From afar, Fenglin City emerged like a jewel nestled among jagged hills, its towering walls shimmering with faint golden and azure lights that danced like trapped stars. Chen Mo could immediately sense the subtle pulse of spiritual formations woven into the very stone—barriers that hummed with restrained power, preventing any cultivator from casually soaring above the city. Only the law enforcement cultivators of the Azure Pine Immortal Sect were permitted to traverse the skies freely, their authority reinforced by layers of divine formations and lethal deterrents.

  The gates themselves were massive, engraved with intricate patterns that radiated a faint aura, signaling that every inch of the city was under strict surveillance. Any attempt to bypass the rules would trigger alarms both magical and mundane, ensuring that the Sect’s control over entry and exit remained absolute. Even from this distance, Chen Mo could feel the invisible pressure of the law—an omnipresent reminder that in Fenglin City, the rules of mortals mattered little, and the will of the Azure Pine Immortal Sect reigned supreme.

  Chen Mo studied the city from afar, the faint shimmer of the formations on the walls reflecting in his eyes. A man in plain, unassuming clothes standing beside him cleared his throat.

  “Pretty impressive, huh?” the man said.

  Chen Mo focused again and nodded. “Yes. It’s impressive.”

  The man bowed slightly. “I’m Wu Bin, a servant of the Outer Sect. Your first time in Fenglin City?”

  “Yes, first time,” Chen Mo replied. “I’m Chen Mo, a menial disciple.”

  Wu Bin’s eyes brightened. “Oh! So it is Lord Chen—my apologies if I sounded disrespectful earlier.”

  Chen Mo waved a hand, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I mean formal menial disciple. I’ve already left the sect. I’m not a cultivator anymore.”

  Wu Bin chuckled softly. “Still, being accepted as a menial disciple at your age means you’ve got qualifications. That alone puts you far ahead of us mortals. We don’t even have the ability to cultivate.”

  Chen Mo shook his head, choosing silence. Some arguments weren’t worth having.

  Wu Bin glanced at him curiously. “So… do you have a place to stay? If not, I can recommend a few decent courtyards.”

  Chen Mo’s interest perked. Indeed, he had no place yet. “That would be very helpful. I plan to buy or rent a courtyard here—is that possible?”

  Wu Bin nodded. “If it’s on the mortal side of the city, yes. You just need silver or gold. For other areas… it’ll cost spiritual stones.”

  Chen Mo’s eyes flickered. He had never handled spiritual stones, at least not yet. Gold, however, he had plenty of, brought with him from the Hua Kingdom. “Then I will rely on you, Brother Wu.”

  Wu Bin laughed heartily. “No problem at all, Brother Chen.”

  Chen Mo’s curiosity got the better of him. “I’m not familiar with Fenglin City. Can you give me a brief overview?”

  Wu Bin gestured toward the sprawling city walls. “It’s one of the many cities under the Sect’s jurisdiction. Most mortals here are descendants of cultivators or servants. Normally, cultivators don’t interfere with mortal life. Low-level cultivators interact with us occasionally, but everyone else… lives in a world we don’t step into.” He let out a faint sigh.

  “And all cultivators here belong to the Sect?” Chen Mo asked.

  “Of course not,” Wu Bin said with a shake of his head. “The Sect controls the city, sets the rules, and keeps order. Most residents are independent cultivators. They rely on the city to sell goods, buy resources, and survive.”

  Chen Mo inclined his head. “You really know your way around, Brother Wu.”

  Wu Bin smiled faintly, nostalgia flickering in his eyes. “I’ve been a servant for the Sect for ten years. I know a few things. My grandfather was once an Outer Sect disciple himself. Shame we didn’t inherit spiritual roots—we ended up as servants instead.”

  Chen Mo listened quietly, letting the words sink in. Fenglin City was alive with layers of hierarchy, power, and rules—but for now, it was just a place to start, and survival would be his first lesson.

