Jing Qian didn't think too deeply about it.
If, on average, a new Pure Yang Son was born every thousand years, then in a span of a hundred thousand years, there should have been at least a hundred such prodigies.
Judging by the level of power he and Shang Xi had each reached, he simply couldn't imagine what kind of calamity could wipe out ninety-three percent of them, leaving, counting Shang Xi himself, only seven still alive.
Shang Xi didn't seem surprised by his question.
He smiled faintly and replied:
"I asked my master the same thing when I first joined the sect.
He answered me with a question, and now I'll ask you the same."
"You and I both possess the Pure Yang Golden Eyes, both of us of second-rank grade, with the ability to divine the flow of battle.
We also hold Pure Yang titles, forged through countless battles and tempered by blood. By any measure, our combat instincts are sharp."
"So tell me this: if an opponent stood before you, and your Golden Eyes foresaw only a thirty-percent chance of victory, would you strike?"
Jing Qian thought for a moment, then answered honestly:
"Thirty percent is too low. I wouldn't risk a head-on fight."
Shang Xi nodded, then pressed further:
"And if you met this enemy on a narrow path, no retreat, no way around, would you still refuse to fight?"
"In that case, I'd definitely fight," Jing Qian replied without hesitation.
"Even if I'm likely to lose, I'd have to cross blades at least once to test his depth.
See him a few more times, and those odds will rise."
Shang Xi smiled slightly.
"Exactly. Now, if your odds were sixty or seventy percent, would you act?"
"With that much certainty," Jing Qian said, "I'd never let the chance slip away.
If the Golden Eyes showed me sixty or seventy percent, hesitation would be cowardice."
Shang Xi chuckled.
"Then you're one of the cautious ones among our Pure Yang Heaven disciples.
My own answer back then was even more aggressive:
If I saw better than fifty percent, I would fight with everything I had, certain of victory."
"Later, I asked Senior Aunt Zhenmiao the same question.
To her, the Pure Yang Golden Eyes exist precisely to seek out that single thread of hope in battles destined for defeat, the faint light guiding the sword toward the impossible."
He paused, smiling wryly.
"That's the spirit of our sect.
Every Pure Yang cultivator who walks out of our gates dances on the blade's edge and pulls the tiger's fangs from its jaws."
"Add to that our Pure Yang title system, which feeds on battle-aura and slaughter and what others call a suicidal path, we call an opportunity bathed in sweet blood."
"But such a creed comes at a price.
It's why our casualties are so high."
"In the void, the most perilous secret realms, the fiercest demons, the oldest sects, they are all paved with the corpses of Pure Yang disciples."
"I still keep a ledger of grudges," he added with a grim grin.
"Later, I'll copy one for you. Every name on that list is an enemy of our path.
If you ever meet them, don't hold back."
He spoke with a tone of pride rather than regret.
"Beyond that, there's another reason for our heavy losses," he went on.
"Our predecessors accumulated far too much karma.
The Pure Yang have only a few friends but countless enemies.
Every generation inherits its feuds, and countless disciples die for grudges that aren't even their own.
Yet none of them resent it. They revel in it, some even go out of their way to chase those debts of blood."
"Even though our disciples are nearly unmatched among peers of the same rank, when every single battle is fought against stronger foes, even one mistake means instant death."
"That's why only a handful of Pure Yang cultivators ever survive long enough to reach the upper third ranks."
Jing Qian was left speechless.
So this was the true nature of his sect, a brotherhood of lunatics who believed that if you didn't court death, you'd never taste life.
He couldn't help but sigh.
Still, when he thought about the kind of monstrous effort it would take to raise his Pure Yang Lord of Tribulations title any further, requiring perhaps hundreds or thousands of times more battle experience, he suddenly understood the logic of his forebears.
If your sect's entire cultivation path was literally built on "grow stronger by killing,"
Then, of course, every disciple would grind themselves to the limit for in Pure Yang Heaven, madness was the path to power.
Shang Xi continued, his tone growing more reflective.
"Such is the temperament of our sect. Every disciple through the generations knows this way borders on the demonic path, an excess that should never be glorified, a flame that must be restrained."
"Everyone understands that in principle, but few can truly do it."
"Even I cannot escape this habitual madness. Now that I've broken through and am finally free, the very first thing that comes to my mind when I divine the future is how to slaughter the Demon Ancient Lin Hai."
"It is where my Dao-heart points. Even if the odds are slim, I will give it my all."
