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It was evident that the disciples from the other peaks had long since arrived. After Li Wu Yi found a vacant spot on the open ground, he led his group down from their aerial conveyance and gathered himself before the assembled crowd. With measured poise, he carefully stowed away his flying letter before striding toward the throng. Ahead of him, in a formation that commanded the space, stood seven or eight Golden Core elders arranged at the front; behind these elders were over forty cultivation masters at the Foundation Establishment level, and trailing further back were more than a hundred disciples in the Condensed Qi stage.

Among the foremost eight elders—who were huddled together in hushed conversation—the one at the head was none other than Peng, the austere head of the Sect's Punishment Hall. Alongside him was Li Feng's renowned and stately mistress, whose beauty was as talked about as her uncompromising demeanor; also present was the scholarly, wind-swept disciple of Ling Chong Peak, a man whose dignified bearing bespoke both erudition and quiet authority. Completing the circle was the peak master from Si Xiang Peak—a venerable old man, his hair as white and graceful as the wings of a crane, standing more than a zhang tall and exuding a severe, almost forbidding aura. The rest, undoubtedly, were the elders representing each of the individual peaks. Li Yan found that among these many dignitaries there were few faces he recognized. Notably absent, however, was Yan Longzi—a circumstance that was not altogether surprising, for Yan Longzi, the master of Old Jun Peak and the de facto head of the entire sect, had not made an appearance this time.

After a brief word or two exchanged between Li Wu Yi and Li Yan—with the older leader offering a few curt instructions—Li Wu Yi turned and accompanied three of his trusted friends, namely Wei Chituo, Yun Chunzhi, and Gong Chen Ying, as they made their way to join the group of Golden Core elders. Meanwhile, Li Yan set off on his own, moving deliberately toward the section where roughly a hundred Condensed Qi cultivators were assembled.

Glancing briefly toward the cluster of Foundation Establishment disciples, Li Yan immediately caught sight of a lithe and upright figure among them—Zhao Min. Since Li Yan's group had arrived later than most, Zhao Min had already taken notice of the representatives from Xiao Zhufeng. When she saw Li Yan casting his gaze in her direction, her countenance remained as cold and unmoved as ever; nevertheless, in the subtlest of gestures, she offered him a nearly imperceptible nod. Li Yan, his eyes crinkling with a private, amused smile, quickly looked away. Their signals were so covert that even Li Changting—who ordinarily stood close by Zhao Min's side—failed to catch even the faintest hint of their mutual acknowledgement. At that moment, Zhao Min was, in fact, utterly absorbed; her intense interest fixed on watching as Li Wu Yi and his retinue made their approach from the other side.

Li Yan eventually reached the rear of the assembly of Condensed Qi disciples. Almost immediately, many of those cultivators noticed his presence. A few greeted him with light smiles and polite nods, while others shot him looks of clear disdain; some even glared at him with palpable hostility. In response, Li Yan exchanged courteous nods with those inclined toward friendship, and then—choosing not to dignify the cold, unfriendly stares with further attention—he deliberately veered toward a quiet corner of the space.

Even as he had made his journey, Li Yan had sensed a few piercing, cold glances emanating from within the ranks of the Condensed Qi disciples. Though he did not need to turn his head to be aware, he understood that these unfriendly looks likely came from the disciples of Ling Chong Peak or from those of other peaks who were close friends with Zhou Guaner. Zhou Guaner, having failed to make the group of 108 chosen cultivators on this occasion, was said to harbor a deep grudge. Rumor had it that many believed Li Yan's lethal poison—his "deadly toxin" technique—had impaired the performance of others later down the line, and thus there was resentment in the air.

Yet even amid these undercurrents of disdain there were those whose attitudes toward him remained congenial. For instance, Li Yan recalled Du Sanjiang of Si Xiang Peak, the affable yet dignified cultivator; there was also Lü Qiutong from Old Jun Peak, known for his calm demeanor; and among the Ling Chong Peak disciples there was Brother Wu—a youth with a dark complexion and an appearance that some found intimidating—who was the very one who had introduced Li Yan to the sect. Equally memorable was Brother Yu, a kindly young cultivator who had tended to Li Yan's injuries. Li Yan's first encounter upon awakening had been with one of these Ling Chong Peak disciples—who had even tried to pry information from him regarding his toxic, unstable condition. Yet Li Yan bore no ill will toward that man. In fact, during a break in the big competition, the two had engaged in conversation under the soft glow of a crystal screen. Through that exchange, Li Yan learned that it was in part thanks to the interventions of Brother Wu—whose fiercely resolute appearance belied a tacit kindness—and Brother Lu, a stout, corpulent cultivator, that he had managed to return safely to the sect. Brother Wu, with his rough edges and laconic manner, had exchanged only a few words with Li Yan before turning his unwavering gaze back to the crystal display. In Li Yan's estimation, Brother Wu was the type of man whose steadfast straightforwardness shone through, whereas Brother Lu, whose portly figure had prevented him from being selected into the group of 108, struck him as exceedingly slippery and cunning.

