of the past.

My uncle died on a mission outside the sect. My father and mother took their own lives before my uncle’s grave, leaving a blood-written plea to the sect to spare me and my two younger brothers.

I was only eight then; my two brothers were my uncle’s children. Luckily, we found another opportunity—otherwise, we would not have escaped death!

Shang Lu returned to himself, gazing at the four silent figures before him. Unconsciously, a thought emerged: “How wonderful it would be if we did not have this bloodline...”

Fang Mu, after listening to Shang Lu’s words, grew even paler, his porcelain-like complexion nearly bloodless.

All of them were descendants of the sect’s elders, and they had some vague impression of these past events. In outsiders’ eyes, the Shang family was still considered a prominent clan—just thin in numbers. Who could have guessed at such hidden truths?

Shang Lu’s account matched Fang Mu’s own memories almost perfectly, with hardly a flaw.

No wonder his father’s elixir chamber contained so many blood elixirs! No wonder the old records described the human body in such detail! At last, the origin of everything was clear. And that origin stood before him, in the form of this short young man.

Mustering his final strength, Fang Mu challenged Shang Lu, his voice trembling despite his effort to remain firm: “What makes you so sure your uncle’s death was orchestrated by the sect?”

“Do you remember, a few years ago, a core disciple from Purple River Sect violated the cherished daughter of an Azure Mountain elder?”

Fang Mu recalled the two events happened not far apart in time, and an uneasy feeling crept over him. “Of course I remember! But what connection is there between the two?”

“That Purple River disciple barely escaped with his life and returned to his sect—you must recall, for it was no small matter even then.

“Azure Mountain demanded his surrender, but Purple River refused. Yet in the end, the disciple took his own life before Azure Mountain’s gates—do you remember?”

Fang Mu grew all the more anxious, his gaze flickering. “And what of it?” His words were edged with hysteria.

At this, Shang Lu fell silent for a moment and looked at Shang Qi and Shang Ba behind him. “You tell it.”

Shang Qi was quiet for a moment, his eyes a little misty, but his voice was steady, his face still wearing a faint smile. “Do you remember—the Purple River Sect leader’s son, who reached the innate stage of Qi Refining?”

Without waiting for Fang Mu’s answer, he pressed on, as if he feared he’d never have the chance to speak again. “To reach the innate stage is impossible without extraordinary fortune; even among our own generation at Azure Mountain, no one has ever achieved it!”

“When my father’s corpse was returned, his dantian had been completely hollowed out, with no signs of struggle. And when he left for his mission, he didn’t take a single talisman or elixir.”

“In his storage pouch, there was only a letter for me and Xiao Ba. My father knew all along of the sect’s arrangement—he simply waited calmly for death and handed over his dantian to Purple River himself.”

As Shang Qi spoke, his tone grew colder. On the other hand, Fang Mu coughed up a mouthful of dark blood, caught by the chill wind and carried away, before he slumped backward and fainted.

For a while, all were silent. Wan Tong suddenly understood why their opponents had given them time.

With Fang Mu unconscious, he became nothing but a burden. The other three, himself included, now had no heart left to fight.

The will to battle had vanished from their eyes.

With a bitter laugh, Wan Tong realized they even had a deserter among them; he hadn’t noticed when the person slipped away, nor where he’d gone.

Qin Chuan had taken a Breath-Hiding Pill, shrouding himself in ghostly energy, crouched unseen just two zhang away in thick grass—taking advantage of the confusion to hide in plain sight.

The others never suspected anyone could be hiding in those weeds; it never occurred to them. Even Shang Lu believed Qin Chuan had died in the realm of chaotic shadows, and so only four had come.

“Time is almost up. I’m sure you’re all curious how I discovered you,” Shang Lu said.

Wan Tong was taken aback by the question. Though suspicious, he merely raised his talisman-sword defensively, eyes fixed on the group before him.

“It’s said the Formation Pavilion’s mastery of arrays at Azure Mountain is unparalleled, and the Forbidden Path seals heaven and earth. Yet, it seems reputation far exceeds reality! You’ve stood on this forbidden array for so long, and not one of you noticed a thing.”

