Under the blazing violet light, the [Whale Roc]'s talons flashed like lightning, piercing all resistance as they lightly tapped upon the very center of the [Li Dragon] python's brow.
A wound cut deep into flesh and bone bloomed across its forehead.
Violet python blood gushed forth. The [Li Dragon] was wounded!
This violet-eyed dragon python, whose strength was unmatched across [Hun Continent], had not tasted injury for so long that none remembered the last time.
Yet before the Roc's talons, neither its mana nor its scales could offer the slightest protection.
Within the python's gaping maw, the Prefectural Office of Hun Continent lay nearly deserted; everyone had left to attend the Grand Feast of the Sea and Sky.
When the great Roc swooped in and the Li Dragon bled, only one old Daoist emerged from seclusion, cursing as he stepped out.
"Damn my luck, where in the hells did this plague-bird come from!"
"All the able ones are gone, and only this old man is left to guard the house. Isn't this just bullying the honest folk?"
As he spoke, the Li Dragon spewed forth a torrent of Hun River water, surging between heaven and earth as it struck at the Roc.
But the foe was swifter than lightning, elusive as mist. The ponderous river-water shield sufficed for defense, but could never catch him.
The Roc darted about in blinding streaks of light, circling the colossal ten-li-long serpent body, talons darting in to strike whenever it sensed a weakness in the serpent's defenses.
Meanwhile, the old Daoist, utterly unruffled, strolled out of his courtyard and into the main hall of the Prefectural Office, the chamber where the Prefectural Governor held court.
At its center stood a simple, unadorned reclining chair woven of blood-red vines.
The Daoist lay himself down upon it, and in that instant, the vast reserves of his longevity surged outward, flooding into the chair.
This was the [Li Dragon] Spiritual Construct. With the infusion of his lifespan, its aura soared, its glow of power more than doubled.
The colossal serpent stiffened, arching its body into a coil, forming a python battle-array as it snapped at the Roc.
This Daoist, burning his lifespan to drive the [Spiritual Construct], was none other than Tao Qian, Superintendent of the Prefecture, Scholarch of Hun Continent, a [Longevity] cultivator left behind as guardian of the island.
Thus, he harnessed the [Spiritual Construct] and met the sixth-grade [Whale Roc] head-on, unleashing a battle of Violet-Eyes the likes of which Hun Continent had not seen in ages.
...
Elsewhere, the Roc had already drifted away, leaving its "good friend" Jing Qian behind.
Emerging from the [Void Realm], he now stood astride a towering wave, gazing into the distance where the Roc had vanished.
To fly… what a marvel. He wondered when he might gain that ability himself.
The Roc had flown north toward Hun Island, certain to stir up chaos.
But as for Jing Qian, the instigator of all this, he felt no concern for his homeland at all.
If the sky fell, taller men would hold it up. He turned his attention instead to the battlefield before him.
Though the whale had flown, the massive chain trailing behind it had been cast aside.
Three hundred zhang long, the chain pierced neatly through twenty [Azure-Wing] sea demons.
As the Island Whale endured its ordeal and transformed, these sea demons had not been idle; they had all been seized by sea-ghosts, their bodies becoming vessels, each on the verge of transforming into a seventh-grade Yin Corpse.
This year's Grand Feast of the Sea and Sky would be diminished, for this entire trove of prize game had been intercepted midway by Jing Qian.
He stood atop the wave, eyes glinting as he looked upon the twenty Azure-Wings, moments from becoming Yin Corpse, and rubbed his hands together.
Before him lay a trove of staggering wealth. But the challenge… equally immense.
To face twenty [Blue-Blood] Yin Corpse alone, even armed with the [Qingping Sword Casket] and his title as a Pure Yang [Spiritual Construct Disciple], was no small feat.
Yet already, he was exhilarated.
From marrow and blood surged an overwhelming will to fight, a fierce, unshakable resolve that swept all stray thoughts aside.
Why was it, of all twelve Daoist lineages, that the Pure Yang [Spiritual Construct Disciples] always suffered the highest death rate?
Just because the Sword-Casket [Spiritual Construct] grants such overwhelming power beyond one's rank, it drives its wielder to instinctively seek stronger foes and plunder richer resources.
This is precisely the cultivation nature of the [Pure Yang Ruins].
The orthodox cultivation it sacrifices for forging the Sword-Casket must be offset by seizing excess resources through battles beyond one's level, which alone restores balance.