These three individuals remembered Li Yan all too vividly. They were the ones who had brought him into the sect, and they were well aware that Li Yan, despite being one of the few still burdened by the side effects of his toxic injuries, had managed—against considerable odds—to clamber his way into the prestigious group of 108. That alone had left them rather taken aback. Among them, only Brother Wu appeared to have any realistic chance of remaining in the group of 108 on merit; the others, by their very nature or recent progress, seemed unlikely candidates. Still, Brother Yu had long ago, during an expedition outside the sect nearly half a year prior, come into possession of a peculiar silk handkerchief. This was no ordinary cloth—it was reputed to possess the almost hypnotic ability to sway a man's heart. Even cultivators from slightly higher realms, by one or two minor levels, had found themselves unable to resist its mesmerizing pull. By employing this handkerchief, Brother Yu had, rather surprisingly, managed to secure his place among the chosen 108. Li Yan himself admitted that a measure of apprehension lingered whenever he thought of that handkerchief, though it was a matter of providence that their fates had not forced them to confront each other directly by way of its influence.

Most of the people with whom Li Yan now found himself had grouped together with their own peak's disciples, engaging in low, muted conversation. They offered him smiles of recognition and nods of greeting, yet none actually stepped forward to introduce themselves or to welcome him into their midst. In contrast, Li Yan felt profoundly isolated. Whereas the disciples from the other three peaks boasted at least twenty individuals on each peak, the Xiao Zhufeng contingent was represented solely by him. Hence, rather than feeling agitated by his solitary status, he simply chose to find a quiet corner where he could stand aside and discreetly survey his surroundings.

His gaze soon drifted to the very heart of the plaza, where an immense stone stele towered overhead. The last time Li Yan had tried to study this monument, he had been so distracted—and ultimately struck so hard by its mysterious power—that he had not been able to discern even its basic features before sustaining severe injuries. Today, however, it was clear that the stone stele would not intentionally harm anyone. Measuring roughly three to four zhang in width and towering over twenty zhang in height, the stele bore neither inscriptions nor carvings, its plain surface awash instead in a riot of shifting, iridescent light. The ceaseless flow of seven-colors across its surface imbued it with an aura of sanctity, as though the very object were alive with spiritual energy. A subtle pressure radiated out from within the stone—a barely perceptible yet pervasive force that intermittently swept across the ranks of Li Yan's fellow Condensed Qi disciples and even among the Foundation Establishment cultivators standing close by. It was as if the stele, in its mysterious and capricious manner, sought to intimidate those who were weaker than itself. Li Yan could only shake his head in silent wonder; just as Lin Da Qiao had once remarked, the device's spiritual essence was akin to that of a child whose mental faculties were yet undeveloped—now, it was flaunting its strength for all to see, particularly for those whose martial prowess paled in comparison.

Beyond the base of the stone stele, the remaining area of the plaza spread out like an open field. There, in the far distance, Li Yan noticed a narrow path that commenced at one corner of the plaza and wound its way upward toward the summit of the mountain.

As the murmurs of conversation among the disciples gradually dwindled into a hushed silence, Li Yan continued to study the plaza. At that moment, among the eight elders at the forefront, Peng Elder and the Si Xiang Peak master—the one famed for his white, crane-like hair—exchanged a glance. In less than a moment, the remaining six elders also shifted, their eyes suddenly flashing with a steely brilliance. In a low, commanding tone, Peng Elder then cried out, "They have arrived!"

At his call, the leading group of elders moved as one: they surged upward, each of them rising into the air until they reached an altitude of roughly one hundred meters. There they held themselves in silent suspension while every one of their eyes fixated in unison upon a single predetermined direction.

In the open space below, the attention of the assembled disciples was abruptly drawn upward. The steady murmur of conversation gradually died away as people exchanged wary glances with one another. Soon, a ripple of solemn awe passed through the crowd: first, casual "you look, I look" exchanges took place; then, in a formalized manner, several disciples began projecting their spiritual senses toward the spot where the elders' concentrated attention lay. Yet, no matter how earnestly they strained their inner vision or extended their awareness over vast distances, nothing at all could be detected. A murmur of discontented whispers soon broke out among the crowd. The elders above, having become aware of these subdued, private exchanges drifting upward from below, frowned ever so slightly. Still, no one dared to break the silence with an outburst of rebuke—or indeed, even Peng himself merely glanced downward before resuming his vigil.

