Chapter 874: The Puppeteer’s Gambit and a Soul’s Feast

The cavern was a world unto itself, sealed off from the howling winds and the frustrated roars of the Frost-Maw Devourers. The air within was pristine, vibrating with a pure, cool spiritual energy that seemed to cleanse the very soul with each breath.

A profound silence descended upon the seven cultivators, the aftermath of the chaotic battle settling like a shroud. Lin Jing, Wu Qian, and Bai Mei, the three inner sect disciples, leaned against the icy walls, panting, their faces pale with exhaustion and tinged with the relief of survival. They immediately produced pellets from their pouches and began to meditate, trying to recover their depleted Qi and mend their minor wounds.

Yue Lingshan and Liu Ruyan stood near Wang Jian, their gazes a mixture of awe and questioning as they looked at the man who had so decisively turned the tables.

But all eyes were inevitably drawn to the center of the vast cavern.

There, nestled in a perfectly circular basin of what looked like polished, unblemgished white jade, was the Spirit Cleansing Pool.

It wasn’t large, perhaps thirty feet in diameter, but its contents were breathtaking. It was filled not with water, but with a shimmering, viscous liquid that glowed with a soft, sapphire-blue light. A gentle, cool mist, thick with the purest spiritual energy any of them had ever encountered, rose from its surface. Just breathing it in seemed to wash away fatigue and clarify the mind. Tiny, intricate patterns of silver light swirled within the liquid’s depths, like captive galaxies.

“It’s real…” whispered Bai Mei, the gentle-faced healer, her eyes wide with wonder. “The legends are true.”

“Such purity…” Liu Ruyan murmured, her alchemist’s soul stirred to its core. “This isn’t just water; it’s condensed, liquefied spiritual essence. A single drop would be a priceless treasure for refining high-grade pellets.”

Chen Ying stood before the pool, her usual cold composure tinged with a flush of triumph and ambition. Her gaze swept over the pool, but Wang Jian, ever observant, noticed her eyes also darting around the cavern, as if searching for something else.

’The pool is the prize she presented,’ Wang Jian thought, his mind working coolly. ’But it is not her true prize.’

“We were fortunate,” Chen Ying announced, her voice regaining its authoritative crispness. She turned to face them all. “But we are all exhausted. The energy here is pure. We will all meditate for two hours to recover our strength and absorb the ambient essence. It will stabilize our cultivation after the battle. Then, we will collect the water as agreed.”

Her logic was sound. No one objected. The inner sect disciples gratefully settled into meditative postures around the pool’s edge, eager to absorb the rich energy.

Yue Lingshan and Liu Ruyan also found spots, looking towards Wang Jian for their cue. He gave a slight nod, then sat down himself, closing his eyes, his posture one of deep meditation.

The cavern fell silent once more, the only sound the soft, almost inaudible hum of the Spirit Cleansing Pool.

Wang Jian’s consciousness, however, was far from silent. He feigned meditation, his breathing even, his aura calm. But his powerful spiritual sense, a secret he guarded more closely than any treasure, was spread out like a fine, invisible net, observing everything, especially Chen Ying.

He watched as she too sat down, her posture perfect, her breathing rhythmic. She appeared to be cultivating, absorbing the rich energy.

But then, he sensed it.

A subtle, almost weightless shift in the air pressure around them. From the sleeve of Chen Ying’s robe, a tiny, almost invisible stream of fine, colorless powder drifted out, carried on the gentle currents of the cavern’s air. It had no scent. It had no spiritual signature. It was a masterpiece of stealthy alchemy.

’There it is,’ Wang Jian’s mind noted with cold amusement. ’A soporific mist. High-grade, designed to bypass a cultivator’s passive Qi defenses and induce a deep, dreamless sleep. Clever. Very clever.’

An ordinary cultivator, even a Thirteenth Stage one, would have been completely oblivious until their consciousness began to fade.

But Wang Jian was not ordinary.

The moment the powder began to diffuse, he acted. He didn’t move a muscle. Instead, he subtly manipulated the Verdant Eternal Spring Essence within his dantian. A minuscule, invisible shield of pure life force, woven with his Steller Qi, silently enveloped himself, Yue Lingshan, and Liu Ruyan. The life essence was a natural antidote to such things, its vitality effortlessly neutralizing the sleep-inducing properties of the powder as it drifted near them.

