Chen Mo’s despair shattered like thin ice under sunlight.

  A moment ago, annihilation had loomed over him.

  Now—

  Opportunity.

  Exhilaration surged through him like wildfire. His fear did not vanish, but it sharpened, crystallized into cold resolve.

  Without hesitation, Chen Mo willed the golden threads within his Sea of Consciousness to move.

  They answered.

  Instantly.

  To Huo Zhenwei’s horror, thousands upon thousands of radiant golden strands erupted from every corner of the inner world. They did not rush chaotically. They moved with terrifying precision, weaving through space itself, sealing off every direction of escape.

  In mere breaths—

  Huo was surrounded.

  He tried to retreat.

  Too late.

  The threads tightened.

  The moment he made contact, large chunks of his ghostly form were swallowed silently, erased into unseen spatial currents. No resistance. No explosion. Just disappearance.

  A horrifying scream tore through the Sea of Consciousness.

  “AAAAA—!”

  His once-stabilized form flickered violently as portions of him vanished into nothingness.

  In seconds, he was completely imprisoned, bound within a tightening cocoon of golden spatial filaments. He no longer dared to move.

  His ghostly eyes were filled with naked terror.

  “Xuan family descendant!!” he shrieked. “Impossible! How can such a person exist here… how?!”

  Fragments of ancient memory flooded his mind.

  Before his tragic death, he had lived five hundred years. He had reached the peak of the Golden Core realm. He had traveled, cultivated, studied forbidden texts, and heard whispers of legends that most dismissed as myth.

  The Xuan Family.

  A name spoken carefully.

  A lineage tied to space itself.

  Sovereigns of the void.

  Masters who could sever karma, rewrite distance, fold reality.

  They were not supposed to exist on the Azure Continent.

  They were stories told in hushed tones by Nascent Soul elders.

  And yet—

  The golden threads imprisoning him carried that unmistakable aura.

  Huo trembled.

  “What are you…?”

  Chen Mo slowly regained his composure.

  The terror that had nearly swallowed him moments ago was gone, replaced by something colder. Harder.

  He looked at the imprisoned ghost with eyes devoid of warmth.

  “I was considering giving your old bones a proper burial,” he said quietly. “But now… I promise I’ll put them to good use. Golden Core expert bones… I wonder how much they would fetch on the black market.”

  The words were calm.

  Calculated.

  Cruel.

  Huo Zhenwei’s ghostly figure trembled violently within the tightening web of golden threads. His arrogance had vanished completely.

  He dropped to his knees midair.

  “I beg you, Young Master Xuan!” he cried hoarsely. “I never knew you were a descendant of the legendary Xuan family! Had I known, I would never have dared harbor such thoughts! Please—show mercy! I can serve you! I am knowledgeable, I have lived five hundred years, I know countless secrets! I will be your slave—I swear it!”

  Chen Mo’s lips curved faintly.

  “I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” he replied. “I am not a Xuan family descendant. If I were… perhaps I would have accepted your pledge.”

  Huo’s eyes widened.

  Before he could utter another desperate plea—

  The golden threads constricted.

  They did not explode.

  They did not burn.

  They sliced.

  His ghostly form fragmented into countless pieces, each severed fragment swallowed instantly by silent spatial currents.

  No scream.

  No residue.

  No reincarnation.

  Huo Zhenwei vanished from existence completely.

  The Sea of Consciousness returned to calm.

  The golden threads receded like a tide withdrawing into the unseen.

  Chen Mo regained control of his body.

  His real eyes opened abruptly—

  —and he collapsed onto the cave floor.

  His chest heaved violently. Sweat soaked his robes. His limbs trembled uncontrollably.

  “That…” he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse, “…was the closest I’ve ever come to death.”

  The cave was silent now.

  The puppet stood motionless.

  The ritual formation was dark.

  Only Chen Mo remained.

  Alive.

  After several long breaths, Chen Mo forced his trembling limbs to steady.

  He rose slowly.

  The blazing skeleton that once radiated oppressive heat now looked like nothing more than dry remains. With a flick of his sleeve, he swept it into his storage pouch without ceremony.

  Then he stepped out of the cultivation chamber.

  The cave had changed.

  The suffocating fire aura was gone.

  The air was cold. Still.

  The five cultivators lay where they had fallen, their bodies shriveled and drained, eyes frozen wide in final terror. Even the boiling pools that once hissed with steam were now solid ice, pale frost creeping along their edges like white veins.

  Chen Mo looked at Shen Xia, Luo Yan, Qiong Tao, and Steward Mu with complete indifference.

  Dead men held no grudges.

  He moved efficiently.

  Storage pouches were removed. Spiritual imprints wiped clean. Contents emptied into his own collection. Spirit stones. Talismans. Weapons. Miscellaneous resources.