A dozen or so heartbeats later, Li Yan observed that a few of the Foundation Establishment cultivators, who had until then exuded mild bewilderment, began to direct their eyes as well toward that same mysterious focal point. A handful of these were none other than the pseudo-Golden Core cultivators—people like Li Wu Yi, Baili Yuan, Wang Tian, and several others whose ranks were known to be of the "Jia Dan" caliber. The rest of their expressions hung somewhere between confusion and cautious anticipation. After another moment of time passed, even high-ranking Foundation Establishment experts such as Wei Chituo and Gan Shi could be seen intently gazing toward the distant horizon. The remaining cultivators, however, were content to continue sending forth their spiritual senses in a slow, unremitting scan of the skies.

At that juncture, Li Yan decided it was time to withdraw his own spiritual projection. Although he prided himself on his spiritual sense—refined through the rigorous cultivation of the Gui Shui True Classic—and held it in high regard as being far superior to those of his contemporaries, he was also well aware of his own limitations. In truth, his spiritual sense barely reached the level of the mid-stage of the tenth level of Condensed Qi. When faced with the vast expanses of the world, he admitted to himself that even the finest inner vision could not rival the clarity of one's physical sight. As he pondered these limitations in quiet introspection, a few more heartbeats later a sudden, low cry rang out: "Someone is coming!"

At once, Li Yan lifted his eyes and fixed his gaze toward the far reaches of the sky. At the very edge of the heavens, he discerned a dazzling orb—a concentrated ball of stinging, blinding light—slicing its way swiftly toward their position. In the brief span of the blink of an eye, the pulsating brilliance of that light intensified further, and its size rapidly expanded by a factor or two. Estimating from the speed of that single blink, Li Yan reckoned that the luminous projectile had already traversed at least a dozen li, if not more. In that moment, considering that one might blink three or four times within a single breath, it became clear that the spiritual sense of those Golden Core elders must be fantastically sensitive. Their ability to detect such an object from over 400 li away was nothing short of extraordinary, while even a senior brother at the Jia Dan level might have detected it from a distance of only a hundred to two hundred li.

After several more heartbeats, the blinding orb drew ever nearer. By that point, the glimmering sphere had expanded dramatically—to a width of roughly twelve or thirteen zhang and a length nearing a hundred zhang. This immense ball of light suddenly decelerated as it approached, halting its rapid advance roughly one hundred zhang away from the Wu Ling Sect's elder group. Then, emanating from deep within its luminous core, a mellifluous voice resonated with serene authority:   "Ah, it appears that it is Peng Elder. My apologies, esteemed Daoist friends, for keeping you waiting so long. Please, accept my sincere apologies." As the harmonious sound faded, the light gradually receded. In a short span of time, before the eyes of Li Yan and his companions, a gigantic airship materialized in midair—a vessel that seemed almost as if it were carved from pure light, now fully afloat in the celestial expanse.

At the prow of this immense craft stood a formation of fifteen Taoist priests clad in identical, pristine blue robes. Some were male, some female; some bore the marks of age while others still exuded youthful energy. The overwhelming aura they projected—a potent, almost tangible pressure—made it unmistakably clear that every one of these individuals was a Golden Core cultivator of considerable might. Behind them, in tightly packed rows, was a vast contingent of young Taoist disciples, their faces set in solemn, respectful determination, their presence as mighty as a drawn bow. The mellifluous voice that had just spoken had come from a middle-aged priest standing centrally among the group at the airship's bow.

This particular Taoist priest stood at about seven chi tall. His eyebrows were artfully tinted with hues of eight different colors; his eyes shone like a scattering of bright stars; his nose, finely contoured, evoked the image of a delicately suspended nebula; his mouth was as if set with a single, luminous pearl; and his face, reminiscent of exquisitely carved jade, bore the marks of middle age—even though he appeared to be only around forty years old, he still commanded an air of refined elegance and was, in every respect, strikingly handsome.

"Ah, pray tell—who might you be? It has been decades since our paths last crossed. So it appears that you have reached the pinnacle of Golden Core perfection," Peng Elder intoned in a voice as cool and unyielding as ever. His expression was unreadable, his eyes betraying no hint of emotion as he regarded the visitor. All he did was offer a slight bow and a detached greeting.

The visitor, who was none other than Master Hang Wuxian of the Taixuan Sect, responded with a warm, good-natured laugh. "Hehe, Peng Elder, you continue to maintain that standoffish manner. If my cultivation could compare even remotely with that of Brother Peng, then I should have attained Golden Core perfection long ago. In fact, I dare say that an ascent to the Nascent Soul stage would now be but a matter of time. Permit me to offer my congratulations in advance—hehe." His voice was friendly and laced with mirth; there was not the slightest tinge of discontent in his tone.