Simultaneously, he sent a sharp, urgent pulse of spiritual thought directly into the minds of his two companions.

’Do not breathe it in! It is a sleeping powder! On my signal, feign unconsciousness. Do not move, no matter what you see or hear. Trust me.’

Yue Lingshan and Liu Ruyan, deep in their own meditation, jolted internally at his mental command. There was no time for questions. Their trust in him was absolute. They subtly altered their breathing, following his instruction.

He watched as Chen Ying’s three followers, one by one, succumbed. Their meditative postures slackened, their heads drooped, and they slumped to the ground in deep, unnatural sleep. First Wu Qian, the arrogant array specialist. Then the fierce Lin Jing. Finally, even the healer Bai Mei.

Now it was their turn.

’Now!’ Wang Jian commanded mentally.

Yue Lingshan let out a soft, theatrical sigh, her body going limp as she gracefully slumped to the side. Liu Ruyan followed suit a moment later, her fall just as convincing. Wang Jian waited a few more seconds, then let his own head fall forward, his body slumping into a seemingly deep slumber.

The cavern was silent again, now with six “unconscious” cultivators scattered around the pool.

Chen Ying’s eyes snapped open. A cold, triumphant smirk touched her exquisite lips. She rose gracefully, her movements silent. She walked over to each of her fallen sect sisters, checking them, a flicker of contempt in her eyes for their weakness. She then approached Wang Jian’s group, her gaze lingering on the three of them for a moment before she seemed satisfied.

“Fools,” she whispered to the silent cavern. “To believe I would share such a destiny with the likes of you.”

Leaving the “sleeping” cultivators, she turned away from the Spirit Cleansing Pool, her true objective now clear. She walked towards a seemingly unremarkable, flat wall of ice at the far end of the cavern.

She produced a small, compass-like artifact from her storage pouch. It was made of silver and ancient jade, its needle spinning erratically before locking onto a specific point on the ice wall.

“So, grandfather’s records were true,” she murmured to herself.

She then retrieved another treasure, a thin, golden talisman that pulsed with a powerful, piercing energy. A ’Veil-Piercing Talisman’.

“Reveal yourself,” she commanded, pressing the talisman against the ice.

A brilliant golden light erupted, and the solid wall of ice shimmered, its surface becoming transparent. Behind it, not more ice, but a swirling vortex of illusory energy was revealed – a high-level illusion array, expertly woven to conceal an entrance.

Chen Ying didn’t hesitate. She produced a small, intricately carved jade key, another gift from her grandfather. She pressed it into the heart of the illusion vortex. The swirling energies parted like a curtain, revealing a dark, silent passageway beyond.

She gave one last, disdainful glance at the slumbering forms of her companions, then stepped through the portal without a backward glance.

The moment she was gone, Wang Jian, Yue Lingshan, and Liu Ruyan opened their eyes.

“Jian… what was that?” Yue Lingshan whispered, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement.

“An illusion array,” Wang Jian replied, his voice a low murmur. “And a very potent sleeping powder. She never intended to share the true treasure of this place with anyone.”

Liu Ruyan looked horrified and betrayed. “The Spirit Cleansing Pool was just… a distraction? She would drug her own sect sisters?”

“It seems our Senior Sister Chen is far more ruthless than she appears,” Wang Jian stated calmly. “Come. We follow. But we remain silent, and we remain hidden.”

He gestured for them to stay close. He enveloped the three of them in a cloak of his spiritual sense, a far more sophisticated and powerful form of concealment than any talisman. His soul’s power, even weakened, could easily mask their presence from a mere Qi Condensation cultivator, even a Thirteenth Stage one like Chen Ying.

They slipped through the parted illusion array, entering the dark passage just moments behind her.

The passage opened into a vast, silent complex, a hidden dwelling carved into the heart of the glacial mountain. Wang Jian’s spiritual sense swept out, mapping the area. He was stunned by what he found.

There were multiple chambers, each sealed, each radiating a different kind of faint, ancient energy.

One chamber hummed with the potent echo of sword intent. ’A repository for cultivation arts and battle techniques,’ Wang Jian deduced.

