Scheming for Ten Thousand Years

Looking once more at the tumultuous interplay of black and white energies, he felt a sudden clarity in his heart.

“As expected!”

A fiery gleam broke through the solemnity in Qin Chuan’s gaze.

From within the black fog, a small-statured figure slowly emerged, his ordinary face smeared with blood and twisted in ferocity—it was Shang Lu.

In his left hand, he tightly clutched a writhing lump of flesh, thick, dark-red blood seeping through his fingers and trailing in thin threads.

He threw his head back in a bitter laugh, raising his left hand to reveal the gruesome mass within his palm. “Look at this—the blood of my family is unlike any other, viscous and cold! Die, all of you! Let your deaths serve as burial companions for my second and third brothers!”

Witnessing this bizarre spectacle, the crowd’s expressions shifted uneasily, yet all produced their own magical artifacts. Only Qin Chuan stood empty-handed.

His devotion to alchemy had consumed too much time; all his spiritual stones had been absorbed into his core. There was simply no energy left to procure a magic weapon.

Even an ordinary spiritual sword required a hundred stones, and was hardly practical. Though the Hall of Fuluan was flush with resources, Master Su had not bestowed any treasures, and it would be shameful to ask.

He glanced at the others, who brandished talisman swords or pill treasures, their eyes ablaze with desire.

Before Qin Chuan could dwell further, Shang Lu’s mournful smile returned, his eyes glinting with a strange light. Whatever method he used, the surrounding black energy suddenly surged into his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears.

“Not good! Break his spell, quickly!” Wan Tong cried, lunging forward with her sword. The others followed suit, unleashing their own powers.

The resulting thunderous clash rivaled the storms raging above.

Shang Lu’s face twisted in agony, his voice tremulous, as if barely holding on. “Too late!”

“This Reversed-Life Sacrificial Array is about to gather nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine drops of soul blood. Then, it will refine the grand formation beyond the domain! Only four drops remain!” As he spoke, his expression shifted, mouth opening in a feral howl. Instantly, his body bristled, gray mist pouring from every pore, swirling around him and solidifying into a giant form, caught between reality and illusion.

“Our family’s bloodline is steeped in secret arts, the ability to summon Dust Qi! The more Dust Qi, the greater the power—hence, we are shunned by Heaven and Earth.”

He then turned to look behind him, his gentle gaze seeming to pierce the beam of light, the domain’s great array, Xiangliu Marsh, and falling upon another distant landscape, his voice uncharacteristically calm. “At last, I am going home.”

“You have touched the Corrosive Rain, so your soul blood can surely merge into this Reversed-Life Sacrificial Array…”

In a nondescript corner within the pillar of light, a shadowy serpent with two ridges on its brow coiled its body, staring intently at the sword atop the mountain, its eyes mocking. “This array cannot hold me; today I shall break free!”

Its final words faded into a faint hiss, barely audible beneath the roaring thunder in the heavens.

Within the sect.

An elder who had opened the domain gate bowed deeply toward the depths of the Azure Mountain Sect. “I ask the ancestor, is it truly worth sacrificing these children?”

Only silence answered him; even the celestial birds atop the sky did not cry, their wings beating quieter.

In the Hall of Fuluan, Master Su sat cross-legged upon a cushion, a cauldron burning before her. With a hand seal, a glossy black mineral was ground into fine sparkling dust and sprinkled into the flames.

Suddenly, she was distracted, as if sensing something. Though her expression remained poised, the fire beneath the cauldron flickered and spat, extinguishing itself.

Master Su frowned, troubled not for the failed batch of pills, but for something else. Rising, she gazed out the window, her eyes reaching toward the distant northern horizon.

“No matter the sect or the domain, no matter how this game is laid out, you will not die…”

Deep within the Azure Mountain Sect, in a secluded graveyard.

This place had long been untouched, cold and damp, quiet and serene, yet the spiritual energy was dense. The surrounding forest layered thickly, with no hidden paths.

No birds, no insects or serpents; the mountain knew neither sun nor moon, nor any change in weather. Lightning and rain could not penetrate, as if it had always been this way, the coffins lying still and silent.

“What time is it now? The domain is stirring greatly—is it about to open?”

“It must be the ninth generation. Wanghai is scheming, Mangfu as well. Old Shang played too recklessly, leaving such a hidden danger.”

“Third generation, your words are unfair. Though Old Shang was with Wanghai, his actions were extremely secretive, hidden within Mangfu for ten thousand years without our notice. Surely, he had grand ambitions and unknown allies.”

“Let’s not revisit old grievances. I only wish to know: when the domain opens, can even a trace of ancient glory truly return?”

This last speaker was the first-generation master of Azure Mountain, his voice hoarse yet otherwise unremarkable, nearly impossible to remember. When he finished, the graveyard once again fell silent, with no sign of when it might stir.

Shang Lu’s expression grew casual, his towering three-zhang giant form surrounded by murderous energy that lingered with every gesture. In the blink of an eye, he stretched out his massive left hand, striking toward the crowd.

The mist-solidified giant hand was unexpectedly strong, colliding with Wan Tong and the others’ spells and treasures. Amid the thunderous crash, they were thrown back, even their artifacts losing luster and falling to the ground, utterly outmatched.

Wan Tong let out a bitter laugh, despair overtaking her heart. Blood surged from her mouth and nose; already wounded, she now suffered further, unable to resist Shang Lu’s next attack.

The gray hand, large as a person, grew ever closer, blotting out the sky and her vision.

“I am ashamed—ashamed to the sect for failing to protect Qin Chuan, and for not finding the true traitor!” In her final moments, she finally noticed the strange connection between Kong Qing and Shang Lu.

Shang Lu had told her Kong Qing’s route—was he not afraid she’d meet him first?

In Split Sky Valley, after fighting Kong Qing, Shang Lu’s cultivation had not diminished at all? Unfortunately, she had been confused at the time, and ultimately stepped into doom.

Foster father, I am ashamed—I failed to repay your kindness and the sect’s nurturing, even leading others to a needless death. With these thoughts, she slowly closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks.

If Qin Chuan knew Wan Tong’s thoughts, he would have said, “It is the sect you serve that is truly the traitor.”

The mist-formed right hand thundered toward Wan Tong, intent on crushing her and stripping her soul.

Bang!

Everyone froze—there was no pain as expected. Opening their eyes, they saw a similar mist-giant hand blocking Shang Lu and the rest.

A strange brilliance flashed in Qin Chuan’s eyes; his sclera seemed layered, and staring directly brought a sharp pain.