In the beginning, aside from those of the Dharmakaya level, people entering the treacherous terrain of Bomi moved purely by luck, unaware of which fissure or canyon they might encounter, or how to find an exit, completely disoriented in every direction.
However, later on, with guidance from Dharmakaya experts, people discovered that the patrols of the Yin soldiers occurred at fixed times and along fixed routes. They always marched in the early hours of the morning, strictly moving straight from east to west, and no one had ever seen them return!
This appeared to corroborate the theory that the original fissure leading to the Nine Netherworld had been excavated. The Yin soldiers marched westward, entered the fissure, emerged from another fissure at its opposite end, and repeated this cycle indefinitely.
Right hand gripping the sword hilt, Meng Qi remained alert for any sudden attacks from external martial cultivators lurking in Bomi. His mind was calm and his soul concealed, ensuring he walked in a straight line.
Liu Huo remained hidden within the sheath, emitting no heat, but Meng Qi clearly understood that it was now like an invisible sun, its intense heat contained internally. The flames it exhaled transformed into a sword blade. If fully unleashed, it could even melt metal and stone!
After absorbing the blood essence of Zeluoju, Liu Huo had grown increasingly close to the top quality level, seemingly on the verge of a breakthrough. Although it wouldn’t earn much additional merit, its quality was about to undergo a significant leap!
The red mist was cold, damp, and clung to him like rain-soaked clothing. Meng Qi tread carefully, silently counting the time. Roughly half a watch later, he deliberately kicked a loose stone.
The stone rolled forward, soon producing continuous clattering sounds as it gradually diminished in volume and faded deeper into the distance, indicating a canyon or fissure lay ahead.
The echoes of the falling stone lingered, eventually fading into silence, giving no sense of a bottom. A vision arose in Meng Qi’s mind: a deep, bottomless fissure running north to south, filled with blood-red mist.
Meng Qi slowed his pace, walked a bit further, and finally saw the fissure.
It could no longer be called just a fissure—it was a canyon dozens of zhang wide. Opposite, clouds and mists swirled, red like flowing water, revealing only blurred outlines of protruding rocks. Looking downward, it was eerily still and profoundly deep. The red mist seemed almost solidified, occasionally flashing with light, and faintly exuding powerful auras.
Meng Qi turned right and followed the first canyon he had encountered upon entering Bomi, heading south.
The upper part of the canyon was barren, with rocks seemingly soaked in blood. Stepping upon them evoked a chill deep in the heart.
Another half watch passed before Meng Qi saw a tall tree in his line of sight. Its roots extended into the crevices of the canyon rocks. Its branches were dry and yellow, hollow and decayed on the outside, yet strangely retained a hint of vitality.
Seeing the tree, Meng Qi exhaled and headed toward the canyon, stepping into the air and slowly descending.
About a hundred zhang down, Meng Qi found a concealed cave directly beneath the tree. He silenced his presence and “shot” inside like an arrow:
“Meimei Manor.”
Inside, there was a brief silence before a hoarse, aged voice responded, “Come in.”
The cave was deep, with many branching paths, but near the entrance sat an old man in a black robe, cross-legged. His eyebrows and beard were white, his eyes triangular, his ears large and flapping, his face deeply lined. Whether from prolonged stay in Bomi or not, his aura was cold and deathly still.
He glanced at Meng Qi: “Yue Yuqi himself didn’t come?”
He paused, then suddenly furrowed his brows: “When did Meimei Manor produce such a young external cultivator?”
In his perception, Meng Qi’s aura was vibrant, like the rising sun—both powerful and brimming with vitality. Though he couldn’t determine his exact age, he could tell Meng Qi was young, likely under thirty.
Although after reaching the state of unity with Heaven, one’s blood and energy stabilize, the physical body resists aging, and only the appearance changes, the soul still ages, decays, and accumulates deathly energy, allowing an approximate estimation of age unless one was a Dharmakaya cultivator, whose body only decays at death.
Landing at the cave’s edge, Meng Qi replied coldly: “You’ve stayed here far too long.”
No introduction, no explanation. Meng Qi held up a token in his hand—pale green in color, carved with the image of a eyebrow-drawing bird.
The old man in black robes stared at Meng Qi for a long time before finally sighing: “Indeed, the tide of the great river pushes forward; each generation surpasses the last. I only felt the resonance between Heaven and Man when I was thirty.”
“Where is Yang Zhen Chan now?” Meng Qi asked after a moment of satisfaction.
To find someone in Bomi usually required chance encounters with seasoned external cultivators who had long roamed there. Meimei Manor, after years of effort, had finally found a willing collaborator. Earlier in autumn, word had come back indicating progress.
Originally, Doumu Yuanjun had intended to handle the matter personally, but with Meng Qi applying for an assessment, she had handed it over to him.
The old man in black robes chuckled: “An old friend mentioned running into Yang Zhen Chan twice in the depths of the third and fourth canyons east of here. He was collecting Yin Ming Zhu Grass and Blood Soul Ginseng, seemingly preparing to refine pills to heal his body’s hidden injuries. Haha, they were evenly matched, so no fight broke out.”
“Any further news?” Meng Qi pressed. Relying solely on this information wasn’t enough to track down Yang Zhen Chan. Perhaps he had already gathered enough herbs or moved elsewhere.
The old man shook his head: “Those hiding in Bomi are all cautious. They rarely reveal their hiding places. Perhaps this old friend encountered him again later, but I don’t know. You can go ask him yourself.”
“Where should I look for him?” Meng Qi knew the hardest part was locating Yang Zhen Chan, so he remained calm and composed.
The old man pointed upward: “Judging by the timing, today is the market day again. From the tree, head west for about a thousand steps, and you’ll see a giant crimson stone. Unless something unexpected occurs, he’ll appear there. After the market ends, vibrate the air and shout ‘Gatekeeper.’ Then he’ll know to stay behind and find you.”
“Gatekeeper…” Meng Qi murmured the three words, sensing something strange. “Is that your friend’s nickname?”
The old man in black robes laughed: “Before entering Bomi, he had a famous nickname: ‘Seven Stars Evil God.'”
“Seven Stars Evil God?” Meng Qi remained outwardly calm, but inwardly he was slightly startled.
This was truly a name of renown!
The Seven Stars Evil God had once been a powerful Leftist cultivator, slaying several external cultivators from top sects, his arrogance unchecked. Later, he had incurred the wrath of both the Heaven-Annihilating Gate and the Luo Sect, becoming a fugitive from both sides of the martial world, and had vanished without a trace—until now, hiding in Bomi.
Back then, the Seven Stars Evil God had already crossed the first Celestial Threshold, but according to the old man, he was now on par with Yang Zhen Chan, suggesting that escaping his pursuers had cost him dearly.
“Yes, one moment of glory led to arrogance; now he’s reduced to a stray dog,” the old man sighed, his tone filled with both self-pity and deep hatred.
Meng Qi nodded slightly before asking curiously: “Market day? There’s a market in Bomi?”
“Haha, where there are people, there’s a market,” the old man’s wrinkled face stretched into a smile. “None of us here intend to stay forever, so naturally, we don’t abandon cultivation and improvement. But Bomi’s environment is unique—its treasures tend toward the Yin, the Netherworld, and the bloody. Each person’s cultivation method differs; some need Solar Divine Stones, others need Vengeful Soul Demon Crystals. Bomi can’t satisfy all these needs. Relying solely on absorbing ambient energy, one might sit here until death without progress.”
“So, those skilled in commerce gather such items, bring them into Bomi, and hold markets at the foot of the crimson stone at the beginning, middle, and end of each month, exchanging them for Blood Soul Ginseng and other local specialties. They make a tidy profit. I used them to send out my message.”
“Even the most vicious and ruthless individuals can restrain themselves for the sake of long-term goals.”
Meng Qi exhaled: “So that’s how it is.”
As for those wishing to enter Bomi directly to harvest treasures, without formidable strength, they’d likely be trapped here forever by the vicious denizens.
After clearing his doubts, Meng Qi turned to leave, planning to seek out the “Seven Stars Evil God.” As he was about to exit the cave, he suddenly turned back and asked: “By the way, how many top experts and Masters are hiding in Bomi?”
“Fewer than ten fingers’ count. Such high-level experts are scarce in any faction. As long as they remain hidden, there are always those willing to shelter them. The Nine Dark Sects have never feared pursuit.” The old man slowly rose.
Those who ended up hiding in Bomi usually had offended multiple major factions, both righteous and evil, leaving them nowhere else to go.
As Meng Qi ascended through the air, he suddenly heard the sound of dragging chains. Instinctively, he glanced back. The old man in black robes had vanished into the maze of the cave’s depths. Strange, dark chains bound both his ankles, extending into the unseen depths.
“Chained… Gatekeeper…” Meng Qi immediately had a suspicion. The “Gatekeeper” was likely this old man himself!
What gate was he guarding?
Who had chained him deep in the cave?
Unwilling to invite further complications, Meng Qi flew back to the canyon’s upper edge.
…
Under the crimson rock stood a group of people dressed as sand travelers, though some bore the features of Central Plains folk, others of the Western Regions.
Feeling the eerie coldness of the red mist, a young, beautiful girl couldn’t help shivering slightly and whispered: “Father, when will the market start?”
She wore a white robe, concealing her figure, with peach-blossom eyes and distant-mountain eyebrows, her demeanor lively.
“It’ll take a while. I told you to stay home, but you insisted on coming to ‘see the world.'” Her father was in his forties, wearing a black robe and a soft hat. Compared to the younger generation eager for experience, his eyes held less anxiety but more vigilance.
“How was I to know Uncle couldn’t come in!” the girl said, feeling wronged.
“Those hiding in Bomi usually have enemies. They fear someone might strike during the market, so only those below the external cultivator level are allowed to enter.” Her father seemed to be one of the caravan leaders.
As he finished speaking, a vast and terrifying presence emerged nearby, like an endless dark swamp.
The figure emerged from the red mist, glanced around, then stepped back, hiding within the mist.
“What a terrifying presence! Even stronger than Uncle…” the girl exclaimed.
Her father, taking advantage of the mist to obscure vision, lowered his voice and suppressed his sound waves: “This is the ‘Soul-Taking Yaksha,’ who roamed the vast desert twenty years ago. He offended both ‘Frostblade’ Shen Dulong and ‘Sandslayer’ Zeluoju, and even attracted the attention of the Crying Elder, forcing him to flee to Bomi.”
“Soul-Taking Yaksha!” The girl’s eyes widened in shock.
As a child, whenever she misbehaved, her family would scare her with tales of the Soul-Taking Yaksha, saying he loved to eat young boys and girls, with a three-foot tongue, riding black winds and making eerie howling sounds.
“It’s really this old monster…” Fearfully, she edged closer to her father.
The red mist swayed again, and another terrifying presence appeared, dark and swirling, giving rise to illusions, but soon it also retreated, hiding within the mist.
“Poisonhand Demon King, who slaughtered an entire city eighteen years ago.” Her father introduced again, giving her some education.
“I know…” the girl murmured. This terrifying event had haunted her entire childhood, with friends describing it in hushed tones, scaring each other. And now, the real monster was here!
Another old monster!
Suddenly, seven stars rose within the red mist, exuding evil, then vanished.
“Seven Stars Evil God. No need for Dad to introduce him, right?” The girl’s father’s eyes brimmed with caution.
The girl nodded nervously. This was an even more notorious old monster than the previous two.
One by one, the external cultivators of Bomi arrived, each stopping appropriately at the edge of the perceptible red mist, merely voicing inquiries about the goods available this time.
They were wary not only of the caravan but also of each other.
Just as the girl’s father was about to introduce the treasures this time, he suddenly saw the red mist parting, revealing a young man in a white robe. His features were unremarkable, his face ordinary, his demeanor cold, hand gripping a sword.
As the young man appeared, powerful presences surged from within the red mist, “scanning” him, causing the mist to churn violently, terrifying the caravan members.
“Who is he? Daring to recklessly come here…” the girl, with a kind heart, thought.
As the thought arose, she suddenly felt the young man before her vanish. A red sun rose, its heat radiating outward. The ultimate yang and righteous intent burst forth like sword light or sunlight, dispelling the red mist and illuminating all directions!
Even more terrifying than all the previous old monsters combined!
“Hmph!” Amidst a chorus of cold snorts, all those powerful presences withdrew, and the red mist calmed.
The young man took a step back, merging once more into the red mist.
The girl stared in shock, instinctively thinking: “What a formidable external cultivator!”
“Another terrifying old monster!”
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