The solitary peak stood tall, with eight corridors each winding through different turns, yet all leading to the same exit.

However, each path seemed to have its own unique characteristics.

In the second corridor on the right side.

Xie Buchen, now wearing a dark blue robe, glanced at the cave entrance where daylight was beginning to filter through, his face showing a somewhat strange expression.

Without his cold, handsome appearance, he now looked rather ordinary, though the deep blue bright embroidered patterns on his robe, while carrying a somewhat exotic feel, still complemented his eyes—or rather, his gaze.

An indifferent gaze.

“Tap, tap.”

Light footsteps approached.

Xie Buchen, wearing a face even he found unfamiliar, finally turned his head.

It was an elderly man in Daoist robes walking toward him.

His face was lined with wrinkles, his lips dry and shriveled with age, curved into an arc. He had rolled up his sleeves, and his clean hands held a red lacquered tray.

From this distance, it was still unclear what was inside.

At this moment, Xie Buchen was still within the corridor.

However, unlike the narrow passage he had traveled through, at this place near the cave exit, the corridor had become spacious.

The originally rough rocky ground was covered with soft, thick carpets, with an exquisite carved lacquered long table set up. On the table sat a small ceramic dish, with ivory chopsticks and a simple ceramic spoon placed beside it, and a celadon long-necked wine pot had been placed on the table early on.

A faint intoxicating wine fragrance drifted from the spout.

Xie Buchen sat behind this long table, while the old man carrying the lacquered tray approached the table unhurriedly.

“Clap.”

A soft sound.

The lacquered tray was placed in front of Xie Buchen.

The old Daoist’s withered hands reached out and lifted a pot of fine soup from the center, placing it before Xie Buchen: “When I was cultivating, someone once told me that heaven and earth are a furnace, and all living beings are like ground meat, all within the furnace.”

The soup bowl looked small, made of earthenware, appearing quite rough.

Yet the soup within was exceptionally refined and delicate.

The tender meat had long since dissolved into pink mince, blending into every part of the broth, looking thick and creamy with a faint, strange sweet fragrance.

Just one glance revealed that this pot of meat soup was made with carefully selected ingredients and perfectly timed cooking.

The old Daoist wore a smile, looking incredibly benevolent: “The soup is the essence of breaking bones and sucking marrow, the meat is the most tender flesh from between the brows, the back of the neck, and above the heart. The fire is the flame of seven emotions and six desires, and the seasoning is all the flavors of life one has known and experienced. I have long since washed my hands of making such broths, but today I ask you to taste this soup.”

As he spoke, Xie Buchen’s gaze never left the soup.

From the corner of his eye, he could clearly see that the old Daoist’s feet were not touching the ground but floating about an inch above it.

Throughout his journey, he had encountered various inner demons of Master Buyu, but he never expected that at the end, what awaited him would be such a pot of soup.

Soup…

Xie Buchen slightly lowered his eyes but remained motionless for a long time.

“Hahaha…”

Seeing this, the old Daoist couldn’t help but burst into wild laughter, his manner frenzied, with a demonic black aura rising between his brows.

“After all, she is your beloved, you ultimately cannot bear to eat her! Hahaha, you mortals…”

Cannot bear to?

Xie Buchen slowly raised his head, his calm gaze falling on the old Daoist’s face.

His tightly pressed lips curved slightly, adding a cold, stern arc.

“Hahaha…”

The old Daoist’s laughter continued, shaking the entire corridor ceiling until stone fragments fell.

But Xie Buchen didn’t stop him, showing no unusual expression. He simply rolled up his wide sleeves, his movements carrying the unhurried manner unique to noble families, as if facing a grand feast rather than this simple pot of minced meat soup.

The somewhat rough fingers belonged to the unfortunate Shanyin Sect cultivator Wei Xin.

Xie Buchen’s gaze lingered on the various scars on the fingers for a moment, then lightly fell on the nearby spoon, picking it up and dipping it into the soup bowl, scooping out a spoonful and gently blowing on it.

Misty steam rose, creating ripples on the spoon.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

The old Daoist stood before the long table, looking down at Xie Buchen, his expression suddenly showing a trace of bewilderment, as if he hadn’t expected this.

Xie Buchen naturally heard this change.

However, what did another’s inner demons have to do with him?

With lowered brows and modest demeanor, he brought the spoon to his lips and slowly drank a mouthful of soup. It was tender and fresh, filling his mouth with meaty fragrance, yet with an indescribable taste.

One sip, then another.

Xie Buchen’s movements were truly unhurried, even elegant. If there were another person present, they would likely be captivated by his current demeanor.

The old Daoist’s gaze gradually sharpened.

Watching the soup bowl slowly empty, Xie Buchen finally stopped, and the old Daoist burst into his second bout of sky-shaking laughter: “Interesting, interesting! Among us cultivators, there’s actually someone as interesting as you! Truly wonderful, wonderful!”

Xie Buchen acted as if he hadn’t heard, simply taking a clean cloth nearby to wipe his fingers clean, then slowly rising with a refined and elegant manner: “Thank you for your hospitality, Senior. This junior takes his leave.”

