dead smell
Hundreds of cultivators from two different sects had gathered in the plaza. They were divided into two loosely defined regions within the open space, but not far from the ancient stone stele that dominated the center of the area. Behind these two groups, the remaining disciples stood in silent, watchful ranks, their eyes fixed on the foremost group of ten individuals who were gathered directly in front of the stele.
Before the stone stele itself, the ten Golden Core cultivators had arrayed themselves in a fanlike or semi-circular formation. In the very center of this group, two figures stood side by side: Elder Peng Wuxing—a man known for his unyielding demeanor and piercing authority—and the austere Taoist Hang Wuxian, whose presence exuded both charm and quiet power. As if in a ritual that bridged the divine and the mortal, Elder Peng extended his spiritual sense toward the stele. In an instant, the swirling, multicolored streams of light that had previously danced across its surface gradually came to a halt. In a truly astonishing display, these vibrant, ceaseless flows of light began to slowly coalesce into the unmistakable image of a child's face.
Standing off to one corner of the plaza, Li Yan could scarcely tear his eyes away. Just like everyone else present, he was transfixed on what was unfolding before him. When the child‐like visage appeared on the stele, Li Yan's eyes widened in genuine astonishment. The realization dawned on him that the stone stele was not merely a cold, inert monument—it was imbued with a living spirit, an "artifact spirit" (器靈) that could manifest a human face. How remarkable to behold such an effect! It was as if the very soul of the stele had chosen to reveal itself in the form of an innocent child's countenance.
Almost simultaneously, a voice—ancient and weathered with the patina of countless years—rose slowly from somewhere in the empty heights overhead. The voice was deep and resonating, with a timbre that carried both humor and a biting skepticism. "So it turns out it is you, the Taixuan's old bull-nose," the voice declared with wry amusement. "I had assumed this time it would be those bald, thieving Pure Land miscreants instead." The words, though laced with playful mockery, sent ripples of surprise throughout the crowd.
At that moment, many among the cultivators—particularly those who were venturing to this sacred gathering for the very first time—found themselves momentarily stunned into silence. Among the newcomers, several Foundation Establishment and Condensed Qi disciples from the Taixuan Sect could not hide their indignation. Their expressions twisted in anger as they exchanged looks with one another. Yet when they saw that their own Golden Core elders at the front remained utterly unruffled, not a single one displaying any trace of ire, they were forced to swallow their outrage and suppress their anger deep within their hearts.
Not far away, cultivators of the Wu Ling Sect, who were also experiencing the trials of the Secret Realm for the first time, allowed themselves a few low chuckles. Their soft laughter, almost imperceptible, rippled through their ranks. However, this sudden burst of mirth did not go unnoticed by some of the Taixuan disciples nearby. Glancing over from their side, several of them exchanged heated, angry glares with those who permitted themselves even the faintest hint of amusement, as if silently daring their rivals to show disrespect.
Li Yan, still rooted in his solitary corner, listened intently for the source of that ancient, gravelly voice. As he searched his focus, he realized that the voice was coming from the very face that had materialized upon the stone stele. It was as if the child's features were animated, its small mouth opening and closing slowly in cadence with the voice itself. The eerie combination of this youthful visage paired with the ancient, almost mocking tone left him with an unsettling feeling—a sense that something both wondrous and inexplicably uncanny was at work.
Almost immediately, the scene shifted when a respectful greeting was issued. "Respected venerable Tianbei, we humbly apologize for disturbing your quiet cultivation," came the measured words from Hang Wuxian. His tone was gentle, his smile warm yet respectful, as he bowed deeply with sincerity. In perfect unison, the other members of the ten-person formation standing before the stele—including Elder Peng himself—joined in by clasping their hands in a formal bow. Their collective gesture was one of deep reverence, as if they were addressing not just a mere stone but a being of ancient wisdom and power.
This unexpected act of deference left many onlookers dumbfounded. Li Yan himself, running a hand over his nose as he processed what he had just witnessed, remembered a conversation from long ago. He recalled that Lin Daqiao had once said, "The stele claims to be called 'Great Tianbei' and its cultivation has reached a fearsome level comparable to the mid-stage of Golden Core cultivation." Yet here, even among the Golden Core practitioners before him—many of whom were clearly in the later stages of Golden Core refinement—the spirit within the stele remained a singular enigma. Its cultivation, according to legend, was said to transcend tens of thousands of years, and by any measure of seniority, it was exquisitely ancient.
A moment later, the child's face on the stele, still animated by that mysterious force, shifted its tone. In a voice that trembled with something akin to reluctant amusement, it said, "Hmm, but with so many of these little Condensed Qi rabble (or 'kid' cultivators) entering this realm, how much of my vital energy must be expended? I, for one, am not inclined to play if it drains me too much." The effect was almost comical—despite its youthful expression, the spirit on the stele now appeared full of secret satisfaction. It glanced momentarily toward the group of elders behind the front line; as if it realized that its thoughts might be laid bare, its eyes darted quickly back to a fixed, impassive stare. It was clear to everyone that even though the spirit's words were delivered in an ancient, weathered tone, it was clearly calculating the cost and relishing in its own power. And yet, for all its sly delight, the voice and the image together struck observers as deeply eerie.
