Yun Che sat cross-legged within the dreamlike space of the bead, countless elongated streaks of light revolving around him like stars around a sovereign.

  Not far before him hovered Li Han’s three-zhang Nascent Soul, half-transparent, its chest nearly hollow, threads of spiritual energy faintly circulating within. It flickered dimly, seemingly unaware of Yun Che’s cultivation.

  Yun Che withdrew his gaze, took a sip of Nether Source Dew, and closed his eyes to regulate his breath.

  Li Han once told him: the Nascent Soul Transformation stage was a process of mutation. During that time, the Nascent Soul would grow increasingly vast, yet the physical body would not change accordingly—only when the Nascent Soul left the body would its astonishing form be revealed.

  But Yun Che had no mind for such thoughts now. He focused entirely on breaking through to mid–Foundation Establishment.

  There was another reason he cultivated inside the bead: Li Han said it aided his recovery.

  Three months outside meant nine months within.

  Enough time to advance one more step.

  The final deadline of the qualification trial had arrived.

  Half a month earlier, cultivators had already begun gathering outside the valley. Some searched for the best vantage points, eyes fixed upon the valley’s only exit. Others lingered in the temporary markets that had sprung up nearby, awaiting the climax of this once-in-a-century event.

  As more cultivators arrived, the thousand-li radius around the valley grew lively.

  Where there are people, there are grudges. Enemies crossed paths and clashed daily. But more came for the grand trade fair that occurred only once every hundred years.

  When the qualification trial ended and the Nether Battlefield opened, nearly the entire cultivation world of Zhao would converge here. Where so many gathered, countless temporary markets inevitably followed.

  Thus formed the largest trading event in Zhao once every century.

  Rare materials, magical treasures, and medicinal pills—normally unseen—appeared in abundance. Cultivators haggled ceaselessly as they moved through the bustling stalls.

  Now, outside Frost’s End Valley stood a sea of cultivators—from Qi Condensation to Golden Core—belonging to sects large and small across Zhao.

  Major sects occupied territories distinctly their own. Minor sects, clans, and rogue cultivators clustered together at a distance, watching.

  Most had no qualification to enter the Nether Battlefield.

  They came merely to witness the once-in-a-century spectacle.

  It was said that when the Nether passage opened, vast torrents of pure spiritual energy would surge forth—one breath equal to months of bitter cultivation.

  It was noon.

  The sky spread like a sheet of Azure silk, cloudless and brilliant. Sunlight poured down, dispelling lingering chill. The temperature slowly rose.

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  Yet no one cared for the rare warmth.

  All eyes were fixed on the valley entrance.

  Experienced cultivators knew—

  High noon marked the moment the seal would open.

  From above, Frost’s End Valley resembled the mouth of a gourd. Two towering ice peaks stood guard like celestial sentinels. Between them stretched a narrow path leading to a massive octagonal formation array.

  At that moment—

  The array lit up.

  Azure light seeped from its patterns, growing brighter until it condensed into a pillar of light.

  Not far away, several Nascent Soul experts of the demonic sects stood together. The instant the formation activated, their gazes locked onto it.

  Among them stood Teng Huayuan.

  Excitement and killing intent flashed in his eyes as he stared at the pillar without blinking.

  The light reached its peak.

  Then—

  Eight figures stepped out.

  Teng Huayuan’s pupils contracted, then disappointment surfaced.

  Not him.

  He snorted coldly and flipped his palm, producing a small black banner—the Soul-Locking Banner. His fingers pinched the fabric, and one soul upon it silently dispersed into a wisp of green smoke.

  A warning.

  He was telling the one still inside the valley:

  Your clansmen’s souls remain in my hands. If you do not come out, they will vanish one by one.

  The eight figures revealed themselves.

  A buzz erupted outside the valley.

  “They’re out! Quick—look! Usually the first sect to exit has already lost qualification. Which one is it this time?”

  “Hm? Only eight people? Normally the first out should have the fewest survivors.”

  “I see Zhou You! A disciple of the Profound Ice Sword Sect!”

  “Profound Ice Sword Sect? They failed last time too, didn’t they? Seems this righteous great sect isn’t so great. If my Fortune Field Sect had entered, we might have done better.”

  “Brother Zhang, your Fortune Field Sect’s strongest is only early Golden Core. The Profound Ice Sword Sect could wipe out your entire sect with a single ancestor. If they failed, it’s because the demonic sects were too strong.”

  The murmurs reached the ears of the eight disciples of the Profound Ice Sword Sect. Their faces flushed red with humiliation as they lowered their heads and approached their ancestor.

  Ancestor Xin Hai’s expression was dark as frozen water.

  He stared at them without speaking.

  For this qualification trial, he had invested heavily: twenty-five disciples—three late Foundation Establishment, eight mid-stage, the rest early stage. He had even granted them numerous treasured artifacts.

  He believed victory assured.

  Yet—

  Only eight returned.

  His gaze swept over them.

  At that moment, a voice sounded nearby, gentle and smiling.

  “Brother Xin, do not take it to heart. The cleansing of the Nether Battlefield is extremely dangerous. In the past, one survivor out of ten was already fortunate. Another hundred years will pass soon enough. Why dwell on it?”

  The speaker was Shangguan Yun, one of the Nascent Soul ancestors of the Yuan Tian Sect.

  Xin Hai sneered. “No need for sarcasm, Brother Shangguan. A loss is a loss. I will not deny it. Our agreement will be honored.”

  He turned to the eight disciples.

  “Your senior brother… is dead?”

  The leading disciple dropped to his knees. “Ancestor… all dead. Aside from us, all senior brothers… perished.”

  The other seven followed suit, fear still etched upon their faces.

  Shangguan Yun inwardly sneered but outwardly sighed with sympathy.

  Xin Hai’s face was cold as frost. “So many dead—fine. Which sect killed them?”

  The leading disciple hesitated.

  Xin Hai waved his hand. A light barrier enveloped the Profound Ice Sword Sect, blocking divine sense from outside.

  “Speak.”

  Only then did the disciple transmit the answer.

  As Xin Hai listened, his expression changed.

  First surprise.

  Then disbelief.

  Finally, a complicated and unreadable look.

  After a long moment, he let out a cold snort.

  “Stand behind me,” he said, gaze piercing toward the valley. “I would very much like to see who this person truly is.”

  The barrier dissipated.

  Shangguan Yun stepped closer, smiling. “Brother Xin, why has Fellow Daoist Xu Mei not come today?”

  Xin Hai replied flatly, “The Nascent Soul of the Desolation Sect has fallen. The sect is sealed for a hundred years. You didn’t know?”

  Shangguan Yun blinked, then nodded. “So that’s why only seven sects participated this time.”

  His gaze drifted toward the valley entrance, thoughtful.

  In the distance, Teng Huayuan gripped the Soul-Locking Banner, killing intent nearly solidifying in his eyes.

  He was waiting.

  Waiting for the one who killed his great-grandson—

  To step out.

  (The qualification trial ends. The seal opens. Cultivators gather outside, each harboring their own schemes. The Profound Ice Sword Sect returns in defeat. Teng Huayuan waits with banner in hand.)

  (Yun Che remains in seclusion—unaware that outside, a heavenly net has already been cast.)