Cai Qiugong had always been a towering figure in the cultivation world of Jing-Xiang and Jiangnan. It wasn’t only because he was one of the foremost experts in the late Soul Refinement stage, but also because he had risen from nothing, a man of humble birth who climbed all the way to the top. His story was inspiring, and for countless ordinary rogue cultivators at the very bottom, he became the example they looked up to.
At his side stood other sect leaders of the same Soul Refinement stage: Sect Master Dongfang of Qingyu Sect, Sect Master Lu of Tianlao Mountain, Sect Master Qu of Zhanglong Sect, Sect Master Han of Dongyang Sect, Sect Master Wei of Jinting Sect, and Ouyang's head of Yuezhou. Yet all of them were only in the early or middle stages, which was why the Dongyang Sect had come seeking him, hoping Cai Qiugong would step in to mediate and rein in Qingyu Sect’s overbearing stance.
Along with these six leaders, elders from each sect had gathered behind them. The weakest among them were at least in the late Core Golden stage, and many had already reached the Nascent Soul stage. So many powerful cultivators standing together created an oppressive atmosphere. Even though they tried to restrain their aura, it was still overwhelming, especially for those who hadn’t even reached the Foundation Establishment yet, who instinctively wanted to back away.
But with the grand ceremony about to begin, there was nowhere to hide atop Danyou Peak. All anyone could do was circulate their true qi and grit their teeth to endure.
Liu Xiaolou was having a particularly hard time. The immense pressure pressed down on him from every direction, making it hard to breathe. His true qi felt sluggish and unresponsive, leaving him frustrated and uncomfortable.
At that moment, Cai Qiugong ordered two inner-sect stewards to bring out a pair of long iron rods. No one knew exactly what kind of artifacts they were, but the stewards set them up at the far ends away from the great cauldron, closer to where Liu Xiaolou and the other lower-level cultivators were standing.
Once the long iron rods were set in place, much of the oppressive pressure radiating from the crowd of high-level cultivators around the great cauldron dissipated. Many people let out a breath of relief. Liu Xiaolou only then noticed that his robe was already soaked through with sweat.
Wisps of mist rose from the bodies of those present. The higher-ranked Qi Refinement cultivators were evaporating the moisture from their clothes with their cultivation.
This was the grand millennium ceremony of the Danxia Sect. A thousand years ago, four great Soul Refinement masters—Cai, Mao, Wang, and Su—joined forces to drive out a band of demonic cultivators who had occupied the Danxia Grotto-Heaven. They restored a thousand li of Danxia Mountain to clear skies and bright earth, and founded the Danxia Sect. From then on, they passed down the Five Clouds Thunder Technique, becoming one of the righteous orthodox sects of the world. Such was the origin of the Danxia Sect.
The inner-sect stewards carried up a great altar platform and set it behind the cauldron, suspended in the air. It was densely covered with divine images and ancestral tablets.
Under the thunderstruck banyan tree, before the cauldron, Cai Qiugong began chanting the words of the ritual. The phrasing was ornate and steeped in classical allusion. For someone like Liu Xiaolou, whose literary training was modest, it felt abstruse and difficult to follow. He could only half understand, and even then, most of what he grasped was guesswork.
Afterward came the offering of sacrifices to the Danxia Sect’s founding immortal, Magu, as well as to all the sect’s forebears from the past millennium. In total, there were thirty-eight ancestral spirits honored: six sect masters and thirty-two elders. This was the foundation upon which the Danxia Sect stood.
The sacrificial beasts were five-horned sheep, tusked boars, and mole-oxen. All had been purchased at great expense from the Weiyu Soaring Crane Sect, which was known for raising such spirit beasts. The five-horned sheep were the largest; their horns alone rose taller than a man. The tusks of the boars were razor-sharp, tougher than steel; no blade could cut through them. The mole-oxen were smaller, little bigger than wolves, but famed for their ability to burrow.
Three sheep, three boars, and three oxen were led up by ropes. Presiding over the ritual, Elder Cai of the Danxia Sect acted first. A golden pellet shot from his sleeve and struck each beast in turn. Not one of them could struggle free; all nine dropped dead on the spot.