Before anyone could dwell further on the unsettling spectacle, Elder Peng's calm voice broke the moment of charged silence. "Rest assured, venerable Tianbei," he intoned steadily, "both of our sects shall each offer 500 medium-grade spirit stones to compensate for your expenditure." At his signal, with a deft flick of his lavishly embroidered robe sleeve, countless small, lustrous stones shot forth like a barrage of arrows. They traced long, graceful arcs through the air, sparkling with brilliant, dazzling colors as they streaked toward the stele. Simultaneously, Hang Wuxian lifted his arm with a broad, congenial smile and, from the deep blue fabric of his sleeve, released a cascade of shimmering, multicolored energy akin to a vibrant fireworks display. In the blink of an eye, it was as if the sky itself had been transformed, with a veritable meteor shower of spirit stones falling like a brilliant, rainbow-hued rain upon the sacred monument.
The sheer generosity of this offering left not only the dignified elders but also the hundreds of lower-level disciples—those in the Condensed Qi stage and the Foundation Establishment cultivators—utterly agape. "A thousand medium-grade spirit stones?" someone murmured under their breath, astonished. "Good heavens, such largesse is unheard of." In the normal course of events within the sect, even the revered Golden Core elders at the peak might receive only five medium-grade stones per month. As for the Foundation Establishment disciples, only a precious few managed to hoard a single stone or two, treating them as treasured relics not casually expended. For context, one medium-grade spirit stone could be exchanged for a hundred lower-grade stones—but the quality of spiritual energy that medium-grade stones contained was such that they could not be substituted by mere numbers.
After only a few heartbeats, as if obeying some preordained rhythm, the dazzling cascade of spirit stones fell like a transient meteor shower and then disappeared without a trace from the space above.
Elder Peng then inquired in a clear, resonant voice that carried to every ear in the plaza: "Respected Tianbei, may we now commence the ritual?" In his tone there was an undertone of cautious pragmatism. Yet in his innermost thoughts he mused darkly, "Were it not for your Yuan Ying Patriarch—since you were personally arranged by his own hand—your intelligence (or spiritual acuity) would not have been so impressive. But now, it seems you have grown somewhat greedy. Still, you must expend energy—and with over a hundred Condensed Qi disciples joining us this time, these spirit stones will serve as the standard henceforth. This is the maximum we can offer. It occurs only once every fifteen years, which is acceptable. Still, if you were to demand even more stones, then it is not entirely beyond possibility that the Patriarch might decide to extinguish your spiritual wisdom, leaving you permanently reduced to a mere automaton, a tool who only obeys orders."
A deep, almost theatrical cough punctuated his words before the child-like face on the stele leaned forward as if to speak again. "Ahem—of course, of course," it declared in a surprisingly formal tone for such a youthful guise, "I shall now commence the passage ritual. You ten, prepare yourselves to activate the portal." Almost immediately, the surface of the stele became shrouded in a swirling haze. Gradually, the visage of the child dissolved into mist, and the stele's surface returned to its uninterrupted cascade of radiant, shifting colors.
Elder Peng and Hang Wuxian exchanged a swift glance, a silent affirmation of the ritual's progression. Then they turned their attention to the others around them, scanning the faces of those present. With subtle nods all around, the ten emissaries focusing on the portal gathered their concentrated mystical energy. In that charged moment, brilliant hues—like strands of dawn's light—began to sparkle from each of these ten figures. An almost apocalyptic aura surged upward from between them, an energy so massive it seemed capable of sinking the very heavens. Within seconds, the entire plaza was suddenly cloaked in an oppressive, awe-inspiring pressure that descended from above, causing Li Yan and his compatriots to feel as if they were standing at the brink of death. Their hearts pounded furiously in terror and astonishment, and a deep, paralyzing sense of impotence welled up from within their souls. So overwhelming was the force that even the simple impulse to move was stifled, and every Foundation Establishment cultivator present paled visibly under this extraordinary assault on their spiritual strength.
Looking upward, Li Yan observed as the myriad hues of light coalesced overhead into one gigantic, pulsating ball of purple luminescence. Slowly, the orb of radiant energy drifted toward the multicolored glow that remained upon the stele. At the precise moment when those colorful streams intertwined in a mesmerizing dance, the ancient stone itself seemed to dissolve into nothingness. In its place, as if conjured from the very void, a passage materialized—a doorway nearly 10 feet tall and 10 feet wide, its surfaces starkly divided into jet-black and pristine white. Within this miraculous portal, swirling vortices of energy rotated and flowed with hypnotic grace, giving any who approached the eerie impression that they would be drawn inexorably in. The aura was such that even the slightest contact might mean being sucked into an unknown abyss, forever absent from this mortal realm.