Every generation of Pure Yang [Spiritual Construct Disciples] has been little more than a death-seeker. Jing Qian was no exception.
Unlike others, Jing Qian held not only the strongest spear but also the strongest shield.
With the boon of the [Sumeru] Life Pattern, he was overpowered.
He had become a Pure Yang [Spiritual Construct Disciple] who needed not fear death at all.
If certain great elders of the Dao lineages ever learned of this, they'd likely wet their beds from fright.
Who could endure such a thing? This boy must not be allowed to live.
Jing Qian slipped back into the [Void Realm], leaned against the warm hum of the [Void Furnace], and began plotting the upcoming war.
At this stage, each [Qingping Sword Qi] split from the Sword-Casket carried 1.3 times the power of his full strike with the [Qingping's End], yet cost only ten [White Fang Life-Essences] to unleash.
The potency of the [Qingping Sword-Casket] was self-evident.
In the Stele-Space tests, each ray of [Qingping Sword Qi] was enough to slay a high monk of the [Longevity] realm.
Such was the extreme killing force endowed by the Sword Dao's [Heavenly Mandate].
What's more, the [Blue-Blood] Yin Corpse before him, though branded with the power of a higher rank, was but a hollow shell, the weakest of seventh-rank beings.
To a newly anointed [Spiritual Construct Disciple] armed with the Sword-Casket, anything below [Longevity], so long as it bore no Spiritual Construct to shield it, was vulnerable. His sword qi could pierce, and once it pierced, it killed.
Among the lower three grades, a single [Spiritual Construct] was enough to bridge chasms of cultivation.
At this moment, Jing Qian's reserves held over 150 [White Fang Life-Essences], enough to strike fifteen [Qingping Sword Qis].
If relying on his own strength alone, he could kill but a handful of Yin Corpses.
And each carried within it lingering ghostly remnants.
Fortunately, the [Void Furnace] that served as his Life Furnace was another reservoir to draw from.
It held another 150 stored Life-Essences ready for battle, ready to be spent.
In all, thirty strokes of [Qingping Sword Qi]. To kill a seventh-rank [Blue-Blood] Yin Corpse demanded nothing less than absolute efficiency.
With the [Worldly Insight] fully invoked, the battlefield was mapped before him in perfect clarity.
On the Yin Corpse flickered an eerie gray-blue light.
Their networks of flowing mana revealed their heart-nodes, all plain in Jing Qian's eyes.
On each body, the nodes were countless, so many that it defied belief.
Whereas in ordinary [Longevity] cultivators, Jing Qian might glimpse a weakness or two, here he saw tenfold, twentyfold more.
Propped up by false strength, their cultivation was hollow, their power flimsy. No wonder their combat ability lagged.
A torrent of data streamed into his [Worldly Insight]; Jing Qian was perfectly prepared.
His state was honed to its peak, waiting only for the Yin Corpse to complete its awakening.
Crystalline [Qingping Sword Qi] curled around his fingers, flowing like liquid light.
As he toyed with the sword energy, he felt his soul resonate through it, mysterious insights faintly revealing themselves.
At last, the moment arrived. He struck.
A slash of [Qingping Sword Qi] pierced the void, spilling into the world.
A mere seventh-rank Yin Corpse could no more block the Heavenly Mandate of the Sword than clay could dam a flood.
The sword light cut through, cleaving the corpse vessel, felling it with ease.
What looked effortless was in truth the culmination of boundless fortune and countless tempered trials, the foundation of the supreme Dao.
Threads of silken light ensnared the corpse-shell, cutting down the ghost within.
A freshly formed seventh-rank [Yin Pearl] and a superb seventh-rank [Yin Bone] were pocketed in an instant.
Yet this war had only just begun. The revived Yin Corpse shook themselves awake, snapped the chains, and scattered in all directions.
Jing Qian pursued one, slashing again with [Qingping Sword Qi].
He needed to move faster. If the Yin Corpse spread, the fight would only become messier.
...
At the close of the Yin-Year, three great battles raged across [Hun Continent].
On Hun Island, a sixth-rank dragon python and a great Roc clashed in the fiercest combat.
Jing Qian, a mere youth, battled twenty foes alone in the most perilous field.
And upon the grazing grounds where humans and sea clans herded, the Sea-Sky Feast became the widest, most sprawling struggle.