Peng Elder, preferring brevity over lengthy pleasantries, simply said, "Then let us descend. The time has come to open the Secret Realm." Without further elaboration, he merely nodded briefly towards the other cultivators from the opposing sect. Behind him, the remaining elders mirrored his gesture, offering gentle smiles and nods toward the group of blue-robed Taoists. Even Li Feng's mesmerizing mistress—usually known for her loquacious nature—merely returned a soft smile and a courteous nod toward their guests. Yet even that modest smile was enough to cause several of the younger Golden Core disciples to flush crimson; it was clear that at least two or three of these youths had only very recently consolidated their own Golden Core, which made the sight all the more affecting. The disciples from the Foundation Establishment and the Condensed Qi stages standing in the background looked similarly disapproving or overwhelmed by the gravity of the moment.

At that moment, a gentle, disdainful snort broke the calm from beside Master Hang Wuxian. A female Taoist—her hair thin and her skin marked by a network of wrinkles that spoke of years spent in hardship—uttered the sound. Her piercing, small eyes glared at Li Feng's beautiful mistress, and the expression on her face was unmistakably one of contempt. Though her cold snort was soft in volume, within the ears of those belonging to the Taixuan Sect it rang out like a clap of thunder, jolting many of them into immediate sobriety. Faces that had been relaxed now turned suddenly shy or even a touch embarrassed, and no one dared to meet her gaze.

In contrast, Li Feng's mistress responded with a graceful, swaying motion of her ample figure. With a light, almost musical laugh, she seemed to float downward, as if she were nothing more than a drifting willow leaf, joining Peng Elder and his retinue in a smooth, silent descent.

Undeterred, Master Hang Wuxian maintained his gentle smile and, as if unaffected by the display of discontent beside him, quietly said to his companions behind, "Very well, let us also descend now. I believe the Pure Land Sect has already reached the Ten-Step Courtyard, and surely their passage is now open. Let us proceed there first." With that, Hang Wuxian led the way as he stepped down toward the earth. Following him, a dozen or so Golden Core cultivators from his sect quickly followed, and soon afterward, nearly a hundred Taoist priests left the airship and descended into the vast plaza below.

Standing on the ground, Li Yan listened intently to the few words exchanged among the visitors above. In that moment, he realized—and his heart sank slightly—that the four major sects were entering the area through two distinct entrances: the Pure Land Sect would be coming through the Ten-Step Courtyard, while the Taixuan Sect, true to form, was arriving via the domain of the Wu Ling Sect.

Li Yan, still positioned at the back, did not have a clear view of the expression on Li Feng's mistress's face. And yet, as she soared upward into the sky, he could not help but notice the alluring, almost hypnotic curve of her form. Although her face was only partially visible in that brief, sideways glimpse, the moment was enough to send a thrill coursing through him—a thrill he struggled to hide. Almost immediately afterward, he chastised himself in his mind for the unseemly reaction. "Oh, how shameless," he thought bitterly. "I'm nothing but a heady, blood-and-ice youth, ruled by raw passion—and if I hadn't nearly sprouted a nosebleed right then, I'd surely be in trouble." Even so, he knew that he could not help his nature; the temptation that stirred within him was not for him alone.

Once everyone had landed, the scene shifted. Master Hang Wuxian gathered his retinue and secured the massive airship overhead. The process by which they would soon enter the Secret Realm appeared surprisingly straightforward, a fact that left Li Yan a bit astounded. After a few quiet, whispered exchanges between the two sides' Golden Core elders, each faction selected five of their elders to step forward and stand before the stone stele, as if to immediately begin the ancient ritual of opening a passage. It was clear that neither side intended to allow any prolonged interaction between the Foundation Establishment or Condensed Qi cultivators from the opposing factions. The urgency in their expressions indicated that they were all anxious to enter the Secret Realm immediately and to join up with the other two schools. In any case, there was no sign of the explosive, blood-and-sweat confrontation one might expect—a scenario in which one side would begin spewing provocative insults as soon as the two groups met, sparking instant hostility. Instead, the mood was one of efficient, almost businesslike determination, as if both sides were well aware that time was of the essence.

As Li Yan absorbed every detail of these rapid proceedings, he listened to snippets of conversation floating down from above. Comments here and there revealed key information: the four great sects would be entering through two separate portals; the Pure Land Sect's entry was via the Ten-Step Courtyard, while the Taixuan Sect, true to their penchant for theatrics, had chosen to arrive at the Wu Ling Sect's domain. Even though he was somewhat removed from the center of the action, Li Yan's keen eyes and discerning mind noted every nuance. He even recognized a fleeting glimpse of beauty as Li Feng's mistress passed overhead—the graceful, almost demure curve of her body, the flash of brilliant white that revealed itself beneath the trailing hem of her elegant robe. That glimpse, though fleeting, stirred something within him. He felt a stirring of desire that he quickly suppressed with a mental scolding for his apparent lack of restraint. After all, he was a young man still very much in the throes of vigorous, untamed youth; such unexpected arousal was hardly a novelty in his case.