For about half a minute, the enormous purple orb continued to supply and sustain the energy that maintained the stability of the portal. Then, gradually, the ten Golden Core emissaries allowed their energy to wane, slowly withdrawing the mystical force they had concentrated. One by one, their faces either turned ghostly pale or flushed with the unmistakable strain of immense expenditure. It was painfully evident that within just a few heartbeats—no more than a scant half-minute—their internal spiritual power had been drained to a remarkable degree. And this was astonishing, considering that even at their exalted Golden Core stage, such a rapid depletion was uncommon.
Elder Peng's voice rang clear and resolute, "Very well. With the two groups of Golden Core cultivators now in position, the remaining disciples—those at the Foundation Establishment and Condensed Qi stages—are to line up in groups of ten. The Taixuan Sect and the Wu Ling Sect will take turns entering the Secret Realm." His words, delivered with a faint but noticeable flush of exertion, spread throughout the plaza like ripples in water. After his pronouncement, the ten Golden Core emissaries congregated once more, each taking their place on opposite sides of the newly formed passage. In unison, they joined hands to form an unusual golden seal—a mystical symbol that swiftly manifested in the air as an inscrutable ancient character. The symbol slowly descended and affixed itself above the portal, much like the auspicious "Fu" character (福) that people paste during the New Year to bring blessings. It hovered there as an emblem of the ritual's power and authority.
"Why are we still waiting? When shall we enter?" Elder Peng roared suddenly, his voice echoing off the ancient stone and into every ear. Without another word, the ten of them continued to strain every ounce of energy to maintain the presence of that golden seal, even as it became painfully evident that sustaining it was an enormous strain.
On the Wu Ling Sect's side, only Li Feng's enchanting mistress and two other elders remained. Unhesitating and with remarkable decisiveness, they stepped forward and launched themselves into the air toward the black and white passage. Once they reached its threshold, they did not hesitate—they dove headlong into the passage, vanishing from view. Shortly afterward, the remaining ten Golden Core cultivators from the Taixuan Sect, noticing that three elder figures from the Wu Ling Sect had already disappeared inside, followed suit and collectively flew through the portal until they, too, vanished without a trace.
Remaining at the rear of the gathering, Li Yan watched this silent, almost surreal spectacle unfold. Aside from a few simple exchanges of words, it was striking that so many of his fellow cultivators had chosen to remain entirely silent. Their determination was evident—they were all focused on entering the Secret Realm as quickly as possible. Li Yan's thoughts turned, and he recalled that previously the Wu Ling Sect had admitted only three Golden Core elders, while the Taixuan Sect had admitted ten. Presumably, the ones who entered would be tasked with setting up and arranging the other end of the passage. Yet the disparity in numbers was vast. Should they not fear that inside they might encounter peril or misfortune? But then a fleeting thought crossed his mind: the entrance proportion is firmly under the control of the Wu Ling Sect. Perhaps in their wisdom they have devised manifold strategies for securing the entry. Even if the opposing side were to emerge from the route of the Ten-Step Courtyard, they must have taken precautions. Li Yan allowed himself a self-deprecating smile, wondering if perhaps he was overthinking the matter.
Not long after, Li Yan's steady gaze shifted to the front, where the first wave of Foundation Establishment cultivators began their movement. One group after another proceeded in orderly succession, each set of disciples taking their turn to enter the mysterious passage. Though the two groups of Foundation Establishment disciples—each from their respective sects—remained taciturn and silent while standing at the threshold, Li Yan did notice subtle gestures among them. Some nodded courteously upon meeting members of the other side or offered a small smile to indicate recognition and mutual respect through years of acquaintance. Still, not all exchanges were so amicable: there were those whose eyes glowed with barely concealed hostility. Li Yan observed at least five or six cultivators fixariously glaring at Li Wu Yi, their murderous expressions suggesting that they might be ready to tear him apart at the slightest provocation. Yet Li Wu Yi himself, ever the picture of calm and affability, simply returned gentle smiles to everyone, regardless of whether they looked at him with contempt or merely nodded in quiet acknowledgment. It was as if he were greeting old friends he had known for decades. When his turn eventually came, Li Wu Yi slipped quickly into the dark passage, disappearing from sight as though swallowed by the void itself.
Li Yan felt a pang in his heart as he watched all of this unfold. Because Li Wu Yi was not one of the competing Foundation Establishment cultivators—and he had not joined the front wave of Golden Core elders—he was afforded the opportunity to observe these striking scenes from the rear. Inwardly he sighed, "It appears Master was right. Senior Brother has indeed made far too many enemies already… and this is coming solely from the Taixuan Sect!" He thought bitterly of similar sentiments raised by others in his circle—Wang Tian, Gan Shi, Baili Yuan, Wei Chituo, and so on—all of whom had similarly acquired troublesome reputations.
