Chapter 158: Secluded Recovery

Several days later.

In the eastern reaches of the Northern Plains, deep within a hidden canyon, a recently excavated cave still bore the obvious marks of carving. Scattered rocks and withered vines concealed the entrance; unless someone was specifically looking for it, they would find it nearly impossible to spot.

Inside the cave, Jiuyou sat cross-legged, the spiritual light around him flickering in and out of existence. A pale gray phantom of a soul hovered in front of him—the remnant soul of the male envoy from the Heavenly Fire Tribe.

Unfortunately, the man's cultivation had been limited, and his knowledge proved just as shallow. After several rounds of interrogation, Jiuyou still had not obtained the exact answers he wanted.

The only useful clue was that a few days before the envoy's departure, he had hosted a visiting Nascent Soul cultivator within the tribe. That visitor claimed to be there for a trade. Shortly after that meeting, the Second Grandmaster of the Heavenly Fire Tribe volunteered to head to the border battlefield and take Grandmaster Huang's place.

As for the matter of the evil cultivators, he had finally found a solid lead. Over the past few months, a group of brutally ruthless cultivators had indeed appeared in the southern reaches of the Northern Plains. They specifically targeted small tribes with organized, premeditated strikes, moving as if someone were coordinating them from the shadows.

Yet the Nascent Soul Grandmaster of the Heavenly Fire Tribe responsible for that territory had turned a blind eye. He put on a purely superficial show of investigating, as though he had known about it all along.

Hearing this, Jiuyou formed his own suspicions. He committed the details to memory, then completely refined the man's soul.

No matter who was pulling the strings behind the scenes, Jiuyou had no intention of getting involved right now. He had chosen to carve out a new cave dwelling in this eastern region precisely to distance himself from that hornet's nest. He would figure out his next steps once his cultivation was restored.

Setting his mind at ease, Jiuyou swallowed an alchemical pill and sank back into his cultivation.

Three years passed in the blink of an eye.

Under a clear azure sky, the grassland wind carried the dry scent of grass seeds. Four streaks of escape light trailed unevenly across the horizon, flying from west to east. They moved at a moderate pace, appearing to be traveling but also searching for something.

The leading streak of escape light suddenly slowed and came to a halt. The three following closely behind restrained their spiritual light as well, revealing four figures in the air. There were three men and one woman: a youth, a burly man, a Daoist, and a female cultivator. Judging by their attire and the fluctuations of their spiritual power, they were all cultivators from Ganzhou.

Their leader was a lean-faced young man who looked no older than his mid-twenties. He held a gold-and-green compass in his hand, its needle twitching slightly as if trying to lock onto a faint aura. He stared down at it for a moment, in no rush to speak.

Behind him, the burly man glanced around the desolate landscape before finally losing his patience. "Old Tong, is that broken compass of yours actually reliable? We've been wandering around the Northern Plains for days, and we haven't seen so much as a single blade of high-grade spiritual grass. You know exactly how tense things are between the Northern Plains and Ganzhou right now. If we stumble into a Nascent Soul Grandmaster out here, can you handle it?"

Behind him, the Daoist and the female cultivator exchanged a glance. They kept quiet, but they clearly shared his concerns.

The young cultivator called Old Tong didn't respond right away. He formed an incantation gesture, sending a pulse of energy into the compass. The needle trembled, emitted a flicker of green light, and snapped to a steady halt, pointing directly southeast.

He raised an eyebrow, his tone noticeably lighter than before. "It's reacting. There's a tide of spiritual energy ahead. Something capable of causing a disturbance like this is bound to tempt even a Nascent Soul cultivator."

"A tide of spiritual energy?" the burly man asked skeptically. "Don't feed us another line just to trick us into running a fool's errand."

Old Tong opened his mouth to explain, but a sudden gust of wind swept toward them from the front. It carried a wave of dense, pure spiritual energy that washed over their faces and sent their robes fluttering wildly. The spiritual power wasn't overwhelmingly strong, but its sheer purity meant it could never have come from an ordinary spiritual item.

