Chapter 38: Turning Peril into Safety, Advancing Once More

After pondering for a while, he still could not discern its origin. Deciding not to dwell further, he placed it into his storage pouch and continued to gather the polygonatum. Nearly an hour passed, and Autumn Cold had all but stripped the place bare of the precious herb. Yet, he left a single root of each variety behind, so that they might grow again in the future.

As the saying goes, greed invites the wrath of Heaven. Though he had no qualms about abundance, such cultivation resources were not easy to come by. Leaving the roots for later harvest was a prudent choice.

Once all the gathered polygonatum was stowed away, Autumn Cold rested briefly, then returned with the flower-marked sable to the Spirit-Secluded Valley. Within the valley, he sat upon the ground and took out the strangely-shaped root, examining it closely in his hands.

After a while, a memory stirred—he recalled reading in the sect’s library about a certain mutated spirit fungus. The records told of a cultivator thousands of years ago who discovered a five-hundred-year-old variant and, upon consuming it, experienced a dramatic surge in cultivation. Could this root be—

The more Autumn Cold considered it, the more excited he became. He found a stream, washed the root clean, and swallowed it. Soon, he had consumed the entire peculiar root, leaving not a scrap. At first, he felt no unusual sensation, nor any sign of increased cultivation.

Perhaps the legend was false, or this odd root was not a mutated spirit fungus after all? He wondered, perplexed. Yet before long, a deep discomfort spread throughout his body, as if countless ants crawled beneath his skin.

The feeling grew unbearable; his body grew hotter and hotter, and Autumn Cold tore at his clothes in desperation. His skin flushed crimson, veins bulged, and his once handsome face twisted into a terrifying grimace as he cried out in agony.

He felt as if his body were aflame, plagued by an insatiable itch, yet his spiritual energy grew ever more plentiful, richer than ever before, as though inexhaustible. Soon his body began to swell, a pain unlike any he had ever known twisting him into a monstrous sight, his cries echoing with torment.

At that moment, he felt an invincible fury—nothing could stop him, neither gods nor demons. Even a legendary cultivator at the Transformation stage would fall before his palm. Unable to endure the agony of surging spiritual energy, Autumn Cold struck the stone wall with a crazed fist. The wall thundered, cracks spreading wide, and soon a span of stone measuring about ten feet collapsed.

In ordinary times, Autumn Cold could never have accomplished such a feat without the aid of spells or magic tools. To shatter stone with his bare fist—his strength now rivaled that of foundation-stage demon beasts.

But even after the blow, his pain did not subside. The agony threatened to tear him apart, driving him mad. Eyes bloodshot, flames and wind blades whirled throughout the valley as he unleashed spells to expend his overflowing spiritual energy, yet it seemed inexhaustible.

His mind blurred, Autumn Cold instinctively drew out his magic tool, the Ice Feather Ring, pouring his power into it and unleashing wild, aimless attacks.

The flower-marked sable witnessed this scene, howling loudly yet not daring to approach, standing anxiously outside the valley.

About an hour later, perhaps exhausted or unable to maintain consciousness, Autumn Cold ceased his spells and collapsed, unconscious.

Seeing this, the flower-marked sable approached, rubbing its thick forearm against Autumn Cold’s swollen body, the result of excessive spiritual energy. Autumn Cold lay motionless, eyes shut tight, while the sable growled softly and stood guard beside him.

Thus, Autumn Cold remained in a coma. During this time, his swollen body gradually shrank, the heat dissipated, and his skin’s color returned to normal.

At midday on the third day, Autumn Cold’s tightly shut eyes slowly opened. He glanced at himself and found his appearance akin to that of a beggar—clothes tattered, hair disheveled, dust covering him from head to toe.

He rose, recalling the events three days prior, and could only smile wryly. He had been far too careless; as the saying goes, even medicine is three parts poison, let alone a spirit of heaven and earth—how could one consume such things at whim? Just for the sake of a rumor, he had recklessly eaten an unknown root, nearly dying in the process. Fortunately, he survived. Otherwise, his parents would have been heartbroken.

Smiling self-deprecatingly, Autumn Cold examined himself with spiritual sense, and suddenly a discovery filled him with indescribable joy—he had advanced!

And this advancement was unlike any before: he had jumped several levels in succession, from the eleventh layer of the Qi Refining stage directly to the fifteenth, reaching the peak of Qi Refining.

Overcome with emotion and joy, Autumn Cold stood stunned, tears streaming down his face.

He wept from overwhelming happiness!

After so many brushes with death, in just a few days he had advanced from the eleventh layer to the peak of Qi Refining. Even those legendary geniuses with rare spiritual roots would struggle to match such astonishing speed.

Moreover, he possessed only a single-element spiritual root. From the day he entered the sect to this moment, not even four years had passed, yet he had reached the pinnacle of Qi Refining. The word “genius” hardly seemed sufficient.

Suppressing the surge of excitement in his heart, Autumn Cold spread his spiritual sense fully and found he could perceive everything within a radius of ten miles. Only foundation-stage cultivators within the sect could achieve such clarity, yet he had done so at the peak of Qi Refining.

His spiritual sense rivaled that of early foundation-stage cultivators!

Retracting his sense, Autumn Cold sat cross-legged to stabilize his newfound power. Moments later, he took out the Ice Feather Ring and attacked a boulder in the valley, three feet thick. Hundreds of ice needles from the ring pierced the stone, riddling it with holes and even blasting a crater in the ground behind.

The power was immense—before, he could never have accomplished such a feat with the Ice Feather Ring, and now, after a single use, he barely felt a tenth of his spiritual energy depleted.

“With my current cultivation, I wonder if I can match a foundation-stage cultivator. Even if not, I cannot be far behind.”

“Foundation-stage cultivators can wield supreme magic tools. If I wish to test my strength, I’ll try the Ink Feather Blade. Master once said that, even among supreme tools, the Ink Feather Blade is particularly formidable. Yet its power cannot fully be demonstrated against mere stone. Still, if I can wield it, it means I am as strong as an early foundation-stage cultivator.”

With this in mind, Autumn Cold drew the Ink Feather Blade from his storage pouch. Though called a blade, it resembled more a dagger, with a handle and blade crafted in the style of a sword.