The pace of entry was astonishingly quick. The ten Golden Core elders at the passage entrance had signaled, with severe, uncompromising glances, that movement must be accelerated. They maintained the ancient inscription fixed at the door with palpable effort. Once the Foundation Establishment cultivators had passed through, it was then the turn for the group of 108, including Li Yan's own. They, too, were lined up in groups of ten. However, Li Yan himself was positioned so far toward the very back that by the time his group was ready to proceed, they were effectively at the tail end of the procession. As he and the other nine members of his group advanced to the threshold of the black-and-white passage, Li Yan's mind suddenly became troubled. Earlier, when the two opposing groups were separated by a wide distance, he had sensed nothing unusual. Now that the two groups were drawing ever nearer at the passage's mouth, he felt a distinct pang of anxiety deep in his chest—a tingling forewarning that emanated from that ten-person section on the opposite side. There was something about the energy emanating from that group that struck him as both familiar and yet chillingly foreign at the same time. In that subtle, almost imperceptible mix, he detected a trace of a scent he once knew well—one shot through with the unmistakable odor of death. The presence of such a morbid, dangerous aura made his skin crawl with apprehension.
Frowning as his heart pounded, Li Yan slowed his step as he took a careful, lingering look at the opposing group. He deliberately refrained from sending out his own spiritual sense—a technique that, under these close-range conditions, might inadvertently alert his rivals. Instead, he relied on his unadorned eyes to glean every detail.
Then a voice cut through the stillness from among the ten elder figures on the opposing side—specifically one elder of the Taixuan Sect. "Hurry up and follow behind!" he commanded sharply, his tone tinged with impatience as he addressed Li Yan's slow progress. Meanwhile, a few elders from the Wu Ling Sect, who had been watching the unfolding scene with quiet intensity, noticed Li Yan's moments of hesitation. Not a word was spoken, yet two of them exchanged knowing glances, their eyes momentarily lighting up with an unmistakable gleam as they watched him intently.
From behind, two Wu Ling disciples, nearly whispering in urgent tones, urged, "Uncle Li, please hurry along!" Their voices betrayed a mix of concern and mild irritation at his seeming reluctance to advance. Even the opposing group of Condensed Qi disciples noticed this small disturbance, their eyes cold and unyielding as they focused on Li Yan and his companions.
Taking a steadying breath, Li Yan tried to dispel the uneasy feeling in his chest. He glanced again at the ten individuals patiently waiting on the other side, and although his heart still pounded with a mix of apprehension and that strangeness he couldn't quite place, he finally mustered his resolve. With determination overriding his earlier hesitation, he stepped forward and crossed the threshold of the black-and-white passage.
Inside the passage, the atmosphere was almost otherworldly. The corridor's walls rippled with swirling eddies of darkness and light, as if the very fabric of reality were bending. Every step that Li Yan took into that realm felt like a step into an uncertain destiny. The hushed murmurs of those left behind gradually faded as the passageway enveloped him and his remaining comrades in its chilling embrace.
As Li Yan moved deeper into the corridor, he couldn't help but reflect on the uncanny events he had just witnessed. The miraculous transformation of the stele's surface, the ancient child's face that had spoken in a voice both playful and sinister, and the unfathomable generosity of the spirit stones—all of it suggested that the realm they were about to enter was governed by forces beyond mortal measure. Here, in this borderland between the known world and the secret realm, reality itself seemed fluid and unpredictable. Even as his mind raced with questions about the purpose of the ritual and the true nature of the ancient spirit inhabiting the stone, he noticed that his senses were suddenly overwhelmed by a distinctive energy—a faint but unmistakable aura that seemed to emanate from the opposing ten-person group that had just been observed at the passage entrance. This aura was infamously familiar in a way that sent a shiver down his spine. It carried the lingering residue of loss and death, a deadly presence masked beneath an air of calm that belied its true danger.
He recalled the words of his master echoing in his mind about how sometimes one may encounter foes even within one's own sect, and how formidable enemies could be born from differences in methods and spirit. Now, standing at this threshold, Li Yan felt as though fate had drawn two destinies together. On one side, the marching ranks of his own sect's disciples advanced in solemn silence; on the other, the counter-group with that cold, almost predatory energy was arrayed like a potential threat. The tension in the very air was palpable, as if time itself had slowed in anticipation of what was to come.
A sharp command, piercing through the thick heaviness of expectation, came from one of the Taixuan elders addressing the group. "Hurry up! Follow me!" The urgency in that voice, laced with a trace of impatience, made it clear that any further delay was unacceptable. At the same time, one could hear a barely audible murmur from behind Li Yan—a couple of his Wu Ling companions urging him to move faster. Their words were gentle, yet carried an unmistakable note of reprimand, as they chided him for hanging back while the others surged forward toward the mysterious portal.