Even Qin Chuan was surprised now. No wonder he’d felt something was off—there was a formation here. All he’d noticed was that the large stone nearby had been deliberately placed, which had put him on guard.

Wan Tong and the others were stunned by this revelation and quickly retreated two steps.

Qin Chuan frowned. The group, already shaken by Shang Lu’s words, now made a fatal mistake!

They retreated blindly, not knowing the situation. The other side had provoked them on purpose—clearly a trap. Staying put would have been far safer.

Sure enough, as Qin Chuan expected, Shang Ba sneered as the retreating group stepped back.

His ten fingers danced in the air, sending out wisps of gray air that merged into the gloomy void, striking at the feet of the four.

The earth trembled violently with a thunderous roar.

“Senior sister, fellow disciples—what Xiao Ba excels at is none other than arrays and seals. Please judge this technique I’ve created myself: the Shadow of the North Wind Pavilion!”

Wan Tong and the others were surprised. Daya and Nan Jin, both skilled in restrictions, were even more shaken. To master pills, arrays, and seals alike—each requires a touch of the Heavenly Dao and immense talent and fortune. To merge even two would be extraordinary; yet this Xiao Ba had combined both, creating the beginnings of his own path. His talent was truly remarkable.

With the Shadow of the North Wind Pavilion integrated into the array, a small region was now governed by its own rules. Combined with the power of prohibitions, every step became an immense burden.

It felt as if ten thousand towers pressed down on their shoulders; casting spells or reciting incantations was possible, but every step forward demanded tremendous effort and focus.

The chill winds within the array borrowed from the domain’s own gloomy breezes, whipping in from all directions, seeping into the skin and bones, disrupting the flow of spiritual energy.

“You two, break the formation now! I can buy you ten breaths at most. If you make no progress by then, we’re all dead!”

Qin Chuan, seeing their peril, was about to act—when the situation changed.

Wan Tong, among the disciples under the Postnatal Realm on Law Talisman Mountain, was the most outstanding—a gem, not dross.

Taking the Wind-LISTENING talismans from Daya, Nan Jin, and Fang Mu’s storage pouches, his eyes flashed with a strange light, and suddenly he saw threads invisible to others!

Among the arcane paths of pills, arrays, and seals, talisman-craft is the most mysterious, closest to the will of heaven; every symbol holds the logic of the universe.

Talisman cultivators call this mystery—Law.

As Wan Tong began his spell, Qin Chuan’s eyes flashed as well—he could not see the threads, but he felt them plucking at his heartstrings. Invisible, yet audible—felt.

Wan Tong wielded his talisman-sword without discernible pattern, like a child swinging a heavy stick. But as he slashed down, suddenly the air around the group lightened—as if the pressure of an upstream current, once blocked, now fell upon Wan Tong alone!

“Senior sister, rest assured! Forget ten breaths—this child’s array and restrictions can be broken by me, Daya, in only eight!”

Daya and Nan Jin, feeling the warm light from the Wind-LISTENING talismans, found their fighting spirit rekindled.

The first breath.

Shang Ba’s fingers danced, releasing more gray currents to interfere with the array, but his face turned pale at once.

His cultivation was no match for Wan Tong’s. Though Wan Tong was trapped, she held nothing back; even if the dam burst, she could withstand it—Shang Ba was not her equal.

Shang Lu, seeing little effect, patted the sweating Shang Ba on the shoulder, signaling him to stop.

Second breath.

Shang Qi opened the lid of his wooden cup again, revealing the pitch-black interior, and after a low chant finally summoned Ghost Seven.

Ghost Seven let out a piercing shriek, making Wan Tong’s hand falter, but the effect was minor—she quickly recovered, only a shade paler than before.

Seeing some effect, Shang Qi signaled Ghost Seven forward, into the array. But Ghost Seven began his own performance.

His entrance was imposing; his howl had some effect. But as he straightened himself, an entire breath had already passed.

Third breath.

Ghost Seven managed only to cover a single zhang’s distance in one breath—a terrifyingly slow pace!

Fourth breath.

Just as Ghost Seven was about to touch the semi-circular boundary of the array, even Wan Tong felt some apprehension. The ghost’s initial impression was truly daunting.