The Fasting Massacre

As Yang Lei quietly sighed in regret, his older brother, Yang Fan, was already several hundred miles away from Misty Willow Town, galloping along on a sleek black steed. On the wide, dusty road, clouds of dust spiraled up as the hooves pounded the earth.

"Hyah! Hyah!"

Yang Fan urged his mount forward, whipping the reins, his mind filled with a whirlwind of emotions as the wind whistled past his ears. Once a prodigious cultivator from the Yang family of South Neighboring Town, he had never imagined that he would one day need to rely on a horse for travel again after reaching the Condensed Spirit stage, a point where sword flight was possible.

In the world of cultivation, the Condensed Spirit stage is a significant milestone. When you see cultivators soaring on swords or traversing the skies on beams of light, they are without doubt at least at the Condensed Spirit stage. This stage symbolizes the dream of flight, a goal coveted by countless low-level cultivators. Yet, for most, it remains a distant dream, tantalizing but unreachable.

There's even a saying in the cultivation world: "Without reaching the Condensed Spirit stage, one is not truly a cultivator, not truly an immortal master." After all, flight defines the beginning of true immortality.

Since leaving Misty Willow Town the day before, Yang Fan had not paused for a moment, galloping relentlessly. While his own energy seemed boundless, his mount was not so fortunate.

Upon reaching a stretch of mountainous terrain, his black horse, having strained its limits, finally collapsed, foaming at the mouth. Yang Fan barely avoided being thrown off. Watching the beast panting on the ground, he cursed inwardly, frustration lining his brow.

The scorching sun beat down mercilessly from the sky.

"Damn this weather... I forgot to bring feed for the horse," he muttered.

Yang Fan himself felt fine. Despite a full day and night of relentless travel, he was neither hungry nor thirsty. Since mastering the *Celestial Phoenix Art*, he found that his recovery ability was astonishing. He no longer needed food or drink and had even gained the early ability to fast, something cultivators typically achieved only after reaching the Foundation Establishment stage.

In general, cultivators below Foundation Establishment required special fasting pills to survive extended periods without food. These pills would allow them to forgo nourishment for weeks without detriment. 

The thought of fasting pills gave Yang Fan an idea. He wondered aloud, "What if I give this horse one of those pills?"

If a fasting pill could sustain a human cultivator, perhaps it might have a similar effect on the horse. Without hesitation, he took out a small jade bottle from his storage pouch, extracted a pure white pill, and carefully pried open the horse's mouth, feeding it the medicine.

After a moment's thought, he also offered the horse some water from a gourd he carried.

Having done this, Yang Fan stood to the side and watched carefully.

Moments later, the horse began to recover, its life force surging, and soon it was back on its feet, stamping the ground with newfound energy. 

Half a cup of tea's time later, the horse seemed more spirited than ever, its hooves pounding the earth with vigor.

Delighted, Yang Fan mounted the horse once again and snapped the reins.

"Hyah! Hyah!"

The black steed charged forward, racing ahead like a gust of wind, even faster than before.

*Clip-clop! Clip-clop!* 

The thrill of the speed brought a wild grin to Yang Fan's face. The horse now moved almost as swiftly as flying on a sword.

As he raced down the main road, Yang Fan overtook one rider after another, leaving onlookers envious and astonished.

"That black horse is extraordinary! Could it be a legendary thousand-mile steed?" muttered several riders as they watched in disbelief, awed by the speed and stamina of Yang Fan's mount.

But before long, Yang Fan began to sense something was wrong.

The black horse beneath him started to show signs of abnormality—its life force surged unnaturally, and its body trembled.

"What's happening?" Yang Fan frowned, placing a hand on the horse's back. He channeled a wisp of his life essence into the horse, probing its condition.

To his horror, he discovered that the horse's life force had reached a critical threshold.

"Not good!"

Leaping off the horse with a graceful flip, Yang Fan barely managed to land safely. 

In that instant, the horse went berserk.

*Boom!*

With a crazed howl, the black steed's speed doubled, its bloodshot eyes wild with frenzy. The sound of its maddened neigh echoed down the road, causing every other horse nearby to collapse in terror.

In mere moments, chaos descended upon the highway. Screams filled the air as riders and bystanders alike were thrown into disarray. 

The horse continued its mad rampage, charging headlong into a caravan that stretched for hundreds of yards. The frenzied neighing sent the caravan's horses into a panic, overturning carts and scattering goods everywhere.

