At this moment, Han Li was already at the foot of a small mountain two thousand miles away. His appearance had drastically changed—he now looked like a middle-aged man with three long strands of beard, and his stature had shrunk by several inches.
Currently, he had no trace of spiritual energy left, reverting to an utterly ordinary body cultivator. He sat cross-legged on a bluestone, eyes slightly closed, his face devoid of any expression.
After a while, Han Li suddenly opened his eyes, a faint smile curling at the corners of his mouth as he murmured, “Finally, I’ve expelled the last trace of fire-attribute spiritual energy from my body. Unless they personally inspect me up close, there’s no way they’ll recognize me.”
Even so, Han Li had no intention of leaving immediately.
Now was the height of the storm, and despite having altered his appearance and aura, he wasn’t willing to take any unnecessary risks.
With that, he leaped down from the bluestone and, after a few bounds, swiftly ascended the mountain.
Soon, he arrived before a sheer cliff densely covered by countless vines and shrubs.
Han Li glanced around, nodded in satisfaction, then took a deep breath. His fists suddenly gleamed with golden light as he unleashed a rapid flurry of punches against the stone wall before him.
A series of thunderous booms echoed as a cave several zhang deep was instantly carved out.
With a flicker of his figure, he eerily slipped inside.
Then, facing the entrance, he struck the ceiling with a backhanded punch.
A cascade of rubble immediately collapsed, sealing the entrance shut.
The cave plunged into darkness.
Unfazed, Han Li flipped his palm, revealing a prepared Moonlight Stone.
He grabbed the stone and lightly pressed it against the ceiling. Under immense force, the stone easily embedded itself into the rock.
Under its faint glow, the cave became mostly visible.
Han Li found a clean spot to sit down before his spirit ring flashed, retrieving the small crimson vial from his storage bracelet. He examined it with a peculiar gleam in his eyes.
Apart from its incessant crimson glow, the vial appeared utterly ordinary—its surface was smooth to the touch, seemingly made of plain porcelain.
As Han Li gently stroked the vial with his fingers, he mused silently, recalling all the memories of the so-called “Divine Blood” from the Flame Devouring Spirit Tribe.
After a long while, he frowned slightly and retrieved a palm-sized jade bowl from his storage bracelet. He then uncorked the crimson vial and tilted it over the bowl.
Purple light swirled at the mouth of the vial, and after a long pause, seven or eight drops of deep purple liquid slowly dripped out, scattering across the bowl without merging.
Han Li narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing them carefully before extending a finger to lightly touch one of the droplets.
Just as his finger was about to make contact, the purple liquid suddenly leaped up on its own, wrapping around his fingertip as if attempting to invade.
However, Han Li’s brow twitched, and golden light flashed on his finger, repelling the liquid. With a slight shake, it slid back into the bowl.
“Good, this is indeed the Spirit Tribe’s Divine Blood,” Han Li murmured, excitement flashing in his eyes.
Next, he poured the purple liquid back into the vial, carefully storing it in his storage bracelet before settling into meditation within the cave.
Though he currently had no magic power, his ability to abstain from food remained intact, eliminating any need for sustenance.
Soon, waves of divine sense swept over the mountain where Han Li hid. Since he emitted no spiritual energy, they passed over him unnoticed.
For the first few days, these divine scans were frequent—sometimes over a dozen times a day.
But after half a month, they dwindled to two or three times daily.
Two months later, they reduced further to just once a day, and the divine sense employed was noticeably weaker, indicating a change in the searchers.
Yet Han Li remained silent, staying hidden in the cave.
Half a year passed in a flash, and the divine sense scans ceased entirely.
Upon sensing this change, Han Li felt a surge of joy.
Still, he waited several more months before finally opening his eyes one day, shattering the rubble sealing the entrance with a punch, and stepping out slowly.
After confirming that nothing unusual had changed in the surroundings, he chuckled, flicked his sleeve, and strode briskly down the mountain.
Soon, his figure vanished without a trace into the forest.
