Zhongyuan Continent (Central Plains) – Lingxi World.

On the streets of a huge city, an old man in a worn black cloak walked calmly.

In his dried, withered hand, he firmly held a simple wooden cane that helped him walk as he admired the immense city unfolding before him.

“Blue Turtle Village… about one hundred million people,” the old man murmured, appreciating the beautiful and majestic city, which looked like anything but a village.

He walked peacefully and curiously through the crowded streets filled with both cultivators and mortals, but unfortunately, such peace was abruptly broken.

“Get out of the way!”

A loud, furious shout rang out, sending everyone scrambling aside—everyone except the old man, who kept walking slowly in the middle of the street.

Rushing down the street at high speed came an extravagant carriage pulled by two red demonic buffaloes, each three meters tall.

The one shouting was the coachman, a man with an extremely arrogant and cruel expression.

His face darkened even further when he saw the old man slowly crossing the street with difficulty, leaning on his cane.

“Dammit, deaf old fool, are you looking for death?! At least die without getting blood all over the young master’s carriage,” he bellowed, and from his storage ring, he pulled out a whip that snapped forward with ferocity toward the old man.

As the whip advanced at high speed, it ignited, and a sea of flames trailed behind it, striking the old man directly and creating a large explosion of fire.

Without stopping, the carriage passed through the flames as if nothing had happened and continued on its way.

The crowd on the streets—mortals and cultivators alike—who had hidden themselves upon seeing the carriage, could only shake their heads with faint pity at the charred ground and cracked pavement. As for the mortal old man, not even ashes remained after that attack.

“That old man was unlucky. Besides being a mortal walking openly in the streets, he even blocked Young Master Su’s path.” A cultivator in the crowd shook his head and, after a brief moment of silence, completely ignored the incident and went back to his business.

The mortals stared a little longer, heavy-hearted, then lowered their heads and continued walking quietly and fearfully.

Inside the carriage that sped along without caring about anyone’s life was the so-called Young Master Su, who had seen the earlier scene with irritation.

“Seems like every year these trash appear to pollute the streets. I already told my father to talk to the mayor about cleaning up these filths.”

“We don’t need so many mortals; just a few are enough to use as breeders to ensure that low-born cultivator labor doesn’t run out. At the very least, we should get rid of useless elderly mortals who aren’t even good for reproduction.”

The red-haired youth complained loudly in annoyance.

Driving the carriage, the coachman—still a bit irritated—began to smile after hearing those words.

“Young Master Su is wise. If he governed the city, everyone would have much better lives.” The man nodded approvingly, sharing his young master’s views.

“But of course! Those fools are too indecisive; I’d do much better.” The youth inside the carriage lifted his chin at the flattery.

“Without a doubt you would, young master!” the coachman said firmly.

Another voice also commented.

“Well, I think differently. I believe you’d be a terrible ruler. You don’t seem to understand that the mortality of cultivators isn’t that different from mortals…”

But the voice that suddenly echoed inside the carriage, right beside Young Master Su, felt completely out of place.

“Who?!!!” he screamed in terror, jumping aside and hitting his back against the carriage wall.

Beside him sat the same old man in worn black clothes whom his coachman had killed moments earlier—now sitting calmly, unharmed, with his cane resting on both hands.

“Who are you?! Guard Xu, there’s an intruder!” the boy shouted through clenched teeth, overwhelmed with panic and rage.

But the old man before him didn’t seem to be in any hurry. Then, to the young master’s horror, black smoke began to seep from the old man’s eyes until they turned completely black.

His ragged clothes darkened to pitch black and seemed to shift slightly, as if made of living shadows. Even the simple cane in his hand was swallowed by darkness, becoming twisted and cruel.

A sinister smile crept onto the old man’s face as he stared ahead with empty, lifeless eyes—until he slowly turned his head toward the boy, wearing that same eerie smile, sending chills and cold sweat down the young master’s spine.

“Guards! Guards! Help! A demonic cultivator is here!! GUARDS!!!” he began screaming while pounding on the door, trying to break it and escape from the old man who appeared out of nowhere in his carriage without him noticing.

But his family’s carriage was too well-crafted for him to break, and the door seemed blocked by some force preventing his escape.

The old man watched everything calmly, still smiling, and finally spoke.

“…You know, to kill a mortal, you just need to pierce the heart. And to kill a cultivator, it’s not that different—except his heart is in another place…”

The man chuckled and, raising his black staff, pointed the tip toward the young master and mercilessly thrust it toward the boy’s dantian as he tried to dodge.

“NO! MERCY! AHHHHHH!!!” he only had time to scream that before feeling overwhelming pain.

He clutched his stomach in agony, holding onto the staff that pierced through his dantian.

