Chapter Twenty: Crisis

The four soared out of Lingbei City, their figures merging with the morning sun on the horizon. The city guards watched in awe and reverence, their hearts left deeply shaken by the sight, a feeling not easily dispelled.

“Junior Brother Zhou, congratulations! I sensed something unusual during cultivation last night—so it was your breakthrough! That’s sure to add luster to our mission!” one of his companions exclaimed.

Zhou Xuanhong clasped his hands and smiled, “You flatter me. My cultivation is of little consequence. The success of this mission still depends on you, Senior Brother and Senior Sister.”

Their purpose was primarily reconnaissance; if they found themselves strong enough to crush the Ghost Sect disciples, they would do so. If not, they were to retreat at once and inform the sect. They chose to act by day, for the Ghost Sect’s strength waxed at night—under the scorching sun their power was greatly suppressed.

The bandit den of Lingbei City was perched on a mountain within the forest—a place easy to defend and hard to attack, riddled with wind tunnels and treacherous terrain. The city’s garrison found these bandits a persistent headache, and now, with signs of the Ghost Sect among them, the city’s people lived in dread. Farmers and merchants dared not venture near, fearful of falling prey to the bandits.

The four landed upon entering the forest—their presence in the sky too conspicuous for the task at hand.

Zhou Xuanhong took out a recording stone, intending to capture evidence inside the den. If all went well, it would serve as proof of a completed mission; if danger arose, it could be brought back to the elders to request a higher threat classification.

Yet Zhou’s true intent was to gather evidence should Yi Xia make a move against him. After all, if three late-stage Qi Refining disciples perished without reason, the Grand Elder’s faction might seize the opportunity to stir trouble.

“Heh, Junior Brother Zhou, you’re quite cautious. No need to worry—just bring back their tokens. The stewards will recognize Ghost Sect disciples with a single sweep of their divine sense,” Shi Xiu remarked, amused, thinking Zhou little more than a novice ignorant of basic conventions.

“Divine sense, is it?” Zhou murmured.

Upon reaching Foundation Establishment, not only did one’s strength transform, but even the spirit—now properly called the divine sense—grew immensely, capable of extending outward. Zhou, newly ascended, found his divine sense could already sweep sixty meters—a range surpassing many mid-stage Foundation Establishment cultivators.

He understood this was but one advantage of the Earthly Foundation method. If even this was so powerful, what of the Celestial Foundation, or the legendary Heavenly Dao Foundation? Wouldn’t breaking through grant one the soul strength of the Golden Core realm?

Yet Zhou felt no envy. He was content. The road ahead was long, and he relished rising from humble beginnings, growing amidst adversity. It was the journey itself that brought him comfort and a sense of security.

“Be careful not to be seen by ordinary folk—use invisibility talismans.”

Each affixed a talisman; in a blink, their forms vanished, leaving only the bent grass as evidence of their passing.

Along the way, their keen senses uncovered five sentries, all well-concealed and blended into the forest. But to four cultivators at the peak of Qi Refining, they posed no challenge. Before they realized what happened, their heads were taken with a single, silent stroke—some even tried to glance back at the last moment, only to see nothing, not even an insect.

The butcher was the one who acted, wielding a long, curved slaughtering blade—several times larger than a normal butcher’s knife, as sharp as a saber. With the faintest movement, heads rolled without a sound.

To cultivators, mortals were as ants. Though their sect, Form and Spirit Sect, was righteous in name, behind every shining facade lay a mountain of corpses.

Unimpeded, they soon reached the gates of the bandit stronghold, “Lingbei Fortress” carved above. The gate bore the marks of weapons and pockmarks from repeated assaults—yet, like bamboo after rain, the bandits returned in force, endlessly resilient.

All the while, Zhou Xuanhong felt an unseen gaze upon him. Probing with his divine sense, he discovered in a shadowy corner a half-transparent spirit: bloodless, oozing from every orifice, with sightless eyes—a true specter.

He had sensed it before; surprisingly, this ghost was a late-stage Qi Refining spirit. If even a single ghost held such strength, their master must at least be Foundation Establishment—a Ghost Sect disciple, perhaps stronger.

Zhou, however, did not intend to retreat. He abandoned his first plan in favor of a second, riskier path. But what fun is there in a life without risk?

The four entered Lingbei Fortress unhindered, unconcerned for the mortals within—their true targets were the Ghost Sect disciples. Ordinary folk could be dealt with at any time.

Yi Xia warned, “Hide your presence—don’t get discovered.”

