Returning to the Abode of Ten Thousand Pills, the demon-head gateway remained as jagged and imposing as ever, though the faces passing through it had cycled through several generations.

  Now a Foundation Establishment cultivator, Gensheng viewed this den of filth and vice with a completely different perspective. As he walked through the chaotic tunnels with Li Simin at his side, the crowds parted instinctively, sensing the oppressive aura of a high-level corpse-puppet.

  In a secluded corner, Gensheng checked his assets. His heart sank.

  The mountain of spirit stones he had looted five years ago from Bai Jingzi and the Red Maple Valley Elder had been completely devoured. Between opening Li Simin’s hundred apertures and feeding a swarm of unevolved Corpse Wasps in a resource-starved land, he was broke. Now, his storage bag held only twenty lonely mid-grade spirit stones, glowing enticingly in the dark.

  He sighed and entered a tea house that looked relatively clean.

  The tea house was a melting pot of information. Gensheng sat in a corner by the window and ordered a pot of the cheapest coarse tea. At the next table, two young disciples in sect robes were whispering complaints.

  "Dammit, another patrol in the Zhaoqing Mountains. The spiritual energy there is as thin as water; I’ll be lucky if my cultivation doesn’t regress."

  "Be grateful. I’m stuck guarding the spirit herb garden for a month—can’t even step out of the gates. But once the shift is over, I’ll use my contribution points to rent the Spirit-Gathering Array and crack a mid-grade stone. I might finally hit Level 5 Qi Condensation."

  "That’s the beauty of having a sect. Those rogue cultivators? Even if they luck into a mid-grade stone, they’re just holding a useless rock. They have no way to properly refine it."

  Gensheng listened in silence, his heart heavy with a mix of emotions. Here he was, a Foundation Establishment expert, yet he felt like a beggar holding a gold ingot, unsure how to even spend it.

  Rogue cultivation is freedom, but the price of freedom is being a rootless weed. He made up his mind: he would find a sect. A proper place with a steady supply of stones, a secure cave dwelling, and a routine life. It was a luxury he had never dared to dream of as a sewer-dwelling wretch. Now that he had built his foundation, he surely had the right to choose.

  He downed his bitter tea and walked straight to a stall in the depths of the market labeled "The All-Knowing."

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  The stall owner, a gaunt, one-eyed old man, scanned Gensheng and the coffin on his back. "Senior, what knowledge do you seek?"

  "In the Central Plains, which sects are currently recruiting disciples?"

  "You’ve asked the right man." The old man pulled out a jade slip. "There are nearly a hundred sects in this region. With your Foundation stage cultivation, finding a place won't be hard. However..."

  The man lowered his voice. "Sects are ranked. The 'Orthodox' sects have strict rules; you’d start at the bottom and be watched constantly. Then there are the 'Wicked' sects where the weak are fodder for the strong. Senior, looking at your gear... you don't exactly look like a saint. The righteous path might not have room for you."

  "Get to the point," Gensheng said impatiently. "Are there any sects that specialize in Corpse-Refining or Insect-Nurturing?"

  The chatter in the tea house seemed to drop by half the moment those words left his mouth.

  The old man grabbed Gensheng’s arm and yanked him closer, his voice a frantic whisper. "Senior! You mustn't say that out loud! Have you been in seclusion for a decade? Did you not hear of the great catastrophe from a few years ago?"

  "Red Maple Valley! Have you heard of it?"

  Seeing Gensheng’s blank expression, the old man gasped. "They were a major sect with a Nascent Soul Ancestor! Five years ago, in a single night, the entire sect... was refined into a Human-Pill!"

  "Thousands of people! From Golden Core Elders to the lowly kitchen staff—all gone. Only one person escaped. They say when the Ancestor came out of seclusion and saw the ruins, he coughed up blood and nearly shattered his Dao-foundation!"

  Gensheng’s hand, holding the teacup, froze mid-air.

  "Who did it?"

  "A Golden Core Insect Cultivator named Li Chan." The old man’s voice was so low it barely carried. "Rumor has it he used billions of toxic insects to blockade the valley. On the day the pill was finished, the sky turned blood-red. Li Chan swallowed the pill and tried to ascend to the Nascent Soul stage right then and there, but he was struck down by the Saintess, Lu Zhaozhao. He died, failing his tribulation."

  The old man wiped sweat from his brow. "Since then, the words 'Insect Cultivator' have become a taboo. The Righteous Path hunts them on sight, and the Great Demon Lords fear them, terrified of meeting another lunatic like Li Chan who might turn them into medicine. Senior, asking for an insect sect now? You’re walking straight onto a blade!"

  Gensheng was stunned. He finally understood the meaning of the mourning robe and the centipede husk. His Senior Brother had used his own life to draw all the hatred and karma of Red Maple Valley upon himself, leaving a "clean" path for Gensheng.

  "Ahem. I am a man of the righteous path," Gensheng lied, his face expressionless. "I keep insects only for harvesting herbs, and this corpse-puppet is just an assistant. Do not be alarmed."

  The old man eyed him skeptically but continued. "Senior, the Path of Insects is a dead end. Better to switch. Your corpse-puppet is top-notch; why not specialize in Corpse Cultivation? There are still a few sects in Qingzhou that accept them..."

  Gensheng interrupted him. "Aside from those, is there anywhere else? Somewhere... that doesn't care about origins?"

  The old man hesitated, his expression shifting into something grotesque and fearful. He breathed out a single name:

  "The True Heaven-Valve Sect ."