he Head of the Heavenly Spirit Sect took the disciplinary pearl in his hand and examined it closely. In that moment, as he detected even the faintest lingering trace of the unique divine energy reserved solely for those who had attained the Nascent Soul realm, his eyes involuntarily flickered over toward Fang Jinyu. There was something in that lingering aura—a subtle, yet unmistakable flash of power—that spoke of destiny and of matters rarely meddled with.
In truth, ever since Fang Jinyu had interfered with matters deemed off-limits—and consequently had forced the secret termination of a fellow cultivator at the third level of the Foundation Stage—the Head had grown increasingly cold toward him. The reasons were not solely about the incident itself, but also because of a long, well-worn tradition: the venerable Patriarch had far too many "old friends' descendants" wandering about the sect. Time and again, the Head had witnessed the Patriarch greet one of these "close ties" with such favor that, once the meeting was over, those individuals would practically be left to their own devices, never to be probed further. Fang Jinyu, unfortunately, had accidentally come to fall under this shadow.
That is, until the day Fang Jinyu revealed an extraordinary talent for alchemy—a spark of genius that even hinted at the rare potential of a "sacred master"-class alchemist. Only then, as if by some unspoken mandate, did the Head begin to regard him with even a glimmer of the old respect. Yet, much to everyone's surprise, it appeared that in the eyes of the Patriarch—even from afar—Fang Jinyu possessed a remnant of favor, a faint but not entirely negligible impression.
No sooner had that thought passed through his mind than the Head's normally inscrutable expression turned cold and imperious. With a smooth, disdainful gaze, he directed his attention toward a disciple who stood off to one side—a ninth-level Qi Condensation disciple named Lin Le. His voice, calm but carrying the weight of authority, cut through the murmur of assembled onlookers as he challenged, "Lin Le, do you realize the gravity of your wrongdoing? Do you know what it means to slander a Foundation Stage mentor?"
At the sound of his words, Lin Le's face paled as if drained of all color. "Master—Head, I… I have not slandered!" he stammered in a rush of panic. But even as desperation filled his eyes, it was too late; his voice trembled as he pressed on, "It was that very mentor who coerced me to surrender the quota for entering the Lingdu Secret Realm! I beg you, Master, to see it clearly!"
Almost immediately, the tone in the hall shifted as three guest officials—cultivators formerly of the Foundation Stage who had earned their positions for their unique talents (and who, not long ago, had suffered a personal slight from Fang Jinyu's earlier display of martial prowess)—interjected in a hurried chorus. "Yes indeed, Master! You cannot simply believe his one-sided tale!" Their voices resonated with the bitterness of grudges long held. Today, they had not only been left with bruised egos by Fang Jinyu's earlier display of strength but had also been promised additional rewards from a benefactor for their efforts; their stakes were personal and high.
The Head of the sect regarded these three with a cool, disdainful look before he spoke again. "You must recall," he said in measured tones, "that Brother Fang's parents once sacrificed their lives for the Heavenly Spirit Sect. It is for that very reason that the sect granted him the precious opportunity—an exclusive quota—to enter the Lingdu Secret Realm. And yet, Brother Fang is not only extraordinarily talented but, by virtue of his innate genius, has already comprehended the true meaning of our secret techniques and has broken through all impediments, attaining the Foundation Stage naturally, almost as if he were destined to do so. That is why he arrived at Tianling Peak to turn in, willingly, that very quota."
He made no further mention of the venerable Patriarch's name, yet his words carried all the weight of an unspoken edict. "Now, my three junior brothers," the Head continued with a tone that balanced politeness and stern warning, "I expect you to have thoroughly memorized our sect's rules. Though the Heavenly Spirit Sect may not adhere to every single edict of other immortal sects, most of our regulations are upheld without exception."
The words, though said in a courteous manner, bore the unmistakable edge of a warning. The three guest officials exchanged troubled looks as their expressions darkened in the very first instant. They, too, had spent time on other immortal sects as guest officials, and they had once believed that the rules of a sect were little more than guidelines—meant primarily for powerless, ordinary disciples. To those with influence or backing, everything was negotiable. They now realized that such assumptions did not hold true within the Heavenly Spirit Sect.
