Chapter Thirty-Nine: Haoran and Mingxing Rise Together

This time, he no longer sought to gather his embryonic breath into a single barrier, hoping to envelop the Cold Dipper True Qi in one fell swoop and finish the task. Instead, he deployed his energy as if arranging troops for battle: where real, he feigned emptiness; where empty, he made it seem solid—setting hidden ambushes at every turn.

Yet in the final moments, the embryonic breath still failed to completely restrain the surging Cold Dipper True Qi. A single misstep, and the icy force shattered his heart chamber, felling him instantly.

...

Chen Heng frowned, once again guiding his new heart-image to sit in meditation. He pondered the process carefully before gathering his spirit and starting anew.

But this time, a moment’s awkwardness in moving the embryonic breath caused his heart-image to cough blood and collapse once more.

The third time, he died of intestinal rupture.

The fourth, the Cold Dipper True Qi reversed course, devouring most of his embryonic breath; exhausted, his blood failed, and he perished.

The fifth time, just as the True Qi coalesced, it exploded, the cold poison invading his organs. He managed to hold on for half a stick of incense before finally succumbing.

The sixth time, his skull split and he died...

...

Chen Heng had lost count of how many times he had died—each demise novel and bizarre in its own way. Eventually, numbness settled in; he no longer bothered to tally his deaths or the days passed in this realm of true law. He simply set the embryonic breath repeatedly to blockade the True Qi, memorized each flaw, and tried again from the beginning—dying, then starting over.

It was fortunate indeed that his will was cold and unyielding; had it been an ordinary person, their mind would have shattered long ago under such relentless torment.

Every drop of blood, every jolt of pain in this law realm was as real as flesh; to die dozens, even a hundred times a day—such was a peculiar form of torture.

So it went.

He spent four days in this effort—equivalent to forty days within the law realm—failing countless times.

Yet with each attempt, his command over the embryonic breath improved by leaps and bounds, until he was fully adapted to the swelling force within him.

Now, the interplay of hardness and softness, the ebb and flow of strength, were second nature—so much so that compared to before, he was a different man entirely.

Chen Heng was confident that among his peers in the same cultivation realm, few could rival his skill in manipulating and dividing the embryonic breath; perhaps not one in ten thousand. Only the legendary disciples of the Eight Sects and Six Schools could likely surpass him.

But as for truly refining the Cold Dipper True Qi, he still saw no significant progress. In his recent attempts, he always drew within a single step of extracting it from his body, only to fall just short.

He began to doubt whether the “Primal True Breath” of the third level of Qi Refinement could truly handle this strand of True Qi.

Still, he held his patience, repeating the process endlessly; dying simply became a way to temper his control over the embryonic breath.

Then one day, a sudden flash of insight struck him.

A glimmer of joy crossed Chen Heng’s face. Seizing that subtle inspiration, he steadied his mind and set the embryonic breath in motion.

Who knew how much time passed? When Chen Heng finally finished and emerged from meditation, opening his eyes, he found upon his palm a wisp of cold, clear, blue-green True Qi, undulating and surging restlessly.

“So this is your true form, Cold Dipper True Qi?”

He sighed softly, contemplating the transformation in silence, then with a single strike, severed his own throat and began anew from the start.

He repeated this process several dozen more times, and only when he was certain there were no more flaws did he call upon the Golden Cicada and allow himself to be drawn out of the law realm.

...

The present world.

He was still in the ship’s cabin, countless clouds surging high overhead. Yet this ordinary scene now seemed transformed in Chen Heng’s eyes.

After those many days of cultivation in the law realm, not only had he forged his overflowing embryonic breath into a perfect balance of hardness and softness, able to advance or retreat at will, but he could also draw forth the Cold Dipper True Qi from his body and wield it as a deadly strike.

Thinking back to his earliest days in this world—the endless nights, tormented nearly to death by the Cold Dipper True Qi—Chen Heng felt as if it had all been a dream.

Just then, a shaft of golden sunlight pierced through the window, illuminating his profile, which now appeared even more striking and resplendent, radiant as a field of blooming flowers.

“From the beginning to the endless end, man is not primordial energy—how can he linger with it long? Grass does not resent thriving in the spring wind, nor do trees lament their leaves falling in autumn...”

Chen Heng was silent for a moment, then smiled and recited:

“I shall embrace all creation, and be as one with the boundless void!”

As he finished, his robe sleeves billowed as if stirred by an unseen wind, though the air was still.

...

Half a day later.

As the Cloud-Riding Flying Boat drew near the capital of Rong Kingdom, when Tu Shan Ge came up from the lower cabin to report, he was greeted by a startling sight the moment he opened the door.

A delicate layer of frost had formed on the cabin floor, cracking crisply beneath his step.

At the center of the room, a wisp of cold, pale True Qi coiled from Chen Heng’s sleeve, swirling about him in ribbons like a long serpent—seeming as though, if released, it would break free and soar into the sky, never to be seen again.

Hearing the door open, Chen Heng glanced over, nodding slightly to Tu Shan Ge.

“Master, what is this?”

“The Cold Dipper True Qi.”