A year later, a young body cultivator with an unfamiliar face arrived in a small city near Sunset City. After hastily purchasing some supplies, he departed without a trace.
Since the stolen item was never recovered, rumors about the Divine Blood gradually spread.
Coupled with testimonies from cultivators and body cultivators who had participated in the Three Tribes War, the incident caused a sensation for years.
The fact that a mere Nascent Soul cultivator had snatched the treasure under the noses of Void Refinement experts like Venerable Huang Liang left many astonished.
Venerable Huang Liang, still unwilling to let it go, spent years investigating the matter upon returning to Sunset City, even delving into the identity of the thief.
Yet, to his frustration, the techniques displayed by the thief were extraordinary, yet he seemed to have appeared out of thin air—there were no leads whatsoever.
A couple of years later, Venerable Huang Liang left Sunset City, venturing into the wilderness with Huan Tianqi, and the topic faded into obscurity.
Several years later, deep within the belly of a towering, remote mountain, in a pitch-black cavern, a figure sat motionless, faint golden light flickering across his body.
Beside him lay the crimson vial, now seemingly empty.
The seated figure remained still, his chest rising and falling slightly—were it not for that, he might have been mistaken for a statue.
A century was a significant portion of a mortal’s life in the Spirit Realm, but for high-level cultivators, it was but a fleeting moment.
One day, over a hundred years later, the mountain remained unchanged as a group of heavily armed knights riding giant wolves escorted several exquisitely crafted beast-drawn carriages past its base.
Inside one carriage sat three: a gray-haired elder, a sturdy six- or seven-year-old boy, and a frail girl of similar age.
The elder’s forehead was deeply wrinkled, yet the skin below his neck was youthful and elastic. His hands, however, were withered like old tree roots.
Strangely, his fingernails were several inches long, razor-sharp, and shimmered with a faint red glow, exuding an air of mystery.
The two children stared at the glowing nails with wide-eyed curiosity.
The elder made no effort to hide the anomaly, merely smiling at them in silence.
Suddenly, the sound of hooves approached, and a man’s voice called from outside the carriage:
“Elder Huo, the scouts have returned. All beast hordes and demonic creatures within a thousand miles of Piercing Cloud Mountain have been eradicated.”
“Good work. This opens a new trade route for our guild—it should remain safe for at least a decade,” the elder remarked, lifting the curtain with one hand.
A burly middle-aged knight, mounted on a snow-white mutated wolf, bowed respectfully beside the carriage.
“But are you certain no demonic creatures remain? Some adept at concealment might evade detection,” the elder pressed, his tone suddenly stern.
“That shouldn’t be possible. Besides sensing demonic energy, we also had several immortal masters sweep the entire mountain with their divine sense. There are truly no more demonic creatures here,” the knight affirmed.
“Very well. If even Core Formation cultivators confirmed it, then there should be no issue. Proceed,” the elder said, nodding in satisfaction as he prepared to lower the curtain.
But at that moment, the sky suddenly changed.
A deafening roar erupted from the distant heavens, followed by continuous thunder. Dark clouds swirled violently, and howling winds swept across the land, plunging the sky into gloom in an instant.
Before the elder could even close the curtain, the knight outside gasped, staring at the mountain’s peak.
“What is that?!”
Frowning, the elder rapped the carriage three times.
The procession halted.
Pushing open the door, the elder stepped out and gazed at the summit, his expression shifting dramatically.
“Heavenly Tribulation! A cultivator is undergoing tribulation! But this… it doesn’t seem like a Minor Tribulation, nor a Major one…” he muttered in disbelief.
The mountaintop was now pitch-black, crisscrossed with gold and silver lightning. Beneath the roiling clouds, ferocious white cyclones ravaged the peak, shattering rocks and uprooting trees.
The entire caravan had stopped, the knights gaping at the spectacle they might never witness again in their lifetimes.
Several figures emerged from the other carriages, hovering briefly before flying toward the elder.
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