"And let me be clear, this isn't me asking for your help. The karma tied to the Demon Ancient Lin Hai is mine alone. Don't get yourself involved."
"I'll proceed cautiously, wear him down little by little. Sooner or later, I'll cleanse that entire realm of its demons."
Jing Qian was speechless. His master had just spent a long time preaching restraint and wisdom, only to turn around and rush off to pick a fight.
Shang Xi, unfazed, continued his storytelling:
"Also, the number of disciples in Pure Yang Heaven is far smaller than you'd expect."
"Our sect's secret techniques have extremely high entry thresholds. Don't be fooled by how easily you refined your Sword Casket and awakened your Sword Eyes; that's your talent, not the norm."
"According to the Pure Yang Sword Chart, among those born within the Yingfutu Realm, there are only four hundred and twenty-three disciples whose names are recorded as true heirs."
"Of those, only fifty-seven actually tempered a title and ascended to the rank of Pure Yang Son."
"That's roughly one Pure Yang Son every seventeen hundred years."
"Having three consecutive generations produce Pure Yang Sons, as we do now, is extraordinarily rare."
"Out of those fifty-seven, only eleven remain alive. So yes, the ratio is depressingly small."
"But the Yanfu Dao lineage isn't doing much better."
"Their sect's internal culture is even more deranged. The three branches, Ghost Exorcism, Flesh Banquet, and Death Imprint, are constantly at each other's throats. Producing a single Yanfu Son is harder than ascending to heaven."
"And among disciples of the same sect, each generation's Yanfu Son digs a pit for the next, calling it 'a trial.' Misstep once, and you're dead."
"If anything, the number of surviving Yanfu Sons might be fewer than ours."
"Since you now hold the title of Yanfu Son yourself, you'd best stay sharp."
"Your predecessor, the one nicknamed the Sick One, suffered plenty at the hands of the Eyeless, and it wouldn't surprise me if he's plotting to cause you trouble as well."
This was the first time Jing Qian had heard such deep secrets.
So the Yanfu Dao's lineage had fractured even more severely than Pure Yang Heaven's. He had stumbled into its inheritance by sheer luck, obtained the Yanfu Son title, and yet his understanding of the sect remained hazy, like seeing flowers through fog.
He couldn't help asking:
"Master, how do you know so much about the Yanfu Dao?"
Shang Xi answered with an easy tone:
"Two Dao Ancestor lineages dwelling within the same world, it's like locking two tigers in one cage. Over time, either they destroy each other, or they learn how to coexist."
"By now, Pure Yang Heaven and Yanfu Dao are deeply intertwined."
"The Yanfu cultivators love to change their names and sneak into our ranks, borrowing our battle techniques and title-forging arts."
"Among those four hundred names on the Sword Chart, I can't tell how many are actually Yanfu disciples, but it's definitely not a small number."
"As for us, few Pure Yang disciples ever go study in the Yanfu Dao; our sword path is too sharp for their soft, sticky arts."
"Still, because our death rate is so high, we often rely on Yanfu Dao's reincarnation techniques to send fallen disciples back into the cycle."
"They excel at nurturing the root of rebirth and unraveling the mystery of the womb. In that regard, we are far inferior."
"Take that sword-lotus bud in the pool, you see it? It's nurturing the remnant soul of my senior aunt, Zhenmiao."
"When a Yanfu Son next returns to this realm, I intend to beg his aid to send her soul into rebirth."
"To preserve her essence, I drained all the original power from the Sword-Lotus Pool, even extinguished its Fate Fire. But the operation went perfectly; her primordial spirit remains whole and can endure for another three to five centuries."
Hearing this, Jing Qian's heart stirred. He took out his Wheel of Reincarnation and said:
"Master, when I subdued the Corpse Mountain, I managed to refine this Wheel of Reincarnation.
It's a Yanfu Dao spirit construct, supreme in manipulating life, death, and rebirth.
If I drive it with Immortal Spirit Qi, it should be able to send Grandmaster Zhenmiao safely into reincarnation."
Before he even finished speaking, Shang Xi's expression grew deadly serious.
The Eye of Transcending Illusion and Rebirth at his brow opened wide, fixing upon the wheel as it began a furious deduction.
That eye itself could command the cycle of rebirth, though not with the precision or safety of the Yanfu Dao's art.
And for Zhenmiao's reincarnation, he would accept no risk whatsoever.