Another emanated a faint, chaotic mix of different beastly auras. ’A spiritual pet menagerie, or perhaps a chamber for beast cultivation arts.’

A third held the lingering, complex aromas of ten thousand different herbs and refined elixirs. ’An alchemy lab.’

Another pulsed with the energy of refined metals and spiritual materials. ’An artifact crafting workshop.’

“This isn’t just a tomb,” Wang Jian thought, his mind racing. “This is the complete legacy of a Nascent Soul expert who was a master of a dozen different arts. A true jack-of-all-trades.”

They watched from the shadows as Chen Ying, her face flushed with avarice, walked deeper into the central hall of the legacy dwelling.

As she stepped into the center of the hall, the air grew still. A voice, ancient, ethereal, and laced with an insidious power, echoed from the very stones around her.

“So… after a thousand years of slumber, a visitor finally arrives. A little sparrow, seeking the phoenix’s nest.”

Chen Ying started, her hand flying to the hither of her sword. “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

A shimmering, translucent figure began to coalesce in the air before her – the spectral, flickering image of a middle-aged man with sharp, cunning eyes and a cruel smile. This was the remnant will of Lan Fengzi, the Nascent Soul expert.

“Show myself?” the will chuckled, the sound echoing strangely. “I am all around you. I am this place. You seek my treasures, little sparrow. My arts, my pills, my legacy.”

“I do,” Chen Ying replied, her initial shock replaced by a determined excitement. “I am Chen Ying of the Mystic Peak Sect. I have come to claim your inheritance!”

“Claim?” The will laughed again, a sound like dry leaves skittering across stone. “My treasures are not so easily claimed. They are bound by fate. To receive my gifts, you must first prove you have the fortune, the destiny, to wield them. You must pass my trials.”

Chen Ying’s eyes gleamed. A trial. This was the classic trope of ancient legacies. “I accept!” she declared without hesitation.

“Excellent,” the will said, its cruel smile widening.

Suddenly, the entire dwelling shuddered. The walls seemed to shift, runes glowing to life along the floors and ceilings. The first trial began.

From a side chamber, the doors flew open, and a tide of desiccated, ancient corpses poured out. There were dozens of them, their eyes glowing with a malevolent crimson light. They were Blood Puppets, animated by the will’s power.

“Your first trial, little sparrow: The Gauntlet of Endless Tide. Survive,” the will commanded.

Chen Ying, though startled, reacted with the ferocity of an elite disciple. “Frost Lotus Blooming!” Her Winter’s Kiss blade became a whirlwind of icy death, shattering the first few puppets. But more kept coming, a seemingly endless wave, their claws sharp, their movements fearless.

“Hmph! A mere battle of attrition?” she scoffed, but she was quickly being overwhelmed. “You underestimate me!” She produced a small, black orb from her storage pouch – a single-use, high-power explosive artifact. “Azure Thunder Pearl!” She hurled it into the thick of the puppet horde.

BOOM! A deafening explosion of azure lightning erupted, vaporizing a dozen puppets instantly. But as the puppets were destroyed, a fine, almost invisible crimson mist was released, which Chen Ying, in the heat of battle, inhaled without noticing.

She fought her way through the gauntlet, her Qi draining rapidly, sustaining several deep scratches from the puppets’ claws. By the time she reached the other side, she was panting, her robes torn, but victorious. And the crimson mist had settled deep within her meridians.

“Impressive,” the will commented. “You possess decisiveness. Now, for the second trial: The Blade of Self.”

She entered a circular chamber with a single, massive mirror at its center. As she looked into it, her own reflection smiled back, a cold, cruel smile, then stepped out of the mirror’s surface, wielding a perfect replica of her Winter’s Kiss.

The reflection attacked, its movements identical to hers, its techniques a perfect mirror, but its fighting style was filled with a suicidal ruthlessness she herself lacked. It fought without any regard for its own defense, aiming only for a killing blow.

The duel was brutal. Chen Ying was essentially fighting a version of herself that was willing to die to win. She was wounded again, a deep cut on her shoulder, as she parried a desperate thrust.

“I will not be defeated by a mere shadow!” she screamed in frustration. She activated a forbidden technique taught to her by her grandfather, one that burned her own blood essence for a temporary, massive boost in power. “Crimson Frost Rebirth!”

