“Little Song, be careful, there are many poisonous plants here, and mid-rank red-eyed snakes appear at night!”
A middle-aged cultivator walked toward the campfire, patted his companion’s shoulder, and joked, “You’re too skinny all bones.”
“Don’t listen to his scare tactics, Little Song, they’re just low-rank small snakes!” another middle-aged cultivator under the tree called out. “If anything happens, just shout for help, and I’ll save you.”
“Alright,” the cultivator called “Little Song” nodded good-naturedly. “Thank you.”
His teammates leaned against the large tree, chatting and laughing as they took out meditation cushions to prepare for rest, while he kept watch alone.
The orange-yellow campfire flickered across his face, light and shadow dancing.
Someone called from beneath the tree: “Little Song, draw more miasma-dispelling talismans for me tomorrow!”
“Little Song, make some for me too.”
The thin talisman master replied again: “I understand.”
In every secret realm exploration team, there was always such a marginal figure.
Average in combat skills, yet still somewhat useful.
Cautious in character, honest, quiet, good-tempered, never causing trouble or holding others back. When teammates asked him to work, he seldom refused. When they joked at his expense, he only smiled foolishly.
Camping in the wilderness under the boundless night sky, vastness stretching in all directions.
Cold wind blew over rivers and forests, water gurgling, trees rustling, with a faint fishy smell in the air.
“Little Song, you always take the night watch. You should ask them to take turns,” someone approached and whispered. “Tonight is different from before. This place does have mid-rank red-eyed snakes.”
“Little Song” by the campfire shook his head: “It’s fine.”
“Ungrateful,” the person snorted, feeling rebuffed, and walked back to the tree.
Song Qian Ji used a stick to stir the embers in the fire pit, exhaling softly.
This was his sixth day in the secret realm. The familiar scent in the wind, the seemingly familiar scenery—sealed memories were gradually being activated, like an old painting being recolored, slowly unfolding in his mind.
The landscape of the secret realm was vastly different from his previous life; experience would be useful for at most thirty or forty percent.
Perhaps because powerful factions were now competing to quickly seize more resources, more cultivators were entering the secret realm this time, making the situation more complex.
No one wanted to act alone. Even independent cultivators formed temporary teams. Each team had one or two core members leading, deciding on resource distribution, while teammates helped each other, each displaying their strengths.
On the first day, Song Qian Ji was alone, attracting attention and suspicion wherever he went. He was even suspected of being not a normal cultivator but some strange creature or evil spirit.
He came to find someone, and the more concealed his tracks, the better. So he used the alias Song Xun and joined a suitable team of independent cultivators.
He claimed to have been separated from his companions while entering the secret realm passage. He would leave immediately when the passage reopened in three months, and during this time, he only sought protection and a share of resources.
This team of independent cultivators consisted of seven people, employed by a great pill master to search for spirit herbs.
They were initially unwilling to accept a new teammate. Song Qian Ji didn’t explain much, instead making a vow directly: “Unless you attack me first, I have no intention to harm anyone.”
After several days together, everyone knew he was harmless and useful, doing more work for less reward, and gradually lowered their guard against him.
This herb-hunting team was the optimal result of Song Qian Ji’s secret observation and selection.
The team leader was at mid-stage Nascent Soul, steady and reliable. His teammates were mostly late-stage Golden Core, all independent cultivators with a diverse range of cultivation techniques. Though not lacking in strength, they were unwilling to actively provoke teams from major sects or prestigious families.
The person he wanted to kill was severely wounded and would likely be seeking herbs in the secret realm. With limited top-tier spirit herbs, they would inevitably meet.
The chubby formation master who had asked for miasma-dispelling talismans walked around the tree, calculating positions, setting up formation materials and flags. Circles of golden light flashed, forming a simple small protective formation, sheltering the meditating teammates within a barrier made of chaotic golden lines.
The medical cultivator sprinkled powder to repel poisonous insects, while the sword cultivator placed his sword across his knees.
