Three years passed after Pope Qian Xunji's Grand Funeral.
Evening descended gently upon the border town of Lysia, a modest settlement tucked near the northwestern frontier of the Heaven Dou Empire.
The town was quiet, the kind of place where life moved with the rhythm of daily simplicity. Merchants were closing their stalls, and the smell of freshly baked bread and roasted meat still lingered in the narrow cobbled streets.
Children ran across the square, chasing each other with laughter, while a few soldiers patrolled lazily under the flickering orange glow of the street lamps.
To any observer, Lysia was just another peaceful town , untouched by the grand struggles of empires or the secret wars of Spirit Masters.
But appearances often lie.
As dusk deepened and the last traders shuttered their windows, a man cloaked in a dark coat emerged from the Baron's manor on the hill. His steps were deliberate yet cautious, the kind that came from habit, not fear.
This man was Baron Meng Li, the appointed lord of Lysia , a respected noble in the eyes of his citizens. Yet beneath his composed exterior lurked secrets few could imagine.
He moved swiftly through the deserted outskirts, toward the wooded mountain behind the town. The sky was dimming to violet, the first stars just beginning to pierce the veil of twilight.
Reaching a wall of rock, Meng Li stopped. His eyes darted left and right before he pressed his fingers against a certain rough protrusion, then another — in a specific sequence.
A faint grinding sound followed.The air shimmered, and part of the rocky surface dissolved like melting wax, revealing a hidden stone door etched faintly with runes.
Meng Li took a deep breath and stepped through. The door closed soundlessly behind him, leaving the mountain face as still and innocent as before.
---
Inside, a narrow tunnel extended downward, dimly lit by blue crystals embedded in the walls. The deeper he went, the thicker the air became — filled with a strange musky scent that clung to the throat.
Meng Li's boots echoed softly against the stone.He kept walking, the familiar tension of secrecy coiling in his gut, until faint sounds began to reach his ears.
At first, it was indistinct.Low murmurs. Ragged breathing.
Then, unmistakably—
"Ummmmm…""Yessssss… Master…!"
The further he went, the louder and more debauched the noises became , a chorus of gasps and moans mingled with rhythmic thuds that reverberated through the stone corridor.
Meng Li's expression didn't change. He had long grown used to this.
Finally, he stopped before a large, black-metal door. Pushing it open, he stepped inside—
And the full scene unfolded before him.
It was a chamber of decadence and corruption, its walls adorned with blood-red draperies and golden candlesticks that flickered with dim, yellow light. A faint incense burned in the corners , thick and sweet, masking the stench of sweat and lust.
In the center of the room, a man reclined amidst a dozen naked women. Their pale bodies twisted like serpents, their eyes glazed, filled with blind devotion as they clung to him. The man's movements were unrestrained, primal, almost ritualistic in their rhythm.
Meng Li lowered his gaze, as it seemed he had no right to look.
He fell to his knees, his forehead touching the cold floor.
"Ren Li… pays his respect to Father."
His voice was steady but tinged with reverence and fear.
The man's movements stopped. The moaning women whimpered as he gently peeled the one before him away. Slowly, he turned his head toward the newcomer.
As the dim candlelight caught his face, Meng Li bowed deeper, not daring to meet his eyes.
The man was a disturbing sight — a living contradiction of vitality and decay.His hair, long and gray-white, fell in tangled strands down to his back. His skin clung loosely to his bones, pale and almost translucent, as though all the blood had long abandoned him. His frame was thin, but his sharp, hooked nose and piercing eyes radiated authority that pressed down on the soul.
Each breath he took seemed labored — yet there was something in his presence, an aura that defied weakness.
The corners of his lips curled into a faint smile.
"Ren Li… it's been some time."
His voice was hoarse but carried a magnetic weight that filled the room. Even the women fell silent, trembling, their faces flushed from more pleasure.
If Qian Daoliu had been there, he would have recognized the man instantly.The resemblance was faint, yet unmistakable , he was Ren Xuan.
Ren Li lowered his head deeply, not daring to meet that gaze. He knew too well that this simple-looking old man, though suppressing all fluctuations of soul power, was his father.
For reasons unknown to him, his father had long ago abandoned the surname "Ren" and taken the name "Meng." From that day on, Ren Xuan had seemingly vanished from the face of the continent. No one in Spirit Hall or any major clan could trace his whereabouts. Records, portraits, even battlefield legends, everything about him had quietly dissolved, as if the world itself had forgotten his existence.
Yet Ren Li knew that the one standing before him was no myth.He was flesh and blood, but power, veiled in decay.
----
The Ren family is a family lineage—one that had survived these years not through influence or politics, but through a peculiar and brutal method of inheritance. Each generation's leadership was not passed down by blood order, but by strength and potential.
The most gifted child born of Ren Xuan in the generation would be chosen as the next patriarch. To produce such a child, Ren Xuan surrounded himself with the most talented women he could find—young soul masters with rare talents or bloodlines—and forced upon them his seed of legacy.
And it seemed none dared to resist.