Seizing the Foundation and Nurturing Vitality

In the span of a single breath, Shi Xin’s trembling began at his arms and spread throughout his body, as if shaken by a sieve, his face pale as gold leaf. Even Qin Chuan could sense the man’s aura rapidly fading.

Wan Renmian’s condition was far better. A jade token, half the size of a palm, lay quietly on his chest, emanating faint glimmers that shielded his mind.

Qin Chuan’s gaze flickered, raising his Moonblade and aiming at Wan Renmian’s back, but for a long time, he hesitated and could not strike.

“What’s wrong? Won’t you stab?” Wan Renmian sneered, his face somewhat pale as he took out a pill and swallowed it, speaking with deliberate calm. “I know why you can’t bring yourself to do it. You want both of us to join forces, extract the Blood Pill, and, like a mantis stalking a cicada with the oriole behind, seize the pill for yourself.”

“But there’s something you don’t know. The secret method of the Blood Pill is one of the Mystical Heart Sect’s arcane arts. Without cultivating their heart method, even if you swallow it, you’ll barely harness a fraction of its power.”

“The potent medicinal energy will accumulate and not disperse, damaging your dantian—a hundred harms to one benefit. You should weigh the risks in your heart.” Wan Renmian’s breathing grew heavier.

Fortunately, the Blood Pill was separated only by a thin layer of water and could be faintly seen.

“Oh? Wouldn’t it be better to kill you now?” Qin Chuan’s words suggested otherwise, as he lowered the Moonblade, sensing more to Wan Renmian’s tale.

As expected, Wan Renmian continued, “The Blood Pill isn’t suited for you, but I possess a method to seize the foundation and nurture the breath, which can strip Shi Xin’s cultivation!”

Qin Chuan was genuinely surprised and blurted, “Shi Xin is the medicinal vessel?”

“Indeed. The Blood Pill was widespread in ancient times, before being shunned by heaven and earth, and gradually declined. Most secret techniques are lost, save for the Mystical Heart Sect’s, which survived due to its stringent conditions.”

“And the harshest of those is the medicinal vessel!” The vessel must willingly offer all their essence without resistance, making the process exceedingly difficult. Even illusions cannot force it to succeed.

Shi Xin’s experience, however, was different. Everything he saw was subtly guided by Wan Renmian—not illusion, but something more insidious.

Moreover, after the Blood Pill forms, it brings an innate demonic nature. This demonic nature interacts with obsession, resulting in Shi Xin’s current state—like an addict, his flesh wasting away, yet he continues relentlessly.

“The Blood Pill consumes flesh and blood, but the foundation in the dantian remains intact. If you protect me during this time, I will share the method to seize the foundation with you.”

Though the Blood Pill belongs to the demonic path, the method to seize and nurture the foundation is different. Many sects secretly use it, but it’s a closely guarded secret, reserved for core disciples. Even elders in the cultivation world keep vessels without reproach.

“Very well, as you wish!” Qin Chuan’s eyes flashed coldly as he looked at Shi Xin.

As they spoke, the blood cord was pulled another half inch, revealing the edge of the Blood Pill.

The pill was entirely crimson, translucent as jade, its surface tight with fine patterns resembling a maiden’s skin, shimmering in moonlight as if breathing.

Qin Chuan’s eyes widened, fixed on the Blood Pill, unknowingly stirred by its demonic allure.

His heart thudded, a wave of heat rising within him. Suddenly, a coolness surged from his dantian, dispersing the chaotic thoughts.

His expression shifted, and he stepped back in shock.

He realized why Shi Xin and Wan Renmian didn’t kill—once tainted by resentment, the demonic thoughts to be endured are a thousandfold greater than others’.

For a moment, he nearly succumbed, and had his Clear Dust Pill not given him clarity, he would have fallen as well.

He glanced at Wan Renmian with a grave expression.

This man, whether consciously or not, used his words to entice Qin Chuan’s greed—had it not been so, his mind wouldn’t have faltered so easily.

Qin Chuan retreated several steps, opening a distance of nearly thirty feet, almost reaching the thicket behind him.

Within the thicket, the hooded man watched Qin Chuan lose composure, his cold smile vanishing. Seeing Qin Chuan step back, his brows furrowed deeply, as if puzzled.

“Most of these people were killed by me. If I approach before the demonic aura of the Blood Pill dissipates, it’s almost certain death!”

He lowered his hood even further, not daring to look at the blood pool.

With no one interfering, the extraction of the Blood Pill was exceptionally smooth. As the altar rose from the pool, it quickly decayed, leaving not a trace behind.

The blood cord, thick as a thumb, met the same fate.

