Fifty-six days of heavenly thunder tribulation

“Impossible!”
Shang Lu dispersed the power of the giant. The spiritual energy within his body was already running low, and the last tiger-headed fog beast beside him was struggling desperately. If Qin Chuan did not die, all their efforts would be in vain.
“Who are you, really?”
His words teetered on the edge of madness, his breathing growing heavier, like a beast sensing its own impending death.
“Just a trivial skill, I dabble in it,” Qin Chuan replied lightly, uttering another nonsensical phrase, but to Shang Lu, it was a grating insult.
Caught off guard, rage overwhelmed him, and he suddenly spat out a mouthful of blood, staining the black mist, which began to churn even more violently.
“Fine, fine, fine!” He knew he was nearly doomed, yet he refused to surrender. With a turn, his gaze swept over everything between heaven and earth, a lingering affection flickering in his eyes.
“Second brother, third brother, Kong Qing—I cannot see the world beyond Mang Fu for you... Forgive me.”
He murmured, his expression growing calm. Yet in Qin Chuan’s eyes, he seemed far more dangerous than before; a beast at death’s door is always the most fierce.
That was why Qin Chuan did not strike as he turned away.
Now, the only hope was that Shang Lu’s spiritual energy, at the first stage of Qi Refinement, was nearly exhausted. Only then could Qin Chuan unleash a forbidden art with a sliver of chance for survival.
His thoughts reached this point, and resolve filled his gaze. Life or death, he would wager everything, leaving the outcome to fate.
Gathering the remaining spiritual energy within him, his hands danced—sometimes palm, sometimes finger, sometimes forming seals—striking the Baihui, Shenting, Taiyang, and thirty-six points throughout his body.
In an instant, gray mist poured forth from every pore, swirling with the external black fog, then receding into his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears.
His dantian withered abruptly, as if poisoned beyond endurance.
This black and gray vapor was, in essence, dust energy. The black mist was much denser, and even the Shang clan, whose bloodline could contain dust energy—a rarity in the cultivation world—could not withstand it.
Dust energy—the bane of immortal cultivation.
His dantian felt as though molten iron was being poured in, burning through his meridians, his whole body ablaze, his face twitching with pain, but his eyes grew colder still.

Once he activated this forbidden art, even if he survived, unless he encountered a great opportunity, his cultivation would hardly advance another step. The cost was steep, but what he gained was inexhaustible energy from the heavens and earth.
For a moment, the black and white energies wrapped around him, lifting him three feet from the ground. Any higher, and even he could not control it.
He slapped his storage pouch, taking out two egg-sized pills, his face contorted in agony. His dantian and meridians were burning, and every moment was torture. If he could not endure, his death would soon follow.
One pill was deep purple-black, the other pure white and red.
In the blink of an eye, he uttered a true incantation and gently sent forth the pills. Without a divine sense, he should not have been able to manipulate objects so easily, yet Shang Lu managed it in this brief span.
The two pills formed the duality of Yin and Yang, twining like two fish circling each other. With a crack, tiny arcs of lightning appeared, spinning faster and faster, blooming into a blazing white lotus. When its brilliance peaked, it shot upward, piercing the heavens with thunder.
The sky fell silent; even the thunder vanished, leaving a long, hushed pause.
“Boom!” Suddenly, a fierce wind rose, thunder roared, and light burst forth, illuminating the faces of all present.
Qin Chuan’s spiritual energy was indeed depleted, unable to launch any effective attack on the airborne Shang Lu. As he regained his senses, the blue thunder in the sky was about to descend.
“You think I’m only at the first stage of Qi Refinement? Ha!” His expression showed no panic, and he uttered a mysterious phrase.
Shang Lu’s heart sank; the hope that had just arisen was crushed, like a fleeting bubble in a mountain stream. Qin Chuan’s impression on him was too profound, especially that phrase, “Just a trivial skill, I dabble in it.”
Is there anything this man cannot do?
Qin Chuan’s face grew serious, his breath steady, the whites of his eyes overlapping once more. His gaze swept over everything—mountains were no longer mountains, water no longer water.
In this world, Qi Refinement did not originally exist. In ancient times, the human race was born innately gifted; as soon as one drew spiritual energy into the body, they formed the foundation.
Later, as dust energy mingled with the world, innate spiritual roots were buried, and Qi Refinement became necessary.
Thus, Qi Refinement was not about spiritual energy, but about dust energy.
Yet, looking at Qin Chuan’s lower dantian, it was empty of dust energy. He felt no bottleneck, for there was none.
Since Qin Chuan stepped out of the Turbulent Shadow Domain, a guiding force had always been within him—a deep, innate yearning, found only in that pillar of light: the white mist.

Dust energy condensed to its limit became black mist; spiritual energy, when condensed, also became mist, but unless one had built a foundation, it was impossible to absorb.
None of those present had cultivated a divine sense, so the subtleties eluded them. Only Qin Chuan and Shang Lu understood the truth.
If it were pure white mist, even Qin Chuan would not notice. But when black and white mist collided, countless dust burials swirled within. Qin Chuan, intimately familiar with dust energy, could not fail to recognize it.
He looked up at the blue thunder swirling above his head, his gaze sweeping across Shang Lu’s grave face and Wan Tong’s hopeful one.
A bold idea stirred within him.
He pointed to Ghost Seven’s forehead beside him, infusing spiritual energy laced with his will, instructing him to protect Wan Tong and the others. Then, he turned and dashed toward the chaotic zone of dust burial between black and white.
His actions drew gasps from those present, even Shang Lu was surprised, but dared not relax—this Qi Refinement stage cultivator was not to be underestimated.
With a wave, he pointed repeatedly at the blue thunder above, causing the two orbs to spin faster, drawing layer upon layer of dark clouds into a vortex.
“Heaven’s Execution Thunder Tribulation!”
“Just run! I’ll block this strike for you!”
Shang Lu and Wan Tong’s voices rang out together.
Two yards ahead of Qin Chuan, the dust burial roared, as if countless cultivators were detonating their dantian. As Shang Lu shouted, a sense of mortal peril flashed in Qin Chuan’s heart, but Wan Tong’s voice soon followed.
Gritting his teeth, Qin Chuan knew this thunder tribulation would be relentless—if he blocked one strike, another would follow, exhausting him until death.
He saw it; Wan Tong saw it too. Both clenched their jaws, their fate hinging on whether either hesitated, whether they trusted, all decided in a single moment.
And Qin Chuan, as if unaware of the cloud vortex above targeting him, simply kept running forward. Between the two, Qin Chuan chose to trust.