Qin Ping said nothing. His brows were furrowed, as if deep in thought.
Something was clearly wrong in the capital. The people who had attacked him just moments ago, by all appearances, used orthodox cultivation techniques.
And yet—
Qin Ping had slain many cultivators from the Blood Dao Sect over the years. He could faintly recognize the traces of their secret arts. Those techniques bore unmistakable signs of Blood Dao Sect influence.
But there was no trace of demonic aura.
How was that even possible?
It made no sense.
Leading the betrayal was none other than the current ruler of Canglan Kingdom—Chen Chen.
But Chen Chen had been his disciple, trained under his own guidance.
No one knew the young man better than Qin Ping did.
Chen Chen had always been a benevolent and compassionate sovereign.
Why would he do something so drastic? So out of character?
It didn't add up.
Unless...
Chen Chen was no longer Chen Chen.
His mind—perhaps even his soul—had been tampered with.
Or worse... he had been replaced altogether.
If his mind had been manipulated, then the technique used must be something so subtle, so seamless, it bordered on the unimaginable.
And if it was the latter—
Two words surfaced unbidden in Qin Ping's mind.
Huan Mo.
The Huan Mo of the demon race were masters of transformation. If a Huan Mo with sufficiently high cultivation had assumed Chen Chen's identity, they could indeed imitate him without flaw.
But appearance could be mimicked.
What about aura?
How could that be hidden so perfectly?
The demon race...
Had they truly discovered a way to completely hide their aura?
If so...
That was terrifying.
For all these years, no one had noticed a thing. If the demon race had been operating in secret for this long, using such methods to disguise themselves—
Then how many demonic cultivators were hiding within Canglan Kingdom?
How many among them were true demons?
Where was his disciple now?
Qin Ping didn't dare think any further.
"Search this place thoroughly," he said.
He lifted his head.
Above them, the voices of the traitors rang out clearly.
Everyone's expression turned grim. Their only hope now was that the grand formation would remain hidden—undetected by those outside. But that hope was short-lived.
Soon, a jubilant voice called out, "There's a strange fluctuation here. Must be a formation!"
"Oh? A formation?" Chen Chen's voice followed, eerily distorted. "What are you waiting for? Break it."
A powerful shockwave rippled through the air as the outer formation came under heavy assault.
Silence filled the chamber.
Despair tightened its grip on every heart.
They had hidden for days, but in the end, there was nowhere left to run.
This time—
They likely wouldn't be leaving alive.
"Master Qin, we'll follow your lead. What should we do?"
"What else is there to do? Even if I'm injured, I'll fight them to the death. It's just death—we all knew this was coming."
"That's right! Fight to the end!"
Qin Ping remained silent.
He closed his eyes, trying to grasp some thread of fate.
But this time—
No matter how he tried, destiny was shrouded in thick mist. He could see nothing.
He let out a quiet sigh.
Perhaps he had been too greedy.
The heavens had already shown him great favor.
He couldn't expect guidance every time.
A flicker of concern passed through his eyes.
If this was part of a long-laid scheme, then what had surfaced now might only be the tip of the iceberg. This was far more complicated than he'd hoped.
Their own lives were secondary. The capital was still full of innocent citizens. If these demonic cultivators were allowed to run rampant, the catastrophe would spread beyond Canglan Kingdom—possibly far beyond.
The enemy had acted without exposing even the slightest trace of aura. Not even the Demon-Slaying Alliance could respond in time. There would be no reinforcements this time.
Qin Ping sighed again.
He had once thought that negotiations were nearly done, that the time had come to walk the path of Wushuang Sect's rise, and in doing so, he and the others could finally break through their own limits—finally fulfill their vision of aiding the world.
But now...
That was no longer possible. He had broken his promise to Yun Jin. He had lived long enough. Death did not frighten him. But before he died, he had to make sure the outside world was alerted. If these hidden devils were allowed to remain in the shadows, the consequences would be beyond imagining.
Qin Ping's expression was calm. The decision was already made. He turned to the others and spoke softly. "Today, there is no path forward for us."
His voice was steady.
The others paused, then their expressions turned resolute.
Yes. No path forward.
"Today, we don't fight to live. We fight to die," Qin Ping said.
He looked around at the people standing beside him. None looked away. What he saw in every face was unwavering determination.
Qin Ping felt a surge of comfort—and sorrow.
In the end, all cultivators started out as mortals.
They had parents. Siblings. Friends.
But those with spiritual roots were always the rare few.
When cultivators first entered the path, many still carried their human emotions.
They tried to care for their families and loved ones.
But over time—
Time in cultivation passed differently. Those mortal attachments faded little by little. Eventually, when everyone they once cared about had passed into the cycle of reincarnation, their emotions dulled.
Some took it even further.
There was a widely circulated belief:
A cultivator must sever all attachments. Love and affection would only become shackles.
Once that doctrine took root, some went to terrifying extremes—cutting off all familial bonds, even severing love. Some even killed their own loved ones, believing it necessary.
Most didn't go so far. But the prevailing attitude remained: once you walked the path of cultivation, you must not interfere in mortal affairs. In times of peace, perhaps that was understandable. After all, cultivators meddling in mortal matters could create more chaos than good.
But in the past century—
The demon race had secretly nurtured the rise of demonic sects.
The four Holy Lands, and even the major sects, all claimed they would not interfere with the mortal realm.
But the demonic cultivators didn't share that restraint. The demons didn't either. They hid in the shadows, leaving behind bloodshed and chaos.
The Demon-Slaying Alliance had done its best to track them down. But most cultivators still behaved as if they floated above the world.
Once, a village was slaughtered.
There had been a cultivator from the Imperial court residing there. He fought to the death to protect the people.
By the time Qin Ping and the others arrived, it was too late.
The village was scorched earth. The demonic cultivators had long vanished. But that cultivator had hidden a memory stone with the last of his strength.
Through it, they saw what had happened. The Blood Dao Sect's people had infiltrated and performed a dark ritual—draining the villagers' blood to forge a magic artifact.
That was their usual method. Cruel, but expected.
What shook Qin Ping the most was what he saw in the background.
While the massacre unfolded, a group of sect cultivators passed by in the sky.
Their response?
They steered far away, not even daring to take a closer look.
He could understand the instinct to protect oneself.
But why?
Why hadn't they sent a message afterward? Called for reinforcements?
Qin Ping would not say their choice was wrong.
He only knew that it was not the choice he would have made.
Nor would anyone beside him.
A person must never forget their roots.
That was Path that he chose.