He had been waiting all this time for a true Yanfu Son's assistance.
The Wheel of Reincarnation Jing Qian held, refined from the foundation of the Corpse Mountain, was an artifact of immense rank and potency.
Even when Shang Xi tested it against his strictest divinations, he found no flaws, no danger.
It was a treasure capable of supporting Zhenmiao's rebirth.
For once, the usually calm and thunder-hearted Shang Xi grew visibly excited; his breathing quickened.
He looked up and declared earnestly:
"Chixiao, your Grandmaster Zhenmiao gave everything for our Pure Yang Heaven.
Now only a fragment of her soul remains, struggling to endure.
I swore long ago to see her safely reborn, no matter the cost.
Since you possess this spirit construct, I ask that you help me send her into reincarnation."
Jing Qian immediately bowed low and replied solemnly:
"As you wish, Master, your disciple dares not refuse."
Then Jing Qian lifted his hand and threw the Wheel of Reincarnation directly above the Sword-Lotus Pool.
At once, Shang Xi made his move.
He channeled all of his painstakingly cultivated Yin-Yang Chaos Immortal Qi into his Eye of Transcending Illusion and Rebirth.
A pure white beam shot from the single eye, falling upon a tightly closed sword-lotus bud.
Slowly, that lotus began to unfurl.
Inside its petals lay a palm-sized girl's spirit, fast asleep, her breathing light and peaceful.
Shang Xi once again drove his Immortal Qi, sending forth another white beam this time aimed at the Wheel of Reincarnation.
The moment the beam struck, Jing Qian felt a tremendous surge of power hit the wheel.
He guided that force, unleashing the full might of the Wheel of Reincarnation, casting a wave of azure reincarnation light toward the little girl's soul.
Then, Shang Xi suddenly leapt straight into the Sword-Lotus Pool, reaching out to snap the lotus that held Zhenmiao's spirit.
Turning back to Jing Qian, he said calmly,
"Chixiao, this matter succeeded only thanks to your aid.
I hadn't expected it to go so smoothly, nor that a turning point would arrive so swiftly."
"But the flame of the Sword Furnace's Fate Fire burns only briefly.
I must hurry to find a suitable realm to assist Zhenmiao's reincarnation.
The affairs of Pure Yang Heaven will now fall to you."
"I have served as sect master for several millennia.
The time has come to pass the mantle."
"From this day forward, you are the new sect master of Pure Yang Heaven.
All internal and external affairs, every decision shall be made by your word.
The sect's secret treasury and the Pure Yang Cave-Heaven are now under your command."
"Your talent is extraordinary; you are destined for great heights.
Cultivate diligently, do not waste your time."
When he finished, Shang Xi formed a strange sword-light, sending it straight into Jing Qian's Eye of the Three Lives of Reincarnation between his brows.
Jing Qian caught it instinctively and realized it contained the Pure Yang Sect Master's authority, granting him control over the sect's hidden facilities and even the cave-heaven itself.
Then, Shang Xi acted once more.
He gathered all the Immortal Spirit Qi remaining in his body and released five blinding sword lights.
The beams struck the Sword Furnace, igniting the Fate Fire into a roaring blaze.
With a flick of his hand, Shang Xi drew that Fate Fire up like a vast cloud of glowing smoke and wrapped it around the lotus in his grasp.
In the next moment, he rose into the air, transforming into a shimmering streak of sword light, and shot out of the cave-heaven.
He pierced through the realm's barrier, flying higher and farther, until he broke free of the Yingfutu Realm, entirely vanishing into the endless stars.
Jing Qian stood there, dumbfounded.
He blinked at the empty cave-heaven, the now-dark Sword-Lotus Pool, and muttered in disbelief:
"He… just left?"
The scene before him was absurd.
One moment, his master was lecturing calmly; the next, he'd abandoned the entire sect and bolted into the void.
Sure, saving his senior aunt's soul was important, but did it really require dropping everything and running off like that?
There was no doubt about it, his master was deeply unwell.
Or maybe, Jing Qian thought wryly, he was reenacting some tragic romance drama, Yang Guo and the Little Dragon Girl style.
Just then, Old White Ox floated lazily into the cave, landing beside him.
The beast looked Jing Qian up and down, then asked in its gruff, puzzled voice:
"Sect Master, sir… why'd the previous sect master rush off like that?
Looked like he was being chased by wolves."
Jing Qian sighed helplessly.