Clasping his hands in a respectful bow, Xie Buchen directly turned and walked on the soft carpet beneath his feet, around the long table, toward the bright area at the end of the corridor.

He didn’t look back once.

On the lonely long table, the empty rough ceramic bowl disappeared, leaving only a white skull stained with fresh blood, eerie and terrifying.

On the corridor’s stone wall, a space had been carved out, depicting an aged old Daoist with empty hands and a serene, peaceful expression on his face. Perhaps due to the poor lighting in the corridor, it cast a somewhat cold and forbidding appearance.

Xie Buchen had already left.

The old Daoist standing by the long table, with features identical to the stone statue, didn’t follow him out. He simply gazed at the luminous cave entrance, sighing inexplicably: “What a ruthless character… A heartless soul…”

The voice gradually faded and finally disappeared, along with his entire body, vanishing into that faint light.

Outside the corridor, an entirely new landscape awaited.

Bright daylight.

Xie Buchen stood on the mountainside, able to overlook the magnificent courtyard below that filled his entire view, built on the plain below, winding and twisting endlessly.

This was a place he had never been to before.

His brows furrowed slightly as Xie Buchen looked back.

On the mountain wall were eight exits, and he was standing at the exit of the second corridor on the right.

If he remembered correctly, the other three from the Shanyin Sect were: left third, Shanyin Sect Protector Yang Lie; left fourth, Shanyin Sect disciple Feng Qi; and…

His gaze shifted to the first corridor exit on the right.

This should be Zhou Yin, the disciple under Shanyin Sect Elder Chen Fang.

The deep corridor, when viewed from outside, remained completely dark.

The corridor itself curved according to the mountain’s contours, so even if one’s gaze could penetrate inside, it would be blocked by the mountain rock. The rock material was quite special—even spiritual consciousness couldn’t penetrate it.

Xie Buchen couldn’t see through or enter; those inside also had no idea what was happening outside.

Jian Chou, disguised as Zhou Yin, was drenched in sweat from her journey.

She sat cross-legged not far from the eighth stone statue in the corridor, seizing the time to meditate and regulate her breathing.

Every fifty zhang brought a new battle, and using the stone statue where the real Zhou Yin had died as a reference point, each subsequent inner demon that appeared was rapidly increasing in strength.

Each battle was a hard-fought struggle for Jian Chou.

Especially the eighth stone statue she had just passed—it had almost forced her to use her Dijiang Wind Thunder Wings.

Perhaps the only thing worth celebrating was: new dao seals.

After finding Zhou Yin’s corpse midway, she had immediately faced various battles with inner demons. Jian Chou had taken this opportunity to test all the dao seals and techniques from the unfortunate Zhou Yin’s qiankun bag, and the results were surprisingly good.

It had to be said that the southeastern wilderness was also a place with considerable heritage.

Though Zhou Yin’s dao seals felt ghostly and sinister when used, carrying an evil aura, they were remarkably powerful in practice, focusing on attack power and destructiveness. It could be said these dao seals were invented specifically for battle.

It was said that those in the demonic path always acted in extremes, and this could be glimpsed from the style of these dao seals.

Though Jian Chou was a Central Domain cultivator who usually practiced moderate and balanced cultivation methods, she came from Yashan and naturally followed a bold, aggressive combat style, plus she had the Heavenly Void Body.

Even demonic dao seals came easily to her hands, and she used them with exceptional proficiency.

She didn’t know whether this was good or bad, only that she was one step closer to disguising herself as a normal Zhou Yin.

Now she was exhausted and closed her eyes.

Before approaching the ninth stone statue, no new attacks would come, and she needed to seize this time.

However, meditation was terribly ineffective. The heaven and earth spiritual energy remaining in this Hidden Realm was extremely sparse. After absorbing for a long time, Jian Chou felt barely any spiritual energy, so she had to hold two spirit stones in her hands and absorb all their spiritual energy.

About a quarter-hour passed before Jian Chou recovered.

She had put Little Marten and Guyu back into her spirit beast pouch, fearing these two little creatures might expose her identity.

She shouldered her Ghost Axe, took a deep breath, and walked forward again.

Step by step.

Gradually, Jian Chou could see the few rays of light filtering through from the corridor’s end.

As she walked closer, those rays became brighter.

The ninth stone statue stood at the path’s end, within the carved mountain rock, with half of its aged face hidden in shadow, carrying an inscrutable aura.

Jian Chou’s gaze swept over the stone statue.

This should be Master Buyu’s appearance before his ascension—already a weathered, elderly man.

Her steps didn’t pause, maintaining a steady pace as she entered the five-zhang range. But this time, unlike before, the stone statue didn’t manifest another old Daoist to battle her.

What was happening?

Just as this confusion arose in Jian Chou’s mind, she felt a flash at the corner of her eye. From the light and shadow at the corridor’s end, a figure was actually approaching, backlit so only its general outline was visible.

Her gaze shifted, and almost the instant she sensed someone entering, Jian Chou immediately heightened her vigilance and looked over.

In that moment, her pupils contracted sharply!

The outline blurred by light and shadow gradually became clear in that instant.