For a long moment, the silence in the passage was broken only by the soft echoes of footsteps and whispered reassurances. Li Yan felt every nerve in his body awaken as he advanced, his eyes fixed on the vague shapes of those who had already entered. Although he could not yet make out their features in detail behind the shifting darkness of the corridor, an internal alarm began to pulse in his chest. There was something about that opposing group—something in their mere presence—that hinted at danger. Their energy was layered with an undercurrent of lethal intent. It was as if the very air around them had become charged with a morbid familiarity, a stale, suffocating smell of death that was both known and wholly alien to him.
Despite these ominous sensations, Li Yan pressed on. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts: on one hand, he remembered a time when his master had warned him that enemy intentions can sometimes be hidden among familiar faces; on the other, he was determined not to let his fear show. He carefully took note of a few of his fellow cultivators who—when they encountered members of the opposing group—exchanged small nods or cautious smiles. In at least one instance, however, he noticed a particularly aggressive look: a murderous gleam in the eyes of five or six Foundation Establishment disciples directed at Li Wu Yi, as though they were prepared to attack him at the slightest provocation. Yet Li Wu Yi, always the diplomat even in the face of hostility, simply returned gentle smiles as if greeting old comrades. His reaction made it clear that he had long since learned how to navigate these treacherous interpersonal currents, maintaining an air of affability even when confronted by latent aggression.
For Li Yan, observing these interactions from behind offered him a bittersweet window into the inner workings of his sect and its rivalries. He couldn't help but think bitterly, "It seems Master was right… Senior Brother has made far too many enemies already. And this is coming from just the Taixuan Sect!" Similar sentiments seemed common among cultivators like Wang Tian, Gan Shi, Baili Yuan, and Wei Chituo—a bitter acknowledgment that alliances were as fragile as they were necessary.
The process of entering the passage was almost breathtakingly rapid. The ten Golden Core elders at the mouth of the portal were using severe, unyielding looks to signal that there was no time to waste. They struggled visibly to maintain the ancient inscription's power that was fixed to the passage's threshold. Once the Foundation Establishment disciples had followed and disappeared into the channel, it was then Li Yan's turn. Although the entire group of 108 was also arranged in neat groups of ten, Li Yan found himself near the very end of this lengthy procession. As he and his nine companions stepped up toward the shimmering, shifting entrance of the black-and-white corridor, Li Yan's brow furrowed with a sudden, inexplicable anxiety. Earlier, when the two groups had been far apart, he had not sensed any particular disturbance. But now—when the two forces were converging at the narrow threshold—he felt an unmistakable chill. There, among the ten figures on the opposing side, he could discern an aura that was hauntingly familiar. And that familiarity was tainted with a hint of a deathly pallor that set his heart racing. The very quality of that energy told him that danger was nigh.
With his heart pounding, Li Yan took a deep, steadying breath. He then fixed his gaze intently on the group across from him. Instead of sending forth his spiritual sense—a technique that might lower the vigilance of those he observed so near—he used his eyes alone to study every detail of the opposing formation. Every subtle shift in their posture, every flicker across their expressions, was absorbed by his watchful gaze.
Suddenly, one of the ten elders from the Taixuan Sect, noticing Li Yan's evident hesitation, spoke in a curt tone: "Hurry up and follow behind!" His words, crisp and impatient, cut through the tension like a knife. Almost simultaneously, on the other side, two of the Wu Ling disciples, standing protectively behind Li Yan, leaned forward and murmured in unison, "Uncle Li, please hurry along." Their soft, almost urgent voices betrayed a mounting frustration with his slowness, as if they were wary that any delay might have disastrous consequences.
Even the group of Condensed Qi disciples from the opposing side took notice. They fixed their cold, unblinking stares on Li Yan and his companions, their eyes reflecting neither welcome nor goodwill—only a chill, measuring intent. For a moment, the silence grew even denser, punctuated only by the quiet hum of spiritual energy and the soft thud of feet against the stone floor.
Drawing another deep breath to steel himself, Li Yan glanced once more at the ten figures waiting on the other side. He then stepped forward resolutely and crossed the threshold of the black-and-white passage. In that instant, as he disappeared into the swirling mists within the corridor, he could not help but feel that he was passing into a realm where destiny was measured not by words, but by the raw, powerful undercurrents of qi and the secret designs of fate.
Inside the passage, the ambient light was dim and the air felt dense with mystical energy. The walls of the corridor seemed to be formed of shifting patterns of black and white, kaleidoscopic yet inscrutable. Swirling vortices of shadow and light danced along the floor and ceiling, as if the very space itself were alive with ancient magic. Each step forward was accompanied by the sound of his own footfalls echoing softly, a reminder that every moment in this ethereal realm was as significant as it was fleeting.
