“Abbot, was that wise?” Following Rong Suishan’s magistral exit, A’Zhi walked back to Xinzi’s side and boiled him a cup of an uncanny dark-blue tea. Her uneven tone heightened the concern her words already made clear—concern that amused Xinzi somewhat.

“Your rectum-shattering kick didn’t seem to find it unwise,” the lotus monk said with a slight chuckle. “The two don’t have to conflict. When our Abbot gives an order, as his loyal and devoted servants, we sisters have to execute it first. Afterward, we can show our fears, point out your mistakes, and help you improve.” A’Zhi said.

“But what if the mistake, the order, dooms us all? Is it loyal to execute it first, then speak against it when it’s too late?”

“It is never the servant’s place to challenge the lord’s authority. But by refusing to execute the order, that is precisely what we’d be doing. Down that road, the servants convince themselves that they have a better grasp of their master’s best interests than the boss himself does. This mindset will, at best, lead to rifts and at worst prompt an unintended betrayal. Therefore, even if our semi-blind devotion may cost you your life, we sisters would rather die with you than resist your orders.” Returning from her errand, A’Zhu walked through the door and said to back her sister’s thoughts. In her lithe hands, she carried an onyx case from which waves of Spiritual Qi billowed.

“Interesting.” Forever in pursuit of enlightenment, Xinzi didn’t dismiss the twins’ vision, instead incorporating it in the ever-expanding pool of knowledge his mind carried. “Don’t worry. From what I’ve just seen, the patriarch is a cleverer man than I gave him credit for. Even if he takes offense, he will not trouble me because of a trivial Rong Suishan. And even if he planned to, the Great Elders would not allow it. The Spirit Formation hall has not produced a Grandmaster in the past 500 years. The Great Elders are both over 800 years old. If they die before a new pair of Grandmasters rise, Guang Fanghu and Zi Yao will have to abdicate their seats to take over the Spirit Formation hall. This would reduce their cultivation speed by a margin they cannot tolerate.” Though the Great Elders wielded tremendous authority, both spent the bulk of their time maintaining and strengthening the sect’s defensive formation.

This was a burden each generation of Great Elders had to bear and the main reason why their cultivation bases stagnated when compared to the sect masters.

“But who am I? The number one formation talent in the history of the White Immortal sect, its only hope to at last train a Celestial Master. By reaching that threshold, I could single-handedly control and strengthen the sect formation while not having to sacrifice my cultivation progress. Better, I could lead the Spirit Formation hall to the summit of the Eastern Continent. Can Guang Fanghu oppress such a talent out of petty selfishness? No. Plain and simple,” Xinzi said.

The twins heaved a sigh of relief, after which A’Zhu laid the onyx case on Xinzi’s table. Passing his hand over it, Xinzi nodded in approval. “Well done,” he said, hoisted the case up his shoulder, and left. Used to their master’s swift and wordless exits, the twins returned to their daily duties.

...

“No disciple above the Foundation Building stage should ever step into the Ice-Fire cave.”

If there was one rule that even the strongest White Immortal sect elders dared not violate, it was this one. A massive treasure trove that stood right at the border of the sect’s neighboring valleys, the Ice-Fire cave rarely saw a visitor above the Foundation Building stage. The reason was simple: Blood Spirits.

Though the Ice-Fire cave hid its fair share of pitfalls, the White Immortal sect had more than one expert capable of obliterating all of its dangers. The Blood Spirit valley standing at its back, however, was another story. Produced by the wanton slaughter of berserk cultivators, Blood Spirits ranked among the noblest evils the ghost world could offer. They would never attack prey below their level, yet didn’t hesitate to gang up on the meat they craved. Worse, the higher the Blood Spirits’ rank, the more likely they were to crush cultivators of the same rank. This made them the nightmare of the White Immortal sect’s predecessors, who could never find a way to destroy the threat.

As if that wasn’t enough, Blood Spirits responded to Blood Energy, a minuscule force in most low-level cultivators which grew alongside realm breakthroughs and tribulations. The greater the Blood Energy, the easier it was to draw hordes of Blood Spirits. Matriarch Zi Yao’s very own father made that clear. A top talent of his time, half a millennium ago he dove into the Ice-Fire cave with a late-stage Golden Core cultivation base. Not a minute afterward, a single fourth-rank Blood Spirit descended upon him, tore him to shreds, and fought for his remains with incoming specters—all under the gaze of terror-stricken outer disciples. Ever since, even the most brazen of elders dare not step into the cave. This state of affairs turned most of the cave’s top treasures into cock-teasing trojan horses. Fortunately for Xinzi, while he wouldn’t reject them if they fell into his hands, he didn’t come for the ready-made loot.

