Demonic Cultivators

Only after the convoy had traveled several li did Zhou Hu finally dare to feign nonchalance and board the carriage. He lifted a corner of the curtain to anxiously check inside, but a single glance made his heart pound violently. Forcing himself to remain calm, he stepped into the carriage.

Zhou Minghu had already collapsed, unconscious. His face was as pale as paper, his robes completely soaked in blood, and a crimson pool had already gathered on the floorboards beneath him.

"Third Young Master. Third Young Master."

Zhou Hu called out urgently in a hushed voice. He carefully laid Zhou Minghu flat, then took out medicinal ointment and began to gently apply it.

Yet the cracks tearing across Zhou Minghu's flesh were as dense as a spiderweb. Even after exhausting the entire tin of ointment, he had barely covered a third of the grievous wounds.

With a crisp clatter, the shield Zhou Minghu had used to protect his chest slipped and fell to the floor. The shattered remains of the small sword lay quietly beside it on the wooden planks. Both items rested in full view of Zhou Hu.

Zhou Hu's eyes flickered as a myriad of thoughts surged through his mind. Then, without hesitation, he gathered the shield and the ruined sword, placed them on the side couch, and did not spare them another glance. He focused his entire mind on bandaging Zhou Minghu.

If one were to ask which of the servants was the most loyal, none could surpass Zhou Hu and Zhou Shi. They had served the Zhou clan for over a decade, their lives utterly bound to it. The Zhou clan treated them exceedingly well; their current comfort and wealth all stemmed from the family.

Therefore, even though he guessed these two items were immortal treasures, he harbored no wicked intentions.

The highest art of governing subordinates in this world was simply sincerity and genuine care.

Waves of throbbing pain roused Zhou Minghu. He slowly opened his eyes, and upon seeing a figure before him, his body instantly tensed. This sudden movement tore at his myriad wounds, causing fresh beads of blood to seep out. The agony made him break into a cold sweat.

However, upon recognizing Zhou Hu, Zhou Minghu relaxed slightly. Leaning weakly against the couch, he asked.

"How are things outside?"

His voice was hoarse and feeble, his breath as fragile as a hanging thread.

"Rest assured, Third Young Master. I have arranged everything outside. Those villains have not dared to make a move," Zhou Hu replied respectfully.

"The corpses of those two villains are loaded in the rear cart. I gave strict orders, so no one has dared to search them."

Before today, the ones Zhou Hu truly respected were Zhou Ping and his brother. As for the younger generation, though he served them dutifully, he held little true reverence for them. But now, witnessing Zhou Minghu's decisive ruthlessness and willingness to sacrifice himself naturally commanded his heartfelt admiration.

"I will step out and patrol the perimeter. Please rest well."

Zhou Hu finished bandaging the most severe wound, then helped Zhou Minghu into a comfortable position before leaving the carriage. As he stepped down, he meticulously checked his own clothes for any stray bloodstains, terrified of arousing suspicion from anyone observing.

With Zhou Hu gone, Zhou Minghu was left alone in the carriage. Seeing that both Magical Artifacts were still present, he breathed a faint sigh of relief. He then began to inspect his own bodily condition, but after merely a moment of inward sensing, a bitter, tragic smile surfaced on his lips.

Forcibly swallowing multiple Qi-Nourishing Pills had caused his Spiritual Qi to violently surge, ruthlessly scouring the flesh and blood of his entire body. The countless bloody fissures cracking his skin were the result of his mortal vessel failing to bear the burden-his flesh had literally been torn apart from the inside out!

The Meridians within him had been utterly ravaged by the violent energies. Years of painstaking cultivation had washed away in a single day.

In the cultivation of the Spirit Awakening Realm, the most grueling endeavor was the circulation of the Heavenly Cycle. It required Spiritual Qi to continuously flow through flesh and blood, carving out Meridians throughout the entire body. Only when these Meridians were fully formed could a cultivator manipulate Spiritual Qi as easily as moving their own limbs to cast secret arts and techniques.

If Spiritual Qi was like water, then the body's Meridians were the channels and riverbeds that guided its flow. Without Meridians, forcibly driving Spiritual Qi would brutally erode one's flesh and blood, leaving behind crippling hidden injuries.

