Abruptly, the Dragon Fish darted out from the shadows of the mountain forest, displaying speed comparable to a Void Stepping cultivator. In a flash, it soared past the treetops, paused briefly at that height, then erupted with even greater velocity, transforming into a black streak as it shot into the sky.
Upon reaching a certain altitude, the Dragon Fish’s slender body twisted wildly in the air, brimming with excitement. Yet, as Xie Yan’s gaze followed its movements, his mood darkened to the extreme.
The little creature’s unrestrained arrogance was a glaring contrast to Yu Ci’s lifeless state—how infuriating!
The Dragon Fish had been brought by Yu Ci, but it was Xie Yan who had half-forced Yu Ci to expend his innate Qi to nourish it. Regardless of whether the intended goal had been achieved, Yu Ci had carried it out without hesitation—even at the cost of delaying the critical period of unlocking his potential after forming his Yin Spirit.
Xie Yan remembered Yu Ci’s efforts and sacrifices. But now, he wouldn’t even get the chance to repay him…
His grip on his sword tightened slightly as he locked onto the Dragon Fish’s trajectory. Without the Golden Bone Jade Plate, the Dragon Fish’s value, no matter how great, was meaningless. Perhaps using this rare spiritual creature as a burial offering for the young man would be fitting—would Yu Ci appreciate that?
A sizzling sound erupted as blood blossomed from the Dragon Fish’s body mid-flight.
Xie Yan froze, his half-drawn sword halting. He hadn’t even struck yet!
Once the first drop of blood appeared, there was no stopping it. The Dragon Fish’s slender body seemed stuffed with firecrackers, exploding in bursts—segment after segment, chain after chain. The force of the explosions twisted its body violently, splattering blood and rendering its form utterly gruesome.
Everyone on the shaded slope was stunned by the spectacle.
The Dragon Fish’s joy had turned to tragedy!
It had been lured here by the “delicacy”—the very same being that had nourished it with his own innate Qi for the past ten days. Though that Qi had been nourishing, nothing compared to devouring the “delicacy” whole and feasting to its heart’s content! But the “delicacy” had always been far stronger than it, and in its simple memory, there were traces of past encounters where it had suffered losses. It had never found an opportunity to strike.
Until now.
A part of the “delicacy” had suddenly separated—and that part had become incredibly weak. So weak that the Dragon Fish no longer feared it. That was an irresistible temptation!
Driven by instinct, the Dragon Fish lunged without hesitation, swallowing it whole in one gulp!
With its wish fulfilled, the Dragon Fish’s simple mind brimmed with joy. The taste was exquisite—though it wasn’t easy to digest, and there was another scent mixed in… No, that wasn’t a scent—it was pure fire!
In an instant, the Dragon Fish’s flesh, blood, and soul were set ablaze, followed by violent explosions.
As the Dragon Fish was torn apart, Yu Ci’s nearly shattered Yin Spirit was granted a brief reprieve. The “scent” that had ignited his spirit was limited—when it spread to another target, its intensity was inevitably diluted, allowing Yu Ci to cling to life.
He knew he had been devoured by the Dragon Fish. This spiritual creature shared a resonance with his Qi, and the Yin Spirit Star Glow, modified by the Divine Illumination Bronze Mirror, could deceive others—but not it. Still, Yu Ci hadn’t expected it to betray him so ruthlessly. Of course, it had paid a terrible price.
The venomous “scent” was somewhat like the Fleeting Dream that had once tormented Nan Songzi—igniting inner flames and heart demons while damaging both soul and body. But this was far more violent, though shorter in duration.
From the moment Yu Ci’s Yin Spirit was struck to the Dragon Fish’s bloody explosion, no more than three breaths had passed—the time it took an ordinary person to inhale and exhale three times. Yet in that span, both Yu Ci and the Dragon Fish had circled the gates of death! Or rather, they were still teetering on the threshold, swaying precariously, unsure which way they would fall.
The Dragon Fish hovered on the brink of death. Yu Ci was barely clinging to life.
Though he had survived the “scent’s” devastation, Yu Ci’s newly formed Yin Spirit had suffered catastrophic damage, leaving him one step away from soul dispersion. Yet, at this very moment, the Dragon Fish—desperate for nourishment—instinctively activated its formidable absorption ability, seeking to drain all surrounding Qi to heal its injuries. And that included Yu Ci’s Yin Spirit, now trapped in its belly.
At this point, Yu Ci had no strength left to resist. It was as if he had been thrown beneath a massive millstone—his already weakened Yin Spirit was crushed and ground apart, no longer able to maintain its form. In moments, it shattered completely, torn away by an irresistible suction. All that remained was an unyielding obsession, impervious even to death, preserving the most basic thread of thought and a single glimmer of awareness.
This was all he had left.
But because of that glimmer, even as his Yin Spirit fragmented, Yu Ci could still sense every scattered piece—he knew where each fragment was.
And in that moment, he suddenly understood something.
Yu Ci had long known that the Dragon Fish’s flesh, blood, and soul were fused into one, with little distinction between spirit and body. But that had been mere knowledge—he hadn’t truly grasped what such a state truly meant. He had known that it was so, but not why it was so.
