Source City was small and weathered. To call it a small city was something of an overstatement—it was closer to a somewhat larger town. No one could remember when it had been built. The red-brown city walls bore the marks of time’s passage: numerous cracks had appeared across their surface.
Ye Fan walked through the city, taking in the deep sediment of ages past, the sense of time long gone. The stone slabs of the streets had been worn concave underfoot. Cultivators passed in and out in a steady flow.
“Young man—first time in Source City? Looking to buy source stones? Come into our stone pavilion for a look—we guarantee you’ll find a curious stone that catches your eye.”
“Young Daoist, might you be interested in fine materials transported from the borderlands of the Primordial Ancient Mine? Genuine goods at fair prices—won’t you come in for a look?”
On both sides of the street, many shops dealt in various source stones, calling out warmly to the cultivators passing by.
Ye Fan dared not underestimate these people. The shops might be small, but they all had substantial backing—a thousand threads of connection to the various sacred grounds.
He stepped into a stone studio, making casual conversation with the owner. The prices of materials here were outrageously high.
The studio was small—just a single room opening onto the street. Inside, there was only a single rosewood rack displaying a dozen or so pieces of stone material.
Ye Fan clicked his tongue. These stones were priced at ten times the value of an equivalent weight in source stones.
“This is far too expensive!”
“These are no ordinary stones—they are precious materials destined for the sacred cities, imbued with the immortal energy of the Primordial Beginning.” The shop owner explained.
At such exorbitant prices, what was being wagered was no longer the source stone within, but something far more precious sealed inside. After studying the Source Heaven Book, Ye Fan’s discernment had become exceptional—he selected only one piece of material, then made no further moves.
Gambling on stones here was not worth it. Things more precious than source stones were the rarest of rare encounters—not something one could simply stumble upon. His reason for buying was purely to strike up a rapport with the shop owner.
“Friend, do you have any connections that might allow me to observe the Primordial Ancient Mine?” He wished to go, but had encountered an obstacle.
The mining zones outside the Primordial Ancient Mine were all carved up between the major sacred grounds. Elsewhere might be manageable, but the regions close to the life forbidden ground were very difficult for outsiders to pass through.
Ye Fan was not a disciple of any sacred ground. Without other means, as a lone wandering cultivator, he had no way to cross through those territories on his own.
“I tell you, young friend—you must absolutely not go anywhere near that place. Not even the leaders of the great sacred grounds who went in were able to raise a ripple.” The owner of the stone studio advised.
Ye Fan smiled. “I have no intention of going to my death. I only wish to observe from afar. I’ve heard so much of the Primordial Beginning’s name and never been able to see it with my own eyes—it feels like a genuine regret.”
The owner laughed. “Completely understandable. Young people like you come along often enough, wanting to observe from a distance—but in the end, they always lose control of themselves. As though called by some demon lord, they walk into the depths of the forbidden zone. Each year, quite a few people disappear.”
“So there is a way to reach the Primordial Beginning?” Ye Fan’s eyes brightened.
“Young Daoist, I’d advise you not to risk it. Curiosity can truly be the death of you.” The stone studio owner counseled in good faith.
“I would ask for your help, friend. I know the risks.” Ye Fan was resolute.
“Very well then. Go find a man called Old Knife Handle—though his prices are steep. Quite the swindler.” The owner provided this piece of information.
Afterward, Ye Fan wandered through the stone city for a long circuit, learning all there was to know about who this Old Knife Handle was.
This was an old local fixture—not some ruffian among ordinary people, but rather a crafty character among cultivators, with wide connections throughout the region. He took on all manner of work—escorting source stone shipments, and even assassinations.
Old Knife Handle lived in the southern district of the city. His quarters amounted to only five low, grey-tiled rooms—a decrepit, rundown-looking place.
He bore no resemblance at all to the kind of well-connected operator his reputation suggested. He looked like a plain and simple old farmer—a face full of wrinkles, rough and calloused hands, squatting on the ground, puffing rhythmically on a long-stemmed pipe, his cultivation depth impossible to gauge.
“Strange as ever—every year people come to throw their lives away on their own…” Old Knife Handle muttered in a barely-audible voice, then raised his head and gave Ye Fan a single look. “Wait a few days. I’ll take a group once enough people have gathered.”
“Old man, are all of these jobs you’ve taken?” Ye Fan noticed that one of the walls was covered with posted notices.
