Zhang Yan heard a faint trace of persuasion in the other party’s words. He smiled lightly and sat back down.
The middle-aged Daoist, shrouded in the dim darkness where no light reached, glanced at Zhang Yan’s back several times. His gaze flickered for a moment before he coughed and said, "Fellow Daoist, since you are cultivating the Nine Number True Scripture, it is likely you have yet to learn any superior cultivation methods of the Mingcang Sect. I happen to possess a superior Daoist formula, not inferior to the Five Skills and Three Scripture. Unfortunately, I once strayed from the correct path and can no longer turn back to cultivate it—a deep regret of mine. If you are willing to assist me in achieving a soldier’s death and deliver my primordial spirit out of this Small Cold Realm to my clan, I will give this Daoist book to you. What do you think?"
Zhang Yan pondered briefly and then frankly replied, "This matter is difficult. Fellow Daoist, your lifespan is nearing its end, and your primordial spirit will surely be too weak to survive outside this realm. Even if I were to help you achieve a soldier’s death, it would be of little use."
The middle-aged Daoist was not discouraged and said, "Perhaps it’s worth trying; there’s always a chance."
Zhang Yan shook his head. The likelihood of success was nearly nonexistent.
Even someone like Gui Congyao, a Great Demon, must carefully prepare for years and rely on a person of great fortune to help achieve a soldier’s death. Even so, the process is fraught with failure.
This Daoist clearly conceived this idea on impulse upon meeting Zhang Yan, gambling for a sliver of hope. Whether the attempt was feasible or not, helping him achieve a soldier’s death would be utterly inadvisable. By accepting, Zhang Yan would assume the karmic consequences of this matter. They were strangers; Zhang Yan knew nothing of his name or background. Acting solely for the promise of a cultivation method was simply impossible.
Seeing Zhang Yan reject him, the Daoist suddenly sneered and said, "Don’t even think about waiting until I’m dead to claim the cultivation method! It exists solely in my mind. Once my primordial spirit dissipates, the method will vanish into the heavens and earth."
Zhang Yan had already memorized the inscriptions on the cave wall. He stood up, bowed to the Daoist, swept his sleeves, and wordlessly prepared to leave.
The middle-aged Daoist grew anxious upon seeing Zhang Yan leave. He shouted loudly, "Wait! What would it take for you to agree?"
Zhang Yan replied calmly, "This is knowingly futile—why force others, fellow Daoist?"
Still unwilling to give up, the Daoist hesitated for a while before gritting his teeth and saying, "My clan possesses several Dharma Treasures, including one Mystical Artifact. Unfortunately, I didn’t bring them with me for cultivation here. If you agree to help me, I will swear an oath to deliver them all to you."
Zhang Yan smirked coldly in his mind.
His Little Pot Mirror already housed two Mystical Artifacts, and he carried one more himself. Mystical Artifacts, not to mention True Artifacts, meant little to him. While others might find such an offer tempting, Zhang Yan remained utterly indifferent.
The middle-aged Daoist became increasingly alarmed and panicked as Zhang Yan continued to refuse. He suddenly shrieked, "You—tell me—what will it take for you to help me?"
Zhang Yan cast a pitying glance at the Daoist. The once composed demeanor had vanished, replaced by a desperate contorted visage. He sighed and said, "When you came here, did you not choose this path yourself? Surely you understood the outcome you face. Why stoop to such disgrace today?"
Hearing this, the Daoist burst into an enraged tirade, shouting, "Nonsense! Do you know the torment I’ve endured here for sixty years? It’s become unbearable! If I had known this would happen, I would have followed my clan members in their pursuit of indulgence and enjoyment—why did I choose this suffering? Now it doesn’t even matter, but you arrived late, forcing me to reconsider when my lifespan is about to end. You must agree—you will agree! If you refuse, I might as well die and drag you down with me!"
Within the Small Cold Realm, no outsiders would arrive, and even death would leave no one to claim the corpse. Outside, the Nine Nether Yin Wind raged uncontrollably; his primordial spirit had long abandoned the notion of escaping. Yet Zhang Yan’s arrival reignited his hopes, as he noticed the external Yin Wind was fierce. This indicated Zhang Yan was unafraid of such winds, causing his ambition to resurface. He knew, however, that the more one begged, the more others would seek leverage. This was why he initially pretended to be indifferent, hoping to avoid being exploited.
He never anticipated Zhang Yan’s complete lack of interest, even after offering several temptations!
In truth, the Daoist miscalculated. Zhang Yan aimed to showcase his brilliance during the grand competition three years later. Even obtaining a superior cultivation method now wouldn’t allow him enough time to start anew. Victory hinged on his mastery of Supreme Mysterious True Light.
Moreover, if Zhang Yan ultimately became one of the Top Ten Disciples, acquiring cultivation methods would no longer be a concern. Thus, the Daoist’s offerings were nothing more than trifles to him.
Empty threats also did little to sway Zhang Yan. Among those attempting breakthrough here, most were Hua Dan cultivators. The Daoist, already at the brink of death, stood no chance against Zhang Yan, especially with the Beiming Sword avatar residing in his Sea of Consciousness. Zhang Yan bowed and said, "Fellow Daoist, take care. Farewell."
The Daoist finally fell into despair. His lips quivered, and madness flickered across his face. He screamed, "Then you shall die with me!"
With a sweep of his robe sleeve, he conjured a technique. Behind him, blue smoke rolled, roaring like the tides. Waves surged ten zhang high, slamming against the cavern’s ceiling and sending shattered stone raining down as the torrent surged toward Zhang Yan.
Zhang Yan remained motionless as the tumultuous waves approached. Only as they were about to engulf him did he say faintly, "What if I agreed?"
The Daoist froze, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. He assumed Zhang Yan had changed his mind. Yet as he looked up, he saw Zhang Yan standing still, making no effort to evade. Panic blazed within him as he desperately tried to retract the Elixir Evil attack. Having poured his full strength into it previously, forcing such a reversal shattered his Golden Core, causing him to spurt blood. His vitality waned further.
An icy glint flickered in Zhang Yan’s eyes. He swept his sleeve, transforming into smoke as he exited the cave. His voice echoed back, "Fellow Daoist, unable to abandon hesitation, devoid of determination to sever all ties—to pursue immortality with resolve—and yet you linger here endlessly, wasting away. What Dao have you cultivated? What goal of immortality do you seek? Best to depart early!" Thɪs chapter is updated by 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡•𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚•𝙣𝙚𝙩
The Daoist realized too late he’d been deceived, watching helplessly as Zhang Yan disappeared. Soon after, he trembled violently, letting out a final unwilling scream before collapsing in death.
...(To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please visit Qidian (qidian.com) to cast recommendation votes or monthly votes. Your support is my greatest motivation.)