"Aah!"

Yang Fan stood stunned, surveying the chaotic scene. Around him, injured people lay groaning, their faces twisted in pain and anger. Some of the more aggressive onlookers glared at him with open hostility, ready to strike.

"I hadn't expected a simple fasting pill to cause such disaster... It seems pills meant for human cultivators may not suit ordinary beasts," Yang Fan sighed, realizing the gravity of his mistake. "The study of alchemy is vast and profound... I'll need to be more careful in the future."

Yet, the question remained—how to resolve this mess?

The aftermath was catastrophic. Hundreds were injured, and the overturned carriages had scattered their cargo across the road. What caught Yang Fan's attention, however, was not the wreckage but the herbs spilling out from one particular cart.

At first, he thought they were ordinary medicinal herbs. But upon closer inspection, he recognized some of the plants as rare ingredients used in the cultivation world—herbs for treating injuries and refining powerful elixirs.

Just then, two riders emerged from the caravan, their eyes sharp with menace.

"How do you ride your horse like that, you fool?"

The question came with a sneer as one of the riders, a cold-faced youth, leapt from his mount, drawing his sword. With a swift strike, the blade flashed, cutting deep into the black horse's neck.

The horse gave a final pained scream before collapsing in a pool of blood.

"Come with us to see the lord!" one of the riders commanded, their swords drawn.

To them, Yang Fan looked like nothing more than a weak scholar, easily subdued.

"Very well," Yang Fan responded calmly, following them toward a grand carriage at the head of the caravan. His eyes remained on the overturned carts, thoughts swirling. "Such a vast quantity of herbs... Even dozens of storage pouches wouldn't be enough to hold them all. Could this caravan belong to a cultivation family or sect?"

After all, even his own family, the Yangs of South Neighboring Town, maintained mortal servants to gather cultivation resources and recruit promising young talents from the mundane world.

"The culprit is here, my lord," the cold-faced youth said with a bow.

Instantly, Yang Fan found himself the focus of everyone's ire. Half the road was in shambles, and he was at the center of it all.

"Young man, who sent you to cause this chaos?" The curtain of the luxurious carriage was pulled back, revealing a dignified man in his forties or fifties. His gaze was calm, but a natural authority radiated from his presence.

"My horse went mad for some unknown reason," Yang Fan replied steadily, meeting the man's gaze. "This was not the result of any conspiracy."

Despite the growing tension, Yang Fan remained poised, as if entirely detached from the catastrophe he had caused.

"Master, we must punish this man severely. Only then will I find peace!" The cold-faced youth's eyes gleamed with murderous intent. Yang Fan glanced at him from the corner of his eye, noting that the youth was a Xiantian martial artist—a formidable fighter, though still a mortal.

Just as the dignified man was about to respond, a mocking female voice rang out from another carriage.

"This boy clearly fed his horse some kind of cultivation elixir," the voice declared.

All eyes turned as a slender woman in violet stepped gracefully out of the carriage. Her beauty was striking—elegant features, flawless skin like snow, and a presence that seemed to glow with otherworldly grace. Her expression, however, was haughty, as though everyone before her was beneath her notice.

Yang Fan's heart skipped a beat—not because of her beauty, but because he realized she was a cultivator as well.

A late-stage Qi Refining cultivator!

What shocked him even more was her ability to discern the cause of the horse's madness.

"Miss Lin!" "Lady Lin!" 

The crowd greeted her with deep respect, and even the dignified man addressed her with a deferential tone. 

"Rain, you may handle this matter as you see fit," the man said. It became clear that this woman, Lin Yu, was not only a cultivator but also his daughter.

"Thank you, Father. This man, though lacking any cultivation power of his own, must have been acting under the orders of a cultivator. I will question him thoroughly," Lin Yu declared, her eyes narrowing.

She gestured, and two guards restrained Yang Fan, bringing him before her.

With a snap of her fingers, she performed a spell.

*Thwack!* 

A shimmering thread of light shot from her finger, striking Yang Fan's acupoints.

 He felt his body freeze, unable to move.

"Now, tell me. Who sent you?"

Her voice was soft, but her aura was imposing. It was clear she was used to commanding absolute obedience.

But Yang Fan, though trapped in the spell, remained calm. He smiled inwardly. 

"It seems you've underestimated me, Lady Lin," he thought.