Stepping through the water to the shore, Zhao Xunan let the blazing flames surge from his thoughts, enveloping his entire body. His damp robes dried instantly.
He flicked a finger, and a wisp of crimson-purple fire landed on the ground. The rocks beneath it cracked and melted with a crackling sound, the flames growing fiercer rather than dimming. Zhao Xunan chuckled—this was the power of the Six Ding Divine Fire, one of the primordial fires that had forged the heavens. Even a cultivator a realm above him would've been powerless against it.
Just as he rejoiced, the Six Ding Divine Fire suddenly retracted into his body, vanishing in an instant. No amount of coercion could bring it back. Zhao Xunan frowned. Why had it hidden?
As he pondered, his dantian trembled, and a foreign consciousness flooded his mind. Zhao Xunan's eyes lit up. Of course! The Six Ding Divine Fire wasn't of this mortal realm. When it had split earlier, it had been manageable, but now that it had merged with the world's natural laws, it could only lurk deep in his dantian. To wield it freely, he'd need to reach the Nascent Soul Realm.
Yet this wasn't a loss. With the fire latent in his dantian, it would constantly temper his spirit body—a boon with no downsides. Thanks to this, his dantian, which had been stuck at the eighth rank, had leapt to the seventh. One more step, and he'd reach the middle realm, a gulf of difference.
"This trip to Red Clay Ridge was worth it," Zhao Xunan muttered, fastening his frost iron pockmarked armor. Just as he turned to leave, the flames still burning on the ground caught his eye. A fragment of the divine fire, separate from his main flame, burned brighter than ever.
He hesitated, then shook his head. The old Celestial Master said to leave three parts of oneself. This fire was stolen from the Forging Sect—no need to be greedy. With that, he turned and left.
By the time he reached the mountain pass, the first light of dawn painted the horizon. Ma Lan hurried over, relief washing over her face. "Heaven be praised—you're safe. I was worried the mountain might collapse when the fire vanished."
Zhao Xunan glanced back. The White Head Ridge, once capped with snow, was now a rushing river of mud and ice. The lake's waters gushed forth, and faint multicolored light flickered in the distance. "Let's head to West Pass."
Leaving Red Clay Ridge, Zhao Xunan and Ma Lan journeyed northwest. With the Six Ding Divine Fire in hand, no other distractions remained—his goal was West Pass, where the Threefold Fortune's Martial Essence awaited.
It was early spring in the Central Plains, but the northwest frontier still howled with winter winds, bare of spring's touch. Zhao Xunan had planned to head straight for Yijianshi, the Yin Mountains Garrison, but the sight of watchtowers dotting the mountains made him change course. He followed the curve of the Yin Mountains toward West Pass.
Along the way, they encountered over a dozen groups of people of the grasslands: herders tending flocks, and armored cavalry patrolling. Five or six tribes, each with their own banners, ruled the land. At midday, smoke curled from tents, and songs drifted out—clearly, the people of the grasslands had claimed the northwest as their own.
Herders froze at the sight of two Great Qin travelers, but the patrolling cavalry didn't hesitate. Arrows flew the moment they saw Zhao Xunan and Ma Lan. To these warriors, the best Great Qin folk were dead ones.
Zhao Xunan drew Tianji, and with a sweep of his blade, a dozen zhang-long slash of celestial light tore through the air. Blood and gore flew—ordinary cavalry had no hope against a Qi Refiner who'd transcended the mortal realm. By the sixth patrol, Zhao Xunan had seen enough.
West Pass loomed ahead, flanked by emerald mountains. A black, five-zhang-wide pass cut through the peaks, once carved by the gods to save fleeing mortals from the Court of the Steppe. Over millennia, dynasties had fortified it with walls fifteen zhang high, watchtowers, cannons, and formation arrays. It was the "Dragon's Head" of the Nine Great Formations defending the Central Plains.
Even if the defending soldiers had rebelled, even if the Court of the Steppe had sent ten times their forces, taking West Pass would've been impossible. Zhao Xunan and Ma Lan stared in silence—pride in the ancestors who built it, and worry that such a fortress now fell to barbarians.
A squadron of black-armored cavalry thundered out of the West Pass barracks, charging straight at them. Zhao Xunan laughed, patting Zahua. "What's so funny, Master?" Ma Lan asked, puzzled.
"Ever wonder why the cavalry is feared?" Zhao Xunan grinned. "Not just their horses or bows—their fierceness. But look at this." He jerked his chin at the approaching squadron. "A full company of heavy cavalry, all in iron. What does that say?"
Ma Lan frowned. Before she could answer, Zhao Xunan roared, "Cowardice and laziness!" He tossed a spear from his belt—a captured Wangting cavalry weapon—and it pierced the hundred-house leader's chest, hurling him from his horse.
The squadron faltered. A burly shi (captain) barked orders: "Shield wall, spears forward, archers loose—kill!"
Zhao Xunan laughed, parrying arrows with Tianji and tossing another spear. The shi dodged, raised his spear, and knocked it aside. A top-tier Grandmaster, Zhao Xunan thought.
The cavalry closed in. At ten zhang, the shi thrust his spear. Zhao Xunan swayed Tianji, cleaving downward—but the spear didn't break. The force of the blow still disarmed the shi, however, and his arm hung limp.
Tianji returned to Zahua, and Zhao Xunan charged into the ranks. His blade shattered armor like paper, leaving no survivors. "Retreat to camp!" the trailing shi yelled, turning tail. The rest followed, panic-stricken.
Zhao Xunan sheathed Tianji, disgusted. I can't bring myself to kill fleeing men.
A shi broke from the pack, charging on horseback. "Ancestor's mercy!" he roared, his body swelling—nine zhang tall, shoulders broad as a door, tusks glinting. His spear lunged.
Zhao Xunan caught it, hoisted the shi overhead, and hurled him to the ground. Blood spurted from his mouth. "Who are you?" Zhao Xunan growled.
"...Wangwu Ridge, Outer Three Mountains," the shi panted, bloodied.
Zhao Xunan frowned. Outer Three Mountains were vast; some clans pledged loyalty to Great Qin, but Wangwu Ridge was far north, beyond their borders. "You're not Great Qin. Why fight for the Court of the Steppe?"
The shi spat blood. "The Great Khan hired three thousand warriors from my clan. We don't run!"
Zhao Xunan's ears perked. The grassland overlords hired demons from Outer Three Mountains? Interesting. "Your kin—are they in West Pass?"
"No—they're with the Great Khan."
Zhao Xunan smirked. "You're too honest. Do you think I'll believe you?"
"We Wind Clan warriors never lie!" the shi snapped.
Zhao Xunan laughed, throwing a light punch. "Call me 'Uncle.'"
"...What?"
"Call me 'Uncle,' or I'll kill you."
"Uncle?!" The shi gaped. "We Wind Clansmen take 'Bo' as our surname—'Father' is a title for men. How's that an insult?!"
Zhao Xunan chuckled. Rustic, but earnest. "Alright, Bo... What if I capture you? What happens?"
"I know the end—death. A clean cut, a scar, and I'll be reborn in eighteen years. So what?"
Zhao Xunan couldn't argue. Such straightforwardness was refreshing. "Let's make a deal. How can I let you live?"
Bo frowned. "Hard. My clan's first big job—we can't lose face."
"Then take the blade," Zhao Xunan said, raising Tianji.