Liu Xiaolou kept a close eye on Elder Cai’s face. It stayed solemn throughout, showing no hint of joy or sorrow. Liu couldn’t tell what was on his mind, nor how the elder had spent the previous night.
After that, another elder, Xin, a late-stage Core Golden cultivator, cut up the carcasses with his flying sword. Elders Mao and Wang, both in the Nascent Soul stage, cast the pieces into the great cauldron. Finally, Sect Master Cai Qiugong himself lit the fire with a thunder technique.
Thin arcs of lightning leapt from his fingertips, wrapping the cauldron in the blazing Fivefold Thunderflame. Any cultivator above the Core Golden stage could have done the same, and Cai Qiugong—though a Soul Refinement expert—showed no particular flourish. He worked plainly and without embellishment, as if this was simply his way.
Yet to Liu Xiaolou, the sight was overwhelming. He stared, utterly transfixed, a surge of longing rising in his chest. This, he thought, was the true path of cultivation.
Before long, the offerings were cooked. Sect Master Cai Qiugong sent out three sticks of tall incense, and as the smoke curled upward, several elders moved together to lift the prepared sacrificial meat. The platters floated into the air, circling the altar.
With that, the ceremonial portion of the grand rite came to an end. What followed was the time for the sects and clans to mingle and strengthen their ties. The stewards of Danxia Sect carried out dozens of long tables, soon laden with wine and food that flowed in like a steady stream.
The sacrificial meat, of course, would not be wasted. Since the honored ancestors had already partaken, it was not considered improper for the disciples to share what remained. The dishes were cleared and divided among the tables.
This was always the most anticipated food at such ceremonies. The truth was, raising five-horned sheep, tusked boars, and mole-oxen was no easy matter for the Soaring Crane Sect of Weiyu. Their prices were exorbitant, and the beasts were rarely sold. Without the fortune of attending the Danxia Sect’s millennial celebration, most people would never have the chance to taste them.
As for Liu Xiaolou, had he not come, he might have gone his whole life without even seeing such a thing.
Unfortunately, his own share amounted to nothing more than a piece of mole-ox shoulder. He swallowed it in just a few bites, but the burst of rich juices filled his mouth, so intoxicating that his spirit nearly lost control. In that moment he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to dance atop Danyou Peak, no matter who was watching.
When the meat was gone, he washed it down with a few cups of fragrant spirit wine infused with cassia blossoms. Suddenly his eyelids began to twitch wildly. Without hesitation he dropped cross-legged to the ground. Within just a few breaths, the fifth acupoint of the Hand Lesser Yang Meridian, Waiguan, opened up.
In some ways, this was even more effective than spirit stones. Liu Xiaolou couldn’t help but lick his lips, glancing around the tables. Sadly, everyone else was too busy devouring their own portions—or licking their plates clean—for anyone to show the generosity of sharing. The realization left him full of regret.
Of course, things like spirit birds and beasts, or spiritual herbs and flowers, could be incredibly effective if one knew the proper way to consume them. The first few times, the results were usually remarkable. But the more often they were taken, the less effective they became. For lasting cultivation, spirit stones were still the true foundation.
Liu Xiaolou ate quickly. When he was done, he kept glancing around curiously. At some point, Tigerhead Dragon had squeezed in beside him and asked, “Who’s Yin Gong?”
Liu Xiaolou was speechless. “You don’t know? You were the one jumping around so fiercely just now…”
“Of course I’ve heard of him,” said Tigerhead Dragon. “I just can’t put the name to the face.”
Liu Xiaolou jerked his chin. “Over there with Qingyu Sect, on the left, third row back. The one in the crimson-collared robe.”
Tigerhead Dragon nodded. “Name fits the look. He really does have the face of a centipede. We should deal with him.”
“How?” Liu Xiaolou asked. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to go at him head-on. The gap in cultivation is way too big. Even if you had ten of you, you’d just be throwing yourselves away.”
Tigerhead Dragon said, “I checked with my family. Supposedly his clan’s sacred incense formula requires an ingredient collected from the southwest. Still need more time to figure out exactly what it is.”
Liu Xiaolou’s eyes lit up. “Not bad, Brother Tiger-Head. If you can dig up that information, I’ll set you up with a dinner with Ninth Lady.”
Tigerhead Dragon clenched his fists. “Count on it!”