Back in the plaza, the scene remained strikingly still and almost eerie. Aside from a handful of brief exchanges between a few leaders, the assembled cultivators had fallen entirely silent. There was a palpable urgency in the air—a collective desire to enter the Secret Realm quickly and without the distraction of idle banter. Li Yan, still standing among his own kin at the rear, couldn't shake the feeling of disquiet. He noted that two groups were now converging at the entrance: one consisting of ten members from the opposing faction and his own group of 108. The sheer numerical disparity was staggering. He wondered, with a hint of trepidation, whether the imbalanced forces might expose them to peril once inside. Yet he also reasoned that since the entrance belonged to the Wu Ling Sect, they must have devised plenty of contingencies. Perhaps this was the advantage of guarding the gateway—regardless of the direction taken by the adversary, every measure would have been carefully calculated. With a light self-mockery, he chided himself for being overly anxious, yet deep down he knew that his apprehensions were not entirely unfounded.
Soon, the actions of the Foundation Establishment disciples drew the attention of every onlooker in the plaza. Group after group began to move methodically into the passage, each wave of cultivators advancing in perfect order. Even though the two groups maintained an efficient silence as they approached the entrance, Li Yan observed that many of them exchanged subtle gestures—a quick nod here, a polite smile there—indicating that they were not strangers to one another. However, not everyone interacted amicably. In the anxious throng, he noticed several individuals whose eyes burned with a lethal intensity as they glared fixedly at Li Wu Yi. Their murderous expressions, as though they were poised to strike at any sign of weakness, were chilling. Yet Li Wu Yi, for his part, maintained an air of geniality and warmth, greeting each acquaintance as if he were reconciling with an old friend. In his calm and unhurried manner, he eventually was the first to vanish into the mysterious passage, swallowed up by its shifting darkness.
Because Li Wu Yi was not one of the competing Foundation Establishment cultivators—and he had not joined the first wave of Golden Core elders—Li Yan found himself in a position to observe these intricate interactions more clearly. As he watched, he couldn't help but think, "It looks as though Master was right. Senior Brother has really roused enough adversaries already—and this is coming merely from the Taixuan Sect!" Similar fates had befallen others like Wang Tian, Gan Shi, Baili Yuan, and Wei Chituo; each bore their own share of enmity, as though their very destinies were intertwined with conflict.
Time passed swiftly. The pace of entry was nothing short of astonishing. The ten Golden Core elders mounted at the passage's mouth used stern, unyielding glances to command the entire line to quicken their pace. They labored mightily to sustain the power of the ancient inscription—an arcane symbol affixed to the threshold of the corridor. Once the earlier groups of Foundation Establishment cultivators had passed through, it was then the turn for Li Yan's cohort. The entire assembly of 108 was organized in groups of ten, but Li Yan, standing at the very end, almost felt left behind. As he and his remaining nine comrades approached the entrance, his heart began to flutter with an inexplicable mix of fear and foreboding. In that moment, the energy emanating from the ten-person group on the other side seemed to pulse in a familiar rhythm—one that stirred memories and yet imparted a cold chill. There was something profoundly disquieting in their aura: a subtle blend of a once-familiar scent with the pungent aroma of death that made his skin crawl and his pulse race.
Frowning deeply, Li Yan slowed his steps even further. He let his eyes roam the group opposite him. Rather than deploying his spiritual sense—a power he prized highly from his cultivation of the Gui Shui True Classic and which he believed to be superior among his peers—he opted instead to rely on his keen vision. At such close range, using his inner power might compromise the adversary's vigilance. With an intensity born of both caution and necessity, he studied each member of the rival formation.
Suddenly, amid the tension, one of the Taixuan elders spoke out with a curt, impatient tone. "Hurry up and follow behind!" he commanded. His voice, edged with irritation, made it unmistakably clear that any further delay would not be tolerated. Almost immediately, two Wu Ling disciples, who stood just behind Li Yan, whispered in soft, urgent voices, "Uncle Li, please hurry up," chiding him in their own gentle way for his apparent indecision at the threshold.
The quiet monitoring continued as the opposing Condensed Qi disciples cast cold, unreadable glances in Li Yan's direction. The entire dynamic was imbued with an almost palpable tension. Finally, summoning all his courage and steadying his racing heart, Li Yan inhaled deeply and, after one last wary look at the waiting group on the far side, stepped boldly into the black-and-white corridor.
Once inside, Li Yan was immediately enveloped by an eerie, otherworldly atmosphere. The passage itself was an arena of shifting patterns: alternating bands of ebony and pure white, punctuated by ever-changing currents of energy that seemed to ripple along the walls. As he moved deeper into this spectral corridor, every step was accompanied by a resonant echo and the sensation of being suspended between two worlds—the one he was leaving behind and the new, mysterious realm he was about to enter.