“I’m an honest man—I don’t kill for hire. These are all commissions. I’m just a go-between. Those looking for work come to me to pick up assignments.” Old Knife Handle puffed steadily on his pipe. “If you’re looking to take on work yourself, I can arrange connections for you—for a twenty percent cut of the payment.”
Ye Fan glanced through the notices casually, and his eyebrows jumped in an instant. Among these assignments were some that involved him.
He picked up a golden slip of paper. On it was a clear likeness of his face. Simply providing information about his location was worth a hundred catties of source stones. Killing him was worth five hundred. Capturing him alive—a thousand.
A truly steep price. Whoever had posted this held nothing back.
The client had made no effort to conceal their identity. Written large and plain on the paper was a single character—Ji.
Son of a—!
Ye Fan had mentally prepared himself for this, yet his heart still stirred at the sight. He had fled all the way to the Northern Region, and the Ji Family still refused to let him go. They had issued an arrest-and-kill order.
Yao Guang’s people knew he had come to the Northern Region. It was impossible for the Ji Family not to have received the same news.
“I think I’ve seen similar kill orders posted in other cities as well.” Ye Fan said, probing.
Old Knife Handle exhaled a long breath of smoke. “He’s angered someone he shouldn’t have. That boy won’t live much longer. Quite a few of the Ji Family’s younger generation are here, along with some young people from Yao Guang.”
Ye Fan continued browsing through the other commissions with an air of indifference. He found several more that mentioned him—orders specifically targeting him.
Not only did they bear the signatures of several top young masters from the Ji Family, but there was also a kill order issued by disciples of the Yao Guang Sacred Ground.
Ye Fan had learned the Great Void Technique and burned a Supreme Elder of the Ji Family to death—it was no surprise that the Ji Family would not let the matter rest. As for why disciples of Yao Guang, whom he had no prior dealings with, would act this way, he immediately thought of Yao Xi. This was most likely done at her instigation.
“You want to arrest and kill me… I’d like to see how you plan to dig me out.” Ye Fan laughed coldly to himself. Having cultivated the Source Heaven Book, he could alter his own bearing and energy—they would have no way to find him.
“The elite young masters of the Ji Family—I’d quite like to test myself against them.” Ye Fan’s strength had been growing steadily of late, and he was feeling the urge to find someone to sharpen his blade against.
He didn’t believe that everyone could be like Ji Haoyue and Yao Guang’s Holy Son. Against young cultivators at the second or third realm of the Dao Palace’s secret realm, he felt confident he could cut them down.
“How powerful is this Ye Fan, that they’d mobilize such a large force for him?” Ye Fan asked casually.
“Word has it he was a cultivator at the Wheel Sea secret realm half a year ago. In such a short time, he can’t have changed much.” Old Knife Handle blew out a smoke ring and fixed him with cloudy old eyes. “Interested in taking the job? For this particular assignment, I’ll only take a fifteen percent cut—the rest is yours.”
“Done. I’ll take it. Please give me all the detailed information.”
A quarter of an hour later, Ye Fan left the southern district.
“Well then, young Daoist—did you work something out? I hope that old fellow didn’t fleece you too badly?” The stone studio owner called out cheerfully as Ye Fan passed.
“He charged me fifty catties of source stones. We leave in two days.” Ye Fan replied.
“Steep, but not too outrageous.” The shop owner recommended: “Why not buy a stone coat from me before you go? It’s old stone skin peeled from a precious source boulder—it has protective properties.”
Savage beasts bellowed as a troop of riders charged into Source City—a group of young people, none appearing to be much older than their mid-twenties, mounted on extraordinary beasts that rode three feet off the ground, sweeping straight through the street.
Ye Fan rubbed his chin. He had just been thinking about them, and here were the Ji Family’s people sooner than expected. He had no desire to go looking for trouble proactively.
Two days later, Ye Fan arrived at Old Knife Handle’s rundown tiled-roof quarters in the southern district. Over a dozen people were already waiting there, most of them young.
“Half a month, and the numbers have finally filled out to something workable.” Old Knife Handle chewed his pipe stem. “Let me make this clear from the start: I’m only responsible for guiding the way. Each person is responsible for their own life or death. If you do happen to be drawn into the old mine, that has nothing to do with me.”
These people already understood the rules. No one said anything extra—they only pressed to get moving.
“Why bother? What’s there to see in an ancient mine? Every year it claims quite a few lives.” Old Knife Handle muttered to himself.
Some people didn’t care to hear it. “Old man—can you say something a bit more auspicious? You sound like you’re cursing us to go and die.”
