Chapter Twenty-One: The Profound Gate’s Single Aperture

Wang Yuanfeng, in his previous life, had also delved into the study of fate, fortune, and other arcane methods. He understood the underlying principles, and even speculated on the reasons for the so-called Era of the End of Law that would come in later generations, though the theories he deduced were only partial.

On the surface, these people came here driven by greed, but from another perspective, it was their lack of virtue and discipline in daily life that had left their minds unsettled and prone to external influences. Just like those who can never make up their minds, who wander through life without direction, quick to anger and easily tempted by outside things—these are all signs of chinks in one’s character, leading to a restless cycle of life and death, forever drowning in a sea of suffering.

In another sense, was it not because their hearts were unsettled and their fortune insufficient that some of the less gifted among them were drawn into this alchemical tribulation, their fates neatly calculated and resolved?

No matter what Wang Yuanfeng thought, this time Wang Yuanhong was in command. He watched as more than thirty men outside, eyes gleaming like wolves, scrambled over the courtyard walls in a mad rush.

Wang Yuanhong raised his hand and gave the order.

“Loose the arrows.”

A volley of arrows whistled through the air. The twenty or so men who had just leaped down barely had time to react before arrows rained down upon them. Yet their reactions were swift. Each deployed their own protective techniques: one unfurled an umbrella to shield himself, another produced a bowl, upturned it on his head to create a shield of true qi; another simply cast a golden radiance spell, manifesting a great bell to encase his body.

Wang Yuanfeng watched as each displayed their own mystical skills, but it was the golden radiance technique that caught his eye. This spell was mandatory for all novice disciples; he himself had learned it, but in his previous life, the lack of spiritual energy meant he could never achieve such an effect. To produce something like a great bell was beyond him.

More than a hundred arrows shot into the crowd. Many stood there, seemingly unbothered, confident in their superior powers and convinced that mere mundane arrows could not harm them. Some even joked and laughed.

Suddenly, with a sickening thud, an arrow pierced through a magical ward and then straight through a man’s neck.

Cries of pain erupted as the arrows tore through their defenses.

“Damn! My artifact’s been tainted!” shouted one of the more martial men.

A man clad like a warrior saw that in no time at all, nearly everyone had fallen, except for a few who had yet to jump down. Most of his companions now lay sprawled on the ground. The few still standing were quick and agile, batting away arrows with their blades.

“Retreat!” he shouted. “It’s an ambush!”

Wang Yuanhong again signaled, and a hundred archers raised their bows in perfect unison. Another volley soared into the crowd. The warrior struck aside three arrows with one sweep, but a fourth struck his thigh. With a grunt, his leg gave out, and he fell, glancing around at the bodies now strewn across the yard.

He tried to muster his magical power, but it was useless. “Such vicious cunning,” he thought.

He shouted toward the wall, “Fellow cultivators, help me!”

But before he finished, another arrow struck him from behind, bursting through his chest.

Those atop the wall felt a chill run down their spines. This was a trap, meticulously set for cultivators like themselves. Already, they could detect the stench of corruption rising from their own bodies, their thoughts growing sluggish.

Some immediately turned and fled; others hesitated, rooted to the spot.

Wang Yuanfeng quickly understood these uninvited guests—most had been slain, but those who remained were formidable. Now that his methods had been revealed, further action would prove ineffective; it was time to withdraw.

He glanced at the alchemical furnace, nearly complete. Tossing a small knife to Wang Yuanqing, he instructed, “Cut your middle finger and drip your blood into the opening above.”

He then opened the sword case at his side and, finding all in order, communed with it through his spirit.

Wang Yuanqing, without hesitation, sliced a deep gash into his finger and let the blood drip into the celestial aperture of the Nine Orifices Alchemical Furnace.

Instantly, the elixir within absorbed the blood; Wang Yuanqing’s blood flowed uncontrollably into the furnace.

His face turned pale—clear evidence of blood loss. Outside, the vital energy in the air coalesced into clouds and surged into the furnace like torrents, merging with the elixir.

“It’s done,” Wang Yuanfeng murmured as all vital energy was drawn into the elixir.

The pill was a pale yellow, a fine foundation. In the future, with proper cultivation and spiritual nourishment, it could be fully controlled by mind and spirit. The external elixir bore some resemblance to the demon cores forged by beast cultivators, though they came in no set size or shape. From the moment of its creation, the pill’s power was modest, but it held the potential to become a golden core, much like the treasures ancient sages created to lay the foundation for their descendants—a direct path to the Great Dao.

He addressed the ashen-faced Wang Yuanqing, “Keep your mind clear, hold steadfast to your center. Remain unmoved in stillness, poised between clarity and obscurity.”

Wang Yuanqing knew this was no time for impatience and closed his eyes, firmly guarding his spirit.

Just then, several more figures floated onto the wall. Gazing at the courtyard, they saw corpses everywhere, each bristling with arrows like a porcupine. A foul stench hung in the air—a sure sign of substances designed to break magical defenses.

Wang Yuanfeng, seeing his younger brother enter this crucial state, breathed a sigh of relief. With time and diligent cultivation, he was certain his brother would achieve great things.

He sensed that most of the expected parties had arrived. Yet, though the archers and swordsmen were skilled, they were still ill-matched against these cultivators. Even with the taint that corrupted magical power, many countermeasures existed, and some spells were even fueled by filth, rendering the tactic ineffective.

A head-on clash with these people would mean heavy casualties. Though not important figures, they were nonetheless the backbone of any force. If gathered into an army, they would form its officer corps, capable of fielding a force of ten thousand in short order. To throw them away against this group of treasure-seekers would be wasteful.

Though he had just entered the minor elixir stage, most of the others were on par with him—with only one or two at the greater elixir stage. Yet he had forged his flying sword; while he could not sweep them all away, its presence alone would serve as a powerful deterrent. With this in mind, he called out to Wang Yuanhong outside,

“Elder brother, it’s time to withdraw the archers and swordsmen. Prolonging the fight will only bring needless losses.”

Wang Yuanhong, keeping a wary eye on the figures atop the wall, was startled to hear his fourth brother suggest retreat. This would not do; these were formidable adversaries, and he could not simply leave the danger to his younger brother.

“Do not worry, fourth brother,” he replied. “Even if I must risk my life today, I will not allow them to set foot beyond this threshold.”

Wang Yuanxing, hearing this, agreed that though they could not overcome these foes, it would not be right to leave their younger brother to face the threat alone.

“Fourth brother, you have your elder brothers here. If they wish to get through us, let them try. The more of us, the greater our strength. Leave this matter to us.”

Wang Yuanling also objected. Though the enemy’s methods were formidable, they were not invincible, and their air of superiority was grating. He came up with an idea: if they wished to stand above the rest, let them feel the wrath of the people.

“Very well. Are they not but a few practitioners of heterodox arts?” he said. “I have memorized their faces. Tomorrow I shall have their likenesses drawn, and thousands of copies printed and distributed throughout the capital, so every citizen will have one in hand.”