Chen Heng drew the True Qi back into his sleeve.

“When it first entered my body, lying dormant, it nearly killed me—I had to rely on White Sun Pills just to suppress it. Now, by sheer luck, I’ve managed to devour and refine it. Tell me—”

“If I unleash it in a single blast, even Tong Gaolu, who’s reached the seventh level of Qi Refinement—could he withstand it, even for a moment?”

Tu Shan Ge’s face froze, then broke into hearty laughter.

“Bring Tong Yi up here. I have use for him,” Chen Heng said coolly.

Soon, Tu Shan Zhuang brought Tong Yi into the upper cabin.

After several days in captivity, the boy’s former arrogance had faded; he looked wan and dispirited. At the sight of Chen Heng, he shuddered involuntarily.

“You... what do you want with me?!”

Tong Yi’s voice was shrill with fear.

“Greetings, young master,” Chen Heng replied with a slight bow.

Hearing this, Tong Yi was even more terrified. The first time he’d met this man, he had said the same words—a moment later, a bolt of lightning had shot from his sleeve, severing his arm.

“My father, Tong Gao—”

But before he could finish, a wave of blue-green True Qi shot from Chen Heng’s sleeve, slamming into his face.

There was no escape. The wisp of True Qi seeped instantly into his meridians. Stricken with terror, Tong Yi’s eyes rolled back, and he fainted dead away.

“This brat is heavy—he hits the floor with a bang...” Tu Shan Ge stepped back in distaste, lest Tong Yi land on his foot.

“Master, do you intend to kill Tong Jizhen first, then join forces with the royal household to destroy Tong Gaolu?”

Chen Heng nodded.

“These past days, while you were in seclusion, I pried another story about Tong Jizhen out of Tong Yi. It may be of some use to you.”

“You’re well versed in interrogation, I see.”

“Heh, there’s an old saying: ‘A wise man adapts to the times.’ I have every instrument of torture at my disposal—his mouth was no challenge to open!” Tu Shan Ge grinned with pride.

He sidled up to Chen Heng and whispered. Even Chen Heng, with his usual composure, frowned at what he heard.

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“So Tong Jizhen has a penchant for... men?”

Chen Heng glanced at Tu Shan Zhuang, who, being a fox, felt his fur bristle and instinctively edged toward the door.

“You’re skilled in transformation, aren’t you?” Though phrased as a question, Chen Heng’s tone brooked no doubt.

Tu Shan Zhuang: “...”

Nearby, Tu Shan Ge burst out laughing.

“You go help him. The two of you can watch out for each other.”

Before Tu Shan Ge could finish his laughter, Chen Heng added, “Don’t tip them off. Make sure Tong Gaolu doesn’t suspect a thing.”

Tu Shan Ge’s face darkened.

...

...

Rong Kingdom, Yuanjing.

A bright red sedan chair stopped at the entrance of a residence. Supported by several eunuchs, a man clad only in thin gauze and heavy makeup stepped out, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

His name was Ji Yu, the most celebrated courtesan at Chunhua House—one of the foremost male brothels in Yuanjing, the capital. Normally, with his current status, it would be difficult indeed to invite him personally.

But this time, the client had offered too much—an entire chest of gold and silver. Such extravagance could tempt even the immortals themselves!

So Ji Yu had set aside his ongoing affair with Tong Jizhen, quietly prepared his sedan, and arrived at the residence.

Yet the moment he entered the courtyard, he sensed something amiss.

The vast house was deserted, with only two servants in sight. The grounds were only superficially cleaned—as though someone had hurriedly swept the surface and neglected the rest.

But that was not the most important detail.

The looks the two servants gave him were most peculiar: a mix of hatred, confusion, dullness, and a strange intent he could not decipher.

It was as if... they were trying to study him, to imitate him?

Ji Yu wanted to run, to call for his eunuchs outside and flee in the sedan.

But then he thought of that chest of gold and silver, and steeled his resolve.

While these thoughts raced through his mind, the two servants led him to a small courtyard. One, particularly burly, was openly hostile—he even tried to trip Ji Yu as they walked.

“Whatever pleasure you desire tonight, young master, I am skilled in all eighteen arts—music, song, dance, every trick you can imagine...”

Murmuring the lines drilled into him by his madam, Ji Yu looked up—and froze.

Standing quietly in the courtyard was a man who seemed not of this world.

With ebony hair pinned by a wooden hairpin, clad in robes white as snow, he stood beneath the moonlight, bathed in a cold, clear glow. Unadorned, yet of striking bearing, his features carried a chill as distant as the first heavy dew of early spring. A single glance from him seemed to strip away all pretense, as if every thought were bared and could not be hidden.

In the presence of such a man, even the most vaunted beauty would feel awkward and inadequate.

Wait! Ji Yu’s mind spun—was this his client?

No! Who was buying whom here?

He was the one who had profited, haha!

Delighted, Ji Yu straightened his clothes, preparing to greet him with a smile—only to be struck down by a single wave of energy, collapsing instantly.

“All right, you two can decide among yourselves,” Chen Heng withdrew his hand and said coolly, “Which of you will play his part?”