Lingbo City was an ancient settlement, built against the craggy slopes of Lingbo Mountain. It exuded an air of timeless simplicity and profound gravity, said to have stood for tens of thousands of years, its streets steeped in fantastical legends passed down through generations.
Behind the city, Lingbo Mountain rose in a jumble of jagged rocks, clustered like a forest of stone pillars arranged in the pattern of the Seven Stars and Eight Mansions. The headquarters of the Divine Spirit Sect nestled right in their midst.
Generations of formidable masters had emerged from this sect, dominating the entire Lingyin Continent. Thanks to their protection, the ancient city had weathered countless wars and chaos, standing firm as ever.
Ten thousand qing of bamboo forests stretched before the sect's mountain gate, their green waves rolling like a vast sea. Rumor had it that the forest had been laid out under the guidance of a god-king from another realm. Any intruder who dared to step foot inside without an entry token would be trapped forever, destined to become a heap of withered bones.
Combined with the stone forest, this natural barrier made the sect's defenses impenetrable. Since its creation, the Divine Spirit Sect had not even needed to post patrolling disciples at its gates.
For thirty thousand years, no outsider had ever breached this barrier to reach the very doorstep of the Divine Spirit Sect.
This day was the sixth day of the twelfth lunar month—the coldest time of the year. Yet on the sect's training grounds, scores of disciples paid no heed to the bitter chill. Dressed only in short tunics, they trained bare-chested in perfect unison, the air buzzing with fiery energy.
Inside a spacious hall, however, the atmosphere was the polar opposite—cold and solemn, so oppressive that even breathing felt like a struggle.
A masked man racked his brains, trying to explain the chain of events.
"Esteemed Sect Master, I swear on my life—I did not embezzle the sect's sacred treasure. It truly vanished without a trace."
He paused. The silence hung heavy and terrifying, broken by no response. He cleared his throat awkwardly, breaking the suffocating stillness.
"Cough… The last time it was seen, it was in that woman's possession. You may perform a soul-search on her—you will surely uncover the whole truth."
"Furthermore, this woman harbors malicious intentions and covets our sect's treasure. I humbly request that you, Sect Master, decide her fate at your earliest convenience."
This masked man was none other than the one who had tossed Ren Yi aside like a ragdoll to take down the black-cloaked men in Lingbo City.
After capturing the maiden, he had searched her thoroughly for an entire hour but found no sign of the silk pouch. Now, he knelt nervously in the hall, awaiting his punishment.
Before him sat an elderly man with streaks of gray in his hair—the current Sect Master of the Divine Spirit Sect, Yanjia. A long beard cascaded down to his chest, lending him the ethereal demeanor of a transcendent immortal.
He sat cross-legged on a rush cushion, his eyes closed gently, as if he had not heard a single word.
As the wait dragged on, the masked man grew more and more uneasy instead of feeling relieved.
Grimacing, he made a ruthless offer. "Sect Master, every word I have spoken is the truth. If you still doubt me, I will submit myself to a soul-search without hesitation."
A soul-search was no mere trivial scan. It required the subject to place complete trust in the caster, allowing their spiritual consciousness to rummage freely through their mind for information, without the slightest hint of resistance.
If the caster harbored ill intent, a single wrong thought could shatter the subject's spiritual consciousness—leaving them an idiot in eight out of ten cases.
He was gambling with his own life, all to prove his innocence. Perhaps, moved by his sincerity, the man before him would spare his life and overlook his failure to retrieve the treasure.
Sure enough, the Sect Master responded soon enough. But his words were utterly unrelated to what the masked man had said, completely missing the point.
"Dapeng, go bring that young girl here."
"Huh?"
The masked man hesitated, on the verge of speaking up, but dared not delay. He bowed and hurried off to carry out the order.
The maiden was dragged into the hall, trussed up tightly with iron chains as thick as a child's arm—chains that easily weighed over a hundred jin.
Fortunately, she was no ordinary mortal. Even burdened with such a heavy load, she walked with steady steps.
"Let me go, you bastard! Fight me one on one if you've got the guts!"
She struggled as she walked, shouting defiantly.
"Shut up!" The masked man raised his hand and delivered a resounding slap across her face.
The maiden clutched her swelling cheek, falling silent instantly. In the blink of an eye, her cheek had swollen up like a steamed bun, the searing pain lingering relentlessly.
"That will be all. You may leave now."
Sect Master Yanjia dismissed him with a cold tone. The masked man bit back the countless words he still wanted to say, drooped his head, and retreated from the hall.
He was no fool to think that the Sect Master had let him off the hook.
As soon as he pushed open the door, he was unsurprised to find two rows of solemn-faced disciples standing outside, looking as if they had been waiting for a long time.
Unlike the sect's usual black-cloaked disciples, these men wore brown robes emblazoned with a large character Jie (Discipline) on their backs, wielding cudgels as thick as arms—the standard uniform of the Disciplinary Hall.
The leader was a middle-aged man. He waved a hand over his shoulder, and two disciples immediately stepped forward, bowing to receive his orders.
"Take him down. Prepare the Soul-Reaping Whip."
His voice was deep and hoarse, devoid of any emotion—cold and inhuman. Yet those words sentenced the masked man to one of the sect's cruelest tortures.
"We obey your command!"
The two disciples clasped their fists in acknowledgment, then turned to the masked man, their faces impassive. "Please come with us, Senior Brother Dapeng."
Beneath his mask, the man's eyes twitched involuntarily. He clenched and unclenched his fists three times before dragging his feet forward, following the disciples away.
The Soul-Reaping Whip was no ordinary mortal weapon. It was a spiritual artifact forged from the lingering resentment of countless fierce beasts at the moment of their death.
Plain in appearance, the whip possessed no formidable physical offensive power. Its damage to the flesh was minimal—even a newborn infant struck by it would feel nothing more than a gentle breeze, with not a single mark left behind.
But the agony it inflicted on one's spiritual consciousness was like being flayed alive with a blunt knife. Even the sturdiest body-tempering cultivators could rarely endure such torment of the soul.
What fate awaited the masked man was beyond the knowledge of outsiders. Let us turn back to the maiden, who, though bound hand and foot, showed not a trace of fear.
"Hey, old man! I advise you to let me go now, or you'll regret it!"
"Heh… Such a young girl, yet you talk so big."
The moment Sect Master Yanjia opened his eyes, the maiden felt countless bolts of lightning surge toward her. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away, unable to bear his gaze.
But arrogance was second nature to her, and she retorted out of habit. "I have everything a girl could want—except for big talk. Don't spout nonsense, old man."
"Hahaha… As the rumors say—you truly have a sharp tongue and a fiery spirit."
Sect Master Yanjia stood up in a flash, moving like a bolt of lightning to appear suddenly before the maiden. Caught off guard, she stumbled backward, her face draining of all color.
"A-Are you… human or a ghost?"
She was no stranger to the ways of cultivation and had witnessed many extraordinary sights, but this display of speed left her utterly shocked.
It was too fast—far beyond the limits of any ordinary mortal.
"Hahaha… Whether this old Taoist is human or ghost—why don't you see for yourself, little girl?"
Even as he spoke, he lifted a finger and shouted sharply, "Break!"
The heavy iron chains cracked and snapped with a sharp crackle, clattering to the ground in pieces.
The maiden stared at the shattered chains on the floor, then at the impassive Sect Master Yanjia. Her bloodless lips hung open, unable to close for a long time.