As the assembled visitors and disciples began to converge on the plaza, Master Hang Wuxian, the leader of the Taixuan Sect, signaled that his party had finished alighting from the airship. Soon, the process of entering the Secret Realm commenced with an efficiency that no one could dispute. The Golden Core elders from both sides exchanged a few low murmurs of instruction before each side dispatched five of their representatives to gather in formation before the great stone stele. It was evident that this was not a chance encounter—there was no intention of a flamboyant confrontation or a verbal skirmish between hostile cultivators. Instead, everyone maintained a decorum befitting the moment, keenly aware that the task at hand was far too important to allow personal squabbles to erupt into open conflict.

In that solemn moment, as the two groups of elders prepared to commence the mystical ritual, Li Yan's inner mind raced to piece together the significance of the ritual. There would be no time for idle conversation or petty squabbling—the urgency lay solely in opening the ancient passage to the Secret Realm. The exchange, though carried out quietly and with ceremonial brevity, spoke volumes about the resolve of both factions. Every participant understood that their duty now was to step through that archaic threshold and to join with the other two schools awaiting within the hidden domain. Any unseemly display of arrogance or petty provocation was unthinkable in the gravity of such a moment.

Standing quietly off to one side, Li Yan absorbed the scene with a mix of pride and melancholy. Though he was alone from his own peak, he recognized that the spirit of the sect was not diminished by numbers alone, but by the strength of one's resolve in confronting destiny. In that silent pause before the ritual commenced, his eyes shifted from the clustered groups to the heart of the plaza, where the great stone stele shone with its otherworldly light—a living symbol of the sacred mystery that bound them all.

Every so often, from the depths of the agora, voices would murmur in quiet admiration or trepidation; subtle glances would shoot back and forth as if in silent acknowledgment of the enormity of the task before them. Then, almost imperceptibly at first, a ripple of activity broke out among the crowd. One voice rose above the whisper of the masses—a low, clear exhortation that seemed to mark the next phase of the ritual. In unison, the Golden Core elders who had been hovering in the air began to concentrate their gaze toward the same distant point in the sky. Their eyes, lit with silent intensity, were fixed on a rapidly approaching phenomenon: a brilliant, darting orb of concentrated light that cut through the horizon like a speeding arrow. Within the short span of a single blink, that orb expanded, its radiance intensifying and its dimensions multiplying until it was a colossal sphere—overwhelming in its brilliance and speed.

Li Yan, whose mind worked quickly to gauge the scale of the phenomenon, estimated that even in the mere instant of a blink the light orb had traversed at least a dozen li. Under the natural rhythm of breath—when one might blink three or four times in each exhalation—the sensitivity of a Golden Core elder's spiritual sense would allow them to detect such a phenomenon from as far away as 400 li. In contrast, a senior brother whose cultivation was of the pseudo-Golden Core variety should have been able to perceive it from only 100 to 200 li away at most.

After several moments—several measured breaths—the radiant orb finally surged forward, drawing ever nearer. Its size had ballooned to an awe-inspiring scale: a width of some twelve or thirteen zhang and a length approaching a hundred zhang. Just as it reached a critical proximity—approximately a hundred zhang away from the leading Wu Ling Sect elder—it arrested its rapid progress. In that suspended instant, from deep within its glowing mass, a melodious voice resonated throughout the clearing:

"Ah, it appears that it is Peng Elder. My sincere apologies, esteemed Daoist friends, for keeping you waiting for so long. Please, forgive the delay."

Almost as if on cue, the brilliant radiance of the sphere slowly receded, and within a very short time, the empty sky before Li Yan and his gathered companions was graced by the appearance of a colossal airship. Floating effortlessly in the firmament, the vessel exuded an aura of ancient majesty and quiet power.

At the very forefront of this magnificent ship, stationed at the bow, stood a group of fifteen Taoist priests uniformly clad in elegant blue robes that spoke of discipline and uniformity. There were both men and women, some who bore the dignified air of seasoned masters and others who still retained a youthful vibrancy. The overwhelming aura radiating from these individuals made it abundantly clear that they were all accomplished Golden Core cultivators. Behind them, in seemingly endless rows, a dense cadre of young Taoist disciples fell in line—each one's countenance solemn, their presence as commanding as arrows streaking across the sky. The mellifluous voice that had announced their arrival had been delivered by a middle-aged priest at the center of the formation, whose presence was both authoritative and gentle.

