A sharp, thorny branch scraped aggressively across Shen Jietian’s forearm, tearing through his coarse fabric robes and drawing a thin, welling line of crimson blood.
Yet, he barely registered the stinging pain.
His entire focus was utterly locked onto a patch of jagged shadows between two weathered, moss-covered boulders just a few paces ahead.
There, bathed in a sliver of filtered canopy light, grew a pristine herb with pale blue, serrated leaves that shimmered with a faint, ephemeral spiritual glow.
Moonleaf Grass.
A rare, weary smile finally broke through the dirt and sweat on Shen Jietian’s face.
“Found one,” he murmured under his breath, his voice laced with relief.
Carefully parting the dense, choking weeds surrounding the prize, he crouched low to the damp earth.
He drew a small, serrated bone knife from his belt—metal tools could easily damage the delicate spiritual veins of the plant—and began meticulously excavating the soil around the stubborn roots.
With a gentle tug, the herb came loose, its spiritual essence intact.
Only after safely placing the specimen inside a protective jade box to preserve its medicinal efficacy did Shen Jietian allow his tense shoulders to drop.
One stalk of high-quality Moonleaf Grass could easily fetch three low-grade spirit stones in the markets of Black Mist City.
His fingers unconsciously tightened around the cool surface of the jade box.
To the pampered, elite disciples of the great righteous sects, three spirit stones were nothing more than pocket change, perhaps not even enough to buy a cup of spiritual tea.
But to a struggling rogue cultivator like himself, who had no backing, no lineage, and no resources, it was a massive windfall—enough to cover his meager cave-dwelling rent and support several days of closed-door cultivation.
More importantly, it brought him one small step closer to accumulating the wealth needed for his ultimate goal: a Low-Grade Qi-Breaking Pill.
The mere thought of that pill brought a quiet, bitter sigh to his lips.
After seven agonizing years of risking life and limb on the path of cultivation, Shen Jietian was still miserably stuck at the Third Layer of the Qi Refinement realm.
At twenty-two years of age, he could no longer be considered a youthful prodigy among the independent cultivation community.
If he could not secure a breakthrough pill to force open his choked meridians and step into the middle stages of Qi Refinement soon, his potential would fully stagnate, and the ruthless, unforgiving road ahead would only grow exponentially more difficult.
“Jietian!
Stop slacking off and get over here!”
A rough, booming voice suddenly echoed through the dense foliage, shattering his profound musings.
Shen Jietian quickly and seamlessly slipped the jade box into the deepest, most secure corner of his worn, patched storage pouch before hurrying toward the source of the shout.
A short distance away, several figures were gathered in a clearing beneath the sweeping canopy of an ancient tree.
Standing at the forefront was Old Zhao.
Despite wearing the drab, mud-stained clothes of a mortal farmer, Old Zhao possessed a heavy, oppressive aura.
He was the undisputed leader and strongest member of their makeshift gathering party, a seasoned veteran firmly established at the Fifth Layer of Qi Refinement.
The rest of the group consisted of a rogue cultivator named Chen Hu and a pair of identical twins, Liu Feng and Liu Yun.
The Liu twins were both decent cultivators at the Fourth Layer, while Chen Hu was at the peak of the fourth Layer of Qi Refinement.
Old Zhao’s sharp, calculating eyes darted toward Shen Jietian as he approached, landing immediately on his empty hands.
“Only one stalk?” the old man asked, his brow furrowing slightly in disapproval.
Shen Jietian offered a calm, respectful nod.
“The spiritual aura in the periphery is far too sparse.
The surrounding area has already been picked entirely clean by the morning gatherers.”
Before Old Zhao could respond, Chen Hu let out a mocking snort from the side, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Of course it has.
Every desperate loose cultivator within a hundred miles of Black Mist City knows about the seasonal harvesting period in Moonleaf Valley.
Did you think you were the only one looking for an easy handout?”
The Liu twins chuckled softly, their expressions tinged with casual arrogance.
“If high-grade Moonleaf Grass were that easy to find right on the beaten path, every rogue cultivator in the province would be a wealthy patriarch by now.”
Old Zhao waved his calloused hand, cutting through the chatter with an air of absolute authority.
“Enough useless bickering.