Spirit herbs grew in deep forests, often accompanied by poisonous miasma, snakes, insects, rats, and fierce beasts—one couldn’t be too careful.
Before long, Song Qian Ji heard his teammates’ breathing become steady, gradually entering meditation.
He stood up, walked to the shadows under the tree, and silently placed seven or eight formation materials.
Streaks of golden light flashed as the reinforced formation became more beautiful, with harmonious and flowing lines. Song Qian Ji looked around, somewhat satisfied, before returning to the campfire.
He was accustomed to seeing Ji Chen’s neat and orderly formation lines, making such crude and hasty work quite unsightly.
Cold stars sparsely dotted the sky.
The riverbed in the secret realm appeared blood-red due to special mineral sediment, hence the name Blood River Valley.
As the night grew quieter, beast roars from the deep forest became louder, and flowing water sounded like mountains splitting and stones breaking.
Song Qian Ji lowered his eyes, his fingers unconsciously turning a dark red bead inside his sleeve.
The night wind blew through his bangs and sleeves, carrying a cloying fishy smell, like the scent of rotting fragrant flowers.
Faintly, a song arose, without lyrics, only melodious humming.
Song Qian Ji suddenly looked up, flicked his sleeve, and a talisman shot toward a tree trunk behind him, sticking directly to it.
Foul wind swept across the ground, dark clouds rolled, obscuring stars and moon.
“Hiss—hiss—”
The sound came from all directions, converging like a tide, surrounding Song Qian Ji layer upon layer.
Something scaly slid across the dense forest floor, making a rustling sound like clothes brushing against bamboo mats.
In the dense forest, countless blood-red vertical pupils lit up one after another, like flickering red lanterns.
Dark skies, foul wind, blood-red eyes.
Suddenly, a coquettish cry: “Immortal Master!”
The voice was soft and alluring, seemingly calling for help, with trembling final notes that made one’s bones melt and spirit sway.
Song Qian Ji frowned slightly.
Seeing him unmoved, the voice drew closer: “Immortal Master Song, Immortal Master Song Xun.”
“Song Xun, Song Xun.”
“Hiss—hiss—”
The voice seemed to cry and laugh, possessing a certain magic that, along with the cloying foul wind, drilled straight into one’s ear canal.
The howling wind, the hissing snakes, the woman’s coquettish calls—all filling the sky and covering the wilderness.
The crescent moon suddenly emerged from the clouds, weak light pouring into the dense forest, illuminating a beautiful, rosy-cheeked face.
A raven-haired, snow-skinned beauty hiding in the forest, showing only her face, calling repeatedly:
“Song Xun. Come here.”
Song Qian Ji sat by the campfire, his eyes seemingly empty:
“I come here not to seize treasures, with no intention to kill. All of you, leave quickly.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the wind like a sharp sword, passing through the forest.
The red-eyed snakes throughout the forest seemed enraged, suddenly hissing loudly.
They wildly thrashed their tails, making the trees shake violently.
Under the large tree, the independent cultivators were bathed in golden light, protected by the formation and silencing talismans, meditating with peaceful expressions.
“Such a heartless man.” The beauty laughed resentfully, swaying her waist, gracefully approaching the campfire, glancing at the tree. “You protect them this way, yet they don’t know. What are you after?”
She wore only a thin gauze, transparent and light, floating in the wind.
The cloying smell in the wind grew stronger, almost making it hard to breathe.
The meditating cultivators knitted their brows, fine sweat appearing on their foreheads.
The gauze floated toward Song Qian Ji, like a cloud covering heaven and earth, constantly changing form.
One moment like a golden mountain, another like a palace.
The song rose again, increasingly soft and bewitching:
“Song Xun, let me see what you desire most… Huh?”
The gauze froze in midair. The beauty’s voice suddenly stopped, revealing a bewildered expression.
What was this? What was this green thing?
Just then, Song Qian Ji’s palm moved slightly.