“NO, NO, NO, NO!” Feeling his vitality rapidly fleeing his body and his strength abandoning him, his face turned pale. In his final moments, extreme hatred filled his eyes—for with his dantian shattered, he was doomed. “You… bastard… you’re dead… my father… won’t let you… get… away…”

The old man stopped smiling upon hearing the youth’s venomous words and looked at him without expression.

“You never showed mercy to others and always used your family’s power and influence to turn the lives of the weaker into hell—for pure cruelty, greed, or lust. Even though I arrived in this village not long ago, your infamy preceded you. Still, you will have a merciful and quick death from me, even though you don’t deserve it.”

After explaining the reason for no particular reason, the old man extended his hand and touched the boy’s head, who struggled with every bit of strength he had left.

“Let go of me… you… bastard…” Even as his body lost strength, he still struggled to force out his venomous words. Up to that moment, there wasn’t a trace of regret in his eyes—only sinister rage and fear.

“Goodbye,” the shadowy man said, and without the slightest mercy, he began to scour the young man’s soul without caution or care, making him feel the greatest pain possible.

“AHHHHHHHH!!!”

The scream that should have echoed across half the city resounded within the carriage, but strangely, no one outside reacted.

Not even the coachman—or rather, the guard—heard anything else. In fact, he was confused and a little frightened after hearing his young master say only, “Be quiet for me now, or you’ll die,” when he tried to speak.

In truth, his young master had never said such words, but unfortunately, he didn’t know that.

Slowly, the youth’s scream faded, but the red, cruel, furious light in his eyes remained until the very moment his life flickered out.

After scanning through all of the youth’s memories, the old man felt even less remorse about killing him.

He was a late-stage Golden Core cultivator, over two hundred years old, but even this relatively short life for someone from that continent had been enough for him to commit countless atrocious and indescribable evils.

Unwilling to look any longer at that pathetic trash, the old man tapped his staff onto the youth’s shadow, which suddenly came alive and began to rise, consuming the essence of its original owner.

The old man’s body also began to shift, molding itself until he looked exactly like the young man. He then sat calmly in the carriage and, with a light wave of his hand, removed the bloodstains that had splattered inside using his spiritual energy.

As for the original youth, he had transformed into a dark, sinister creature that slowly sank into the old man’s shadow, disappearing from sight—not without first handing over his own storage ring.

Thus, in an instant, everything seemed exactly as before. Only the young master Su was no longer the same.

The carriage continued traveling through the streets without any further interruption.

The now-new young master Su observed through the window with calmness, lightly scratching his chin as he watched the buildings and the magnificent city—which, in truth, was only a village.

‘The normal ambient energy of this continent has reached the fourth level, which means cultivators can reach the Nascent Soul realm anywhere, without needing a spiritual vein. Even in this small village, I can sense several cultivators of that realm. Some have even reached perfection…’

The young man—or rather, the ancestor Mo Yexuan, or more precisely, Aotian—thought with admiration.

This village hadn’t been founded on a spiritual vein; it was merely a common place in the continent. Yet even an ordinary village, despite lacking a Soul Formation cultivator, overwhelmingly surpassed the greatest sects and powers of the Mid-Continents in both number and quality.

The difference between the continents was simply terrifying.

‘But because they gain power so easily, anywhere… the life of mortals seems even worse here.’ Aotian furrowed his brows.

Before, he imagined that cultivators born from mortals wouldn’t allow such a situation to happen, but later he understood. Most talented cultivators were born from the union of cultivators, not mortals.

Thus, power remained in the hands of cultivators and their descendants, while those with talent born among mortals became servants. And if by chance someone truly talented was born among them, they would likely be controlled—or eliminated.

‘I’ve only been here a few hours, and this is just the first coastal city, village, or whatever it is, that I’ve explored. Perhaps not all places in the central continent are like this village.’

He grew thoughtful, but as he looked out the window at the mortals walking with lowered heads, terrified, he disliked what he saw.

He knew such inequality did not arise only from the status of cultivators. Even among mortals, it happened—nobles exploiting commoners.

But just because it was common didn’t mean Aotian agreed with it.

He slowly shook his head and calmed himself.

‘I’m getting ahead of myself after tasting the feeling of ruling the Beixu continent. I’m still far too weak to decide what should or shouldn’t happen in this continent. Aotian, don’t blind yourself with arrogance.’

He scolded himself seriously.

‘Focus on strengthening yourself and protecting what you already have. Worry about the rest later.’

Resolute, Aotian pushed aside those thoughts and returned to focusing on what truly mattered.

It was then that the trembling voice of the coachman called out to him.

“Y-Young master, sorry to interrupt… but we’ve arrived.”

With those words, ancestor Mo Yexuan—now in the form of the young man—slightly lifted the carriage’s curtains and looked outside.

Before him, stretching for several miles like a small city, a massive complex of mansions, palaces, and estates appeared—elegant and imposing, with fourth-level formations vibrating across the walls and gates.

On the plaque before the entrance gate, in golden letters, were the words:

[Su Family Manor.]

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