But as they all entered the mountain’s wind tunnels, countless runes suddenly lit up on the ground and walls. A pillar of inky black light trapped them as black mist churned within, the wailing of ghosts echoing mercilessly.

“Damn it…this is a level-four formation. We’re finished!” Yi Xia collapsed in despair. He knew escape was impossible—a formation of this level could confine even a Golden Core cultivator. He bitterly regretted not killing Zhou Xuanhong and fleeing while he could, chastising his own greed for two Foundation Establishment pills that had reduced him to a lamb awaiting slaughter.

Yet, calming himself, he reasoned—he was but a Qi Refining disciple, why must he make these enemies? He was ready to abandon the sect if needed; joining the demonic path mattered little. Besides, since he hadn’t been killed outright, perhaps not all hope was lost.

He fell to his knees, crying, “Spare me, senior! I am an outer disciple of Form and Spirit Sect—if you let me live, I will serve your sect faithfully!”

The butcher, witnessing his once-proud peer now groveling like a dog, saw the sense in it too. He knelt and pleaded, “The three of us have long wished to leave the sect. Senior, please spare us—we are willing to join the Ghost Sect!”

Shi Xiu, for her part, was not so afraid. Her body was her asset; no male cultivator would destroy such a flower. At worst, she could sacrifice her beauty.

Zhou Xuanhong alone remained calm. Having sensed something amiss before entering, he was prepared.

Outside the formation, three men appeared, shrouded in black robes, sweeping the four captives with their divine sense.

But as their sense touched Zhou Xuanhong, it was repelled—eliciting a surprised murmur from the trio.

The central figure sneered, “Well, well, boy, you don’t seem worried. Our Ghost Sect specializes in extracting and refining souls. I wonder if you’ll stay this calm when I roast your soul with ghostfire.”

Zhou Xuanhong smiled faintly. “Gentlemen, I wish to speak with your elder. Please inform him.”

“You, an insignificant eighth-level Qi Refiner, wish to see an elder? You must be tired of living! Let me show you what the Ghost Sect is capable of!”

Yi Xia and the others, seeing Zhou’s composure, found it unsettling. Why was he calmer than any of them? Was he so frightened as to be senseless?

The black-robed man entered the formation unimpeded, shrouded in black mist in which ghosts flickered—his Foundation Establishment mid-stage aura forcing the three to bow their heads even lower.

Yet Zhou Xuanhong remained unruffled. “Do not misunderstand, friend. I am a true disciple of Form and Spirit Sect—surely this merits an audience with your elder?”

With that, he produced his true disciple’s token from his storage pouch. He had kept it hidden on the journey, using a regular disciple’s token to avoid trouble.

Upon seeing the token, the black-robed man paused, examined it, and frowned. “Why do you wish to see the elder? Don’t think being a true disciple makes you special—your life is still in my hands.” He unleashed the full pressure of his mid-stage Foundation Establishment soul upon Zhou, clearly annoyed at his composure.

Zhou met his gaze coolly, his own divine sense clashing with the oppressor’s. The man’s expression changed as he realized the resistance, and he withdrew.

“Hmph. Wait here.” He left the formation and sent a sound-transmitting talisman deep into the wind tunnel, where a chilling wind howled, as if some monstrous ghost lurked within.

Moments later, a shadow appeared before Zhou Xuanhong—a figure even larger, enveloped in black robes, radiating a presence far beyond the three Foundation Establishment ghost cultivators.

A jet-black claw reached out and drew Zhou’s token to him.

A grating voice rasped, “There’s no mistake; this is Xuan Qizi’s token. Now, why are you here?”

Faced with this formidable Golden Core cultivator, Zhou’s expression grew solemn. He cupped his fists and replied, “Senior, you need not worry. Lingbei Fortress is considered only an outer disciple’s assignment in the sect. My presence here is merely a coincidence. However, I would like, if possible, to discuss a matter with you privately.”

A harsh laugh rang out. “You’ve got backbone, boy—unlike these three wastes. No wonder Xuan Qizi took you as a disciple.”

Then, in a flash, the elder seized Zhou Xuanhong by the throat and lifted him into the air, a sinister grin on his lips. “But what’s that to me? You, mere true disciple, are not qualified to bargain with me.”

Yet Zhou did not panic. Forcing a smile, he answered, “I don’t think that’s your intention. Otherwise, why converse with someone as insignificant as myself? Surely, your presence here is not for Lingbei Fortress, but for the Form and Spirit Sect’s sacred ground, is it not… Elder of a destroyed sect?”