This particular Taoist priest, who seemed to stand at about seven chi tall, was an arresting sight. His eyebrows were tinted with eight different hues, an artistic flourish that lent his gaze an ethereal quality. His eyes shone as brightly as scattered stars in the night; his nose, delicate and finely chiseled, gave the impression of a sculpted work of art; his mouth was like a perfectly set pearl, and his face—reminiscent of glossy, polished jade—exuded an unmistakable grace. Though he appeared to be only around forty years old, there was a timeless quality to him—a refined elegance that bespoke both maturity and enduring beauty.

Then, with measured formality, Peng Elder addressed the visitor. "Ah, pray tell—who might you be? It appears that you are none other than Master Hang Wuxian of the Taixuan Sect. It has been decades since our last encounter, and you have attained full Golden Core perfection." Peng's tone was cold and detached, his expression unmoved by the passage of time or the subtle emotions that his words might otherwise conjure. With barely a gesture more than a slight bow, he allowed his words to hang in the air with an air of indifferent dignity.

Master Hang Wuxian, however, responded with cheerful warmth. "Hehe, Peng Elder, you remain as aloof as ever. Were my cultivation to compare with Brother Peng's, I should have reached full Golden Core perfection many years ago. In truth, I daresay that an eventual challenge to ascend to the Nascent Soul stage is but a breath away. Allow me, if only in jest, to congratulate you in advance—hehe." His tone was light and imperturbably joyful, entirely dispelling any hint of hostility in the exchange.

Without further ado, Peng Elder spoke again in measured brevity. "Then let us descend. The time has come to activate the passage into the Secret Realm." He clearly wished to avoid any prolonged dialogue, and with a curt nod toward the Taoist priests at the bow, he signified that action should speak louder than words. Behind him, the remaining elders followed suit, nodding and smiling courteously at the assembled visitors. Even Li Feng's enchanting mistress offered a gentle smile and a nod of greeting to the guests—though her smile, as ever, was fraught with the magnetic allure that caused even the youngest of the Golden Core disciples to blush furiously. Among those young cultivators, it was evident that only a few had recently consolidated their own Golden Core levels; those at the Foundation Establishment or Condensed Qi stages appeared even more overwhelmed by the dignified presence of their seniors.

Just then, a quiet, derisive snort emanated from beside Master Hang Wuxian. It came from a female Taoist of a more rugged appearance: her hair was sparse and her skin bore a network of wrinkles unfavorably accumulated over many years. Her expression was one of thinly veiled discontent, and as she cast a disdainful glance toward Li Feng's alluring mistress, her small eyes sparkled with contempt. Though her sound was soft, to those present in the Taixuan Sect it reverberated like a sudden clap of thunder. In that instant, many among the assembled youths jerked their eyes away, a flush of embarrassment or shame creeping across their faces as they avoided meeting her gaze.

In remarkable contrast, Li Feng's mistress swayed gracefully, her ample form moving with the fluidity of a drifting willow leaf. With a soft laugh, she seemed to float gently downward, joining Peng Elder and the others in their descent. Her movement was so fluid and natural that it left a lingering trace of ethereal beauty in the minds of onlookers.

Master Hang Wuxian, meanwhile, maintained his genial countenance, as if the cold remark had gone entirely unnoticed. Quietly, he leaned toward those behind him and said in a gentle murmur, "Very well, let us descend as well. I believe the Pure Land Sect has already reached the Ten-Step Courtyard, and by now their passage must be open. Let us proceed there first." With that, he led his group down to the ground. One by one, a dozen or so of his Golden Core cultivators followed in his footsteps, and shortly thereafter the approximate hundred-odd Taoist priests also alighted into the vast plaza.

Standing among the throng at the lower level, Li Yan listened to the brief exchanges overhead. In that moment, it became perfectly clear to him that the four major sects were entering the area through two distinct gateways: the Pure Land Sect would be coming in via the Ten-Step Courtyard, whereas the Taixuan Sect had chosen to approach from the territory governed by the Wu Ling Sect.

Although Li Yan could not make out the precise expression on Li Feng's mistress's face—given his position at the rear—the memory of her ascent into the sky had left an indelible image in his mind. Even though he had only caught a glimpse of her figure, partly obscured so that her full face remained in shadow, the graceful curves of her form, and that flash of pure, snowy white glimpsed beneath the trailing hem of her robe, sent a spark of unexpected excitement through him. For a fleeting instant, his heart had skipped a beat. He then quickly forced himself to regain his composure, internally chastising himself for his lack of decorum. This, he reminded himself, was the nature of a headstrong youth awash in passion—such uncontrollable feelings were hardly surprising, though he could scarcely forgive himself for them.

