Chapter Sixty-Eight: Martial Uncle, the Blood-Coagulating Pill in Your Hand...

Chapter Sixty-Eight: Master-Uncle, That Drop of Blood-Curdling Elixir in Your Hand...

"Boy, quickly tell me, what exactly will one experience after taking the Blood-Curdling Elixir?"

The moment Tianhe Daoist and Fan Lanzhou left, Chunyu Qian impatiently questioned Fang Junmei through a spiritual sound transmission. Fang Junmei wasted no time and, using the same method, recounted in detail everything he had gone through within that illusion.

Chunyu Qian listened intently, his eyes flashing with sharp light. He even pressed Fang Junmei about every moment he gathered his willpower, as if determined to ascertain just how strong a resolve was required.

By the end, even Chunyu Qian’s gaze toward Fang Junmei carried a hint of admiration and surprise. Long after Fang Junmei finished speaking, Chunyu Qian remained silent.

"Master-Uncle, that Blood-Curdling Elixir in your hand..." Fang Junmei finally could not restrain himself and asked after a long pause.

His own Sword Dao Blood-Curdling state was only halfway achieved; if he could obtain a second elixir, he might fully master it. Such an opportunity could not be missed!

"What are you thinking, boy!" Chunyu Qian shot him a glare and rebuked, "Even I, your master-uncle, have yet to achieve Sword Dao Blood-Curdling, and you dare covet this pill in my hand? Has your conscience been eaten by a dog? Do you not realize what a tremendous opportunity you’ve already received? Among the ten Sword Immortals of our Taoyuan Sword Sect, at least five have yet to achieve Sword Dao Blood-Curdling!"

Fang Junmei could only laugh sheepishly. "Even if Master-Uncle takes that pill, it may not guarantee you reach the Blood-Curdling Realm. Why not let this junior have it? I’ll certainly remember this great favor."

Chunyu Qian snorted coldly. "Empty promises are the last thing I trust."

Fang Junmei could only smile wryly.

Chunyu Qian gave him a few measured looks, then after pondering for a moment, said, "Boy, I’ll give you a chance. If, in the future, you can bring me some alchemical materials that truly satisfy me, perhaps I’ll trade it with you. I’ll hold onto this pill for now. But if I can’t resist taking it myself, then even if you bring the finest materials, it won’t be yours—so you’d best hurry!"

With those words, Chunyu Qian rummaged through his storage pouch.

"What alchemical materials does Master-Uncle want?" Fang Junmei asked eagerly, seeing hope.

Chunyu Qian replied, "I can’t think of anything specific at the moment. There’s a jade slip in the Scripture Pavilion introducing some rare materials—go take a look yourself and judge which grade might be worthy of a trade. It doesn’t necessarily have to be something I need for my own pills; I have a passion for all alchemical materials."

Fang Junmei nodded in understanding.

The two fell silent. After a while, Chunyu Qian finally handed over a storage pouch and said, "Here’s your reward for the last pill, as well as the Reversal Pills, about fifty in total. When you run out, come ask me for more."

He was, after all, a man who knew how to keep things clear between generations, never taking advantage of his juniors.

"Thank you, Master-Uncle," Fang Junmei said, accepting the pouch with gratitude.

They parted ways; Chunyu Qian hurried back to Medicine King Peak, while Fang Junmei found a quiet spot nearby and swallowed one of the Reversal Pills.

This pill was indeed miraculous: after ingestion, his stomach rumbled, and then a membranous light spread from the pill, flowing throughout his body, concealing that golden aura completely.

Examining himself, Fang Junmei seemed as though he’d never taken the Blood-Curdling Elixir at all. Relieved, he nodded and made his way to the competition valley.

...

Within the valley, the competition had resumed.

The moment Fang Junmei arrived, he drew a wave of synchronized gazes; it seemed he was even more compelling than the two dueling in the arena. Those looks carried a mixture of curiosity and complexity.

Most intense were the eyes of the three elders from the other sects, sharp as daggers, as though they could see straight through Fang Junmei’s flesh.

Fang Junmei, unconcerned, landed on the platform belonging to Unmoving Peak, nodding to Linghu Jinjiu and Yang Xiaoman.

Linghu Jinjiu wore a puzzled expression—Fan Lanzhou must not have told him anything. Yang Xiaoman, by contrast, regarded Fang Junmei with a sly, knowing grin, her crescent-moon eyes full of mischief as if to say, “I see right through you.”

"Fifth Brother, what’s going on? Why did you suddenly withdraw?" Linghu Jinjiu whispered.

"Third Senior Brother, forgive me—it’s not convenient to explain right now," Fang Junmei replied apologetically.

Linghu Jinjiu, seeing him so evasive, looked a bit frustrated but did not press further.

Fang Junmei didn’t forget to exchange a glance with Song Shede, who responded with a cheerful smile.

With no more conversation, Fang Junmei’s attention was soon absorbed by the ongoing matches.

The duels among the Dust-Shedding disciples were precisely what he most needed to study at the moment. Though unable to compete himself, Fang Junmei closely observed each match, eagerly absorbing experience, his eyes flashing with electric light.

At present, it was the tenth group’s turn. The strongest cultivator in that group was not an inner disciple from Supreme Void Peak, but rather the third disciple of Ning Jiuyi—a man named Cheng Yun.

Now, it was Cheng Yun who fought in the arena.

Like Linghu Jinjiu, he did not use sword techniques, instead matching his opponent with spells. His mastery of thunder arts produced crackling lightning and constant thunderclaps.

After only a few exchanges, his opponent—a fellow outer disciple—was left with half his body charred before conceding defeat.

Cheng Yun then gracefully saluted the audience and unhurriedly returned to Ning Jiuyi’s platform.

"Boy, I hear you’re not competing anymore—what a pity. I had actually been looking forward to you taking second place in the ninth group!" Suddenly, a voice sounded in Fang Junmei’s mind—it was Cheng Yun.

Had Fang Junmei indeed taken second in the ninth group, he would likely have faced Cheng Yun in the elimination round. As Ning Jiuyi’s disciple, Cheng Yun would surely have fought him mercilessly.

Fang Junmei glanced at Cheng Yun. The latter, however, didn’t look his way; his face was turned toward Ning Jiuyi, wearing a modest, gentle smile that would win anyone’s favor.

Observing this hypocrisy, Fang Junmei only smiled to himself, secretly amused. In this grand competition, he’d quietly reaped the greatest benefit—what point was there in sparring with such a pretender?

...

One technique after another.
Sword formulas, page after page.

In Fang Junmei’s eyes, they flashed past like a revolving lantern, filling him with excitement.

The Dust-Shedding group stage lasted thirty-six days. Unless a disciple forfeited, each fought the other nine in their group.

There were almost no cases of identical win rates; the top two of each group were finally decided.

A surprising number—about ten—of the nearly forty inner disciples were eliminated by outer disciples, a rate that left many inner sect elders red-faced and determined to drill their disciples harder.

As for Unmoving Peak, besides Fang Junmei, Linghu Jinjiu took first in group two, and Yang Xiaoman first in group six. Their advancement came as no surprise: Linghu Jinjiu was a seasoned late Dust-Shedding cultivator, while Yang Xiaoman had just broken through to late Dust-Shedding before the competition. With guidance from Long Jinyi and Fan Lanzhou, plus their own talent and effort, both performed admirably.

But once they entered the top thirty-two elimination rounds, they would inevitably face formidable opponents—and the battles of the Dao Embryo group were soon to begin.