At the peak where the mountain seemed to prop up the sky, a solitary black dot drifted from afar, growing closer until it revealed itself as a lone goose.
Sixteen-year-old Shen Chunyi stood at the very front of the Taiwu Mountain formation, clad in the sect’s uniform crimson robe adorned with mountain and water patterns. A silver jade crown, etched with moon motifs, held his hair in place, secured by a long silver hairpin shaped like twin serpents, from which warm white pearl tassels dangled on either side. He held a white silk folding fan, gently waving it before his chest as he looked up at the sky with a faint smile, his gaze unfocused.
The mountain-and-water robes of Taiwu Mountain were all dyed a deep crimson, embroidered with golden threads for the mountains and silver threads for the waters—so vibrant that they made Shen Chunyi’s half-smiling face appear even more pristine, like polished jade.
Though his features still carried a hint of youthful immaturity, one could already glimpse the sharp, icy edge that would define him in the future, reminiscent of snow-covered frost. Yet, his eyes were dark and deep, and he often wore a smile, softening the coldness of his gaze. His gentle smile was like the first rays of sunlight melting the snow.
He wore the crimson robe with an air of effortless grace, his wrists tightly bound with black wristbands. Paired with black trousers and gleaming black combat boots, his attire was sharp and practical. With a touch of boredom, he watched the lone goose approach and then recede into the distance before nudging Tong Che beside him with his elbow.
“I have a question for you,” he said.
Behind Shen Chunyi, Tong Che stood with his arms crossed, pressing the Cold Birch Sword against his chest. His hair was tied up with a braided gold and silver lion-head crown, his face as stern and unyielding as winter stone. His features were sharp and resolute—his brows like ink strokes, his jawline as sharp as a blade—and he stood tall and upright, exuding an aura of unwavering righteousness on the left.
Shi Yun, too, wore her hair in a high bun, adorned with a silver peony hairpin on one side and a simple tortoiseshell hairpin on the other, complemented by a pair of bright pearl earrings. Her face was as calm as still water, her arched brows reminiscent of distant purple mist, yet devoid of softness. Her long, willow-like eyes shimmered like early spring willows, but held no trace of flirtation. Her left hand hung loosely at her side while her right rested on the Water String Sword. Tall and poised, she stood cleanly and sharply on the right. Both she and Tong Che wore the same crimson mountain-and-water robes. Thinking there might be a last-minute change to the battle plan, Tong Che responded gravely,
“What is it?”
Shen Chunyi asked, “Do you think monks in temples use soapberries to wash their hair?”
Tong Che found Shen Chunyi’s question utterly pointless and let out a cold, disdainful laugh, resolving not to speak to him again until the event began.
Shi Yun, however, turned her head and said earnestly,
“Senior Brother, Master reminded me again before coming to tell you to be extra careful when facing disciples from other sects.”
Shen Chunyi chuckled lightly. “Understood.”
Then, tilting his head, he asked, “Did you both prepare the water as I asked earlier?”
Tong Che and Shi Yun exchanged a glance, their expressions complex, before nodding cautiously. Every four years, the five major sects of the cultivation world would jointly organize a grand alliance conference, attended by the younger generation of disciples from each sect. Of course, there were also numerous smaller sects trailing behind, hoping to catch a few scraps, but under the overwhelming presence of the five major sects, they were as insignificant as fireflies in the night.
The five major sects of the cultivation world were the Eastern, Southern, Western, Northern, and Central Sects. The Central Sect referred to Taiwu Mountain of the Central Plains, though this sect was relatively new. It was said that Taiwu Mountain’s founder, Dongfang Zhen, was originally a disciple of the Southern Sect. After the Southern Sect withdrew from the world, he came to the Central Plains to establish his own school.
Naturally, since the Southern Sect had secluded itself from worldly affairs, they did not participate in such alliance conferences. Still, out of courtesy and to commemorate the existence of a cultivation sect in the south that held little influence, everyone continued to refer to it as the Five-Sect Alliance Conference rather than the Four-Sect Alliance.
After all, if any sect ended up at the bottom in such a competition, they could still console themselves by thinking: “There’s still a sect down south that didn’t even dare to compete. Compared to them, I’m not the worst!”