There too, human cultivators wrestled with a seventh-rank Yin Corpse.
But lacking any decisive strike like [Qingping Sword Qi], they could only grit their teeth and fight on.
Though the Yin Corpse's arts were clumsy, their thick [Blue-Blood] life essence was not easily worn down.
Amid the ferocious clash, the casualties among the human cultivators gradually became evident.
Encircling the pastures, six great sea demons hovered tens of miles away, carefully watching the tide of battle.
Under Yang Jia's banner, the seven [Blue-Blood] sea demons save for the [Island Whale] had all gathered.
Together, those six demons dragged along ninety-two [Azure-Wing] sea monsters, and with the aid of ghostly wraiths, raised them all into seventh-rank Yin Corpse.
This was the fiercest "pasture harvest" in all the history of [Hun Continent].
From the vantage point of the great demons, the humans were barely holding the line.
Though several human [Longevity] cultivators fought valiantly, the sheer swarm of Yin Corpse could not be easily cleansed.
The steadily climbing human losses proved as much.
Without a sixth-rank Spirit-Subduing to intervene, even if the humans somehow slew every Yin Corpse, at least a third of their forces would perish.
This was the very essence of one continent's cultivation elite accumulated over generations. If too many died, the inheritance of [Hun Continent]'s human cultivators would falter, perhaps beyond recovery.
And if, in such dire straits, no Overseer appeared to turn the tide, then it would be certain something had happened to him.
The six great demons sharpened their claws, waiting for the moment.
If the Overseer were truly gone, the balance of power between human and demon on [Hun Continent] would collapse entirely.
The sea demons could then act with far greater boldness.
Among the six, a massive sea star squatted at one edge of the pasture, restless and eager to kill.
Yet it never noticed the faint bloom of blood drifting through the waters around it.
That speck of blood clung to the sea star's body, slipped past its mana defenses and armored hide, and seeped into its flesh.
The blood was strange, melding seamlessly into its body, unnoticed and unresisted.
Once inside, it stirred the sea star's own blood, quickening its flow.
Had Jing Qian been present, using [Worldly Insight] to examine that drop of blood, he would have seen its nature:
[Spiritual Construct: Honey-Blood]
Subjugation Requirement: Pattern of Spirit and Ghost; Pattern of Mountain and Sea
Life Burden: Five hours per day
The great sea star, ensnared by this Spiritual Construct's power, stiffened without a sound.
Unaware, its mana was slowly corroded and seized by the creeping blood.
The so-called "Honey-Blood" was like a cup of sweetened wine: sip by sip, the sea star grew drunk.
Drifting in the water, it slackened its protective aura, laying itself bare to the cursed Yin-Year.
At once, ocean wraiths caught its scent and slipped into its body.
A sinister power took shape, raising the stakes of the Sea-Sky Feast yet again.
After the [Island Whale] saved itself through transformation, another seventh-rank [Longevity] sea demon was about to evolve into a sixth-rank Yin Corpse.
A trickle of blood then threaded through the currents, meandering toward a second [Longevity] sea demon.
This was no ordinary blood, but the essence of Wu Jian, the current [Spiritual Construct Disciple] of the Blood River Sect, one of the Twelve Dao Lineages of the academy.
An accomplished [Longevity] cultivator, he had already schemed against Chi Ling and now plotted anew against both the local humans and sea demons of [Hun Continent].
His confidence in his cultivation was absolute; the fate of [Hun Continent]'s people meant nothing to him.
His strike would spawn several sixth-rank Yin Corpse, enough to shatter the battlefield entirely.
With that, the humans of [Hun Continent] would not only lose their homeland but also face disaster at the front lines.
The death of Luo Yaozhi weighed heavier by the day, and the weakening of power bred exponential risk.
And the arrival of one black-hearted [Spiritual Construct Disciple] threw boundless chaos into [Hun Continent]'s fate.
...
As for Jing Qian, he sensed none of this.
He remained outside such tangled webs, focused only on his own cultivation.
The slaughter of the seventh-rank Yin Corpse went exceedingly smoothly. Against the might of [Qingping Sword Qi], they had no defense. Jing Qian needed only to sit within the void and release his blades.
The [Qingping Sword-Casket] had completed its battle system attack or defense, both flawless.
The might of the [Pure Yang Ruins] secret arts shone in full.
