“Qi Stones exist in three tiers of color,” the elegant auction guide explained, her voice carrying across the richly lit chamber. “At the highest level, the Blue Qi Stone, valued at one million gold coins. Next, the Red Qi Stone, priced at one hundred thousand gold coins. And finally, the White Qi Stone, worth fifty thousand gold coins.” Wu Tian’s eyes widened, his breath catching in disbelief. “That’s… astonishingly high!” he exclaimed, his voice echoing faintly against the marble walls. The young woman smiled knowingly, her silk sleeves brushing against the polished surface of the display table. “Qi Stones are rare, almost impossible to craft, and scarce across the cultivation world. Beyond serving as currency, they resonate with the cultivator’s body, amplifying the qi within whenever carried close.” Wu Tian’s gaze swept across the bustling hall, where nobles, merchants, and cultivators mingled beneath chandeliers dripping with crystal light. The air was thick with incense, m

Wu Tian spun around, his breath catching as his eyes locked onto a figure cloaked in black. The man’s skin was pallid, stretched tight over sharp bones, his hair jutting upward like brittle spikes. His gaze was cold, lifeless, yet burning with malice. Even from a distance, Wu Tian felt a chill crawl down his spine, as though death itself had taken human form. “Give up, Emperor!” the figure snarled, his voice echoing across the desolate outskirts of Lin An. “There is no escape for you.” Behind him, a cluster of Undead soldiers emerged, their movements stiff, their eyes hollow. The air thickened with the stench of decay, mingling with the acrid smoke drifting from the city. Wu Tian’s fists clenched, anger flaring. “Who are you, and why do you strike at the Emperor?” His voice trembled with fury, yet beneath it lay unease. The man’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. “I seek dominion over this land. To seize the throne, I must capture the Emperor. Once he falls, the armies of Han w

The wounded Undead Cultivator, struck down by Liu Xiu—an Immortal of formidable rank—let out a guttural command, his voice echoing like a curse across the battlefield. His army of Undead surged forward, relentless in their pursuit of Emperor Guangwu, who had chosen flight over futile resistance, accompanied by Wu Tian, Yueyin, and the loyal Zhang Fei. The Cultivator’s body trembled, paralyzed for a brief but crucial moment by Liu Xiu’s devastating strike. His inability to move was temporary, yet it bought the fugitives precious time. Zhang Fei, however, bore the brunt of the encounter. The blow he had suffered was grievous—blood seeped through his armor, staining the earth beneath him. His breathing grew shallow, each exhale a struggle against the tide of death. Without immediate aid, the commander’s life would ebb away, drained by the crimson flow that refused to cease. “Liu Xiu!” Yueyin’s voice cracked with urgency, her eyes darting between the Immortal and the faltering Zhang F

“Do you think Yueyin is safe with Zhang Fei?” Liu Xiu asked quietly, his voice carrying the weight of worry as the two men pressed deeper into the forest after parting ways with their companions. Wu Tian’s eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows between the trees. The night was alive with whispers—the rustle of leaves, the distant cry of owls, the faint scent of damp moss rising from the soil. “Yueyin is clever,” he replied with conviction. “She’s faced creatures like the Undead before. I trust she’ll guard Uncle Zhang with everything she has. They’ll make it to Lao Shen.” Relief flickered across Liu Xiu’s face, though it was tempered by unease. “At first, I wanted to stay with Zhang Fei myself, let Yueyin accompany you. But she insisted otherwise. She must have foreseen what was coming.” Wu Tian nodded firmly. “She knows the risks. And she will not abandon Zhang Fei. I only pray they reach the village alive.” The emperor’s tone sharpened suddenly. “We must prepare, Wu Tian. If th

“Who are you really, Zhang Fei? Do you come from Lao Shen Village?” Liu Xiu asked, his tone heavy with curiosity. The emperor had known Zhang Fei for many years, yet never once had the general spoken of Lao Shen—the place that was, in truth, his birthplace. Zhang Fei lowered his gaze, his palm trembling slightly as he pressed against his wound. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I never wished for Lao Shen to be exposed to the empire, nor to outsiders who might seek to erase the traditions of the warrior path.” Liu Xiu’s eyes narrowed, his voice firm yet calm. “I would never destroy the way of the warrior. Han may be a haven for cultivators, but I have always admired the discipline of martial arts. They say it belongs to a world apart from ours, yet I believe it is a treasure worth preserving.” His words carried across the courtyard, not only to Zhang Fei but to the villagers who had gathered in silence. The elder of Lao Shen, his robe a deep crimson patterned with faded squares, st