Chapter 14: The Secret of the Stainless One

“It must be Ye Tianxing—he’s behind all of this,” Yin Tianfang thought, hatred gnashing at his heart as the realization struck him. “I will become stronger. When the time comes, you will pay for everything you’ve done!” After instructing Zhang Ping and Lin Fan with a few words, Yin Tianfang plunged into his cave-dwelling and did not emerge for days on end, immersing himself in relentless cultivation.

If only he were strong enough, that young man in the Treasure Pavilion would never have dared speak to him like that. If only his cultivation were more profound, he would not have suffered such ridicule. In the end, it all came down to his lack of strength.

He must become stronger—so strong that all tongues would be silenced before his might. He would make those who had humiliated him pay the price they deserved.

Within the dim cave, Yin Tianfang sat cross-legged on his bed, drawing in threads of spiritual energy from heaven and earth with each breath. They swirled into his dantian, merging into a verdant lotus leaf, which grew more vibrant and began to develop distinct veins. At a glance, it looked almost real.

But this azure lotus was not real—it was formed by spiritual power. A single lotus leaf marked Yin Tianfang’s current progress: the first layer of Qi Condensation.

A month slipped by in the blink of an eye. Yin Tianfang had grown visibly thinner, yet the aura radiating from him was now far more formidable than before. Within his dantian, a small protrusion had begun to form beneath the stem of the azure lotus.

He exhaled heavily and opened his eyes. His pupils were jet-black and piercing, gleaming with a sharp light.

“Young master, it’s time to eat,” called Zhang Ping and Lin Fan as they entered the cave, bringing with them the mouthwatering aroma of food, causing Yin Tianfang’s appetite to surge.

He climbed down from the bed and devoured the food ravenously. After only a few bites, he paused, looking up at Zhang Ping and Lin Fan in confusion. “Aren’t you two eating?”

“We’re not hungry,” they replied in unison. “Take your time, young master, we’ll be outside,” and with that, they hurriedly left.

Watching them depart so hastily, Yin Tianfang felt a surge of suspicion. As soon as they stepped outside, he quietly set down his bowl and followed.

In a secluded corner, Zhang Ping and Lin Fan sat with a plain steamed bun apiece. For ordinary folk, this was nothing of note. But for cultivators in the Qi Condensation stage—when the body is being refined and impurities expelled—such food was avoided, for it would only accumulate more impurities and slow progress.

Only by consuming ingredients rich in spiritual energy could a cultivator guarantee the nourishment needed for their cultivation, without depleting their own essence.

Every day, Yin Tianfang’s meals included spiritual ginseng and herbs, yet even after a month of intense cultivation, he had grown gaunt. If he were to subsist on common fare like this, his body would have failed long ago—what hope would there be for becoming immortal then?

Zhang Ping and Lin Fan were cultivators too; they also needed to cultivate. But here they were, eating such food. How could their bodies withstand it?

“Zhang Ping, Lin Fan, you—”

At the sound of Yin Tianfang’s voice, the two were startled, hastily hiding their buns as they rose, stammering, “Young master, what are you doing here? Have you finished eating? We’ll tidy up for you.”

“Tell me, why are you only eating this? Don’t you know it hinders your cultivation?”

“We know, young master, but...” Zhang Ping’s expression was troubled as he hesitated. “But the Grand Elder is so advanced in cultivation that he hardly needs food or drink, so there was little spiritual medicine left behind. And we can’t collect from the sect’s stores. So…”

As he listened, guilt welled up in Yin Tianfang’s heart. He hadn’t realized that all the spiritual medicine he consumed each day was painstakingly obtained by Zhang Ping and Lin Fan through trade with others. Their means were limited, and what little they managed to exchange was barely enough to sustain him alone.

They had not yet reached the realm where they could forgo food and drink. When hunger struck, they had nothing but these plain buns.

When the Grand Elder was still in the sect, at least disciples would regularly deliver spiritual food. But since the Grand Elder’s long absence, the disciples who once brought such supplies had never returned, whether by intention or neglect.

“I’m sorry,” Yin Tianfang murmured, turning back toward the cave. Though the aroma of food lingered, his appetite was gone. Sitting on his bed, he felt useless for the first time in his life, bringing hardship upon those who cared for him.

“I must become stronger—only then can I protect those who care for me from suffering, only then will we not be bullied.” He clenched his fists, vowing silently.

But as soon as he thought of cultivating, worry gnawed at him. If he continued like this, what would Zhang Ping and Lin Fan do? Where would they find the spiritual ingredients he needed each day?

“If only Master were here—I wouldn’t have to fret like this.” At that moment, Yin Tianfang could not help but think of Daoist Wuchen. If Wuchen were still at Azurecloud Sect, there would be no need to say a word—the supplies would come as a matter of course. But now, whether by oversight or design, those disciples had not come even once in all this time.

“Master, where are you? Please come back soon…” Yin Tianfang pleaded in his heart.

…

A small, pitch-black mountain, overgrown with wild grass, stood in the wilderness. At its base, hidden among the weeds, was a cave-dwelling. Within, a figure sat in meditation, surrounded by stone walls etched with strange murals—on closer examination, depictions of some secret cultivation method.

Soft footsteps echoed into the cave. The figure, sitting facing the wall, stirred slightly, opening his eyes to unleash two piercing rays of light that cut through the darkness.

“This place you’ve found, Senior Brother Wuchen, is certainly well hidden—it took me quite some searching.” The voice was smooth and sinister. The figure rose slowly and turned—it was Daoist Wuchen.

“Yin Wushuang, how did you find this place?” Daoist Wuchen’s brow furrowed as he spoke in a low, guarded tone.

The newcomer was none other than Yin Wushuang, Elder of the Disciplinary Hall. He paced about, studying the carvings on the stone walls. “This is unclaimed land. If Senior Brother can stay here, why can’t I?”

A sly smile crept across Yin Wushuang’s lips. “Your cherished apprentice is having a hard time back in the sect. Aren’t you the least bit concerned?”

Suddenly his gaze sharpened and he drew a cold breath. “This cultivation method…”

But before he could finish, a sharp gust split the air—a blade of wind, carrying a chilling intent to kill, swept toward him…