The formation of these Meridians required a cultivator to guide Spiritual Qi through their body day and night, carving paths much like gullies left behind by raging floodwaters.

This stage could take months, or even years, to complete. Furthermore, because each cultivator's bodily constitution was unique, their meridian paths varied. Thus, there was no fixed method for cultivating the Heavenly Cycle-it was purely a matter of patient, grinding effort.

Zhou Minghu slowly forced himself to sit upright. He began to draw in the surrounding Spiritual Qi, hoping to rely on it to mend his shattered body.

But no sooner had he gathered a sliver of Qi than a dull ache spread through his body, like ten thousand ants crawling beneath his skin. As he drew in more Spiritual Qi, the agony intensified until it felt as though insects were viciously gnawing at his lower abdomen!

The intense, tearing pain forced him to cease his cultivation. Slumping back against the couch, he panted heavily and smiled a bitter smile.

"I've been reduced to a mortal."

Deep within his lower abdomen, there was only a grisly, bloody ruin. In the Dantian where Spiritual Qi had once richly gathered, only a pathetic wisp or two remained. Every time he attempted to condense another strand of Spiritual Qi, the surrounding flesh spasmed and convulsed.

He might technically still be a cultivator, but his Dantian was so severely damaged that it could only hold two wisps of Spiritual Qi-not even enough to cast a basic Golden Light Technique. If this wasn't being a mortal, what was?

Zhou Minghu tilted his head back, laughing bitterly as tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, though hidden within the sorrow was a faint trace of relief.

Meanwhile, the news that the Zhou clan's Qi Condensation cultivators were absent from Baixi Mountain spread alongside the fleeing Rogue Cultivators, rippling outward even though no one could verify its truth.

Pingyun Mountain.

Huang Bailin stood upon a pavilion terrace, watching the green pines sway across the mountain. Taking in the bustling prosperity of the market at the mountain's base and the surrounding Huang clan villages, he wanted to step forward, only to stop himself. Staring at the market, he muttered softly.

"Zhengming, Granduncle believes the Huang clan will grow even more prosperous in your hands."

Within Qingshui County, traces of the demonic path had always existed, though they were never easily found.

This was because the hidden demonic cultivator was none other than Huang Bailin himself!

Although he was the revered leader of the righteous path, the decline of several immortal clans in Qingshui County over the past century had all been secretly orchestrated by his hand. Some clans had even been outright slaughtered by him!

Having just learned that the Zhou clan's core cultivators were absent, he had truly been tempted to fly straight to Baixi Mountain, shatter their formation, and plunder the peak.

After all, he possessed a flying Magical Artifact entirely unknown to outsiders. With it, he could arrive at Baixi Mountain half a day ahead of Zhou Ping.

But thinking of Huang Zhengming's current endeavors, he had to force down such urges.

In his view, although the market was immensely beneficial to his own clan, it also brought tremendous advantages to the other immortal clans. His own family was not yet powerful enough to completely suppress the rest; one day, another clan might use the market's boons to surpass them.

Yet Huang Zhengming always insisted on befriending their neighbors and fostering mutual prosperity for all.

He did not know whether this philosophy was right or wrong, but he had no desire to plunder the Zhou clan just as the market was being established, potentially ruining Huang Zhengming's grand plans.

Huang Bailin glared toward the west and snorted heavily. "Hmph, if your clan weren't so pitiably poor, this old man truly wouldn't be willing to let this opportunity slip by."

The slow pace of a mortal convoy was naturally no match for cultivators. Even as half the Rogue Cultivators in Qingshui County caught wind of the news, the territory governed by the Zhou clan remained completely oblivious, steeped in an atmosphere of serene peace.

Up on Qingfeng Peak, Chen Fusheng was bent over, using his Spiritual Qi to meticulously nourish the White Marrow Grass planted there. Meanwhile, Zhou Ping sat in a side courtyard, diligently guiding Zhou Chengyuan and the other child in their cultivation.

Yet, deep within the dense woods at the foot of Baixi Mountain, a ghostly figure stood still. His bloodshot eyes glared venomously at the great mountain shrouded in thin mist.

"Zhou Ping. I will make you regret this for the rest of your life!"

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