Qin Yi had originally thought it would take at least half a month to gather one hundred mortals who met the criteria.Because of this, the main body rarely paid him much attention. Others merely assumed he was a reclusive loner and never bothered to speak with him.
Yet to his surprise, within just a few short days, the number had already been filled.
How had they managed to find so many people so quickly?
Qin Yi didn't know, and in truth, he didn't care. Hugging his bundle tightly, he allowed himself to be swept along with the noisy crowd as they boarded an enormous piece of cloth floating in midair.
The fabric billowed in the wind, rippling with faint waves of spiritual energy invisible to the naked eye. Yet it bore the weight of more than a hundred people with ease, carrying them swiftly into the distant skies.
"Immortal treasure! This must be an immortal treasure!"
"To think we could ride upon such a divine artifact—this life has no regrets!"
"If only I could wield such powers of the immortals myself!"
"Hahaha! Once I obtain my immortal fate, I too shall soar freely through the heavens!"
The crowd was filled with awe and fanatic longing, their faces shining with dreams of the immortal path.
Only Qin Yi remained calm.
Not just because he knew this so-called "flying cloth" was nothing more than a soul banner, but because he also knew what fate awaited them ahead.
Before long, the banner gave a sudden shudder, jolting him from his thoughts. Looking down, he saw they had arrived at a basin encircled by sheer cliffs.
As before, the "immortal" responsible for escorting them deposited the group without a word, then transformed into a streak of light that vanished across the skies, as though he had never been there at all.
The mortals below first fell silent in confusion. Moments later, the quiet broke into chaotic chatter.
"Has the immortal departed?"
"What does this mean? Could this be a test of our patience?"
"Of course! We only need to wait here quietly. The immortal will surely return!"
"But… what if he doesn't?"
"Impossible! He brought us here. He won't abandon us!"
Qin Yi ignored them. He broke away from the crowd and walked straight toward the edge of the valley.
Soon, a solitary wooden hut came into view.
Without hesitation, he strode forward.
But just before he could reach it, a figure suddenly emerged from the grass.
The newcomer was a well-built young man with upright features, who positioned himself at a polite distance, smiling as he spoke.
"Brother, you're so bold. Aren't you afraid that hut might hold a trap?"
"That immortal led us here and left without explanation. I doubt his intentions are good. A hut like this seems suspicious—we ought to be cautious…"
Qin Yi spared him a single glance but said nothing.
He had no desire to form ties with anyone here.
After all, in the end, only one person would walk out alive. Everyone else was destined to die.
If that was the case, why bother to know them in the first place? Better not to carry needless sorrow.
The young man didn't seem offended by Qin Yi's silence. Instead, he cupped his fists politely.
"I am Zhou Wen. Might I ask for your esteemed name?"
Qin Yi continued walking, ignoring him.
Unwilling to give up, Zhou Wen hurried alongside him, pressing further:
"Since earlier I've been wondering—what exactly do you have in that bundle you're carrying?"
"Surely you can at least answer that, can't you?"
"Tell me, and I'll leave you alone right away. I promise not to bother you again!"
Qin Yi sighed, finally stopping.
"Answer given, you leave. Understand?"
"Understood, understood!" Zhou Wen nodded eagerly.
"It's food," Qin Yi replied curtly. "If I fail to obtain immortal fate, at least I won't starve to death."
Zhou Wen blinked, surprised by the plainness of the answer. But quickly he chuckled.
"Brother, you are thorough indeed. Yet it seems no one else thought that way. Everyone here is bent on success or death. If they fail, they have no intention of living on."
Qin Yi didn't respond. He had already reached the hut. Without hesitation, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Seeing Qin Yi still ignore him, Zhou Wen could only shake his head.
His instincts told him the so-called "immortal fate" might be hidden within these huts.
But rather than enter the same hut and clash with Qin Yi, he glanced around—and spotted another hut farther away. Without hesitation, he made for it.
He was one step slower than Qin Yi… but far ahead of the rest.
Most of the mortals still lingered in the clearing below, confused and quarrelling. Nearly all chose to wait there for the immortal's "return."
Few noticed Qin Yi's odd behavior. Fewer still had the courage to follow his lead.
Moments later, Zhou Wen reached the second hut.
He pushed open the door and immediately spotted a booklet resting upon the table.
Picking it up, his eyes fell upon the bold, sweeping characters written across the cover:
The Blood Feast Art.
Zhou Wen froze, his heart pounding.
Could this be it? Could this truly be the "immortal fate" they sought?
So easily found?
Excitement flooded him, but soon suspicion followed.
That man earlier—hadn't he acted as though he already knew about the huts? About what lay within them?
Could it be… a sign that Qin Yi himself was destined for immortal fate?
Shaking off the thought with a bitter smile, Zhou Wen sat down and began to study the booklet.
But the deeper he read, the darker his expression became.
The cultivation method… required killing.
What kind of twisted art was this!?
Almost instantly, he realized—whether he practiced it or not, others surely would. And once they did, murder would become inevitable.
What to do? Warn them not to study it? Tell them to cast it aside?
Impossible. None of them would abandon such a treasure.
They had all come chasing after "immortal fate." Many would rather kill than give up the chance.
Could this be the true purpose of the "immortals"?
Had they been brought here simply to slaughter one another?
But why? For what?
A chill crept down Zhou Wen's spine. Just then, faint footsteps sounded outside the hut.
His heart leapt. Was it another mortal—already cultivating this blood-soaked art—coming to kill him?
He pressed himself against the doorframe, peering through a crack.
And then he saw a figure approaching.
A figure he recognized instantly.
It was the same strikingly handsome man he had tried and failed to speak with earlier.
Why had he come?
What did he want?