Meanwhile, the situation back in the plaza had reached a dramatic climax. With a few brief words exchanged between the respective Golden Core elders of the two sects, the next stage of the ritual was set in motion. In a matter of moments, the ten Golden Core emissaries from the opposing sides reconvened and began to channel their power even more intensely. Their eyes, fixed upon the ancient inscription above the passage, shone with purpose as they concentrated their mystical energy in a final surge. Almost imperceptibly at first, brilliant rays of light emerged from each of them, melding together into a powerful, cataclysmic energy that seemed capable of tearing apart the very heavens.
In an instant, a tremendous pressure descended upon the plaza. The force was so intense that everyone present—no matter whether they were high-level Golden Core elders or lowly Foundation Establishment disciples—felt as if death itself hovered just overhead. Li Yan and his companions felt a paralytic terror grip them; their hearts pounded audibly, their limbs felt as though they were turned to lead, and even the thought of movement was stifled under such overwhelming pressure. Every face in the crowd, especially those of the Foundation Establishment cultivators, turned as pale as death.
Then, almost as if summoned by the intensity of their collective will, the myriad hues of light overhead began to converge. Slowly but inexorably, they merged into one enormous sphere of purple radiance. This gigantic purple orb drifted steadily toward the luminescent surface that had once adorned the stele. At precisely that moment when the swirling, colorful lights reached their apex and intertwined, the stele itself suddenly vanished without a trace. In its place, as though by magic, an entrance appeared—a portal defined by stark black and white, stretching about one zhang (roughly ten feet) in both height and width. Within this newly formed passage, swirling eddies of energy rotated in an endless, hypnotic dance. The effect was disquieting: anyone who neared it would likely feel as if they were being inexorably pulled in, never to escape the gravitational maw of the unknown.
For a full half-minute, the giant purple orb above continued to pour its luminous energy into the portal, ensuring that it remained stable and open. Then, as if the ritual had reached its natural conclusion, the ten Golden Core elders gradually withdrew their concentrated power. Each of them displayed the unmistakable signs of exertion—some faces turned ashen, others flushed with strain—testament to the tremendous spiritual energy that had been expended in the brief span of mere moments. Even for these venerable cultivators, whose prowess at the Golden Core level was legendary, the depletion of energy was painfully apparent.
Finally, Elder Peng's strong and resolute voice rang out once more: "Alright, with the Golden Core cultivators now inside, the remaining disciples of the Foundation Establishment and Condensed Qi stages should form lines of ten each. The Taixuan Sect and the Wu Ling Sect, in alternating turns, will enter next." His command was delivered firmly, the sound resounding clearly across the plaza and reaching every ear. After speaking, the ten emissaries on the opposing sides fixed their positions at the portal's threshold once again. In synchronized unison, they extended their arms and concentrated their remaining power to form a complex, arcane golden seal. In the blink of an eye, that intricate seal manifested as a mysterious ancient character—a symbol so enigmatic that it seemed almost as if it were blessed and prescriptive, much like the "Fu" (福) posted during festive celebrations. Slowly, the golden symbol hung above the portal, an unmistakable testament to the ritual's solemnity.
"Hurry up—why do we delay? Now, enter!" Elder Peng cried out, his booming voice slicing through the thick silence. Without further argument, the ten Golden Core cultivators of that group worked together in concentrated effort to keep the golden seal from fading, even though it was evident that doing so was straining their energies to the limit.
On the Wu Ling Sect's side, only Li Feng's mesmerizing mistress and two other elders remained. Without a moment's hesitation, they stepped forward, launching themselves into the air and heading directly toward the black-and-white portal. Reaching the threshold with resolute speed, they did not waver for even an instant before plunging into the passage, disappearing from view. Almost simultaneously, the remaining ten Golden Core cultivators of the Taixuan Sect watched as three elders from the Wu Ling side vanished inside. In a display of unity and shared purpose, they too converged and flew into the portal as one, leaving no trace behind.
With the ritual now in its next phase, Li Yan stood silently at the rear of the assembled crowd, his eyes fixed on the unfolding spectacle with a mixture of awe and anxious trepidation. The scene was almost eerie in its quiet and deliberate precision. Apart from some minimal communication between the two groups' leaders, practically no one spoke. It was as though every cultivator present, regardless of rank or skill, was determined to enter the Secret Realm with utter speed and efficiency. Li Yan's mind wandered as he observed the stark contrast in numbers. Earlier, the Wu Ling Sect had allowed only three Golden Core elders to enter, while the other side was sending ten. He wondered if such a vast disparity in force would bring unforeseen consequences deep inside the secret realm. Yet, upon reflection, he reasoned that this advantage, of controlling the entrance, must have been meticulously calculated by his own sect. Perhaps it was precisely this control that allowed the Wu Ling elders to hold the gateway so firmly—even if the other side were to approach from the Ten-Step Courtyard direction, every detail had been considered. With a self-deprecating smile, Li Yan chastised himself for worrying too much.
