Back in the Heritage Pavilion hall aboard the sect’s ship, Rihai opened her eyes.

Looking around, she realized she had been the last one to return from the soul challenge.

Involuntarily, she placed her hand on her chest where the sword had pierced her, and couldn’t help but feel a faint phantom pain.

Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself and lowered her hand.

‘Are you okay?’ Aotian transmitted, looking at her with concern and deep guilt in his heart.

Rihai emerged from her light daze at the sound of his voice in her mind and felt warmth seeing the worry in his eyes.

‘I’m fine. It was a good experience. I just regret not taking better advantage of it, since I only discovered a few things at the end. But something confused me. Why was I able to use Founder-Tier spells if the elder said it wouldn’t be possible?’

She revealed her doubt and then looked at him with suspicion. She had a feeling Aotian might be involved.

While she pondered, a flow of information began slowly filling her mind.

When it ended, her eyes widened slightly. Within her mind was a powerful Founder-Tier movement spell called Flaming Steps. And, surprisingly, she felt a high level of proficiency in it, without any sense of unfamiliarity.

That deeply impressed her. She had never heard of something like transferring spell proficiency. It only highlighted how mysterious and powerful the origins and methods of the Infinite Dao Sect were.

Aotian felt relieved at her response.

He could have avoided hurting her during the fight, but that wouldn’t have helped her. It would only make him feel better about himself hypocritically, without actually helping her.

So, even though it pained him, he didn’t go easy. Of course, since the soul challenge was a teaching tool, he prolonged the combat to give the disciples time to pick up on clues before being defeated.

And he had to admit that Rihai was at a much higher level than the other disciples, both in technique and raw power.

‘It’s good to know you’re okay. The soul challenge is very useful, but unfortunately the pain of being destroyed by the enemy can be quite cruel. Look at Cang Song—he’s still stunned.’

Sighing, he sent the message, which made Rihai glance to the side, where Cang Song remained frozen, with a strange expression and trembling eyes.

Aotian didn’t know what was going through his mind, but for someone as cowardly as Cang Song, the prospect of dying—with no guarantee of return (only assured by the elder’s words)—must have been terrifying.

After Rihai, he was the one who held out the longest, fighting desperately. Aotian had to admit that the man’s combat talent was truly remarkable—and above all, he fought as if his life genuinely depended on it.

‘I think he really believed it did… considering he even tried to negotiate with the clone…’

Aotian thought to himself, remembering fragments of the battle.

.

..

…

“Senior! No, ancestor! Let’s sit down and talk calmly! Violence leads nowhere!”

Cang Song pleaded as he defended and fled.

“…” The clone attacked coldly, without any reaction.

“Don’t be like that! How about I give you some pills? I’ve learned how to make a few!”

“…”

“Money?”

“…”

“How about this? I can introduce you to some beautiful clone disciples!”

“…”

Cang Song’s mouth didn’t stop. Nor did his hands, as he resisted with all his might.

He even noticed that the avatar was using more efficient applications of spiritual energy and tried to imitate them desperately.

But even with his machine-gun talk, desperation, defenses, talismans, formation discs, and after emptying five storage pouches full of trump cards, he was still beheaded in the end—before waking back in the hall, heart filled with fear and anxiety.

…

..

.

‘Uh… with his personality, it must’ve been a real shock.’

Rihai transmitted back, casting a strange look at the slightly trembling Cang Song.

Aotian only smiled and returned to silently pondering the elemental affinity he had seen in Rihai’s spiritual root.

‘That’s strange. Normally, elemental affinities tend toward balance. So it should be impossible to have one element so dominant in the root while another is suppressed to the point of nearly vanishing. Rihai, minutes before we made our no-lies-only-secrets promise, said her root was fire element. In a way, that’s not a lie, the other element seems to serve no function—it just exists, from what I saw.’

‘It was precisely because she didn’t feel comfortable revealing much about her roots at that time that we made that promise to each other moments after she said it. Now I understand… Rihai’s root seems even more special than I imagined. And the danger she mentioned, if others were to find out, clearly isn’t an exaggeration or excessive caution. Not that I ever thought it was…’

He pondered seriously.

Aotian couldn’t help but feel curious. Rihai avoided talking about her root even through sound transmission, fearing someone might intercept it.

Later, when they discussed dual cultivation, she hinted that she could talk more about it after marriage—through dual cultivation itself, which would make communication impossible to intercept.

Aotian couldn’t help but wish that day would come soon—not only to satisfy his curiosity but also to do adult things with her.

Shaking his head, he pushed those thoughts aside and turned his gaze to his avatar, Elder He Ziren, who had begun to speak.

“Well, everyone has returned. I believe you’ve noticed that you now have mastery over new spells, correct?” he asked, looking around at everyone.

