The storyteller wore a simple blue robe. His hair and beard were snow-white, his bearing ethereal, almost like that of an immortal. Yet it was the tale upon his lips that truly captivated his listeners.
The story was titled The Chronicle of a Mortal's Ascent to Immortality.
Its protagonist was an utterly ordinary man, who by chance stepped onto the path of cultivation.
But his road ahead was anything but smooth.
Beside him stood geniuses of peerless talent, far beyond his own; the son of a sect master, backed by towering influence; and even a so-called child of destiny, so fortunate that he stumbled upon treasures whenever he left his home.
These three seemed fated to be his nemeses. Not only did they seize the spirit stones he had struggled to obtain, but they also humiliated him at will. Even the lone female cultivator willing to protect him was grievously injured by their combined assault, left unconscious and near death.
Compared to theirs, his path of cultivation was fraught with hardship—chased by enemies, perils within secret realms, accidents at every turn. Nearly every day, he lived on the brink of death.
Yet time and again, with wit and resilience, he clawed his way back from despair.
Despised by all, he worked in secret, silently building his strength, until a string of fortuitous encounters bestowed upon him opportunities beyond imagining.
In the end, his cultivation and realm surpassed even those three "favored sons of heaven" who had once left him in the dust.
The tale concluded with him grinding them beneath his feet, rescuing the woman he loved, and achieving a resounding reversal of fate.
Under the storyteller's vivid cadence and dramatic rhythm, the tale was full of tension, impossible to walk away from.
Even Qin Yi found himself entranced, listening from dawn till dusk, desperate to know when the protagonist would finally exact his revenge.
Only when the last word fell did Qin Yi exhale a long breath, a suffocating weight within his chest dissipating, replaced with an unfamiliar sense of fulfillment.
Yet along with it came a wave of emptiness, surging through him like a tide.
A false story was, in the end, still false.
Still, after hearing it, he found himself wishing he could replace that protagonist—seizing the chance as a mere mortal to trample so-called geniuses and seniors alike beneath his feet.
Wait…
Qin Yi's brow furrowed sharply.
Something was wrong with his emotions.
Wasn't he already a cultivator? Why then did he feel such a desperate longing for "cultivation" itself?
There was a trick here.
At last, Qin Yi realized the truth.
This was no ordinary tale. It could, in subtle ways, awaken the deepest desires within its listeners, planting an obsessive yearning for immortality.
It led ordinary mortals to believe that, no matter how talentless or unremarkable they might be, they too could one day triumph like the story's hero.
In that instant, Qin Yi understood.
This was another ploy of the Demonic Sect.
Its purpose: to lure mortals, endlessly and unceasingly, into its ranks.
Even if the mortality rate was atrociously high, the listeners would dismiss it, thinking only that those who perished were "side characters." They themselves, as the destined "protagonists," were bound to survive.
Qin Yi sighed and shook his head, his impression of the sect sinking ever lower.
No wonder Blood Banquet Valley's trials had been held so many times, no matter how many disappeared mysteriously, still more came, drawn in pursuit of immortality.
For long before they ever stepped onto that path, they had been conditioned by stories such as this—taught that seeking immortality was fraught with danger, and that death was only natural.
Others might die, but they would not.
It was like the fraud warnings of his previous life: no matter how loudly proclaimed, some always believed themselves different, destined for greatness, and so they walked willingly into the trap, never to return.
Here, however, the Demonic Sect wove tales unceasingly, brainwashing mortals until the sect possessed an inexhaustible supply of human resources.
He thought of the maidservants who had first joined his cave dwelling. Were they not the same?
For a chance at some distant, illusory "immortal fate," they had followed a stranger without hesitation. If Liu Meng had been malicious, not one of those girls would have survived.
But in their eyes, so long as they could ascend, no sacrifice, no risk, was too great.
And such people were the easiest prey within the sect—manipulated, used, and discarded.
They were the rotting soil and fertilizer that nourished the Demonic Sect's towering tree, feeding those the sect deemed truly worthy of cultivation.
Qin Shuang was one of the latter. The Qi Refining cultivators she had enslaved to push herself into mid-stage were surely among the former.
Expressionless, Qin Yi left the inn.
At least there was one piece of good news.
Since the talk of "immortal fate" had spread so widely here, surely this city too held rumors of the next Blood Banquet Valley trial.
Meanwhile, in a remote alley, Liu Six was shadowing three mortals.
From her observations, these three were likely connected to the so-called "immortal fate" of Blood Banquet Valley.
For each of them bore something…extra.
One had an additional ear. Another, an extra nostril. The last—shockingly—had two backdoors.
Had Liu Six not been able to see through their clothing, she might never have noticed the abnormalities.
The moment she saw them, she guessed their gathering was no coincidence—they were most likely bound for the trial.
Thus, when they left the inn, she slipped after them, silent as a shadow.
Before long, the trio made their way, with practiced ease, into a brightly lit brothel filled with song and laughter.
Without hesitation, Liu Six followed them inside.
But the instant she stepped through the door, every gaze in the building swung toward her.
In those eyes, there was surprise, curiosity, and the faintest hint of mockery.
And only then did she realize her mistake. She had grown accustomed to living as a man, but this body was, in truth, female.
And this house of blossoms…did not welcome women.
She turned on her heel without hesitation. With her divine sense, those three could not escape her anyway.
But just as she was about to leave, a young man stepped in her path.
He wore a bright yellow robe of embroidered silk, a jade coronet on his head. His peach-blossom eyes roved over her without restraint, a smile tugging at his lips—self-assured, and thoroughly conceited.
And when he spoke, his words were staggering:
"I am the Ninth Prince of this realm. Girl, I shall take you as my consort. Do you accept?"
Liu Six's brows drew tightly together.