Not long after, the activity among the Foundation Establishment cultivators increased steadily. One group after another advanced into the passage in orderly waves. Even though the atmosphere among these lower-level disciples was one of complete silence—no trivial conversation broke the solemn mood—Li Yan observed that many exchanged friendly nods or a slight smile upon crossing paths with compatriots from the opposing faction. Such subtle gestures attested to a long history of acquaintance and mutual recognition. Yet not every exchange was cordial. Among these groups, he noticed that at least five or six cultivators glared at Li Wu Yi with such intensity that their eyes seemed to burn with murderous intent. Their expressions, as if ready to tear him limb from limb, sent a shiver down his spine. Still, Li Wu Yi himself continued to smile gently at each encounter, as if greeting an old friend with unruffled composure. When it finally came his turn, he slipped quickly into the passage, disappearing without a trace.
Because Li Wu Yi was not among those competing at the Foundation Establishment level—and because he had not been part of the initial wave of Golden Core elders—Li Yan was left with a clear view of these intricate, interpersonal dynamics. In his heart he mused, "It seems Master was right: Senior Brother has indeed amassed quite a few enemies already, and that is coming just from the Taixuan side!" A similar pattern was evident among other cultivators such as Wang Tian, Gan Shi, Baili Yuan, and Wei Chituo. Their circumstances, marked by mutual animosity and subtle rivalries, were all too common.
The entry into the passage proceeded with breathtaking speed. The ten Golden Core elders who were maintaining the ancient inscription at the entrance signaled sternly for everyone to advance. Their eyes, burning with determination and urgency, were fixed on sustaining the power of that mystical character that hung above the door. As soon as the Foundation Establishment cultivators had passed through, it was the turn of the group of 108, and Li Yan found himself near the very end of his formation. When he and the other nine members of his group stepped forward toward the threshold of the black-and-white portal, Li Yan's expression darkened as he felt an internal shudder. Earlier, when the two groups were distant, he had felt no such perturbed emotion. But now, as the two formations drew ever closer to the portal, an inexplicable dread weighed on him—a dread born from the realization that among the ten figures on the far side, he could detect an energy that was hauntingly familiar. The aura was mixed: it carried a subtle note of something once known and cherished, intermingled with a stale trace of death. This ominous energy, its deadly edge unmistakable, whispered threats of danger to him in a language beyond words.
Li Yan's face contorted with resolve as he took a deep breath. He then glanced at the waiting group one more time, memorizing every detail. Not a single drop of his spiritual sense was released, for he knew that at such a close range verbal observation would suffice without divulging his hidden intentions. Instead, he chose to rely on his unassuming eyes alone, which in this critical moment were all that could discern the subtle signals around him.
"Come on! Everybody behind, hurry up!" one of the Taixuan elders barked as he noticed Li Yan's apparent hesitance. His voice, sharp and uncompromising, rang out over the gathered crowd. At the same time, two Wu Ling disciples from behind Li Yan whispered urgently, "Uncle Li, please, please hurry!" Their tones were low yet laced with unmistakable impatience and a hint of reproach directed at his lingering at the threshold. Even the opposing group of Condensed Qi cultivators continued to fix their cold, impassive gazes on Li Yan and his fellows as if silently measuring his every move.
At length, summoning his remaining courage and steeling his nerves against the palpable foreboding, Li Yan exhaled a long, measured breath. He then steeled himself, glancing one final time at the group of ten waiting on the other side. With determined resolve, he stepped forward and entered the black-and-white passage.
Inside that fateful corridor, the very air pulsed with a mysterious energy. The walls shone with intricate patterns of light and shadow that shifted and swirled in hypnotic unison. Every step that Li Yan took seemed to carry him deeper into an unknown realm, as though he were venturing further away from the familiar world of the plaza and into the heart of a living legend. The sensation was at once both exhilarating and terrifying—a crossing of boundaries between the mortal and the divine.
Back in the plaza, the scene was almost supernaturally calm and eerie. Aside from a few measured exchanges between the elders of each faction, not a single word was spoken. The resolute silence signified that everyone was united in their singular determination to enter the Secret Realm as swiftly as possible. Yet even in that stillness, Li Yan's thoughts swirled with questions. The Wu Ling Sect had earlier sent only three Golden Core elders, while their adversaries had sent ten. Perhaps those who entered first were tasked with establishing control over the far end of the passage—a responsibility that might later be weighed against any unexpected dangers within. The imbalance in numbers made him wonder if the numerical disparity could, in fact, set the stage for unforeseen calamity. Then again, as he considered the situation, it occurred to him that since the entrance belonged to the Wu Ling Sect, his own sect must surely have crafted a myriad of contingencies. This, he reasoned with a rueful smile, might well be the advantage of controlling one's own gateway—even if the rival sect were to enter from another direction such as the Ten-Step Courtyard. Perhaps every possibility had been accounted for, and his anxiety was simply a symptom of his overactive mind.