Now, however, as his Yin Spirit was pulverized and merged into the Dragon Fish’s body… he finally understood.
He noticed that the direction in which the shattered fragments of the Yin Spirit flew was not toward any part of the dragon fish’s damaged flesh, blood, or soul—but rather toward the very core of its body. That was… the spine?
It was roughly the position of the spine, though it felt more like a meridian, flickering in and out of existence, impossible to grasp as a solid entity. Yet all the fragments of the Yin Spirit were being drawn there, along with the vital innate Qi absorbed from the outside. Everything converged at this point. Though the dragon fish’s flesh, blood, and soul remained on the verge of collapse, not a single trace of nourishment was withheld or lost. Instead, all of it was absorbed into the “spine.”
At this moment, the dragon fish’s flesh, blood, and soul served only one purpose: to draw in nourishment and deliver it to this central point. For this purpose, the dragon fish’s physical and spiritual form had no fixed state—it was neither purely corporeal nor purely spiritual, but rather in a constant state of flux, endlessly adapting to maximize the absorption of all kinds of vital energy.
Watching this, Yu Ci had a powerful realization. The dragon fish at this moment reminded him of a great brush dipped in ink, its energy focused as it drew the simplest of strokes—a single horizontal line. The structure of this line was the dragon fish’s “spine,” while its flesh, blood, and soul were merely the ink bleeding at the edges, insignificant in comparison.
This single stroke governed everything, forcing all things to revolve around it, forming a simple yet perfectly clear whole.
Yu Ci felt an inexplicable surge of excitement, as if experiencing a final moment of lucidity before death. Yet his thoughts had never been clearer:
“A true whole—this is what the Primordial Origin Qi Method means by unified thought.”
After cultivating the Primordial Origin Qi Method, he had categorized his body, soul, and even the Divine Illumination Bronze Mirror as part of the “physical aspect” of existence, using their interconnected structure to reflect upon and discover the “mental aspect,” thus condensing his Yin Spirit. But compared to the dragon fish before him, how could his own system be called a true whole?
In truth, he had taken a shortcut—assembling different components like building blocks to form a rough approximation. But he had never installed the “central beam,” the conceptual framework he had always lacked.
Only something like the dragon fish, with its clear focal point, where even flesh, blood, and soul served its purpose, unifying everything into that irreplaceable “spine,” could be considered a true fusion, a true whole.
In this state, as long as the “spine” remained, everything remained!
What the dragon fish possessed was precisely what he lacked.
The dragon fish’s devouring had reached its final stage. Yu Ci didn’t believe anything of him remained except his thoughts. Yet, strangely, his mind only grew sharper, his awareness expanding further. Another realization struck him:
If one truly considered the concept of a unified whole, then this dragon fish that was consuming him should also be considered part of his “material aspect.” The problem was that he had never been able to distill its complex structure of flesh, blood, and soul into a single stroke and integrate it into the framework of the Primordial Origin Qi Method.
But now… wasn’t it already just a single stroke?
*****
When the dragon fish exploded in a shower of blood and flesh, most of the dozen or so cultivators on the shaded slope assumed Xie Yan had lashed out in frustration—after all, hadn’t he half-drawn his sword? Those who recognized the creature’s value lamented its fate, but others paid it no mind at all.
Amid the slight chaos caused by the dragon fish, Ming Lan moved naturally toward Chi Yin. To an outside observer, it would seem she was merely rejoining her master. But Chi Yin glanced at her, a faintly amused smile playing on her lips, already seeing through her intentions.
So, Chi Yin spoke first:
“After tonight, I will return to the Eastern Sea. The matters here… I leave to you, Master Ming.”
The usual smile on Ming Lan’s round face faded slightly. “Master…”
“No need to say more. I have my reasons.” Chi Yin’s gaze swept over the faces of the surrounding cultivators. “Ten years… almost wasted. Still, at least this exile in the backwaters is finally over.”
As she mused, Ming Lan said softly, “But the sect’s replacement has yet to arrive…”
Chi Yin’s brow suddenly furrowed, her expression clearly irritated. Ming Lan fell silent, but quickly realized the woman’s annoyance wasn’t directed at her.
Under the cover of night, Chi Yin adjusted her sleeve slightly.
Ming Lan, standing closest and watching carefully, noticed the subtle shift in posture—beneath the ornate robes, the woman’s lithe body tensed ever so slightly.
Then, she heard Chi Yin inhale sharply through her teeth, muttering in annoyance: “So hot!”
Ming Lan was stunned. Then she saw the woman’s expression darken visibly, her gaze shifting toward the dragon fish in the sky.
Following her line of sight, Ming Lan watched as the grievously wounded creature seemed to lose all its bones, plummeting downward. A sudden mountain wind caught its slender body, sending it drifting sideways—until it snagged on a tree branch, utterly motionless.
Just as the crowd murmured in confusion, an extremely faint groan drifted on the wind.
It came from Xie Yan’s direction.
Xie Yan’s face stiffened.
At that moment, Yu Ci opened his eyes—just in time to witness Xie Yan’s expression shift from shock to wild, disbelieving joy, an expression he had never worn before.
Yu Ci grinned weakly, wanting to say something, but he couldn’t hold on any longer. His head lolled to the side as he passed out completely.