In response, he received nods, including one from Cang Song, who was beginning to recover from his daze.

Elder He turned his gaze directly toward him, his expression always stern.

“I know the experience of death can be disorienting, but after dying hundreds of times, you’ll get used to it,” he spoke with conviction and a disconcerting calm.

But those words made Cang Song’s face lose all its color.

‘What kind of absurd comfort is that!’ He wanted to scream and point a finger at the elder’s face, but he lacked the courage… which, in truth, made him feel slightly pleased with himself. Lack of courage was a victory in his book.

With a stiff smile — one uglier than crying — that had become his trademark, he simply nodded respectfully to the elder.

The other disciples, though not as cowardly as Cang Song, also paled at the thought of dying hundreds of times. However, upon sensing the new spells they now mastered within their minds, the temptation slightly outweighed the fear.

Even Rihai, who lived with pain daily, had felt unwell and distressed by the pain during the challenge. It was understandable why the others were so frightened.

Seeing that everyone was nodding, He Ziren knew it was time to conclude.

But just when Aotian thought everything was finished and he could wrap it up, Cang Song unexpectedly raised his hand.

“Elder He, may I ask a question?” he requested, cupping his fists and bowing deeply.

He Ziren raised an eyebrow in mild confusion but nodded.

“Speak.”

“It’s just a small doubt. I’d like to know if the elder, as the user of the spell, is able to see what happens inside the soul challenge,” Cang Song asked with slight embarrassment.

He had made some absurd promises trying to stop the fight against his clone — including offering to find a beautiful female elder clone for him — so he feared he might be punished for his audacity.

To his relief, He Ziren shook his head.

“No. I can’t see what happens inside. The technique takes place within your mental landscape, and I have no access to your thoughts.” He lied without blinking.

There was no need for the disciples to know that he saw everything. Such knowledge might even deter them from entering the soul challenge, out of fear of exposing trump cards or secrets, which wouldn’t be ideal for their growth.

The other disciples seemed relieved by the answer, Rihai included.

They would never imagine that the elder himself was the clone they fought. After all, the clones knew all the spells and techniques of the challengers, and there was no way the elder could know all that perfectly.

What they didn’t know was that Aotian received feedback on every technique the disciples mastered, even before the challenge, via systematic feedback.

Seeing there were no more questions, He Ziren concluded:

“If there are no further questions, you may leave.”

Without waiting for a response, he once again pulled out his perverted books, which floated open around him, and began to analyze them with seriousness.

The sight made the disciples’ mouths twitch, but they still cupped their fists, bowed respectfully, and took their leave — leaving He Ziren and his “literature” behind.

In truth, those books weren’t merely a reflection of Aotian’s poor taste when shaping the elder’s personality. There was a legitimate reason for him to study them so diligently.

They were part of the information gathered on dual cultivation.

The collection was still ongoing and wouldn’t stop anytime soon, but Aotian had already gathered enough material to begin his research and wasn’t wasting time. And he had to admit… even in a world of cultivators, people could be extremely perverted.

There were manuals he could barely finish flipping through — like one on quadruple cultivation, involving three men and one woman, and another on centuple cultivation, involving several men connected in ways that made him shudder just remembering.

Those he immediately burned after a single glance. And along with them, he wished he could burn whoever sent them too.

Aside from those vile things, Aotian received many other manuals with strange, but useful, positions.

Some came with illustrations, which helped a lot with visualization, since jade slips only transmitted images as memories — vivid, but still just memories. That’s why he also commissioned real drawings.

Those were the ones now in He Ziren’s hands, which he studied attentively image by image.

To analyze them more comfortably, having a real image in hand was useful, hence the illustrations he commissioned along with the information, resulting in the current scene.

…

Outside the room, Aotian, Rihai, and the other disciples walked out.

There was little conversation before parting ways. Everyone seemed eager to process what they had experienced in the soul challenge as quickly as possible in silence, and they were also anxious to test the new spells they now mastered with advanced proficiency.

After a few brief goodbyes, the group dispersed.

Rihai and Aotian walked together to their room aboard the ship.

‘Did you win your challenge?’ she asked, catching his attention, as he walked deep in thought, somewhat distant.

She had already noticed that Aotian woke up before her and doubted he would have lost so easily and quicker than she had. That’s why she assumed he had won.

“Err… in the soul challenges, I usually draw. Winning isn’t easy.” Aotian scratched his head, slightly embarrassed.

He couldn’t tell her that, in his rage, he had destroyed the mental landscape using the authority he had over the technique.

And, in truth, what he said was accurate.

Usually, he ended in a draw, since he was fighting himself under equal conditions. After all, beyond being identical in strength, it was the same mind controlling both bodies.

That wasn’t his first soul challenge, and he often used the soul challenge in some of his avatars to train, test spells, or simply fight without holding back.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep