"That is... YOU!"
The middle-aged man's face twisted into something cruel and wicked, his smile stretching unnaturally. A surge of killing intent burst out from his body, invisible but suffocating.
Xiao Yang's body trembled slightly as The man watched him closely, eager—no, entertained—to see what kind of reaction he would get. After all, their cultivation levels were worlds apart. There was no chance, no hope for resistance.
Fear? Panic? Despair?
That's what he expected. That's what they all showed eventually.
But instead…
Xiao Yang closed his eyes. As if he hadn't heard a word.
"HEY!! Did you hear me?! Why aren't you begging for you life!?" the man snapped, his voice rising with irritation. "You—!!"
He kept shouting. Raging. But Xiao Yang remained still, seated in silence—his thoughts elsewhere. 'I really don't have a chance... Even if I cultivated ten times faster… I couldn't reach his level in four days.'
And yet...
Despite knowing this. Despite his logic spelling out his doom clearly
He neither felt afraid nor despair. He didn't even feel pain anymore.
Instead… something deeper was stirring. A pressure within his chest.
...What is this feeling?
It whispered. Pulled and told him to keep going.
To stay alive.
No matter what.
Why...? Why am I so desperate to live?
It wasn't a survival instinct. No, it was deeper than that. It wasn't the fear of pain or death—it was the feeling that if he died, something much worse would happen as if something hidden in his soul would vanish.
He sighed deeply. The breath alone made his ribs ache sharply.
Still, he straightened his back and prepared to cultivate.
But just as he gathered his will, his torn body throbbed—wounds pulsing with strange heat. His mind swayed.
Memories flickered. Images he didn't recognize. and then Qi began to move toward him.
The middle-aged man's voice suddenly went silent. His cocky grin vanished. His senses locked onto the boy before him.
"…What the hell is this Qi flow…?" he muttered under his breath. From Xiao Yang's trembling body, Qi surged—dense and focused, flowing straight into his dantian like a funnel being torn open.
The middle-aged man's eyes widened in disbelief.
"What the hell…?! It's even faster than me! How is that possible?!"
He was far more experienced, and his technique was better. There was simply no logical reason why a brat, barely stepping into cultivation, should absorb Qi faster than him. Yet the truth was here.
Still, instead of fear, a bitter chuckle escaped his lips.
"Hah… how laughable. So what if you're a heavenly genius? You're still just going to be killed by me.," he muttered, shaking his head as he turned his back on the boy. There where no way he could reach his level with four days.
But what he didn't realize… was that something was terribly off.
Xiao Yang, completely immersed in his cultivation, had no idea what he was truly doing. The Qi that rushed toward him wasn't entering his body at all. Instead, it lingered—thickening in the air around him, swirling like a living force seeking entrance but finding no passage.
Normally, spiritual energy would flow smoothly into a cultivator's dantian and circulate through their meridians, gently nourishing the body. But Xiao Yang's Qi didn't behave that way. It simply built up outside him, pressing inward like a storm held back by thin glass.
Unaware of the danger, Xiao Yang continued to draw in more Qi. His breathing slowed, and sweat began to roll down his face as the pressure became unbearable. His skin glowed faintly under the weight of it, and every breath he took felt like inhaling lightning.
Then, with a sudden, sharp lurch—the Qi surged into his body all at once.
Just raw power tearing its way in.
It sliced through him like blades made of wind, gouging into his muscles, piercing his skin, and striking his bones with pinpoint precision. Dozens of invisible needles stabbed across his flesh as glowing pinholes formed, releasing fine trails of spiritual energy like leaking light.
Had a normal cultivator seen this, they would have burst out laughing—mocking his idiocy.
He's not even guiding the Qi!
He's just destroying his body!
And they wouldn't have been wrong.
Xiao Yang's body was breaking down.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his bones screamed with heat, and his vision blurred into red streaks. But through it all, something inside him held firm. The pain was beyond anything he should've survived—but he had tasted worse.
That place… the void
That ancient, blurry figure. That unbearable, eternal death.
Compared to that, this agony, while monstrous, was something he could endure.
Minutes passed swiftly, and the Qi flowing into Xiao Yang's body only increased in both volume and aggression. The flesh that had previously been torn apart, the bloody holes that covered his skin, twitched faintly—as if attempting to heal.
Cultivators, even at low levels, possessed a limited degree of regeneration. Under normal circumstances, the body would begin to repair itself, slowly mending the damage.