The so-called Five-Sect Alliance Conference, while ostensibly a platform for inter-sect sparring, was in reality a means for each sect to gauge the others’ strength. The conference would designate a randomly selected, demon-infested, and spiritually barren location as the arena. Within it, the young disciples of each sect not only had to contend with supernatural creatures but also remain vigilant against attacks from rival sects—a true test of their abilities.
Each participating disciple wore a translucent spirit stone on their chest, infused with spiritual energy. The stone could be crushed by hand, and doing so would signal elimination. Once shattered, the spiritual energy within would disperse toward the observation platform outside the arena, and spirit steeds would enter to retrieve the eliminated disciple.
Thus, if caught off guard, one could also crush their own spirit stone to concede defeat. Upon shattering, the stone would summon a protective shield to ensure the safety of its owner.
Initially, Dongfang Zhen, the sect leader of Taiwu Mountain, did not want Shen Chunyi to participate. Although Shen Chunyi possessed considerable talent, he had absolutely no interest in pursuing immortality or the Dao. His life’s ambition was to refine elixirs, concoct medicines, and create a series of terrifying poisons to shock the cultivation world.
As a result, no one knew exactly what substances he had coated his sword with. The once-silver blade, soaked daily in potent toxins, had turned completely black.
It sounded frightening—and in reality, it was even more so. Whenever Shen Chunyi encountered demonic creatures during his descents from the mountain, a single wound from his unsheathed sword would instantly turn the creature’s body black and purple, causing its innards to rot—a truly horrifying sight.
As Shen Chunyi cultivated the art of blood poison, his spiritual energy was inherently toxic. Though his spiritual light appeared pure and clear, it was more lethal than arsenic or poisoned wine. Upon contact with the skin, it would take effect immediately, making it exceptionally deadly.
In these minor competitions among juniors, injuries were commonplace. Being slashed by a rival sect’s blade or struck by another’s sword would, at worst, result in a few days of bed rest—nothing more serious.
But with Shen Chunyi’s participation, things changed entirely. If anyone were even slightly grazed by his sword, the consequences would be dire. Therefore, Shen Chunyi almost never took part in any sparring sessions among disciples from various sects, leaving his combat abilities shrouded in mystery.
Yet, unable to resist his persistent pleas—arguing that as the head disciple, how could he not participate in an event concerning the sect’s honor—and with his repeated assurances that he would not bring his sword and would certainly avoid seriously injuring disciples from other sects, Dongfang Zhen reluctantly relented.
Dongfang Zhen sighed helplessly, “If you don’t use your sword, and you’re neither a talisman nor an array cultivator, how do you plan to compete?”
Shen Chunyi blinked and smiled, “Master, just let me go. I promise I’ll go easy on them.”
Unable to withstand Shen Chunyi’s endless entreaties, Dongfang Zhen let out a long sigh and granted his permission. The waiting area was divided into four zones, each designated for disciples of a specific sect. Ahead stood a tightly shut white jade void gate.
When the bell tolled to signal entry, the void gate would open, randomly connecting to a location within the arena. Disciples from each sect would then disperse throughout the trial grounds via this gate.
Shen Chunyi felt there was little left to advise and ultimately decided to generously offer some symbolic encouragement as their senior brother. Just as he was about to turn and speak, he was abruptly interrupted by the sound of a bell.
“Dang—”
The bell tolled long and resonant, its waves echoing above the void gate, announcing the entry of the disciples. Those waiting in the area turned their gaze toward the sound, watching as grand white jade gates slowly rose. Within them swirled colorful vortices, mysterious and obscure, concealing whatever lay beyond.
Shen Chunyi turned around and waved toward Dongfang Zhen in the distant spectator stands. After receiving Dongfang Zhen’s nod, he led the bustling group of Taiwu Mountain disciples behind him, marching grandly into the Void Gate.
Upon entering, they found themselves in a five-colored void corridor. The ground beneath their feet felt soft, as if they were stepping into the belly of some monstrous beast. As far as the eye could see, the corridor stretched endlessly, with the five colors shifting from light to dark the farther they went. Looking toward the end, it was pitch black, impossible to make out anything beyond, leaving them uncertain of their destination.
If the outside had been a jungle of chaotic rocks, it might have been manageable. It was said that one sect had once landed right in the middle of a lake, ending up drenched before even engaging in combat.