At that moment, Lin Le's face, already drained of color, turned even paler. With a desperate urgency, he cried out, "Master, I never wished to be here! It was those three elder brothers who forced me to come; I had no choice but to obey!" His voice was little more than a feeble cry, but it was enough to startle the room.
The Head, however, did not deign to give Lin Le further leeway. "Lin Le," he said flatly, "you have slandered your mentor and have privately transferred the admission quota for the Lingdu Secret Realm. Under our sect's strict regulations, for such an offense you should have your cultivation nullified and be expelled from the sect. But considering the misfortune that has befallen your family, we have chosen only expulsion rather than complete obliteration of your cultivation."
"Master!" Lin Le's voice was laced with terror. His entire sense of security as a disciple of the Heavenly Spirit Sect was at risk. Without his official identity, even if he retained his cultivation, it would be as if he were no different from a common cultivator, stripped of all protective prestige. But, at that pressing moment, no one cared about the plight of a low-ranking ninth-level Qi Condensation disciple. After all, in crises such as this, someone had to shoulder the blame.
It was clear to all present that none of the three guest officials were fit to bear the responsibility—they were indispensable to the functioning of the Heavenly Spirit Sect and could never be allowed to take the fall. Likewise, Fang Jinyu, although the victim in this situation, was in no better state. Not only had he reached the Foundation Stage, but his extraordinary talent in alchemy—bordering on that of a sacred master—entangled him in matters that even involved the revered Patriarch. The scales of retribution, it seemed, were weighed delicately, and the most convenient scapegoat in this instance was none other than Lin Le, who, having lost the protection of his illustrious family, was now standing alone.
Even though Lin Le was himself a victim of circumstance, in the grand scheme of things, the moral calculus of minor individuals hardly mattered. Everyone wanted a resolution—an outcome that appeased their sense of fairness, even if that meant sacrificing one small soul in order to preserve the larger order.
Fang Jinyu, however, felt a flicker of discontent. In his eyes, Lin Le was nothing more than an unlucky wretch—a mere hapless bystander in a scenario that was not even entirely of his own making. As if fate were smiling on him in the midst of his misfortune, fortune—or perhaps a twist of karma—intervened in a most unexpected way.
It was the very three guest officials who suddenly found themselves in the crosshairs. Their vulnerability had exposed their own shortcomings. After all, it was the issue of the secret realm admission quota that they had hoped to manipulate to their advantage, but in the end, their plan backfired—especially in light of the fact that Fang Jinyu had already clashed with them earlier. Their previous brawls had now come back to haunt them, and the timing was impeccable.
One of the officials, his voice rich with suppressed malice, began to complain, "Master, regarding the earlier scuffle with Fang Jinyu—he…" He barely had a chance to continue his tirade when Fang Jinyu abruptly interjected, his tone steady and resolute: "I admit it all. I demand that the sect impose on me the harshest punishment possible for my transgression. But remember this: they also made a move, so they must each bear at least half the responsibility for the punishment!"
At these words, the Head of the Heavenly Spirit Sect paused, his expression flickering in surprise. Almost immediately, as if recollections of the strange leniency the Patriarch had once shown Fang Jinyu began to materialize in his mind—and of the month of grueling labor that Fang Jinyu had endured at the Spirit Beast Valley in gratitude for being granted the quota to enter the Lingdu Secret Realm—the Head's demeanor shifted into something more inscrutable, more troubled by these personal connections.
"Brother Fang," he said slowly, "are you absolutely certain? The most severe punishment—that is, the punishment that sends one to the deep subterranean spiritual vein and forces one to extract no fewer than three hundred thousand spiritual stones—this is no trifling matter."