But before his wounds could begin to close—
they were torn open again. And this time, even deeper.
The Qi wasn't just flowing in—it was ravaging him.
His veins pulsed violently beneath the skin, and his life force began to leak, slowly and steadily, like water through cracked stone. His skin turned pale, his heartbeat faltered, and the air grew heavier around him.
This isn't cultivation... this is self-destruction.
And yet—
He didn't stop.
In fact, moments later, he gathered even more Qi, dragging it toward his broken body like a dying man pulling fire into his lungs.
His back arched—
His limbs shook—
And then—
"ARGHHHHH!!"
An animalistic scream ripped from his throat and shook the air around him. The entire underground chamber echoed with his pain, startling the middle-aged and others who were calmly trying to strengthen themselves in their cage.
The middle-aged man's eyes shot open. What the hell is he doing?!
He jumped to his feet and stared, stunned. From across the bars, he could see Xiao Yang's body now—bloodied, shaking, and horrifyingly twisted. Holes gaped across his arms and chest, bones almost visible, and spiritual energy crackled like wild lightning over his skin.
Is he… trying to cultivate like this?
No—this isn't cultivation. This is suicide.
Then, suddenly—
The screams stopped.
A moment of silence followed.
And with a dull thud, Xiao Yang collapsed backward, his body limp and unmoving. He didn't faint—he shut down. The middle-aged man's face distorted in shock. His heart skipped a beat, and for the first time in years… he felt fear.
Just how much pain did he endure...?
The brat didn't even resemble the same person anymore. His injuries were even worse than when they'd first thrown him into the cage. Whatever this was, it was madness.
But a few seconds later, the man exhaled slowly and shook his head.
"What a fool," he muttered. "Whether you're alive or dead by the match... doesn't matter. I'll finish you off either way." With that, he sat back down, closing his eyes once more.
Meanwhile, at the entrance of the Cursed Forest… A woman stayed still.
The forest itself seemed to hold its breath, as though in awe of her presence. Her body—slim, yet perfectly curvy—was draped in a white, ethereal dress that clung to her divine form like moonlight on still water. The fabric danced around her hips with the breeze, barely veiling the soft swell of her breasts and the smooth contours of her slender waist. Though her form remained mostly hidden in the misty light, what was visible was more than enough to haunt the thoughts of any who dared look. Her long legs, graceful and toned, peeked out with every subtle shift—legs that moved like flowing silk, like they belonged not to a woman, but a goddess walking among mortals.
Her hair, cascading in shimmering waves of green and blue, caught the sunlight like water kissed by the sky. Each strand danced around her face with a life of its own, drawing the eye toward her heart-shaped visage—flawless and almost painfully delicate. But it was her eyes that held the true danger. That impossible blend of emerald and sapphire, glowing faintly, seemed to pierce straight into one's soul. From them poured a divine light—gentle, yet commanding, innocent yet knowing.
She radiated sweet and warm energy, the kind that invited comfort, trust… desire. And yet, hidden beneath that glow was something colder, more distant. Like a star viewed from afar—beautiful, unreachable, and burning.
[IMAGE]
Suddenly, she flinched. Someone was watching her.
A soft breath escaped her parted lips, barely a whisper.
"…Old Shan," she murmured.
A few moments later, an elderly man emerged. His robes rustled as he knelt, not daring to look at her.
"Lady Que… Forgive me for disturbing you. But your mother and father were concerned. You know how dangerous this area is."
She didn't answer. Her eyes closed slowly, her divine beauty softening into an unreadable calm. Shan had long since stopped trying to understand her. She was warm, yes—but also distant. Sweet, yes—but also terrifying. Many before him had tried to possess her, even with a single glance… and vanished. Nobles, guards, ministers—all gone. She opened her eyes again. The glow returned.
"Where is the nearest town?" Her voice rang out like a soft chime in a sacred temple—gentle, yet unforgettable.
"Tan City… Lady Que," Shan replied, pointing southeast. His fingers trembled slightly, not from fear of the forest—but from standing too close to her.
She gave a small nod, gaze drifting once more toward the cursed forest. Something had called her. Something deep. Ever since the Catastrophe, it was as though a thread had been tied from the edge of her soul into the forest's heart. She didn't understand it but didn't dare to step inside.
She turned, her dress swirling around her like mist.
"Lady Que..." Old Shan called hesitantly,
"Shall we notify the city lord of your arrival?"