Chapter 34: Redirecting Calamity Eastward

A warm current coursed through Qiu Han’s entire body, bringing him indescribable comfort. At the same time, he noticed that the vortex of spiritual energy in his dantian had grown noticeably larger than before.

“Ninth level of the Qi Refining Stage,” he murmured, exhaling a long breath. This breakthrough felt like a lifeline, snatching him from the jaws of death. Yet, to his astonishment, the advancement was not yet over. As the previous wave of warmth faded, an even more overwhelming surge of spiritual energy swept through him.

“Tenth level of the Qi Refining Stage!” Qiu Han’s heart trembled with shock. He had broken through twice in succession—something he had never expected. But it was not so strange, after all: he had lingered at the ninth level for a long time, and in recent days, he had battled beasts almost daily, living on the knife’s edge between life and death. Such intense ordeals were the perfect catalyst for shattering cultivation bottlenecks. Dangerous as this path was, the gains were undeniable.

As the saying goes, fortune favors the bold; to reap rewards, one must be willing to risk. Qiu Han’s confidence soared, and his mood grew elated. To think that in less than four years of cultivating immortality he had reached such heights—while he dared not claim to be peerless, he was certainly among the few.

A distant rumble abruptly interrupted his thoughts, quenching his budding pride. He was, after all, still only at the Qi Refining Stage, with a long and perilous road ahead. The dangers before him had not yet passed, and it would not do to become complacent over a minor achievement. Such a mindset could only lead to disaster.

As he fled, Qiu Han steadied his heart and quickened his pace. Little did he know that this brief moment of self-reflection had inadvertently saved him from disaster.

The path of cultivation was fraught with hardship. Talent was essential, but so too were unwavering will and tireless perseverance. A cultivator must endure countless brushes with death, face bottlenecks in their power, and temper their state of mind. Those whose hearts wavered were easily overtaken by inner demons—phantoms of thought, insubstantial yet very real.

Qiu Han sped onward, calculating silently. The flower-browed marten had already fallen behind by a hundred fathoms, and the gap was widening. Suddenly, he veered sharply left, burrowing into the earth once more.

“About two thousand fathoms from the outer entrance to the Valley of the Nether Spirits,” Qiu Han estimated as he surfaced, glanced ahead, and then dove underground again. The flower-browed marten soon emerged, sniffing the spot where Qiu Han had vanished, then glanced in the direction he fled. After a moment’s hesitation, it too dove underground in pursuit.

“The marten is five hundred fathoms behind me. The entrance to the valley is about ten miles ahead. I need to move faster!”

Even as he fled, Qiu Han noted that the distance between him and his pursuer was growing—five hundred, eight hundred, a thousand fathoms.

“One thousand, eight hundred, five hundred, three hundred fathoms ahead,” he counted. At last, he burst from the earth and found himself at the outskirts of the Valley of the Nether Spirits. Packs of grey wolves, upon seeing a human appear, charged at him with unified ferocity.

Qiu Han sneered coldly, wasting no time as he formed seals with his hands. Arrows of ice shot forth, felling seven or eight of the oncoming wolves. All of these beasts possessed strength comparable to cultivators below the eighth level of Qi Refining; to Qiu Han, dispatching them was effortless.

Yet more wolves were roused by the disturbance—some of them quite formidable. Qiu Han drew a stack of talismans from his pouch and produced his low-grade spiritual artifact, the Ice Feather Ring. As the wolves closed in, he unleashed the talismans one after another.

He activated five defensive talismans in succession and raised a shield of spiritual energy, layering protections over his entire body. With his left hand, he cast several ice needles, killing the foremost wolves. At that moment, three particularly strong wolves opened their jaws wide and unleashed blades of wind, shattering three layers of Qiu Han’s defenses.

Just then, a rumbling rose from beneath the earth behind him as the ground heaved. But before Qiu Han could react, the three wolves readied another attack. Without hesitation, he shot skyward, executing the Flight Technique to hover in midair.

At that instant, the flower-browed marten erupted from the ground where Qiu Han had just stood. The wolves’ wind blades struck it directly. Whether because it had no time to evade or simply did not care, the three blades hit the beast squarely—yet failed to harm it in the slightest.

The marten roared in fury, spotted Qiu Han in the air, and hurled a mighty punch through the empty space. Qiu Han swiftly activated all his offensive talismans. A barrage of ice arrows and fireballs rained down on both the wolves and the marten below.

The marten swung its arms, deflecting the onslaught of spells. Though none could truly injure it, the sheer numbers stung and, at a vulnerable spot, even managed to break the skin, drawing blood.

The wolves, lacking the marten’s resilience, were not so fortunate. The weaker ones died instantly beneath the magical assault; the stronger few were wounded, though not fatally.

Realizing Qiu Han intended to escape by air, the marten looked up and let out a thunderous roar. Its presence surged, sending a wave of oppressive force outward. Qiu Han felt his body grow heavy, the very air thickening around him.

“Again with this trick? I refuse to believe I can’t escape this time!”

He cast Lightness Technique on himself, layered Wind Riding atop his Flight Technique, and poured every ounce of spiritual power into his flight, straining with all his might to break free of the marten’s pressure.

Sweat beaded on his brow. Dawn was breaking, and below, ever more wolves converged. Only two paths remained: break free and fly away to live, or fall and be torn apart by the beasts.

Drenched in sweat, his clothes soaked through, Qiu Han endured for the time it takes a stick of incense to burn before finally shattering the marten’s oppressive aura. He shot toward the summit of the gorge and, in moments, disappeared into the sky.

Beside a great stone at the mountain’s peak, Qiu Han collapsed, gasping for air. He had survived by a hair’s breadth, escaping their deadly attacks. Lying atop the stone, he felt a powerful urge to bathe and then surrender himself to a deep, restful sleep.