Contestants in the Global Cultivator Tournament were strictly forbidden from cultivating anywhere outside the Cultivator Village.
So when a spiritual energy tide swept through the region, everyone stayed put, trying to absorb as much spiritual energy as they could.
Their cultivation levels were high, and their skills refined. During the surge, they attracted large amounts of energy, but they also consumed it just as quickly.
Within a short time, the spiritual energy in the village was completely drained.
When the energy was gone and things quieted down, several teams that had secretly sent people to scout Xiaozhu Mountain realized something was wrong. None of their people had come back.
There had been distress signals at first, but now—complete silence. These weren't even the main contestants, but they were all carefully groomed elites, nurtured with years of investment. If anything happened to them, it would be a serious loss.
When the teams left the village to investigate, they were met with a shocking sight—photos of their missing teammates plastered on the barbed wire fence surrounding Xiaozhu Mountain. After hastily translating the posters, they finally understood what had happened.
Their missing team members had been detained by Song Miaozhu for trespassing on private territory. She demanded a hefty ransom for their release. And payment was accepted in one currency only—Renminbi.
"バカ!"
"!"
"Bitch!"
"Connasse!"
"!"
…
The foreigners cursed under their breath, while the locals burst out laughing.
"This is killing me. They actually tried to sneak into Xiaozhu Mountain during a spiritual energy tide?"
"Seriously? Back when the Eternal Life Society tried to bomb the place, Master Song didn't even get scratched. And now, after all these years, no one knows how strong she's become. What were they thinking?"
"I remember the tournament rules clearly said that the host country wouldn't intervene in any personal disputes outside the village or the competition grounds. With this many people gone, those teams might as well forfeit before the first match."
"Let's count… one, ten, hundred… billion. Two hundred million per head. Thirty-six people. That's 7.2 billion Renminbi. Master Song just made a fortune!"
"Why doesn't a foreigner break into my house? I could use some easy money too!"
"Keep dreaming! You think those foreigners are easy to deal with? If they really snuck into your house, could you take them all down like she did?"
"Master Song is beyond ridiculous now. You all saw the spiritual energy pouring out of Xiaozhu Mountain the other day. All the cultivators in our town combined don't attract as much as she does alone!"
"Not just us. Even those elite cultivators in the village can't compete."
"Hahaha! Just seeing those foreigners shouting and stomping around makes me laugh."
"If they really get pissed and try again, only to get wiped out a second time… now that would be hilarious."
…
Amid the mockery and heckling from the crowd, the foreign teams left, still grumbling.
None of them dared step beyond the rusted, flimsy barbed wire fence—despite how defenseless it looked.
One or two mishaps might be chalked up to bad luck, but multiple teams from different countries, all captured in the same way? That meant Xiaozhu Mountain was far more dangerous than they had assumed.
They might have been eager to test the strength of China's top cultivator, but not at the cost of compromising the actual tournament.
After all, the Global Cultivator Tournament wasn't just a competition.
Every member of the International Cultivator Council had contributed a rare trove of cultivation resources for the champion team. The outcome would also determine each country's influence in future dealings—both within the council and in spiritual item trade negotiations.
Forget about breaking into Xiaozhu Mountain. At this point, they were more afraid Song Miaozhu might come down the mountain and arrest them instead.
Only once they made it back to the Cultivator Village did they finally feel safe.
The village was the one place the Chian authorities guaranteed their protection.
But even after calming down, they were still fuming. Several nations banded together and lodged a formal complaint with the International Cultivator Council, accusing China of maliciously detaining their people and undermining the fairness of the tournament.
Song Miaozhu had already informed Zhao Huoyan before posting the ransom notices. The SEIU was fully prepared for this outcome.
They simply pulled out the tournament rulebook and pointed to the clause: any disputes occurring outside the competition grounds or village must be handled according to local cultivator law.
Plain and simple. Black and white. A regulation agreed upon by all countries.
The complaint was dismissed.
Only then did these nations realize how serious the situation had become. All tournament participants had been registered months in advance, each one vetted through rigorous screening. No substitutions were allowed.
Their alternates, who also served as support personnel, were all captured. With that many people gone, their teams were now severely undermanned, and the tournament hadn't even started.
And training these cultivators hadn't been cheap. With no other choice, they gritted their teeth and followed the instructions on the posters, wiring the ransom in full.
The problem was, the payment had to be in Renminbi.
And there weren't many countries with a deep Renminbi reserve—especially the ones bold enough to send intruders up Xiaozhu Mountain in the first place.
They scrambled to move their funds around and, just in time for the tournament's opening day, finally transferred the ransom to the designated account.
True to her word, Song Miaozhu released them immediately upon receiving the payment, dragging each of them out of the spiritual jail at the mountaintop and tossing them off Xiaozhu Mountain.
Thirty-six people, netting her a clean 7.2 billion Renminbi. Converted to hell coins, that came out to a full 3.6 billion. It wasn't much compared to her current trillion-coin underworld balance, but it could still buy her thirty-six top-grade spirit stones.
After retrieving their captured members, the various nations quickly debriefed them.
What they heard left them stunned. And, seeking to spark public curiosity about Song Miaozhu and gather more intel amid the chaos, they all "accidentally" leaked the incident.
"Trapped after walking less than ten meters into the mist?"
"Legs stuck in swampy ground with no way out?"
"Captured by Song Miaozhu, riding some terrifying beast with a sheep's head, wolf claws, and a deer's body?"
The ones who had been caught by the Bamboo Horse Boundary Marker never figured out what trapped them. In the mist so thick they couldn't see their own hands, they assumed Xiaozhu Mountain was filled with hidden marshes.
But China netizens weren't buying that. They knew full well there were no swamps on Xiaozhu Mountain. Those foreigners were clearly ensnared by one of Master Song's spirit constructs.
And that so-called monster with the sheep's head and wolf claws? Obviously her qilin mount.
Song Miaozhu waited patiently, hoping someone would try again—maybe learn from the first wave's mistakes and trigger another round of ransom payouts.
But even as the tournament began, no one came.
The Bamboo Horse Boundary Marker was only the outermost layer of Xiaozhu Mountain's defense.
Her Mind-Luring Paper Grass Array, Sky-Patrolling Paper Crane Formation, Azure Lotus Geoflow Talisman, Paper Shield Peach Charm—none of them had even been used yet.
No one had even discovered the spiritual residence she had so carefully hidden.
Perched atop the old pagoda tree, bored out of her mind, Song Miaozhu summoned a group of little paper servants and gave them a new task—sneak into the Cultivator Village and trail the main teams from each country.
"I want to see," she muttered, "if their top-tier players are just as disappointing."