Old Tong's spirits lifted at the sight, and he flashed a wide grin. "You believe me now, right? Hurry up and follow me. We can't let anyone else beat us to it!" Before he even finished speaking, he spurred his escape light and shot toward the source of the wind.

The three of them exchanged another look. Though lingering doubts remained, the undeniable rush of spiritual energy was enough to convince them. They ignited their escape lights and followed close behind.

The four streaks of spiritual light quickly swept across the grassland, shooting toward the southeast.

Roughly an incense stick's time later.

The four cultivators slowly descended along the sheer walls of a canyon. Their boots crunched softly as they touched down on the loose gravel.

The canyon floor was much more spacious than it looked from above. A thin layer of moss coated the rocky walls on either side, and the damp scent of wet earth hung in the air, mingling with the dense yet gentle waves of spiritual energy.

Old Tong glanced down at the compass in his hand. The needle was still trembling slightly, pointing deeper into the canyon. He peered into the gloom ahead, then turned to look at the other three. "According to the compass, it should be just up ahead."

The female cultivator stood at his side, her gaze sweeping warily over their surroundings as she gave a slight nod. "Since we're already here, we might as well take a look. Anything capable of triggering a spiritual energy tide is far from ordinary."

The burly man and the Daoist exchanged a look before nodding in agreement. With nothing more to say, the group set off deeper into the canyon.

After walking for roughly the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the fog around them began to thicken.

At first, it was only a thin veil clinging to the ground like morning mist. But a few dozen paces later, the fog had crept past their knees. Its pure white color darkened into a murky gray, drastically reducing their visibility. The group naturally slowed their pace.

"Something's not right," the burly man said, coming to a halt with a deep frown. "This fog is bizarre. My divine sense can't penetrate it."

Old Tong tested it for himself. Just as the burly man had said, his divine sense bounced right back the moment it touched the fog, as if slamming into an invisible wall. His expression shifted, and he looked back at the others. "My compass is dead, too. The needle isn't moving at all."

The Daoist's face darkened. He scanned the swirling gray mist, seemingly recognizing something amiss, and lowered his voice. "I suspect this is an array, and a high-grade one at that. If this is a natural miasma, we might be fine, but if someone set this up, their methods are far beyond our level."

The group froze in their tracks. The atmosphere instantly turned tense. The female cultivator didn't say a word, merely stepping closer to her companions. Spiritual energy began to circulate at her fingertips as she prepared to defend herself at a moment's notice.

"Don't panic," Old Tong said, his voice steadier than before. "Let's turn around and retrace our steps. We'll see if we can walk back out of the fog."

The four of them turned around, staying close together as they slowly retreated along the path they had just taken. But after a few dozen steps, the fog behaved almost like a living creature. Instead of thinning out as they retreated, it grew denser and denser, completely sealing off their escape route.

Just as indecision began to take root among them, the fog in front of them slowly parted to either side, revealing a narrow corridor that stretched deeper into the canyon. At the very end of the path, they could make out the faint outline of a cave dwelling. A faint spiritual light pulsed at its entrance, and the rich scent of medicine drifted out from within.

The burly man's eyes lit up. "An ancient cave dwelling?"

The Daoist stared at the entrance for a few breaths, but he didn't rush forward. "Don't celebrate just yet," he warned. "If it really is an ancient cave dwelling, how could we stumble across it so easily? Careful. It might be a trap."

Just as he spoke, a voice echoed out from the depths of the cave. It was impossible to discern the speaker's age or mood; the tone was flat, yet it carried an undeniable, natural authority that made it impossible to ignore.

"Little friends, there is no need to be so on guard. Please, step forward so we may speak."

As the voice fell, a wave of spiritual pressure slowly drifted out of the cave. It was as gentle as warm water washing over their ankles, yet it left all four of them frozen in place.

They exchanged glances, and each could see the exact same emotions mirrored in the others' eyes: absolute shock, and an unconcealed dread.

A Nascent Soul cultivator!