After passing the sect’s entrance, Xinzi whipped out a yellow talisman and crushed it with a squeeze. Subsequently, the lotus monk’s body broke down into light particles—vanishing from the White Immortal sect to reappear at the foot of an icy-blue cave. There, several Qi Refinement and Foundation Building disciples gathered.

“Did this boy just use a teleportation talisman? Hehehe, ostentatious punk.”

“Since when do aristocratic disciples care for the Ice-Fire cave’s resources?”

“What aristocrat? He’s obviously a mon...wait, Xinzi?”

Xinzi’s entrance seized the attention of the gathered disciples. Teleportation talismans didn’t work within the White Immortal sect’s courts, so disciples could only use them after crossing the entrance gate. But with the distance between the gate and Ice-Fire cave being less than five kilometers, most low-level disciples couldn’t afford to waste the pricey talismans for the trip. To them, those were life-saving cards. But to Xinzi, who raked in tens of thousands of spirit stones each month, saving time took precedence.

Ignoring the disciples’ resentful gazes, Xinzi walked in—yet made sure to highlight the onyx case on his shoulder. If before they scoffed at his display of wealth, once the Jewel Box’s billowing qi teased their senses, outer and inner disciples’ faces twisted into various grimaces.

...

Narrow walls of a seductive blue contrasted with frozen bones and scattered limbs to greet Xinzi’s entrance. The fresh scent of death didn’t startle the lotus monk. In the cultivation world where benefit trumped all and betrayal ran amok, brutal death was the most common matter. For that reason, Xinzi believed that cultivators’ worst enemies were never the beasts or demons crawling the darkness, but the peers they often challenged adversity with.

“Abbot Xinzi! Abbot Xinzi! A moment, please!” As Xinzi stepped deeper into the cave, and the walls’ chilling cold seeped his bones, a band of dissonant voices came from his back. Spinning to face the source, Xinzi saw six hurried men rushing towards him. Five wore the plain white robes of outer disciples while the leading sixth’s garb carried an extra black sword emblem: the mark of an inner disciple.

“Martial brothers? What can I do for you?” As a Lianist monk that studied immortal cultivation, Xinzi’s relationship with the sect’s male disciple was an odd one. Bluntly said, his background and unorthodox practices made most of them not know how to interact with him. Still, out of respect for his status, they treated him with courtesy—a courtesy he always returned.

As if they’d just overcome the marathon of a lifetime, the six gasped for breath. A moment afterward, they each stepped towards Xinzi to present him with hefty bags of spirit stones. “My name is Hao Min. The Ice-Fire cave has no end of danger. Us low-born disciples don’t have the resources to resist them all. Should we go farther than the Ice-Fire border...we cannot survive. But that’s precisely where the true wealth gathers. Therefore, we hope to rely on your eminence. With your treasures and my cultivation base, there is room for maneuver.” The inner disciple, an early-stage Foundation Building expert, said.

The Ice-Fire cave split into two areas, the Frigid Grave and Burning Hell. As the names implied, the survival rate in both areas wasn’t high. Still, the Frigid Graves’ dangers remained within the low-level disciples’ grasp. Starting with the Ice-Fire border, however, packs of rank two monsters became commonplace, while even rank three beasts could show up at unfortunate times. This made crossing the Ice-Fire border a suicidal gambit for all but the best-prepared teams.

Sweeping the bags with his Spiritual Sense, Xinzi was startled to count a total of 40,000 spirit stones, an impressive amount for disciples of that background. Arching a smile, the lotus monk bowed at his fellows.

“As martial brothers, supporting one another is what we ought to do,” Xinzi said and reached out for Hao Min’s bag. In that instant where his heart throbbed for the windfall and his vigilance was at its weakest, the five Qi Refinement disciples shut their eyes close while a blinding light surged from their leader’s pupils.

“AAAAAAARGH!”

Dazed by the burning light, Xinzi howled and reeled back. Exploiting the opportunity, all six disciples unsheathed their swords and hacked at him with an eruption of Spiritual Qi. But as the swords grazed the lotus monk’s flesh, his burning eyes opened wide, his lips curled into a fiendish grin, and lilac mist poured out from his forehead.

Instantly, the six disciples lost control of their swords—hacking at one another instead!