Once all the visitors had finally set foot on the ground, Master Hang Wuxian and his retinue quickly gathered together and secured the massive airship overhead so that it would no longer be a distraction. What followed next—the process of entering the Secret Realm itself—was remarkably simple in its execution, a fact that left Li Yan both impressed and somewhat surprised. After a few low, hushed words passed between the two opposing groups of Golden Core elders, each side selected five of its elders to step forward and stand solemnly in front of the stone stele. Their positioning made it abundantly clear that they intended to begin the ritual to open the passage without any further delay or frivolous chatter. It appeared that neither side wished to allow even momentary exchange among the Foundation Establishment or Condensed Qi cultivators present here. The urgency was palpable: everyone wanted to secure passage into the Secret Realm and then reconvene with the other two schools waiting inside. There was no hint that the moment would devolve into an explosive confrontation of verbal or physical conflict; rather, all parties emanated an air of quiet resolve and disciplined focus.

As Li Yan stood quietly on the sidelines, he listened and observed every detail of the unfolding scene. Even as the elders from both sides began to murmur their incantations and exchange subtle cues, Li Yan's mind registered the meticulous calm that permeated the environment. He understood that beneath the austere exterior of each venerable elder lay an unyielding determination to conduct the ritual with precision and speed. This was not a moment for pride or rancor—it was a moment for unified purpose.

In that ambient silence, Li Yan's inner thoughts turned reflective. Despite his solitary state as the sole representative from Xiao Zhufeng, he recognized the bittersweet irony of his isolation amidst such formidable company. The resolute expressions and measured gestures of his elders reminded him that every cultivator, irrespective of their current level, had once struggled against the tide of fate. And now, as he stood there with half an eye on the ritual unfolding at the great stone stele and half on the distant horizon where a narrow path wound upward toward the mountain's summit, he felt the heavy burden of destiny resting on his shoulders.

He recalled, too, the murmurs that had drifted up from the assembled crowd below—the whispered exchanges of both admiration and disdain that had characterized his earlier arrival among the Condensed Qi disciples. The memory of those cold, hostile glances still lingered in his mind, a reminder of the complex interpersonal tensions that inevitably arose when ambition and rivalry converged. Yet even amid those sour notes there was kindness—the friendly nods of Du Sanjiang, the calm acknowledgment of Lü Qiutong, and the protective concern of Brother Wu and Brother Yu. These recollections soothed him momentarily, lending him strength as he awaited what might come next.

Then, as if on cue, an unanticipated interruption stirred the collective attention. After a dozen or so measured breaths had passed, a faint yet firm voice arose from somewhere within the ranks. "Someone is coming!" it declared in a low, urgent tone. At that instant, Li Yan's eyes shot upward. At the very rim of the sky, a dazzling, searing orb of light could be seen streaking fervently in their direction. It moved with an almost otherworldly speed—as if propelled by forces beyond mortal control—and in the brief span of a single blink, its intensity magnified and its dimensions increased severalfold. Li Yan, ever the keen observer, estimated that during one blink the radiant ball must have covered a distance of no less than a dozen li. In the cadence of a single breath—one that might allow for three or four such blinks—the sensitivity of a Golden Core elder's spiritual sense would undoubtedly allow them to detect such a phenomenon from as far away as four hundred li. Even a senior brother of a less refined level would have noticed it from a distance of a hundred to two hundred li. The magnitude of this perceptual feat was humbling.

After a few more heartbeats passed in near silence, the blazing orb drew ever nearer. Its size had swelled to an almost incomprehensible scale—a diameter of nearly twelve or thirteen zhang and a length approaching one hundred zhang. And then, in a sudden, almost imperceptible pause, it halted its unstoppable rush when it was roughly one hundred zhang away from the congregation of Wu Ling Sect elders. From deep within this luminescent sphere, a voice—soft, yet resonant—echoed clearly through the still air:   "Ah, it appears that it is Peng Elder. My apologies, dear Daoist friends, for the prolonged wait. Please, forgive the delay." As those words faded, the blinding radiance of the orb began to diminish gradually, and, transforming as if by magic, a colossal airship emerged before their eyes—a majestic vessel that floated serenely in midair.

Aboard this awe-inspiring craft, at its very prow, stood fifteen Taoist priests attired uniformly in brilliant blue robes. Their assembly was a study in contrasts: men and women, young and old, all united by the unyielding aura of the Golden Core stage. Their presence radiated power and dignity, and behind them, an innumerable host of young apprentices clustered tightly together, their expressions solemn and imbued with a sense of purpose. The mellifluous voice that had announced the arrival of the airship had come from a dignified middle-aged priest who stood squarely at the helm.

This distinguished priest, who measured roughly seven chi in height, was a sight to behold. His eyebrows, painted with a subtle array of eight intermingling colors, lent an unconventional brilliance to his gaze. His eyes sparkled like constellations scattered across a twilight sky; his finely fashioned nose evoked the delicate finish of a master's sculpture; his lips, like the setting of a polished pearl, complemented a visage that resembled intricately carved jade. Although he appeared to be only around forty years old, his graceful presence and timeless elegance made him seem far older than his years—a living embodiment of refined beauty and strength.