Tong Che was filled with vigilance. He glanced back at the overwhelmingly fiery red crowd behind him, then at Shen Chunyi leading the way ahead with such calm composure, and couldn’t understand why he could remain so composed without even carrying a sword.
Beside him, Shi Yun remarked boredly, “Why did our master have to set our sect robes as red and bring us to this gloomy, misty place? It’s too conspicuous—we’re practically targets for other sects.”
Shen Chunyi closed his fan and assumed the demeanor of a senior disciple, tapping Shi Yun on the shoulder. Mimicking Dongfang Zhen’s wise and steady tone, he said,
“It’s festive, a good omen.”
Tong Che wondered aloud, “Why do you always wave that fan around? If a fight breaks out, blood will splatter all over it. And in this desolate wilderness, washing it would be such a hassle.”
Shen Chunyi chuckled and replied, “Don’t you think carrying a folding fan adds a certain aura?”
As they continued forward, the pitch-black area gradually brightened, revealing another swirling five-colored gate. Shi Yun tightened his grip on his sword hilt, standing behind Shen Chunyi. His Waterstring Sword was drawn an inch from its sheath as he whispered, “The stench of corpses.”
Shen Chunyi had also caught the scent. He closed his fan and flicked it open with a sharp swish, revealing gleaming blades that sprang from its edges.
“Be careful,” he warned Tong Che in a serious tone. “I’ll go down first. If you don’t hear from me within five breaths, it means it’s either a high drop or a body of water below. Prepare accordingly.”
Both Shi Yun and Tong Che nodded behind him, each taking a step back.
With that, Shen Chunyi leaped down first. For an average person, the heart beats four to five times per breath. After Tong Che counted twenty of his own heartbeats, he finally received a transmission.
Shen Chunyi said, “Come down. Don’t light any flames. Cover your mouth and nose.”
Tong Che then led the others down one after another. Before they could steady themselves, a foul stench assaulted their senses. Everyone covered their noses, exclaiming in disgust, “What is this smell?” “What is this?” “Why is it soft?” “And sticky?”
Inside the arena, an oppressive gloom blotted out the sky. While it was a bright noon outside, inside was a dim scene where everything was only visible in outlines. It was impossible to distinguish day from night, with only the faint glow from the spiritual stones on their chests offering some light, though far from enough to illuminate their surroundings. One disciple coughed violently, looking as if he were about to vomit, and asked,
“What kind of place is this?”
Shen Chunyi replied with a straight face, “A fragmented reincarnation point.”
Tong Che slapped him lightly and said, “What kind of joke is this to make at a time like this?”
Shen Chunyi scoffed, not wanting to argue with him. Just as he was about to turn around, he suddenly noticed a faint flicker of flame at the very end of the group.
Immediately, he threw out a silver dart, slicing through the Bright Flame Talisman in the disciple’s hand. The flame fell to the ground, flickered a few times, and extinguished.
But in that brief moment of light, everyone finally noticed—the ground around them was littered with decaying corpses! Some had already decayed into white bones, some were broken limbs and severed bodies, while others appeared intact as if newly deceased, each in varying stages of decay—no wonder the stench was so overwhelming. The chosen site for this encirclement hunt turned out to be a mountain of unmarked graves.
Shen Chunyi said sharply, “Weren’t we told not to light fires?”
With so many corpses scattered around and the strong yang energy of their living group, lighting a fire would surely cause the dead to rise instantly, transforming into flesh-and-blood ghosts.
Perhaps the disciple, standing at the very end of the line, hadn’t heard Tong Che’s earlier warning. Seeing Shen Chunyi’s stern expression, he was momentarily frightened and stammered, “I’m sorry, senior brother. I just thought it was too dark to see clearly.”
Shen Chunyi waved his hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Just don’t light any more fires.”
He then instructed, “Hold your breath. This mountain of graves is nothing but a chaotic burial ground. Let’s get out of this area first before discussing anything else.”
The rest of the group held their breath and tread lightly, moving with utmost caution. Even when someone accidentally stepped into the half-rotted abdomen of one of the deceased, they gritted their teeth and stifled any cry. They walked for a long time before finally glimpsing a sliver of daylight piercing through the pervasive gloom. Only then did they truly emerge from that mountain of unmarked graves.