"Master was in a hurry to guide Grandmaster Zhenmiao's reincarnation.
Didn't say a word more, just left."
"But is it really something so urgent?"
At that, the White Ox suddenly nodded, an expression of realization dawning across his broad face.
"Ahh, that explains it.
Grandmaster Zhenmiao's reincarnation has always been Shang Xi's greatest heart demon.
Of course, he'd treat it as the highest priority.
You don't know the whole story, Sect Master."
"See, while everyone calls Zhenmiao his 'senior aunt,' she was actually three hundred years younger than him."
"I remember when Ancestor Yuanyang unexpectedly returned to this realm, no one knows from where he snatched a baby girl.
He handed her over to Shang Xi to raise and teach."
"That little girl was Zhenmiao."
"So while she might be his senior in title, in truth she was raised by him, his most gifted disciple, and, to him, like a daughter."
"And what a daughter she was!
The most gifted cultivator I've ever seen.
She didn't even need the burning of the Fate Fire to awaken the moment she could speak; she had already stepped onto the Dao."
"Heaven itself favored her; she was born with two innate destinies,
and her spirit wandered the Mountain of Immortal Qi, where she shed two tears that became divine marks.
Unless calamity struck, she was guaranteed to ascend to the second rank, immortal and indestructible."
"Her cultivation soared like lightning.
Within a year, she formed her Saintly Manifestation and claimed the Twofold Extinguishing Dao Sword.
In five years, she grasped her Fate Star, and before ten years had passed, she condensed her Golden Immortal Qi, stepping directly into the third-rank realm of Heaven-Mending."
"She was, without question, the most brilliant genius in Pure Yang Heaven's history."
"But then came the invasion of the Demon Ancient Lin Realm.
Zhenmiao had been cultivating for less than thirty years, barely out of apprenticeship, yet she alone fought against the second-rank demons Wuzhiqi and Mother Yasha."
"Had her foundation been deeper, had she more battle experience, she might not have fallen."
"And truth be told, part of her defeat came because she risked herself to save Shang Xi during that chaos."
"That became the great regret of his life.
So now that he finally has a chance to send her into rebirth, of course, he's going to give it everything he has."
After hearing all this, Jing Qian finally understood.
So his master wasn't some lovesick swordsman after all; he was, quite simply, a doting father.
He asked again, half amused:
"Old Ox, if Master only wants to guide Grandmaster Zhenmiao's reincarnation,
Why didn't he do it here in the Yingfutu Realm?
Why rush off into the void?"
The White Ox snorted and shook his head.
"Tch! Because Shang Xi looks down on this realm.
Says it's poor in heritage and thin in spiritual energy, 'unworthy' of Zhenmiao."
"He's probably headed for the Sea of Flower Spirits to arrange her rebirth there."
"That sea-realm is rich in pure energy, full of beauty and wine much better than this barren backwater."
And at last, Jing Qian understood completely.
His master hadn't abandoned the sect; he'd simply refused to let his precious girl reincarnate in a bad school district.
A true, textbook daughter-obsessed father.
Still, Jing Qian couldn't help but sigh.
Since his transmigration, he had never once left this realm,
But judging from how every great cultivator he met was desperate to flee the Yingfutu Realm, it must truly be the most forsaken corner of the cosmos.
Shang Xi's sudden departure wasn't the real problem; the trouble he left behind was.
All the lingering karmic debts, sect affairs, and cosmic entanglements now rested squarely on Jing Qian's shoulders.
Just thinking about the three fallen sects' surviving patriarchs now likely returning from the void was enough to give him a headache.
At present, he was officially the dual sect master of both Pure Yang Heaven and Yanfu Dao.
Granted, Pure Yang Heaven's entire staff consisted of one bull, while Yanfu Dao's ranks were filled with rebellious ghosts and madmen,
but the resources he could command had multiplied almost overnight.
Shang Xi had transferred full sect authority to him,
complete with every administrative key and spiritual seal of Pure Yang Heaven.
The Hidden Sword Mountain, Pure Yang Sword Chart, Sword-Lotus Pool, Sword Anvil, and the sect's grand treasury all now lay within his control.
He had plenty to study.
Just as he was about to leave the Sword-Lotus Pool to take a look at the treasury, something caught his eye: a faint glimmer of spiritual light condensed atop one of the withered sword-lotuses.
