Wenshan immediately strode toward the wall, his gaze sharp as lightning as it swept across the scrolls hanging there.
Each was bound in plain white silk, still carrying a faint fragrance of ink. More than that, threads of spiritual power rippled softly over their surfaces, like waves upon water.
These were no ordinary scrolls. If his guess was correct, each one was a magical artifact, empowered by the Grandmaster's great divine arts—every scroll containing formidable potential.
But which to choose? Each poem carried a different power. Selecting the one most suited to the current crisis—the one that could save the greatest number of lives within the city—was surely the true essence of the test.
As Wenshan approached, he noticed beneath the poems lay several ledgers. He casually picked one up, only to find not verses, but records—intelligence concerning the demonic sects.
"Nine Nether Sect.""Heavenly Fiend Palace.""Moon-Eclipsing Gate."
They were clearly not first-class sects, and he flipped past them without much thought. But then—his eyes froze.
The Grand Dao Heavenly Demon Sect.
Quickly scanning the text, he found the records astonishingly detailed—even the rules governing Xuanpin Sect and the initiation trials of Blood Banquet Valley were described!
At that moment, a tall student at his side suddenly pointed to a poem scroll, eyes flashing.
"'Black clouds press upon the city, the city on the brink of collapse; armor gleams like golden scales in the sun!' Yes! This is the one! In such a crisis, only slaughter can halt slaughter—let us annihilate the demons!"
Without waiting, the student seized the scroll brimming with killing intent and dashed out of the room, clearly set on confronting the demonic cultivators head-on.
Seeing this, Wenshan wasted no more time. His eyes swept over the wall of poems again.
Some were verses of pastoral beauty, describing landscapes and farmlands—elegant, but useless in this moment. Others, like the one just chosen, were bold and heroic odes to battle and glory.
Wenshan frowned. Should he choose one of these as well?
No. That would not do.
The Grandmaster had said it clearly—the city lord had already fallen, the city was already broken. This proved that the strength of the city and the invading demonic sect was not even close to equal—it was an overwhelming defeat.
In such a moment, one scroll granting borrowed courage would do little. To charge into the enemy ranks was to be torn apart instantly.
Keeping his face calm, Wenshan turned to other verses.
"'Though the nation falls, the rivers and mountains remain; in spring, the city is overgrown with grass and trees…'"No. Too sorrowful, of no help to saving lives.
"'The singing girl knows not the grief of a fallen kingdom, across the river still she sings The Courtyard Flowers…'"Even worse. Pure satire.
He searched for a long time, yet still found nothing suitable. Meanwhile, one by one, the other students had chosen their scrolls and hurried outside. A sense of urgency tightened in his chest.
Though the Grandmaster had not set a time limit, it was obvious—the longer he delayed, the more of the city's people would be slaughtered. The later he acted, the harder it would be to save a hundred lives.
And the students who rushed out early? They had already secured the nearest, easiest survivors.
What about him? Would he already be too late?
Should he teach the commoners the Xuanpin Arts or Blood Banquet Arts, to give them the means of self-defense?
No—that would never work. Even aside from how useless a mere third level of Qi Refinement would be against true demonic cultivators, the moment he revealed such forbidden techniques, the Grandmaster would know. He would be branded as a heretic and executed without recourse.
No—the solution lay in the scrolls. He had to choose one.
If only a poem like The Song of Wandering in the Sky Beyond Heaven were here! With its imagery of thunder tearing the heavens and mountains collapsing, it could surely drive the demonic invaders away.
But here, none of the verses reached such immortal heights.
Then suddenly—his eyes locked on a scroll. Its style was strange, its aura steeped in gloom and ghostly chill.
A bold idea burst into his mind.
Without hesitation, he seized the scroll and rushed out the door.
Outside, the scene was one of carnage.
Blood dyed the streets until their original form was unrecognizable. Charred beams lay strewn across the ground, fires roared as they devoured houses, and the air stank of mingled blood and smoke.
The wails of survivors, the laughter of demonic cultivators, and the wet crunch of blades sinking into flesh filled the air, a symphony of despair.
Choosing a direction where the flames burned less fiercely, Wenshan prepared to move.
But a piercing scream rang out from a nearby alley—a woman's shriek of terror.
He stopped. Thought for a moment. Then turned and ran toward the sound.
As he ran, he unfurled the scroll, channeling his spiritual power into it, reciting loudly:
"'At autumn graves, ghosts chant Bao's poems; resentful blood stains the earth jade-green for a thousand years!'"
At once, a bone-chilling cold erupted from him, the temperature plummeting. Even the flames seemed to falter.
Behind him, a black soul banner materialized from nothingness.
Bloodlust and ghostly aura coiled around him—his crimson robe now looked like blood itself, his figure wreathed in eerie power. He seemed not merely a demonic cultivator, but one of the most orthodox among them.
Reaching the source of the scream, he saw a black-robed cultivator—mid-stage Qi Refinement—forcing a disheveled woman to the ground, a lecherous grin on his face as he reached for her clothes.
"Stop!" Wenshan's shout cracked like a whip.
The black-robed man froze, turned, his expression darkening into malice."Who are you to interrupt me?"
But Wenshan met his glare with cold arrogance."I am a disciple of the Grand Dao Heavenly Demon Sect, of Blood Banquet Valley. By the command of the Valley Lord, I am here to collect mortals for the sect's initiation trial!"
The man's expression faltered at once. At the name of the Heavenly Demon Sect, his ferocity wavered, surprise flashing in his eyes.
"You… you mean that? Your sect—the Heavenly Demon Sect—why would you appear here?"
Wenshan's heart steadied. So—the man not only knew of the sect, but feared it. His suspicions were right: the Grand Dao Heavenly Demon Sect was no obscure name, but one that carried real dread.
Snorting coldly, he pressed his advantage."I am indeed of Blood Banquet Valley. I came because the Valley Lord commanded it! He foresaw that the mortals here meet the conditions of our sect's trial. I will take exactly one hundred, no more. But this woman—she is one of them."
The man hesitated, suspicion in his eyes. His cultivation was higher, but Wenshan's bearing was flawless—his aura steeped in menace, his words ironclad.
It was the manner of one born and raised in the demonic path itself. Not the kind of thing an ordinary cultivator could fake.
And if he really was of the Heavenly Demon Sect—then clashing with him over a single mortal woman would be utter folly.
The black-robed man's face shifted several times before, at last, he cupped his hands with forced respect and withdrew.
Relief surged in Wenshan's chest.
Yes—this was his advantage.
Others might surpass him in poetic insight.
But when it came to wearing the mask of the demonic path, when it came to wielding borrowed authority—he could fool even true demon cultivators themselves.
Then why not lean fully into this disguise?Why not pretend to be one of them… while secretly shielding the people of the city?