Meng Zhonglun gazed toward the imperial palace of Tian Qing Kingdom. Above it, black mist hung thick enough to seem tangible, and the faintest wisp of dragon qi lingered. His brows furrowed. He had guessed right after all.
Inside the palace, the aged emperor—recently rejuvenated—was celebrating his return to youth. To the newly appointed National Preceptor at his side, he was all smiles and eager promises.
"Your Majesty, performing the art of reversing age for you has cost me a great deal of cultivation. I will need a long period of rest."
The National Preceptor's pallor spoke of his weakness after casting the spell. Any cultivator present would have seen the truth—his late-stage Golden Core cultivation was hanging by a thread, threatening to collapse at any moment. A faint aura of death clung to him.
"You performed a mighty divine art for my sake," the emperor replied warmly. "Of course you must rest well. Whatever you require, speak it."
At that, the National Preceptor's lips curved, revealing stark white teeth. He gave a light cough before saying,
"My spell borrowed lifespan from the heavens to restore yours, Your Majesty. Now a vow must be repaid to the heavens. Prepare one hundred people for me, and together we will complete the offering ritual."
The emperor did not see it as a problem. A hundred people? That was nothing to him. One word from his mouth and volunteers would come in droves to repay such a debt on his behalf.
"Your Majesty," the National Preceptor added, "these hundred must meet a requirement. Only those blessed by heaven may represent you in this offering."
From his sleeve, he drew a crystal-clear orb and handed it to a waiting guard.
"When selecting, have them touch this pearl. Only those who cause it to change color may take part in the ritual."
The emperor waved his hand in agreement, immediately ordering a proclamation to be posted and participants gathered.
Meng Zhonglun blended into the crowd, reading the notice and overhearing the chatter. Soon, people began lining up outside the palace gates for the selection—being chosen to offer on the emperor's behalf was considered a great honor. Among them were many children of influential officials.
But not everyone was eager to join. A man holding a fortune-telling banner stood aside, fingers rapidly calculating. His movements slowed… until blood welled at the corner of his lips.
Meng Zhonglun's brows rose. He stepped forward, pressing down the man's hand, and with his other palm resting lightly on the man's back, sent a thread of spiritual energy to ease the backlash of the divination.
"Old friend, that last reading you gave me was far from accurate. I've been looking for you everywhere."
The fortune-teller could not break free from Meng Zhonglun's grip. Taken aside into a narrow alley, passersby assumed he had simply offended the wrong person and paid no mind.
Once in the shadows, Meng Zhonglun released him. The man dropped to his knees at once.
"Greetings, Immortal. I am Mu Chushi. I have been following the trail of a malicious thing to this capital. I beg you to take action and destroy it!"
"How do you know I can help?" Meng Zhonglun asked.
"Only a true immortal could dispel my backlash in an instant as you just did. Your cultivation must be profound."
"Then speak. Tell me what you have found."
"Yes."
Mu Chushi recounted his story. He was a wandering diviner, making his living by reading fates. In a certain town, a wealthy family had invited him to divine their child's life.
The hosts had been generous with their wine, and he had drunk too much, only returning late to a woodsman's hut at the foot of the mountain where he was staying. He slept a day and a night before waking at midday to deliver the written fate.
But upon returning to town, he found it eerily silent—completely empty. He rushed to the wealthy family's home and found it the same. Refusing to give up, he searched everywhere until he reached the ancestral hall's back courtyard, where he discovered a gaping black hole.
Its rim was slick with blood, almost causing him to slip. His written fortune had fallen from his arms. When he looked again at the child's birth chart, it now showed a fate of violent death.
"Why not report it to the authorities?"
"I did. The officials could find nothing. They even brought in Taoist priests to perform rites, but all of them spat blood on the spot. After that, no one dared take the job."
"How did you track it here?"
"Divination. I can sense sudden changes in fate. But it costs me my own lifespan."
At this, Mu Chushi removed his hat, revealing hair that was already half white.
Meng Zhonglun had stepped in earlier because he recognized the man's method as that of a Dao cultivator, free of any demonic taint. But as he calculated, his lifespan was visibly being shaved away. Without that thread of spiritual qi, he would have died on the spot.
"You're not bad," Meng Zhonglun said. Then, "Let me see your tracking records."
Mu Chushi quickly took a thin booklet from his robes and presented it above his head with both hands.
Meng Zhonglun swept it with his divine sense, memorizing every detail before returning it. "And now? What will you do?"
"I have no skill to fight it. I only possess a talisman passed down from my ancestors. I don't know if it can harm the evil thing."
He produced the talisman. One glance told Meng Zhonglun it was a defensive charm, capable of blocking a single strike from a Golden Core cultivator. He flicked a thread of spiritual energy into Mu Chushi's brow.
At once, the man's hair returned to black, and the qi flowed through his meridians, repairing his damage and halting the rapid drain of his lifespan.
"Your clue is useful, but that talisman won't be enough. Leave the capital. I will handle the rest."
"Yes, Immortal."
When Mu Chushi looked up again, the immortal was gone. He realized he could not even remember the man's face, but joy filled his heart nonetheless. That one was the real thing. The malicious spirit would surely be destroyed.
From the account, Meng Zhonglun could already guess the culprit's nature. The route it had taken seemed to lead from the cultivation world itself. There was a good chance it was a blood sac.
He would scout the capital for its exact location before notifying the Law Enforcement Hall.
This was not the cultivation realm. The capital teemed with mortals—any mistake could drag the entire city to their deaths. That would mean failure.
Elsewhere, Jian Wu and the Heavenly Sword Sect cultivators had entered the mortal world. After putting away their flying vessel, they changed into mundane attire and split into ten groups, heading in different directions.
Jian Wu chose a path no one else had taken, quickly vanishing into the nearby mountains toward the closest village.
Tian Qing Kingdom Imperial Palace
Meng Zhonglun slipped into the inner palace like a wisp of green smoke, following the black veil only his amber eyes could see.
Halfway in, he spotted the Golden Core cultivator dressed as the National Preceptor. Meng Zhonglun did not disturb him, instead trailing from a distance. The man's aura was thick with death; his lifespan was at its end. Yet some other malignant qi was sustaining his decaying life.
The National Preceptor smiled faintly as he walked, pushing open a hall door and stepping inside.
No light flared within. Meng Zhonglun frowned and extended his divine sense through the doorway.
"Not good."
He moved instantly, but it was a breath too late. A brownish-red cord lashed out, dragging him into the hall.