Her body glowed with a chilling, blood-red light. Her speed and power doubled. With a final, desperate clash, she shattered her reflection, which dissolved into another cloud of crimson mist that she greedily inhaled to replenish her spent blood essence.

She stumbled into the final chamber, bleeding and exhausted, but her eyes burned with fanatical determination.

“The final trial, little sparrow: The Heart of Doubt,” the will intoned.

The chamber shifted, becoming an illusion of the Mystic Peak Sect’s main hall. Before her stood an illusion of her greatest rival, a handsome, talented Senior Brother from her generation who had always been a thorn in her side. And beside him, an illusion of her grandfather, Ancestor Chen, who looked at her with an expression of profound disappointment.

“You have always been second best, Ying’er,” the illusory Ancestor said. “He is superior. He will lead the sect. You… have failed me.”

Chen Ying’s face contorted in a mask of rage and humiliation. “NO!” she screamed. This was her deepest fear, her greatest insecurity.

The will’s voice whispered in her mind. ’Strike them down. Show them your strength. Prove your ruthlessness. A true leader hesitates at nothing.’

Driven by her ambition and the insidious influence of the blood energy now coursing through her, Chen Ying lunged, her Winter’s Kiss aimed not just at her rival, but at the illusion of her own beloved grandfather. With a final, desperate scream, she ran them both through.

The illusion shattered. The last, most potent cloud of crimson energy swirled around her, sinking into her body through her wounds, her pores, her every orifice. She had passed the trials.

She collapsed to her knees, victorious but gravely injured, her Qi chaotic, her entire being now saturated with the insidious blood energy.

“Excellent… magnificent…” the will of Lan Fengzi purred, its spectral form solidifying, its eyes gleaming with a monstrous, predatory light. “You have proven your ruthlessness. You have proven your ambition. And you have perfectly prepared the vessel. Your body, saturated with my refined blood essence… it is now ready.”

A complex array on the floor around Chen Ying flared to life. Chains of crimson light shot out, wrapping around her, immobilizing her completely.

“What… what is this?!” she cried, panic finally breaking through her triumphant haze.

“This, little sparrow,” the will cackled, its form drifting towards her, “is the true inheritance. My rebirth! Your body, your talent, your very soul… they are all mine now!”

It was in that precise moment, as the will of the Nascent Soul expert prepared to begin its possession, that a calm, almost lazy voice echoed from the entrance of the hall.

“An interesting performance. Though the plot was a bit cliché.”

Lan Fengzi’s will whirled around, its spectral face a mask of utter shock. “INTRUDERS?! IMPOSSIBLE! How did you bypass my perception?!”

Wang Jian stepped out of the shadows, Yue Lingshan and Liu Ruyan emerging behind him, their faces pale but their eyes blazing with anger at the deception.

“Your perception is… limited,” Wang Jian said with a dismissive shrug.

The will, its plan on the verge of ruin, let out a shriek of pure, unadulterated fury. “INSOLENT INSECTS! You dare interfere at the moment of my glorious return?! You will pay with your souls!”

It abandoned the still-bound Chen Ying for a moment, deciding to eliminate these interlopers first. It gathered its remaining spiritual power and unleashed its most potent weapon.

A silent, invisible wave of pure soul force, a psychic tsunami designed to obliterate the consciousness of any Qi Condensation cultivator instantly, shot towards Wang Jian and his companions.

Yue Lingshan and Liu Ruyan felt a crippling pressure, a terror that seized their very spirits, but Wang Jian simply held up a hand, and a barrier of his own spiritual sense, far purer and more profound, shielded them.

The remnant will’s soul attack slammed into Wang Jian’s consciousness.

And Wang Jian… smiled.

A cold, hungry, predatory smile.

’A direct soul attack? Against me?’ his mind echoed with chilling amusement. ’This remnant fool doesn’t know the difference between a firefly and a sun. He thinks he is a wolf attacking a sheep, when in reality, he is a speck of dust offering himself to a black hole.’

He didn’t defend. He didn’t erect a barrier for himself.

He opened his own soul’s metaphorical maw and welcomed the incoming psychic assault. This wasn’t a threat. This was a feast. An unexpected, but most welcome, opportunity to nourish his own weakened soul.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep