“Not good, this place is really collapsing. It seems that person wasn’t lying!” Baohua’s expression darkened.
Han Li frowned slightly, his gaze swiftly sweeping over the spot where the Mother Moth had been slain. Suddenly, he reached out with one hand and made a grasping motion in the air.
With a “whoosh,” the seemingly empty space rippled, and a pitch-black crystal bead the size of a thumb emerged out of nowhere. In a flash, it vanished into Han Li’s palm.
“Hmm? What’s this…” Baohua was momentarily stunned, but before she could say anything more, the entire abyss began to collapse as if heaven and earth were turning upside down. Countless pale white fissures surged into existence around them, rapidly widening at a visible pace.
Baohua’s face paled. She raised a hand, and a crimson array disk lit up in her grasp. But just as a faint hum sounded, a strange ripple swept over her hand.
The spinning array disk immediately dimmed and came to a complete stop.
“No good. That person really did something. We can’t leave this place easily now,” Baohua said with a grim expression.
“Perfectly normal. Since that person dared to say such things, he must have been absolutely confident in keeping us here,” Han Li replied calmly.
Baohua snorted but before she could say anything else, a swirling gray mist enveloped them, and a hazy light array descended upon them.
Both Han Li and Baohua felt a chill in their hearts but made no move to resist or evade.
With a flash of the light array, their figures vanished from the abyss without a trace.
Almost simultaneously, the entire abyss collapsed with an earth-shattering roar.
Elsewhere, when Han Li shook off the dizziness from the teleportation, he found himself standing before a blood-red altar over a dozen zhang tall.
Nearby, Baohua, who had just regained her senses, was also examining their surroundings with a grave expression.
On the altar sat an ink-black alms bowl, surrounded by eight towering bronze pillars, each faintly bearing a blood-red ancient lamp.
“This seems to be an incredibly profound ancient restriction, likely originating from the same source as that ancient seal. They share remarkable similarities,” Baohua murmured after a moment of observation.
“Surprising that someone in the lower realm recognizes the Eightfold Soul-Locking Array. Indeed, this formation is closely related to the restriction that sealed the Mother Moth. One could even say it’s a miniature version, scaled down by tens of thousands of times,” the familiar male voice drifted over leisurely.
Han Li and Baohua focused their gazes on the black alms bowl atop the altar—the voice was emanating from it.
“You flatter me, Senior. This junior merely guarded the seal for a time and thus could recognize the similarities at a glance. In truth, when it comes to formations and restrictions, Fellow Daoist Han far surpasses me,” Baohua replied with a forced smile.
“Oh? So your clan hasn’t forgotten the instructions I left behind all those years. You’ve indeed been diligently repairing the seal, which counts as some merit,” the man said indifferently.
“Senior, are you truly one of the two true immortals who sealed the Mother Moth back then?” Despite her earlier suspicions, Baohua couldn’t help but exclaim in shock upon hearing his admission.
“Heh, even I didn’t expect my descent to the lower realm to last this long or to end up in such a state. Still, you played no small part in eliminating that Mother Moth. As a token of gratitude, I have something for you—consider it a reward for your efforts,” the man chuckled. Suddenly, the lid of the alms bowl lifted, and an object flew out.
Overjoyed, Baohua reached out and caught it, then examined it closely.
It was an unremarkable pale yellow wooden hairpin, its surface rough and even slightly cracked in places.
Yet the moment her fingers touched it, a wave of icy energy surged into her body, coursing through her meridians and leaving a warm, soothing sensation in its wake.
“This… this is Golden Sunwood! Thank you for your generous gift, Senior!” After a moment of stunned silence, Baohua’s eyes widened in disbelief. She bowed deeply toward the alms bowl, her voice trembling slightly.
“Golden Sunwood may not be considered rare in the immortal realm, but it’s precisely what you need right now. With its nourishment, those hidden injuries of yours should heal completely. Now that you’ve received your reward, I’ll send you on your way,” the man’s voice remained calm, but his final words left Baohua momentarily puzzled.
Before she could react, a black light flashed from the alms bowl, and a small light array appeared beneath her feet, teleporting her away in an instant.
Now, only Han Li remained before the altar.
Han Li narrowed his eyes slightly but showed no outward reaction, silently staring at the black alms bowl.
“You’ve got quite the nerve. Aren’t you afraid I might leave you here and do you harm?” the man asked with a light chuckle.
“If Senior truly wished me harm, why would you have helped us eliminate the Mother Moth? And why go through the trouble of teleporting me here?” Han Li replied with a faint smile.
“Partially correct, but not entirely. However, one thing you said is true—I bear you no ill will. The reason I revealed myself to you two was mainly to speak with you. That girl was just incidental. Now, answer me this: have you cultivated the Divine Refinement Art?” The man’s tone turned serious, sending a chill down Han Li’s spine.
“Senior knows of this… is it because of what the Mother Moth said before its demise?” Han Li hesitated before cautiously countering.
“Don’t overthink it. The moment you entered the underground palace, I detected your cultivation of the Divine Refinement Art through the formations here. Do you know what position I once held in the immortal realm? I was an inspector under a Surveillance Envoy. Anyone who cultivates the Divine Refinement Art emits a unique spiritual fluctuation that cannot escape the notice of those like us, who are trained in specialized detection techniques,” the man explained nonchalantly.
“Why do inspectors from the immortal realm pay such close attention to those who cultivate this art?” Han Li’s expression finally shifted slightly.
“That you’ve mastered the Divine Refinement Art and even progressed to its second layer unscathed… I can’t decide whether this is a stroke of immense luck or a terrible curse. Do you know that the Divine Refinement Art is one of the few techniques universally banned across all immortal domains? Though no formal decree exists, any immortal caught practicing it is marked for death by the powers that be—a hunt that ends only with their demise,” the man’s voice turned icy.
“How can this be? What’s wrong with the Divine Refinement Art?” Han Li’s face darkened. After a long pause, he took a deep breath and asked.
“Heh, ‘wrong’ is an understatement. Do you know how many immortal domains exist in the upper realm? Setting aside the obscure ones in remote corners, the well-known domains number in the thousands. When the Divine Refinement Art was first created millennia ago, its unparalleled ability to amplify spiritual sense attracted countless cultivators. Yet within a mere million years, only a handful dared to practice it—and even then, they were recluses who rarely showed themselves!” The man sighed with a peculiar tone.
As he listened, Han Li’s expression fluctuated, but he remained silent.
He understood that since the other party had broached the subject, they would undoubtedly explain it thoroughly.
Sure enough, after a brief pause, the man continued:
“The reason for this is simple—everyone who cultivated the Divine Refinement Art eventually succumbed to madness, unable to suppress their inner demons before dying in a frenzied state. This madness stripped them of all reason, turning them bloodthirsty and irreversible. It nearly destroyed a significant portion of the immortal realm. Hence, the technique was banned. Of course, some immortals, confident in their exceptional talents, still covet its early-stage power boosts and secretly practice it, hoping to avoid detection. But when caught by inspectors like us, they’re apprehended without exception.”
“With the immortal realm’s capabilities, couldn’t this art be perfected? Or has no one ever mastered it completely without adverse effects?” Han Li finally interjected grimly.
“The Divine Refinement Art is, at its core, a method to stimulate the potential of one’s spiritual sense, amplifying its power prematurely. Its creator was once a renowned figure in the immortal realm—perfecting his work is no easy feat. That said, some mighty beings have derived safer, albeit far weaker, spiritual amplification techniques from it. As for your question about mastery—yes, there have been exceptions. A handful achieved complete mastery, but only after encountering extraordinary opportunities. Without such fortune, their fates would have been no different,” the man stated solemnly.
“So in the immortal realm, if one inadvertently cultivates the Divine Refinement Art, their only options are to hide in seclusion indefinitely or abandon the technique entirely,” Han Li murmured, his brow furrowed.
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