We’ve only gathered barely half of the minimum amount required to fulfill the merchant contract we signed.
“His gaze drifted away from the group, turning slowly toward the darker, mist-shrouded depths of the valley where the trees grew unnaturally thick.
“To get the rest, we need to venture deeper.”
Hearing those words, Shen Jietian’s brows knit into a tight frown.
In the cultivation world, greater rewards always walked hand-in-hand with catastrophic risks.
Moonleaf Valley wasn’t notorious among loose cultivators because of its abundant spiritual herbs.
It was infamous because it served as a mass grave.
Every single year, dozens of overambitious independent cultivators walked into these mists and never walked back out.
As if instantly sensing the shift in the youth’s demeanor, Old Zhao’s eyes snapped back to him, narrowing slightly.
“What?
You have an issue with my leadership, Jietian?”
“Nothing of the sort, Master Zhao,” Shen Jietian replied smoothly, shaking his head and lowering his gaze to mask his apprehension.
Old Zhao chuckled, a dismissive, patronizing sound.
“Then don’t look so miserable.
We are only skimming the outer perimeter of the inner valley.
We aren’t deep enough to encounter any truly formidable high-grade spiritual beasts.
There’s nothing to fear.”
Chen Hu laughed aloud, eager to curry favor with their strongest combatant.
“Exactly!
Even if we do run into some stray beast, Master Zhao is a Fifth Layer powerhouse.
His Iron Skin Technique can handle anything this valley throws at us.”
The old man proudly stroked his sparse beard, clearly enjoying the blatant flattery.
“At least Chen Hu knows how to speak with proper deference.
Let’s move.”
As the group resumed their march, Shen Jietian fell silently into the rear position, his analytical mind quietly observing his companions.
He noted that the Liu twins each had a faint yellow light pulsing from the low-grade defensive talismans hanging prominently from their sashes, ready to activate at a moment’s notice.
Even Chen Hu, despite his constant complaints about poverty, carried two offensive Fireball Talismans tucked securely into his cuffs.
Only Shen Jietian had absolutely nothing in terms of magical consumables.
It wasn’t because he lacked a sense of caution; it was simply because he couldn’t afford them.
A single low-grade defensive talisman cost nearly two full spirit stones in Black Mist City—a sum that represented half a month’s worth of essential cultivation resources for him.
Instead of flexible magical items, his sole means of defense was a heavy, notched, and slightly rusty iron sword strapped to his back, a weapon that had clearly seen better days.
This was the harsh reality of being at the bottom of the cultivation world.
Loose cultivators had to make brutal, calculated choices every single day.
Food, rent, cultivation pills, weapons—every single spirit stone had to be spent with absolute precision.
Every fraction of a resource mattered, and a single financial miscalculation could lead to starvation or death.
Hours bled into one another as they trekked deeper into the rugged terrain.
The valley gradually grew darker and more oppressive as the sprawling branches of ancient, corrupted trees blocked out the vast majority of the sunlight overhead.
The atmosphere turned distinctly gloomy, thick with a damp, bone-chilling fog.
Sensing the mounting fatigue of the group, Old Zhao finally raised a hand, signaling a halt.
“We rest here for a short incense time.
Restore your spiritual energy.”
Everyone immediately sank to the ground, exhausted by the continuous strain of navigating the treacherous, uneven terrain while maintaining a state of high alert.
The Liu twins efficiently retrieved strips of dried, energy-rich spiritual beast meat from their packs to replenish their stamina, while Chen Hu unhitched a fine leather wineskin filled with low-grade spiritual brew.
Shen Jietian, sitting slightly apart from them, silently pulled a few dry, rock-hard mortal biscuits from his pouch.
The dietary difference between them wasn’t massive, but it was a clear, unyielding reflection of their varying financial status.
It was a subtle disparity, yet in the cultivation world, such small gaps always dictated who stood on top and who crawled below.
To pass the time, the group began chatting idly while consuming their rations.
“What are you two planning to do with your share of the spirit stones once this expedition is over?” Liu Feng asked, glancing over at his brother.
His twin, Liu Yun, answered without a moment’s hesitation, a lazy grin on his face.