The Blood Pill fell steadily into Wan Renmian’s hand. He did not immediately swallow it; the aura was too intense, and consuming it unprepared would surely cost him his mind.

He looked at Qin Chuan, three yards away, a cold smile on his lips, unaware that beyond the thicket, another watched the pair with icy intent.

No—just the two. Shi Xin, once fully emerged from the blood, trembled violently and collapsed, barely clinging to life.

His eyes were sunken, body ashen, devoid of blood. If not for his gaze locked on the Blood Pill, he’d be indistinguishable from the dead.

Wan Renmian showed no pity, only fed him a pill to prolong his life.

Since his scheme failed, he refrained from further tricks.

He knew nothing of Qin Chuan’s origins, and at this critical moment dared not risk anything. Besides, he hadn’t fought in over a decade and lacked absolute confidence.

He slapped his storage pouch and produced a stack of talismans—common cinnabar charms.

He took one, intending to paste it on the Blood Pill, but before he could approach, the talisman burst into flames, smoke drifting by, and upon inspection, only brittle ashes remained.

This ordinary warding charm was only slightly more effective than the yellow paper talismans made by wandering priests.

Its efficacy was poor, but he had quantity.

Perhaps from years spent in these deep forests, he only managed to sketch the charms imperfectly from ancient texts.

He knew none of the advanced warding talismans.

Wan Renmian was patient—even Qin Chuan grew weary watching.

To ensure each charm’s effect fully manifested, he only used three or five at a time, and the thick stack numbered about a hundred.

When the last charm was expended, he finally managed to stick one on the Blood Pill.

As Qin Chuan hesitated, Wan Renmian drew out another, even thicker stack from his storage pouch.

Ten, thirty, fifty, eighty, a hundred and more!

Qin Chuan’s eyes narrowed. “Hm, the effect isn’t bad.”

When the final few sheets were pasted onto the Blood Pill, the talismans burned steadily, finally sputtering out as the flames died.

Just as Wan Renmian’s face lit up with joy, lowering his guard for a moment, a silver-white longsword rested on his shoulder.

“Hand it over!”

“What?”

Qin Chuan sneered. “I’ll count to three.”

“Three.”

“Two...” The word was heavy, deliberately prolonged.

As he was about to say “one,” he pressed slightly, the blade slicing with a faint tearing sound.

“Wait! I’ll give it to you!” Wan Renmian’s eyes widened, gasping for breath.

He had gambled that Qin Chuan was bluffing, but in that instant, the shadow of death truly enveloped him.

His heart pounded violently, chest heaving.

“He really means to kill me!”

Wan Renmian prided himself on insight and understanding, but at that moment, panic seized him. He glanced furtively at Qin Chuan’s gaze, colder than moonlight, and his scalp tingled.

“Just—just wait!”

Composing himself, he quickly dispelled his fear, slapped his storage pouch, and took out a booklet wrapped in oil paper.

“Here.”

Qin Chuan reached to take it, not noticing the vicious glint in Wan Renmian’s eyes.

As his fingers and the oil paper met, Wan Renmian jerked his shoulder and flung the booklet far into the blood pool.

Qin Chuan hadn’t expected this, so he casually flicked his sword, tapped his toe, and lunged for the booklet. Wan Renmian, prepared, sidestepped before he appeared.

The sword struck a stone on the ground, splitting it in two.

Taking advantage, Wan Renmian clutched the Blood Pill and bolted toward the forest.

Just as he was about to disappear into the depths, ready to hide and cultivate for years, a sudden change occurred.

From the side, a green wind blade slashed, not powerful but exquisitely precise. Had he moved half a step further, it would have severed his head.

Wan Renmian, though out of practice, retained his vigilance. Startled, he stopped abruptly.

The wind blade whistled past his nose, slicing a strand of hair, which floated downward as if untouched by resistance.

“Who are you? How do you know the Mystical Heart Sect’s arts?”

Wan Renmian was aghast—not just at the sudden intruder, but at the familiar technique.

The figure stepped out from the woods, walking languidly, removing his hood.

“Yu Ce! How could it be you?”

“Why shouldn’t it be me?”

“My sect has plotted for over twenty years; why shouldn’t it be me?”

“Did you truly think obtaining the secret teachings was your fortune? What you saw was merely what the sect wished you to see!”

Wan Renmian’s gaze trembled as he recalled his entrance to the sect, the “chance” acquisition of the secrets, his betrayal—thinking back, it was chilling.

Each detail seemed unconnected, but now, it felt as if a thread linked them all.

“And Shi Xin?”

“He volunteered for death, as you said, just a medicinal vessel. When the sect took him in, he was nothing but a terminally ill, ordinary youth.”