Loose cultivators stood no chance against the heirs of the Twelve Dao Lineages.
By now, he had slain sixteen of the twenty [Blue-Blood] Yin Corpse, one by one.
For the first time in battle, his mana reserves were fully spent.
The last four Yin Corpses had already scattered, vanishing beyond his vision.
By the time he restored his strength, it would be nearly impossible to track each one down.
Yet even so, he was more than satisfied with his spoils.
Sixteen seventh-rank [Yin Pearls] dropped into the [Void Furnace], feeding the [Fate-Fire] within to reach a whole new level of brilliance.
Jing Qian could sense it clearly. Once his mana was restored, he could begin his sixth round of Burning the Body to Fatebinding.
While waiting for his mana to recover, he directed his mind into the Fate Stele space and gazed at the sixteen ghostly shades lingering outside, sinking into contemplation.
To him, these Yin-Year creatures were becoming ever more enigmatic.
He still hadn't figured out by what strange power they managed to push lower-ranked beings up into higher realms.
The energy gap between ranks was at least tenfold, yet when a ninth-rank wraith possessed a seventh-rank corpse, it suddenly rose to the seventh rank itself.
The source of this mana was equally untraceable.
Jing Qian couldn't shake the feeling that behind the wraiths lurked an inexhaustible reservoir of power, endlessly pouring strength into both corpse and ghost, forcing them upward in rank.
Still, unanswered questions did not stop him from exploiting this very trait to harvest resources.
Not just him, the entire cultivation world treated the Yin Year as a year of opportunity.
For Jing Qian, this first Yin Year of his life had already yielded staggering rewards.
Sword-qi surged as he cut down the sixteen ghost shades beyond the safe zone, wondering what kind of critical memories seventh-rank wraiths might contribute.
The Yin Year hid vast causes and consequences, deep secrets, but also immense fortune and limitless prospects.
Looking back over the year, he still regarded the "Blood River Book of Impermanence and Abyssal Prison" as the text he had wrested from a ghost's soul as his single greatest gain.
Nearly two years had passed since he descended into this world. His ninth-rank cultivation was nearly perfected; he had forged a solid foundation, only a step away from condensing his Dharma Manifestation.
Yet his current inherited arts could no longer sustain his progress. This lack of transmission severely hampered his pace.
[Hun Continent], remote and weak, ranked at the very bottom among the empire's twenty-four sub-continents.
Here, not a single cultivation lineage was strong enough to be placed under the Academy's supervision. Thus, under Tao Qian's oversight, the Scholastic Office was mostly hollow, little more than a place to manage [Life Furnaces] and bureaucratic inheritances.
If not for the Dao Book he had unearthed from the wraiths, Jing Qian would already be considering leaving [Hun Continent] in search of a higher path.
Now, however, all his hopes were pinned upon this Dao Book.
For over a year, his [Worldly Insight] had ceaselessly parsed and deciphered its contents, but always fell short, lacking key pieces of information.
Now, with the slaughter of sixteen wraith avatars, pure streams of knowledge flowed into his mind, absorbed by [Worldly Insight].
Inside were vast sections on the refining of [Life Patterns]. After removing the duplicates, five entirely new pattern methods remained.
It was a tremendous harvest the first time Jing Qian had ever gained so many pattern methods at once.
Each of the five was unique, marked with its own strange character:
[Painted Skin]
Rank: Blue-Blood
"With eyes, ears, mouth, and nose, in ten days a new skin is drawn."
[Five Ghosts]
Rank: Blue-Blood
"When the Five Ghosts descend, fortune turns to banners, but in this month they bring calamity and misfortune."
[Shadow Escape]
Rank: Blue-Blood
"Slanted shadows cross, roaming free over misty lakes; when ghostly shadows flee, dragons and serpents rise with storm and thunder!"
[Mourning Staff]
Rank: Azure-Wing
"The mourning staff grief unmasked, eyes brimming with tears."
[Little Ghost]
Rank: White-Tooth
"The little ghost leaps about, fierce as the wild wind!"
Of the five Life Patterns, all but the [Mourning Staff], a Treasure-Life Pattern, were Spirit-Ghost Life Patterns.
And more strikingly, they all seemed to spring from a single source. To Jing Qian, it felt as if someone had forcibly stripped them straight from the body of some infernal warden of the underworld.
Even the [Mourning Staff] had been ripped away; truly ruthless hands had done this.
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