  Nothing wasted.

  Afterward, he gathered the five corpses and the scattered debris into a single storage pouch.

  He crushed it.

  The pouch collapsed inward with a muted spatial distortion, its contents erased within unstable currents. Bodies. Blood. Residual aura.

  Gone.

  No burial.

  No trace.

  His gaze then shifted to the puppet construct, now dim and motionless after its master’s destruction. Its fiery glow had faded to a faint ember.

  Chen Mo stored it as well.

  He would examine it later.

  Now was not the time.

  The entire immortal cave was weakening. The grand formation that once sealed and protected this place flickered erratically. Its light was thinning at an alarming rate. Within days, perhaps sooner, it would completely cease functioning.

  He briefly extended his senses, probing the formation core.

  Fixed.

  Deeply anchored into the mountain’s spiritual veins.

  Not something he could uproot.

  Chen Mo did not linger.

  The next moment—

  His figure blurred.

  Space folded subtly.

  And he vanished from the cave, leaving behind only frost, shattered stone, and a silence so complete it felt like the place had never housed life at all.

  Chen Mo didn’t immediately leave the mountains. Instead, he moved carefully, seeking a remote, hidden cave far enough from the immortal cave to avoid any lingering spiritual traces or accidental discoveries.

  Eventually, he found one. It was small, jagged, and already occupied by a first-rank demonic beast. The unfortunate creature didn’t even put up a fight. Its fate was sealed; by nightfall, it would serve as Chen Mo’s dinner. With a brief flick of his spiritual senses, he subdued it, tidied the cave, and prepared to tally his spoils.

  He began with the grand prize: Huo Zhenwei’s storage ring. His fingers brushed against it, and surprisingly, there was no resistance. The soul imprint was completely gone, leaving the ring unguarded—a testament to the dissipated remnants of Huo’s lingering power.

  Inside, Chen Mo’s eyes widened. The ring’s space was vast—easily a full hundred zhang in length. Mountains of spirit stones greeted him: roughly ten thousand low-grade stones and five hundred medium-grade ones. (A single medium-grade stone equaled a hundred low-grade.)

  He frowned slightly. For a peak Golden Core cultivator, this was paltry. Huo Zhenwei had not amassed much wealth.

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  Beyond the spirit stones, a few tokens caught his attention. One was an identification token from the Phoenix Fire Sect, another bore a skull insignia, and a third seemed to be linked to controlling the puppet construct. Numerous scrolls filled the rest of the ring: historical records, cultivation notes, and strange diagrams—dark, intricate, and unsettling.

  Chen Mo’s mind raced. Huo Zhenwei’s methods, his demonic arts, the soul extractions, the sacrifices—it all painted a picture of a man deeply enmeshed in forbidden techniques. Witnessing it firsthand had been terrifying, a stark reminder of the dangerous depths the immortal world could harbor.

  He shivered, but beneath the fear, a grim understanding settled in: this world was cruel, unpredictable, and only those who stayed vigilant could hope to survive. Another lesson etched into his memory, sharper than any blade.

  Chen Mo ignored all the other items in the storage ring. They could wait. His attention was drawn immediately to a fiery-looking jade slip, its surface radiating faint heat and a pulsing light. Without hesitation, he drew it out, letting his spiritual senses meld with the artifact.

  A torrent of information flooded his mind, overwhelming in intensity yet perfectly coherent. Symbols, diagrams, and cultivation principles danced before his awareness, each one more intricate than the last. Chen Mo immersed himself completely, studying for two hours straight, his consciousness intertwined with the jade slip’s knowledge.

  When he finally opened his eyes, they glimmered with a sharp, fiery light. His lips curved into a rare smile. This was more than a discovery—it was a jackpot.

  Chen Mo whispered to himself, awed:

  “Immortal Fire Scripture… the core method of the Phoenix Fire Sect… and it can be cultivated all the way to the Nascent Soul Realm.”

  The weight of the realization sank in. This wasn’t just a treasure—it was a direct bridge to unimaginable power. The Phoenix Fire Sect’s legacy, once sealed away for centuries, was now his to grasp.

  Chen Mo’s eyes scanned the intricate lines and symbols of the Immortal Fire Scriptures, each stroke pulsating with ancient flame qi. The details of the cultivation method unfolded before him like a blazing tapestry of power and precision.

  The scriptures were meticulous and complete, a legacy of millennia perfected by the Phoenix Fire Sect. At the earliest stages, disciples learned to manipulate concentrated fire qi, honing techniques like Flame Darts—precise, piercing bursts of flame—and Heat Domes, protective barriers that strengthened the body and shielded against extreme temperatures. Every move was designed to synchronize the practitioner’s spirit and body with the raw energy of fire.