“I’m heading straight to the Fragrant Jade House to buy a jar of refined spiritual wine and enjoy myself for three days.”
Chen Hu let out a mocking laugh, shaking his head.
“That’s exactly why you’ll remain a low-tier guard for the rest of your days, you idiot.
Wasting resources on mortal pleasures.”
Liu Yun rolled his eyes defensively.
“Oh?
And what grand, immortal ambition do you have for your meager share, then?”
“A better weapon,” Chen Hu said proudly, patting the worn steel saber resting across his knees.
“This standard iron piece is about to fall apart from spiritual energy conduction.
I need a proper low-grade mortal-tier artifact.”
Old Zhao chuckled warmly from his spot, resting his back against a boulder.
“Investing in your survival is always the right choice.
As for me, I’m saving every single stone from this contract.”
“For what?
A late-stage breakthrough?” Liu Feng asked curiously.
“For retirement,” Old Zhao replied simply, a trace of weariness softening his sharp eyes.
The twins instantly burst into loud, incredulous laughter.
“A loose cultivator actually talking about retirement?
Master Zhao, you might as well dream about being recruited as an honorary elder by a prominent sect!”
Old Zhao didn’t take offense; he simply grinned, knowing the harsh truth behind their dark humor.
Rarely did a loose cultivator live long enough to die of old age.
Then, his calculating gaze shifted across the clearing, landing directly on the silent youth.
“What about you, Jietian?
You’ve been quiet.
What are you saving for?”
The entire group paused, their attention turning fully toward Shen Jietian.
Shen Jietian hesitated briefly, debating whether to fabricate a generic answer to avoid scrutiny.
But realizing there was no point in hiding his clear bottleneck, he answered honestly,
“A Low-Grade Qi-Breaking Pill.”
An abrupt, heavy silence descended upon the clearing.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then, Chen Hu’s face contorted, and he let out a sharp, mocking laugh that echoed uncomfortably through the quiet woods.
The Liu twins followed shortly after, exchange amused glances.
Even Old Zhao couldn’t help but shake his head, a wry, patronizing smile playing on his lips.
“What’s so funny?” Shen Jietian asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as his expression darkened.
Chen Hu wiped a tear of laughter from his eye, looking down at him with blatant condescension.
“Are you still stuck at the Third Layer?
Seven years, right?”
Shen Jietian remained silent, his grip tightening imperceptibly on his hard biscuit.
The answer was glaringly obvious.
If he wasn’t completely stuck at his current bottleneck, why would he be desperately hoarding every single scrap of wealth for a high-risk breakthrough pill?
Old Zhao let out a slow, pitying sigh.
“How long has it truly been since you initiated your Qi Refinement, kid?”
“Seven years,” Shen Jietian stated flatly.
The old man clicked his tongue, a sound of genuine dismissal.
“Seven years to reach the Third Layer…
That’s rough, kid.
Your skeletal talent is simply too mediocre.
A Qi-Breaking Pill is an expensive gamble for someone with your aptitude.”
Shen Jietian chose not to argue, returning to his silent consumption.
Seven years.
Seven years of constantly risking his life in dangerous mountains, seven years of scraping together pathetic amounts of cultivation resources from the scraps left by others, and seven years of watching peers surpass him while he remained entirely stagnant.
Sometimes, during the coldest nights in his rented hut, even he wondered whether he should simply give up the delusional dream of immortality and live out a peaceful mortal life.
But once a mortal stepped onto the grand, magnificent path of defiance against heaven, how could they ever willingly turn back to the mundane cycle of dust to dust?
Seeing that he wouldn’t bait, the conversation gradually died down, and the group resumed eating in relative silence.
A short while later, Old Zhao dusted the crumbs from his lap and stood up, his aura flaring slightly to shake off the lethargy.
“Time to move.
We need to hit our quota before the mist thickens.”
The group quickly gathered their belongings and fell into formation.
However, they had barely walked a hundred meters into the dense brush before Old Zhao suddenly froze mid-stride.
His entire posture went rigid, and his expression underwent a drastic, violent change.
Shen Jietian, whose survival instincts were honed to a razor’s edge by his lack of defensive tools, immediately noticed the shift.
He stopped instantly, his hand silently drifting toward the hilt of his rusty iron sword.