“Swoosh!”
A fire dragon flew from his palm, its aura domineering and fierce, rushing horizontally into the forest.
More than ten dark shadows charged toward the light circle under the tree but hit an invisible wall and were knocked back dozens of zhang, breaking trees.
Steel-hard snake skin burned, hissing with black smoke, twisting reluctantly.
Song Qian Ji threw the stick he used to stir the fire, like drawing a bow and shooting an arrow.
Sparks exploded along its path as the broken wood cut through the wind, stopping precisely at the beauty’s throat.
The beauty’s eyes revealed terror as she let out a piercing scream.
Song Qian Ji said calmly: “Don’t come out again.”
His hand returned to his sleeve, and the stick fell to the ground not far away, its fire extinguished.
The red-eyed snakes retreated like an ebbing tide, fleeing in all directions. After a moment, the dense forest returned to silence.
Song Qian Ji looked at his independent cultivator teammates and shook his head helplessly.
This spirit creature was only two hundred years old, still very young.
The dense forest in this area was full of snakes, and having fed on snakes for years, it was skilled at controlling them.
Spirit creatures liked to use songs to bewitch people’s hearts, provoke desires, and confuse minds.
Cultivators were their best supplements—they ate vital essences, blood, heart, and liver, even grinding bones to consume them.
When the secret realm opened, outside cultivators sought opportunities, while inside beasts and spirits sought a feast.
“Demons eat demons. Demons eat humans. Humans eat demons. Humans eat humans.” Song Qian Ji carved another stick to poke the campfire, muttering, “All this eating—farming is more interesting.”
The campfire crackled as the long night stretched on.
At dawn the next day, Song Qian Ji put away his talismans and formation materials, restoring the area under the tree to its original state.
The independent cultivators opened their eyes one after another, rising to stretch.
The team leader vigilantly scanned the surroundings, signaling for team members skilled in escape techniques and concealment to scout ahead.
The chubby formation master collected formation materials, smiling as he stretched: “Since Little Song joined the team, we haven’t encountered any beasts at night. What luck!”
Song Qian Ji distributed newly made miasma-dispelling talismans to his teammates. Some thanked him politely, others took them for granted, while Song Qian Ji always smiled.
The team leader gave him a bottle of low-grade qi-replenishing pills: “Working for the great pill master has this benefit—plenty of pills. Our harvest has been good this time. If we can get a ‘hundred-year fire-separation herb,’ the reward will double, and Little Song will get a share too.”
As the distribution method changed, someone in the team frowned, wanting to speak but hesitating.
“I haven’t contributed much, no need to share with me.” Song Qian Ji promptly refused, avoiding a dispute and earning a few satisfied “at least you know your place” glances.
“They’re back, they’re back!” the teammate who went scouting called out. “Guess what I ran into?”
He was small and thin, leaping out from the forest like an agile monkey, even his expression was monkey-like.
The round-faced, chubby formation master laughed: “Zhang Hou, did you see snakes?”
Zhang Hou widened his eyes, excited yet fearful: “Goodness, snakes everywhere! Hundreds of red-eyed snakes!”
The teammates gathered around, while Song Qian Ji stood at the edge, slightly raising his eyebrows.
“Then how did you return alive?” The team’s sword cultivator was talkative and harsh, always speaking with a cold laugh. “I didn’t know you had such great abilities.”
Zhang Hou’s face was pale: “They were all dead snakes! Someone was skinning them!”
Red-eyed snake skin was a good material for refining tools, capable of making protective armor.
The team leader’s expression became solemn upon hearing this: “Someone killed over a hundred red-eyed snakes in one night? Who?”
“I didn’t dare get close for a better look, afraid of being seen as an enemy,” Zhang Hou said. “There were many of them, all wearing silver armor. Their leader wasn’t old, I heard people calling him ‘Senior Brother Ci Quan.'”
There was a collective intake of breath around:
“Could it be Li Ci Quan?”