  A while later, Chen Mo followed Wu Bin through a separate gate reserved for mortals. After a brief check by the guards, they entered the city. The mortal quarter was unremarkable—streets crowded, the scent of cooked meat and grains filling the air—but here and there, Chen Mo could spot individuals in the grey robes of the Sect, either menial disciples or low-level early-stage Qi Condensation cultivators. The markets sold ordinary goods: grains, salt, dried meats… the rhythm of a mortal city under the watchful eye of the Sect.

  Soon, they arrived at a modest building.

  Wu Bin gestured at it. “This is the estate office. Here you can buy or rent available courtyards on the mortal side.”

  Chen Mo cupped his hands respectfully. “Thank you. You’ve been a great help.”

  Wu Bin waved him off. “No matter. Come on in.”

  A short while later, Chen Mo emerged from the building. He had successfully rented a courtyard and, without hesitation, taken what was available inside. He didn’t even bother to inspect it—efficiency was his priority.

  Wu Bin placed a hand on his shoulder. “Brother Chen, you can buy what you need from the market here. Don’t wander to the other side of the city—it’s dangerous, and the markets there cater to cultivators. You won’t be able to afford anything there anyway.”

  Chen Mo nodded. “Understood, Brother Wu. But tell me… how do rogue cultivators live here? Do they work for the Sect?”

  Wu Bin shook his head with a wry smile. “Everyone here works for the Sect in some capacity, but to be precise, most loose cultivators organize hunting teams. They track and hunt ranked demonic beasts, then sell their spoils in the market. Some are skilled enough to craft pills or talismans. My grandfather was like that once—he led a hunting team in the mountains… until one of those trips claimed his life.”

  Chen Mo’s gaze hardened. The mortal world under the Sect might seem ordinary, but danger lurked in every shadow—and even survival required skill, strength, or luck.

  “Ranked demonic beasts?” Chen Mo asked, brow furrowed.

  Wu Bin nodded gravely. “Yes. I’ve heard they’re incredibly powerful. These aren’t ordinary animals—they’ve absorbed spiritual energy from heaven and earth. Even the lowest-ranked beast can challenge a late-stage Qi Condensation cultivator.”

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  Chen Mo fell silent, weighing the implications. Perhaps it was time to return to his old profession—hunting, tracking, and selling prey for profit—but now the stakes were far higher. The world had sharpened, and even ordinary hunting came with lethal risk.

  After exchanging addresses and bidding Wu Bin farewell, Chen Mo made his way to his newly rented courtyard, the weight of his next steps pressing heavily on his mind.

  Chen Mo spent the remainder of the day immersed in cultivation, focusing on sensing the spiritual qi around him. Though the qi here was far weaker than what he had experienced within the sect, it was more than sufficient for someone of his caliber. Hours later, he emerged from a bath, ate a modest dinner, and settled into his thoughts.

  Tomorrow, he would venture into the wilderness. Hunting ranked demonic beasts wasn’t yet on his mind—he knew too little about their habitats, behaviors, or strengths. Instead, his plan was straightforward: seek out rogue Qi cultivators. Close-quarters combat was his domain, and he was confident in his ability to overpower any of them. Yet, even with his power, caution was paramount; one misstep could easily turn the hunter into the hunted.

  The next day, Chen Mo departed the city like any ordinary mortal, blending into the flow of commoners. Soon, he found the path leading to the nearby forests. Mortals rarely ventured here alone, and once he slipped from the city’s view, he activated his Threaded Movement, vanishing from sight.

  Once inside the forest, he refrained from venturing too deep. Instead, he crouched near the edge, scanning his surroundings with meticulous care. The visible paths near the forest entrance told him all he needed to know—hunters regularly used these routes to go in and out.

  Chen Mo refused to gamble his life recklessly. His senses were honed to a razor’s edge, capable of detecting threats that could truly endanger him. Even as he felt a faint undercurrent of danger, he reminded himself of Steward Luo Shen; he could handle—or at least evade—any immediate threat.