“Very well then—may we have a smooth journey!” Old Knife Handle said no more. This assignment he never handed off to others—he always handled it personally.
When they left Source City, Ye Fan spotted the Ji Family’s young riders again, moving in a hurry, driving their beasts forward at a gallop.
Even though the creatures’ feet did not touch the ground, the rush of speed still kicked up clouds of dust and sand, making those in the group heading for the Primordial Ancient Mine glare in anger.
“What is there to be so arrogant about? Do they think this city is their private palace?”
“Keep your voice down—do you know who those people are? That’s the Ji Family. Speaking like that invites a death sentence.”
A few of the riders who had charged through glanced back with cold stares, and one allowed a thin smile to cross his face. “Watch your mouth. Words can be dangerous.” They did not linger and were gone in an instant.
“They really are… insufferable. Just because they’re an ancient family, they think they own the world?!” Someone muttered in resentment—but only after those riders were long gone.
Old Knife Handle lived up to his reputation as a man who had traveled this road for decades. He truly managed to skirt the sacred ground’s blockade lines, slipping through on a hidden route.
The group traveled with many stops and starts. Ten days later, having crossed vast stretches of uninhabited wilderness and boundless great desert, Old Knife Handle led them all to the outer perimeter of the Primordial Ancient Mine.
They were already less than a thousand li from what was called the Primordial’s borderlands. They had arrived at the edge of the legendary life forbidden zone.
“We can advance no more than eight hundred li further. Beyond that, the danger becomes real. You must all keep yourselves under control—don’t act on impulse, and above all, don’t say anything reckless.” Old Knife Handle warned them gravely.
This place had nothing—absolutely nothing. The earth was red as blood, as it had been since time immemorial. Desolation was its eternal nature.
Gravel blanketed the ground. Even the stone mountains one occasionally glimpsed were red as blood, silent as tombstones.
“What a desolate place this is—not even the shadow of a ghost to be seen.” Someone sighed.
“Don’t say things like that!” Old Knife Handle snapped.
“Is that really necessary? There’s nothing here at all—what’s the harm in a few words?” A young man was quite unhappy, feeling the caution had gone far past what was reasonable.
Old Knife Handle kept murmuring—no one knew what he was saying—while bowing again and again toward what lay ahead. Only then did he turn back and glare at the young man. “If you want to die, go off on your own. Don’t come with us. As long as I’m leading this group, everyone follows my rules.”
“Old Knife Handle, that’s going too far. We paid you source stones—what gives you the right to talk to us like that?” The young man was indignant and spoke in a cold, sharp tone.
“I can return your source stones. Then you go your own way.” Old Knife Handle replied, completely unmoved.
“Alright, everyone calm down. We’re nearly there anyway—let’s all say a little less.” Someone nearby stepped in to mediate.
Old Knife Handle said coldly: “I’m saying this for your benefit. Speaking carelessly in this territory can cost lives.”
“Is it really that serious?” The others didn’t quite believe it.
Old Knife Handle gave a cold snort. “Three years ago, someone in the group had no sense of restraint in what he said. It brought great disaster. Of twenty-odd people, only I and two others made it out alive.”
“That frightening? What happened? Were the others all… dead?” A few more timid people asked carefully.
“No one knows what happened. At the time, everyone went blind—unable to perceive anything. All we heard were screams one after another. When our senses returned, all that was left on the ground were twenty-odd pools of blood.” Old Knife Handle described it with calm composure.
The boundless earth stretched in all directions. An expanse of red and brown, visible without end to the eye, with occasional spirals of dust rising.
Everyone exchanged uncertain glances, only half-convinced.
The young man from before clearly still didn’t believe it, and let out a scoff. “We’re all cultivators here—are we supposed to be afraid of demons and ghosts? I believe that as long as we don’t enter the life forbidden zone, nothing bad will happen to us out here.”
Slap!
Old Knife Handle flung a pouch of source stones onto the ground. “Leave. Your source stones are returned. You can no longer travel with us.”
“Come on, let’s not make a scene. Everyone, just stop speaking carelessly. Let’s keep moving.” Someone tried to smooth things over.
“Fine—I won’t say anything more, alright?” Seeing Old Knife Handle’s expression go cold with complete seriousness, the young man felt a genuine flicker of unease.
“Remember—no one is to say anything reckless!” Old Knife Handle’s face was dark, and he repeated the warning with grave emphasis.