“And wearing silver armor, it shouldn’t be wrong.”
Song Qian Ji thought casually that the name was strange. Wasn’t “Ci Quan” just “Er Gou” (second dog)?
But everyone fell silent, creating an odd atmosphere, so he finally couldn’t help asking: “Who is that?”
The medical cultivator beside Song Qian Ji bumped his arm: “Do you not know Li Ci Quan?”
Song Qian Ji honestly shook his head: “No, I don’t.”
His teammates stared at him incredulously.
The chubby formation master said: “Li Ci Quan is Duke Wei’s confidant! He was the chess champion at the Deng Wen Elegant Meeting years ago. If not for the once-in-a-century ‘Star-Plucking Game,’ he would have been the most outstanding. After Duke Wei established himself, Li broke out of Purple Cloud Observatory and joined Duke Wei. You don’t even know this? Where are you from? Some small island overseas?!”
Song Qian Ji could only remain silent.
The Deng Wen Elegant Meeting seemed like a lifetime ago. He vaguely remembered observing the chess competition then, incidentally guiding Ji Chen’s entry.
The spirit creature traveling on snakes had hit a wall with him last night, full of resentment and anger, changing direction, and unfortunately encountered Wei Zhen Yu.
“Meeting the wrong person,” resulting in complete annihilation.
Nobody cared where Little Song came from; they were more concerned about something else now.
The team leader pondered: “If Li Ci Quan is here, that means…”
The talkative sword cultivator interrupted: “Duke Wei must be here too!”
Once this was mentioned, everyone exchanged glances, eyes bright with tense expressions.
Song Qian Ji was stunned, wondering why they were so excited.
The secret realm was rich in resources. Would Wei Zhen Yu not lead a team here? Was he supposed to stay home cooking instead?
His teammates were eager:
“Meeting by chance is fate, and fate is rare!”
“Duke Wei’s team is different from other major sects. Can we join them?”
“Even if we can’t join, we should at least see Duke Wei’s style.”
Song Qian Ji took a deep breath and vaguely said: “Maybe we shouldn’t.”
“Little Song, are you stupid?!” The sword cultivator glanced at him disdainfully.
Song Qian Ji coughed lightly: “I mean, Duke Wei might not be willing.”
The team leader gripped his waist knife’s handle, bearing the expectations of all teammates except Song Qian Ji:
“Let’s try!”
The medical cultivator turned back to call: “Little Song, what are you standing there for? Hurry up, this place has snakes!”
Song Qian Ji smiled bitterly.
Despite the vastness of the secret realm, narrow paths inevitably crossed.
…
The morning breeze was cool, the scent of grass and trees refreshing.
The sun rose, its light piercing through gaps in the dense forest, casting golden beams.
After hearing the independent cultivation team leader’s self-introduction and purpose, Li Ci Quan was friendly and smiling:
“Duke Wei is ahead. I’ll take you there.”
A team of silver-armored guards “escorted” them deeper into the forest.
Song Qian Ji silently followed at the rear of the group.
The further they went, the larger the snake corpses became. At first, they were as thick as arms, but eventually, they resembled fallen trees lying on the ground.
Blood spread, forming small flowing rivers, the stench of blood piercing the nostrils.
Some in the independent cultivator team turned pale, covering their mouths about to vomit, perhaps regretting their decision.
Song Qian Ji stepped over a snake corpse. His boots were soaked in blood, stepping on fallen leaves, making sticky patting sounds.
“Duke Wei,” he heard people around him call.
Through gaps between figures, Song Qian Ji saw him sitting under a tree, head lowered, wiping his sword.
Amid rolling blood seas for hundreds of zhang, only the dead wood beneath him was clean, like a royal throne.
Golden armor, a red cape, a face stained with blood, and a lock of black hair hanging by his temple.
He slightly raised his eyes at the sound, his gaze sharp, cold, and majestic.
Wei Zhen Yu felt a gaze upon him and looked around, seeing only unfamiliar faces.