  As for higher-level cultivators, Chen Mo knew better than to hope for a run-in. Even with a streak of misfortune, Foundation Establishment cultivators were leagues beyond his current sphere, true apex predators of the mortal-adjacent world. He exhaled slowly, letting the forest’s shadows wash over him, readying himself for the hunt that would test both patience and precision.

  Within the dense forest, a group of middle-stage Qi Condensation cultivators moved hastily toward the exit, their breaths ragged and their expressions tense. They had just barely survived an encounter with the Nightmare-Scaled Serpent, a beast they had gravely underestimated. To their shock, the serpent was a late-rank one creature, its power comparable to an 8th or 9th stage Qi Condensation cultivator, while their strongest, Deng Li, only wielded 6th-level Qi.

  As a result, two of their team had fallen, and the survivors were barely able to flee with their lives. Qian Bo, a middle-aged man at the 5th level of Qi Condensation, finally exhaled, breaking the uneasy silence:

  “Brother Deng… I think we’re out of danger now.”

  Deng Li came to a halt, slamming his fist against a tree in frustration. “Damn that beast! Not only did we lose two brothers, we had to exhaust almost all our talismans just to escape!”

  Qian shuddered. “Its venom… and those scales… completely impervious. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Deng Li let out a long, weary sigh. “We need to get back to the city immediately—heal our injuries, buy more talismans, and prepare for the next hunt. Today’s losses cannot go uncompensated.”

  The group quickened their pace, every step heavy with exhaustion and lingering fear, the forest echoing with the faint hiss of the serpent they had narrowly survived.

  Unknowingly, the group stumbled toward a threat no less deadly than the Nightmare-Scaled Serpent they had barely survived. Chen Mo’s senses tingled—the subtle shifts in the air told him everything he needed to know: today, he would strike. Long ago, he had accepted this world dictated a harsh truth—survival here belonged to those willing to live on the edge of the blade.

  As the cultivators drew closer, Chen Mo remained perfectly concealed, his presence undetectable. When they were just a few Zhangs away, he moved like a ghost, fluid and silent.

  Deng Li, relying on his spiritual senses, immediately felt the danger and tensed—but before he could act, he witnessed a nightmare made real. One of his brothers, a 4th-level cultivator, had his head obliterated as if it had exploded like a watermelon. The man beside him fared no better, his chest caved in from a single palm strike, sending him flying. In the space of a few breaths, two of the four men lay dead.

  Roaring in fury, Deng Li sheathed his sword and flung it at the unseen assailant. Qian Bo reacted, summoning a massive fireball with a talisman. The resulting explosion shook the forest, but to both men’s horror, their attacks missed—the attacker was nowhere to be found.

  Qian Bo, recognizing Chen Mo’s inhuman speed, tried to create distance. He slapped a defensive talisman to his body and was about to activate his flying sword when Chen Mo appeared before him like a shadow given flesh. True Qi danced along his fists as he struck with unrelenting force.

  The protective light of Qian Bo’s talisman shattered instantly, unable to withstand the sheer power of Chen Mo’s punch. The blow connected directly to Qian Bo’s chest, sending him flying while coughing blood, his organs ravaged.

  Deng Li froze, disbelief etched into his face. It was as if the Nightmare-Scaled Serpent had returned—only faster, more terrifying, and controlled with malicious precision. He channeled his spiritual Qi and made a split-second decision to escape.

  Chen Mo, however, was already intercepting him. Deng Li redirected his flying sword to block the incoming punch.

  Boom.

  After a cascade of blows, explosions, and the crackling of shattered spiritual weapons, the flying sword finally broke, dimming into useless scrap. Deng Li could not comprehend how someone could obliterate a middle-rank spiritual weapon with bare hands—he had spent fifty spiritual stones on that sword.

  Before he could process it, Chen Mo’s relentless fists descended. Deng Li’s screams were cut short as his body was pulverized, leaving behind nothing but a mangled, bloody corpse.

  The forest fell silent, save for the distant rustle of leaves and the faint scent of iron and smoke. Chen Mo stood alone, unscathed, an unstoppable shadow among the fallen.