He explained further that extracting spiritual stones was no light task. In the Spirit Beast Valley, the worst one might experience was being assailed by noxious fumes and rudely tossed about like a piece of rotten produce in a smelly vegetable vat. But descending to the subterranean spiritual vein to harvest spiritual stones was an ordeal altogether different—it demanded not only the endurance to withstand the oppressive weight and pressure of the underground depths but also the skill to evade the ferocious, strange creatures that lurked in those shadowy realms. Though a grunt of physical pain might not be fatal in itself, the cumulative punishment was severe enough to reduce even a diligent cultivator's abilities markedly.
There had been a case once—a cultivator at the pinnacle of the Foundation Stage—who went down to harvest millions of spiritual stones and emerged having suffered a devastating regression; his cultivation had tumbled all the way down to the lower ranks of the Foundation Stage, no longer matching his previous strength.
"Then are they to harvest only one-fifty-thousand spiritual stones?" Fang Jinyu asked, looking pointedly at the three guest officials. His tone was both challenging and laced with indignation.
One of the officials, perhaps sensing that the scales of retribution were about to tip even further against them, responded stiffly, "If you, Brother Fang, are willing to accept the consequence, then they will have to harvest one-fifty-thousand spiritual stones." The Head nodded in agreement, his gaze firm. Even if the dispute was rooted in private grievances, past incidents could not simply be swept under the rug.
"I accept!" declared Fang Jinyu steadily, his voice resonant with the unyielding certainty of someone who, regardless of circumstance, chooses to bear the blame if need be.
At that, the faces of the three guest officials turned ashen. Their eyes widened in shock, as though they could not believe that Fang Jinyu would be so ruthless—even a cultivator of his standing, a master of alchemy, would impose such a draconian measure on them? To their astonishment, they could only silently curse his audacity.
One of them attempted, sheepishly, "Brother Fang, perhaps we might consider letting this matter rest…" Even though all three had long been familiar with the bitter lessons of spiritual stone extraction, and each knew full well the grueling nature of the task, the mere mention of descending into the subterranean vein sent shudders through them.
"No," Fang Jinyu insisted, his tone leaving no room for compromise. "Since I have clearly broken the sect's rules, leaving me no choice but to accept punishment would weigh heavily upon my conscience." His words rang out, cloaked in the grandiloquence expected of a devoted disciple. Faced with his eloquent, forceful declaration, the three guest officials could only silently seethe—and then scurry off in a futile bid to seek intercession, desperately clinging to the hope that some final reprieve might come their way.
Yet, as fate would have it, not long after Fang Jinyu voluntarily descended to the underground, the three guest officials had no option but to follow suit. Unlike them, however—those hapless officials who were destined to labor under the excruciating burden of harvesting one-fifty-thousand spiritual stones—Fang Jinyu's time underground was remarkably brief. Merely two days into his arduous task, he was abruptly and urgently pulled back to the surface by a senior cultivator of the Golden Core realm.
With a somewhat strange glimmer in his eyes, this Golden Core cultivator informed everyone, "The Patriarch has decreed that if your alchemical elixir of Foundation Stage is refined to yield ten more pills, then your current punishment shall be rescinded entirely." Without waiting for any further discussion, the cultivator turned on his heel and departed.
"Thank you, Patriarch!" Fang Jinyu called out, his words laced with genuine, if bittersweet, gratitude. Though Fang Jinyu was keenly aware that the venerable Patriarch—now a being of the Nascent Soul realm—could not possibly hear his thanks, he nonetheless offered his gratitude toward the distant peak of Guiwang. In the intricate web of sect protocol, such gestures, however ceremonial, were not to be overlooked.
"I had truly believed it might take half a month…" Fang Jinyu mused aloud as he reflected on the swiftness of his return, "but only two days was sufficient. Clearly, this reduction in my Foundation fruit—though tragic—is something the Patriarch takes to heart indeed."
As Fang Jinyu silently addressed the situation, his eyes drifting in the direction of the subterranean mining site, he opened his mouth in silent exasperation. His unspoken message was clear—three imbeciles, those three damn fools who had schemed against him. In his eyes, they had acted with reckless cruelty and had now been dealt with swiftly and harshly by fate itself.