Wrapping his wound neatly with a clean cloth, Zhao Xunan patted Zahua's long face, gave a few parting instructions, and headed up the mountain.
It was now the Plum Moon—vegetation thrived, brambles grew dense, and paths were scarce. Not even large gaps in the undergrowth were easy to find. Fortunately, Zhao was no ordinary man; he stepped on tree canopies, leaping through the forest.
Though he'd stayed in Jiaojiao City for some time, this was his first ascent of Yinshan. The mountain straddled the border between two realms—neither common folk nor soldiers dared climb it recklessly. For fifty years, human disturbance had been minimal, allowing flora and fauna to flourish unchecked.
Even a casual glance revealed lush spiritual herbs. Zhao activated the Treasure-Seeking Record to project his divine sense, gathering herbs as he went.
An hour later, he hadn't found a stream but had filled his arms with top-grade spiritual plants. He grinned—was this misfortune turning into fortune?
As he pondered how to carry the haul, distraction made him stumble. Herbs spilled from his grasp. His divine sense brushed against something underground, triggering a sharp, soul-searing pain that nearly made him retch blood.
"What the hell—how old is this spiritual herb? Ten thousand years?!"
He clutched his throbbing heart, drew Tianji, and sliced downward. Brambles exploded, but no herb appeared. Another probe with his divine sense—another wave of pain. Clearly, something lay two zhang beneath the surface.
Zhao channeled true energy, slashing downward. The ground rumbled, then collapsed, revealing a glow below. Brushing dust aside, he peered into a cavern—its walls glowed faintly.
He leaped in, inhaling deeply. The air felt invigorating. A smile spread—this was a crystal cave, a rarity in the mortal realm.
The walls were studded with spiritual stones, mostly gray-white, but precious beyond measure by mundane standards. Heavenly laws forbade such caves, yet here one stood.
By the stones' light, Zhao saw the cavern stretched northward like a path of light. He plucked a yellow-tinged stone, sensing deeper treasures.
Time seemed to stall without the sun. He filled his grain bag with mostly orange stones, plus seven or eight red ones.
"In my past life, I'd have risked my life for this," Zhao mused. "Now, it's handed to me."
He bowed to the sky. "Thank you, Heaven, for your grace. Once this matter is settled, I'll offer triple sacrifices…"
His words faltered. He'd said similar vows before but never kept them.
"Heaven, you're too kind to me," he muttered, grinning awkwardly. With his haul, he turned to leave—greed had limits.
A bone-chilling wind swept past. Zhao turned, frowning. Wind meant an exit, but in midsummer? Unusual.
Following the breeze, he walked five hundred paces. Sunlight pierced through—he'd found the entrance.
Parting dense vines, blinding sunlight made him squint. Adjusting, he gasped. Before him lay a stone road, bustling with wedding processions.
Men in red robes rode horses; women in green gowns peeked from sedan chairs. Laughter and suona music filled the air.
Zhao approached, frowning. The landscape was lush farmland, not the northwest or grasslands. The sun blazed, but the air felt wintry. Insects fluttered near—unusual for cold weather.
This must be a secret realm hidden within the Great Thousand, like Red Clay Ridge or Whitehead Mountain where Six Ding Divine Fire resided.
An elderly man in red robes left the procession, bowing. "Unexpected guests from afar—by chance, would you join our wedding feast?"
Zhao agreed. Secret realms differed from the Great Thousand; they might hold rare treasures. Exploring new worlds was its own cultivation.
The village was elegant, resembling a martial academy. The old man seated Zhao at a VIP table. Outside, suona and drums played; guests toast and laughed.
After the ceremony, servants brought dishes. Zhao seized the chance. "Elder, where is this place?"
"You reek of powerful spiritual energy—unlike ordinary stones. Yet there's a tinge of death. Why?"
Zhao spoke bluntly; the elder wasn't offended. He sipped wine, chuckling. "This is Kala Secret Realm, ancient beyond measure. I am its spirit."
"The death aura? I was once a corpse, my spirit merging with the realm's essence over two millennia. The stench lingers, I'm afraid."
Zhao shook his head, recalling past lives. After the Kunlun Secret Realm opened, immortals vanished, but spirits thrived—blessed by faith and state sanction.
But this elder, a 2,000-year-old spirit, needed no sanctions. Natural spirits like him held immense power; even mid-stage Qi Refiners feared them.
"Elder, why invite me?" Zhao asked. Guests weren't usually welcomed—unless there was purpose.
The elder nodded toward a joyful newlywed couple. "Why so many weddings in Kala?"
Zhao shook his head—he was an outsider.
"To create variables, to hope for the realm's survival."
Zhao frowned. The village felt… disjointed, as if sand ready to scatter at a breeze.
"You're a cultivator—your divine sense is sharp," the elder said. "A year ago, foreign energy entered. The sun stopped moving; days and seasons blurred. As you noticed—disintegration. Today's wedding is a last resort."
"Kala's been here ages. The cause? A formation, cracked by that foreign energy. It's killing the realm."
"Elder, you want me to repair it?"
The elder nodded. "I've tried, but the formation rejects us. You're the only one who can help—a true cultivator from the Great Thousand."
He handed Zhao a brush: silver, with a qilin hair tip. "Peach Blossom Joy Brush, a celestial treasure. Its spirit is gone, but it's still a top-tier artifact. If repair fails, use it to seal the realm and wait for rebirth."
Zhao hefted the brush—it weighed 20-30 jin. "Opportunity? How?"
"Eastern Joyful Immortal Realm. Its pure energy can free us from samsara, leading to paradise."
Zhao's heart raced. Since the Mythical Era, immortals had vanished. The Eastern Joyful Realm was a myth, a graveyard for the dead.
The elder shook his head. "It exists—hidden. The Great Thousand endures, so the Immortal Realm endures. Even if hidden, it waits for change to reopen heaven and earth."
Zhao's heart pounded, as if something wanted to burst forth. "Evidence?"
"Kala's people are descendants of immortals. They sense it."
Zhao scanned the guests. Their auras were pure, like jade, glowing faintly gold. They felt… otherworldly, not meant for the mortal realm.
"So this is the aura of immortals," Zhao murmured. Yet, beneath the joy, he sensed emptiness—like water without a source, flowers in a mirror. A touch, a stone, and they'd fade.
The wedding proceeded. By dusk, the sun still blazed. After feasting, the elder led Zhao to a home for three days of preparation.