Old Zhao slowly crouched down, his fingers hovering just above the damp earth.
“What is it, Master Zhao?” Chen Hu asked, his voice dropping to a tense whisper as he instinctively reached for his Fireball Talismans.
Old Zhao pointed a trembling finger toward the soft mud between a cluster of ferns.
There, clearly imprinted in the soil, were several massive, deep tracks.
The edges of the prints were incredibly sharp, and fresh groundwater was only just beginning to seep into the grooves.
The atmosphere in the forest instantly became thick with tension.
“Iron Fang Wolves,” Old Zhao muttered, his voice grim.
The Liu twins exchanged nervous, panicked glances, their hands flying to their defensive talismans.
Chen Hu’s eyes narrowed to tiny pinpricks as he scanned the surrounding treeline.
Shen Jietian, however, felt a cold, primal chill crawl straight up his spine.
Iron Fang Wolves were notorious low-grade spiritual beasts.
Individually, they weren’t particularly powerful, but they possessed hides as tough as tempered iron, jaws capable of snapping low-grade spiritual weapons, and an unyielding, pack-based hunting instinct.
For a group of low-level Qi Refinement cultivators, a pack of these creatures was more than capable of tearing them to pieces if they caught them off guard.
Old Zhao carefully examined the depth and spacing of the tracks.
As he did, his tense, fearful expression gradually morphed into something altogether strange.
“Hmm…” he murmured, a calculative glint flashing in his eyes.
“What did you find?” Chen Hu stepped forward, trying to read the old man’s thoughts.
Old Zhao pointed away from the standard migration path, toward a narrow, rocky crevice leading into the deepest, most forbidden parts of the valley.
“Look at the direction of these tracks.
They shouldn’t be operating in this sector at this time of the year.
The spiritual energy here is too weak for them.”
The wind suddenly blew through the canopy, causing the twisted branches to creak ominously.
Yet, as the wind died down, Shen Jietian realized something terrifying: the surrounding forest had become eerily, unnaturally quiet.
There were no birds chirping overhead, no insects buzzing in the brush, and no small critters rustling through the leaves.
Nothing.
Only a suffocating, dead silence.
Shen Jietian peered intently into the dark, mist-choked forest ahead.
For some inexplicable reason, a profound, deeply uncomfortable sensation rose inside his chest—an instinctual warning system that had kept him alive for seven years.
It felt as though a pair of cold, invisible eyes was watching their every move from the deep shadows of the brush.
Old Zhao slowly stood up, his eyes remaining fixed on the fresh tracks.
Then, a slow, ambitious smile gradually appeared on his weathered face—a sharp, greedy smile that Shen Jietian instantly detested.
“Interesting…
truly interesting,” Old Zhao whispered, his voice trembling slightly with excitement.
“What do you mean, Master Zhao?
Is it dangerous?” Chen Hu asked, his eyes darting around anxiously.
Old Zhao looked toward the deeper, forbidden sectors of the valley, his greed completely overriding his initial caution.
“Think about it.
If a pack of Iron Fang Wolves has migrated to this specific border territory out of season…
it means their primary den cannot be far from here.
And where there is an established Iron Fang Wolf den…”
He paused, a predatory hunger burning in his eyes.
“…there is guaranteed to be a massive cluster of high-grade spiritual herbs, or perhaps even a deposit of Spiritual Iron Ore that they use to sharpen their claws.”
The Liu twins’ eyes immediately lit up with intense greed upon hearing the old man’s analysis.
Even Chen Hu’s breathing became visibly heavier as he calculated the immense wealth of a virgin beast den.
Only Shen Jietian’s sense of unease grew exponentially stronger, his blood running cold.
Through cold, detached logic, his mind reached a completely different conclusion.
A pack of predatory spiritual beasts didn’t just abandon their deep-valley territory to move to the sparse outer perimeters for no reason.
They were either hunting something massive, or more likely…
they had been violently driven out of the inner valley by something far more terrifying.
He knew exactly what Old Zhao was thinking—the old man wanted to gamble their lives to raid the den for a fortune.
But looking at the silent, dead forest around them, Shen Jietian was absolutely certain that this was an incredibly fatal idea.
End of Chapter 1
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