Peng Elder, his countenance as impassive as ever, regarded this visitor with complete cool detachment. "Ah, pray tell—who might you be? It appears that you are none other than Master Hang Wuxian of the Taixuan Sect. It has been decades since our last meeting, and you have now reached full Golden Core perfection," he intoned, his voice measured and devoid of any sentiment. With scarcely more than a slight bow of his head, Peng Elder's words hung in the still air.

Master Hang Wuxian answered in a tone of quiet mirth, "Hehe, Peng Elder, you remain as unyielding and unapproachable as ever. Were my cultivation to match even a fraction of Brother Peng's, I might well have attained Golden Core perfection years ago. I dare say that an ascent to the Nascent Soul stage is now only a matter of time. Permit me to offer my felicitations in advance—hehe." His warm laughter underscored his friendly demeanor fully, dispelling any hints of rivalry or resentment.

Without further ado, Peng Elder then motioned decisively. "Then let us descend. We are about to commence the opening of the Secret Realm." He did not wish to engage in prolonged pleasantries or debate; he merely nodded, and his gaze, steady and unyielding, swept over the assembly. The other elders followed his lead, nodding gently and smiling toward the group of blue-robed Taoists. Even Li Feng's beautiful mistress, usually inclined to speak at length, offered only a demure smile and a polite nod in return. Yet even that modest smile set the cheeks of several young Golden Core disciples aflame with embarrassment—two or three among them visibly chagrined, for it was apparent that these were individuals who had scarcely, and only recently, solidified their own Golden Core status. The disciples of the lower stages—the Foundation Establishment and the Condensed Qi practitioners—appeared even more dejected in comparison.

Just then, from the vicinity of Master Hang Wuxian, a small, derisive snort was heard. It came from a female Taoist whose appearance was rough and unpolished: her thin, sparse hair and deeply crinkled face betrayed years spent in hardship. Her eyes, sharp and small, flashed a look of unmistakable scorn as they fell upon Li Feng's enchanting mistress. Though her snort was soft, in the ears of those assembled it resounded like a sudden burst of thunder. In that instant, many among the present young cultivators averted their eyes, their expressions softening into a mixture of embarrassment and shame.

In stark contrast, Li Feng's mistress swayed downward gracefully, her ample form moving with the fluid elegance of a drifting leaf in the wind. A soft, musical laugh escaped her, and with a natural, almost effortless air of beauty, she descended alongside Peng Elder and his assembled retinue.

Master Hang Wuxian, still smiling as though nothing amiss had occurred, leaned toward the disciples behind him and said quietly, "Very well, let us now descend. I believe that the Pure Land Sect has already reached its Ten-Step Courtyard, and their passage must be open by now. Let us go over there first." With those words uttered in a tone of gentle command, Hang Wuxian led the way down to the solid ground. Soon, over a dozen Golden Core cultivators from his party followed promptly, and subsequently, roughly a hundred Taoist priests alighted, their collective movement converging in the vast central plaza.

Positioned at the lower edge of the gathering, Li Yan listened intently to the scattered words that floated down from the upper echelons. It became clear to him that the four major sects were arriving via two distinct entry points—the Pure Land Sect using the Ten-Step Courtyard, and the Taixuan Sect making their presence known in the domain of the Wu Ling Sect. Although Li Yan himself could not see clearly the expression on Li Feng's mistress's face from his distant vantage point, he could still recall and appreciate the fleeting, entrancing glimpse of her form as she ascended. Even that brief flash—a glimpse of radiant white peeking fleetingly from the hem of her long, flowing robe—had stirred a deep, unexpected flutter within him. Quickly, he forced himself to regain composure, muttering silent reproaches for his own shamelessness. After all, he was nothing if not a headstrong, fervent youth, with passions burning unchecked. It wasn't so much that he wished to be thus affected—but rather, such impulses were simply the inevitable part of his nature.

After all the visitors had landed and the chaotic murmurs began to settle, Master Hang Wuxian, the leader of the Taixuan Sect, secured his enormous airship so that it would no longer hover above as a distraction. Then, almost in a matter of moments, the process of entering the Secret Realm commenced—a process whose simplicity and efficiency struck Li Yan as somewhat astonishing. Following a few brief whispers exchanged by the two groups of Golden Core elders, both sides sent forth five of their chosen elders. These emissaries moved purposefully to stand before the great stone stele, as if to inaugurate the ancient ritual that would imminently open the gateway. No longer was there time or space for casual exchanges among the Foundation Establishment or Condensed Qi disciples gathered here. All present were singularly focused on the urgent objective: to penetrate the depths of the Secret Realm and reunite with the other two factions waiting within. No one expected a scene of heated arguments or explosive provocations—a scenario of shouting and brawling was simply out of the question in this moment of solemnity.