  As mastery progressed toward the Golden Core, the techniques evolved into Phoenix Blade Flames—lethal, fiery weapons capable of shredding defenses and destabilizing spiritual constructs. Those who reached higher levels could summon Ember Storms, semi-intelligent torrents of fire that scoured battlefields, uprooting lesser soul remnants and incinerating enemy formations.

  At peak Golden Core mastery, disciples attained Phoenix Flight, moving with blinding speed, wrapped in flaming wings that left burning trails in their wake—confusing, disorienting, and terrifying to foes.

  And beyond all these lay the Nirvana Phoenix Fire, a legendary and almost mythical technique reserved only for the most gifted Nascent Soul cultivators. Flames would coalesce into a reborn phoenix, capable of annihilating matter, destabilizing spiritual energy, and incinerating the battlefield. Only those with perfect control and immense insight could wield it; otherwise, the fire could consume the practitioner as easily as the enemy.

  Chen Mo felt a shiver of awe as he read: this was why the Phoenix Fire Sect had been feared and revered across the immortal realms for centuries. Few could ever hope to truly master such a legacy. For him, it was a treasure beyond measure—a path to power that could elevate a young, loose cultivator to the ranks of legends.

  Chen Mo’s mind raced as he considered the path ahead. The Immortal Fire Scriptures were his golden ticket—at least up to the Nascent Soul Realm. Beyond that, he’d cross that bridge when he reached it; for now, securing the method and understanding its intricacies was enough.

  A small part of him noted a practical limitation: at advanced stages, the technique demanded a fiery environment to fully awaken the deeper flames. But that was a problem for later. For now, he focused on the present.

  Chen Mo settled into a quiet corner of the cave, the cold remnants of Huo Zhenwei’s immortal cave contrasting sharply with the fire qi he was about to summon. He regulated his breathing, centering his mind and body in perfect harmony.

  The instructions of the Immortal Fire Scriptures were precise: inhale slowly, gather the concentrated fire qi from within and around, circulate it through the meridians, stabilize it in the Dantian, and begin refining it into usable flame energy. Each movement, each breath, each pulse of qi had to align with the scripture’s method; a misstep could destabilize the process.

  As Chen Mo began, a faint warmth rose from within, spreading through his limbs and concentrating in his core. His body responded, muscles tensing and relaxing in rhythm, veins of fiery qi crawling like molten threads along his skin. He followed the scripture meticulously, sending Flame Darts and forming Heat Domes in miniature within his consciousness, training his body and spirit simultaneously.

  Within two days, Chen Mo’s efforts bore fruit. His Azure Nourishing Neural Qi had been successfully transmuted into a fierce, violet-hued fire qi that coursed through his meridians with a sharp, relentless heat. Though still far from the raw, tyrannical strength of his Primordial Qi, it already surpassed the power of his previous neutral qi, granting him a newfound edge and a deeper connection to the Immortal Fire Scriptures.

  Satisfied with his progress, he opened his cultivation panel to take stock:

  Name: Chen Mo

  Age: 17

  Realm: Immortal, 5th level of Qi Refinement 70/500

  Body Refinement: Rank 2, 5/500 (Early Stage)

  Cultivation Techniques:

  Primordial Body Art (1st and 2nd chapters)

  Immortal Fire Scriptures (complete)

  Skills:

  Spatial Formations Art (Second Stage) 380/400

  Chen Mo’s eyes gleamed with focus as he surveyed the captured beast. The Spatial Dominions Art had advanced noticeably—its threads in his consciousness seemed to hum with energy whenever he probed them. Stage 3… two or three days, he calculated inwardly. Then I can finally explore the sealed portion of Xuan family’s s legacy…

  A small, sharp smile tugged at his lips as he turned back to the beast. Raw meat no longer fazed him, but today wasn’t about survival—it was about cultivation and indulgence. The roasting fire crackled, sending warm light across the cave, as the beast’s flesh sizzled.

  With the ferocity of a Rank 2 Body Refining cultivator, Chen Mo tore into the meat, his appetite monstrous and unrelenting. One sitting was more than enough to consume the entire creature, each bite fueling his meridians, igniting the Primordial Body Art within him.

  As the meat disappeared and the fire danced, Chen Mo felt the Primordial Qi respond, the two chapters he had cultivated resonating with every fiber of his body. Heat, power, and vitality surged through his limbs. This was not mere sustenance—it was training, a melding of flesh and force, fire and qi, preparation for the challenges yet to come.

  The cave echoed with the rhythmic sounds of chewing, breathing, and the inner hum of cultivation—the night belonged to Chen Mo, and the beast’s sacrifice became the forge of his next leap.