Shang Xi's hasty departure had once again extinguished the pool's flames, but this light must have been a message left behind by one of the sect's elders who managed to transmit it before the channel closed.
Jing Qian didn't have his master's sword-fire to relight the furnace, so for now he had no way to contact the other Pure Yang disciples scattered across the void.
He reached out and drew the light into his palm, carefully sensing the message within
It was a voice transmission from the elder Zhu Yun, one of the former Pure Yang Sons:
"To the current Pure Yang Son, be it Shang Xi or another
I have discovered a great opportunity, but I cannot seize it alone.
Come quickly and lend your aid."
The transmission contained a realm coordinate, a precise location Zhu Yun had sent back.
The Sword-Lotus Pool had only stayed active for about ten days before going dark again.
Out of the nine remaining elders, only Zhu Yun's message had returned; he was clearly in urgent need.
Unfortunately, Jing Qian's cultivation was still too low;
Traveling through the void was far beyond his current reach.
He could only sigh; no doubt the old master would be disappointed.
Holding the shimmering wisp of light, he turned to ask:
"Old Ox, do you know this Elder Zhu Yun?"
"Of course I do," the White Ox replied, nodding.
"He was Junior-Brother to Ren Chong; they inherited the Pure Yang Son title one after the other."
"But Zhu Yun's been wandering the void for nearly five thousand years now.
Hasn't returned to the realm in ages.
No idea what kind of 'opportunity' he's stumbled upon that has him begging for help."
Jing Qian thought for a moment, then stored the light.
He flicked his finger, sending it into the Void World, where it landed in the hands of Good Corn.
"Xiaomi," he instructed,
"decode these coordinates.
If you can pinpoint the location, get ready, we might have a hunt on our hands."
"Roger that!" came the cheerful reply.
Good Corn had grown considerably stronger lately; its fishing itch had long been unbearable.
It dove straight into deciphering the data.
With that arranged, Jing Qian headed toward the sect treasury,
eager to see just what sort of inheritance Shang Xi had left him.
Stepping inside, he froze for a moment, stunned by what he saw.
Meanwhile, in the endless void,
countless realms drifted like grains of sand in a cosmic river.
Far from the Northern E Emperor's Wuji Heaven, there floated a peculiar realm known as Great Black Heaven, a world of shadows.
Within it thrived innumerable shadow-born beings, who had developed their own strange civilization of cultivation.
Viewed from outside, Great Black Heaven looked like a massive, shifting ball of darkness, its shape constantly changing,
its depths utterly impenetrable.
Yet within that darkness lay something astonishing: countless suns imprisoned in shadow.
For indeed, where there is light, there must be shadow;
where there is brightness, there must be darkness.
The shadow-folk depended on light to reproduce,
feeding upon it as sustenance.
Thus, Great Black Heaven never stayed anchored in any one place.
It wandered ceaselessly through the void, and whenever it came across a burning star, it would seize it like a treasure, swallowing it whole to nourish itself, never mind the countless worlds and creatures that depended on that sun for life.
Now, within Great Black Heaven, more than a hundred captured suns blazed at its core, their light and heat bound by immense magical power.
Amid these imprisoned stars, in the narrow gap between three of them, two cultivators hid, one fat, one thin.
The fat one held up a large black cauldron, sheltering both of them from the deadly radiance.
He grumbled:
"Grandpa Zhu, could you maybe not be so unreliable?
You said you could call for help!"
"The fire I've stored in this cauldron is nearly overflowing.
Give it another hundred-odd years and we'll be roasted alive if we don't find a way to vent it."
The thin man, wielding a bamboo-like sword, frowned and muttered:
"That shouldn't be possible…
Even if Great Black Heaven is far away, my message should have reached them."
"Just wait, I'll try again."
"We can't count on your Stove King Hall; those gluttons are useless.
We'll have to rely on Pure Yang Heaven; maybe one of the elders can reel us out of this mess."
Elsewhere, in some unfathomable place,
two inhuman entities conversed in hushed tones:
"The Divine Maiden isn't dead. Hetu has caught her soul's trace."
"Can you locate her?"
"Someone's shielding her reincarnation.
The Wheel of Reincarnation's light revealed her for only an instant."
"Hetu says her soul carries Pure Yang essence."
"Pure Yang? Impossible, he's long dead.
Must be one of his descendants."
"Then send someone.
Find this Pure Yang and erase the Divine Maiden's reincarnated body."
"Let the Lingbao people handle it."
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