"Who are you?"
Tang Ziqi's tone was wary. Meeting anyone in a place like this was reason enough for caution—even if that person looked like a harmless old man.
In the martial world, those who practiced inner cultivation were often most dangerous in old age—the older they were, the more monstrous their strength became.
The disheveled old man stopped walking. One eye opened, dull and yellowed, sweeping across Li Qingqiu, Yan Wujin, and Tang Ziqi before finally settling on Yan Wujin.
"The Great Sun Pure Yang Art," the old man rasped, his voice hoarse and rough. "What is your relation to Zhao Yan?"
The name made both Yan Wujin and Tang Ziqi stiffen in shock.
Li Qingqiu frowned slightly. That name—Zhao Yan—sounded familiar somehow.
Wait.
Wasn't that the name of the emperor's elder brother—the former Crown Prince—whom Wu Baoyu had once served?
Tang Ziqi's voice turned cold. "And who are you to recognize the Great Sun Pure Yang Art?"
The old man's wrinkled, bark-like face twisted into a chilling grin. "No need to be nervous. Since you've inherited the Great Sun Pure Yang Art, we're kin in the same lineage. I once served under the Crown Prince himself—as Chief Instructor of the Heaven-Guardian Division. My name doesn't matter anymore. You can call me the Mad Old Monster. My past no longer concerns me. I just want to live out my last years here—crazy and forgotten."
Tang Ziqi exchanged a look with Yan Wujin.
Yan Wujin stepped forward and asked, "My father once said that after his death, the Heaven-Guardian Division would surely be purged. You fled here to escape the current emperor's hunt, didn't you?"
The Mad Old Monster gave a rasping chuckle. "Not the emperor's. It was the Third Prince who wanted my head. I escaped into the Taikun Mountains to hide, but in the end, I only trapped myself here. Can't leave anymore."
With a long sigh, he dropped onto the ground and sat cross-legged.
Yan Wujin frowned. "Because of this mist?"
"Exactly. The miasma here isn't poisonous, but it seals you in. I've been trapped nearly twenty years, surviving on raw meat and river water just to stay alive."
His words made both Yan Wujin and Tang Ziqi's hearts pound.
Trapped for twenty years?
That was terrifying—almost impossible to believe.
Then Tang Ziqi suddenly turned toward Li Qingqiu. "And you—why are you here?"
Both Yan Wujin and the old man turned their eyes toward him. They noticed his clean robes and calm expression—clearly not someone who had wandered here by accident.
Li Qingqiu smiled faintly. "This is the back mountain of my sect. Why wouldn't I be here? I'm just out for a walk."
Yan Wujin's brows furrowed tightly. Tang Ziqi felt a cold, crawling discomfort at how casual Li Qingqiu sounded.
The Mad Old Monster studied him curiously. "You're from the Qingxiao Sect? Who's your master?"
"Lin Xunfeng."
"Ah, that kid," the old man said with a half-laugh. "Back then he was just a snot-nosed brat. And now he's taking disciples? Time really flies."
His tone shifted, the glint in his eyes sharpening with sudden malice. "So your grandmaster would be True Person Qingxiao, then? Heh. If not for him refusing to accept me—and even trying to kill me—I wouldn't have had to flee here in the first place. Good. Killing you will be my revenge."
Before anyone could react, he hurled the gourd in his hand. A blast of violent inner energy surged forth, tearing through the mist toward Li Qingqiu.
Yan Wujin's face changed drastically. He grabbed Tang Ziqi and leapt backward.
Bang!
Li Qingqiu caught the flying gourd effortlessly. The shockwave rolled through the trees—but his arm didn't so much as tremble. He stood firm as a mountain, unmoved.
Yan Wujin and Tang Ziqi both froze in disbelief.
This man… is no ordinary martial artist!
The Mad Old Monster narrowed his eyes. "Such power at your age… impressive. Tell me your name, boy."
Li Qingqiu smiled faintly, crushing the gourd to dust in his hand. "Old bastard, you really don't hold back, do you?"
His right hand flicked slightly, and between his fingers, a thin iron needle shot forth—so fast it was almost invisible.
Pfft!
The needle pierced straight through the old man's forehead.
The Mad Old Monster's eyes bulged. His body stiffened, then collapsed backward without a sound.
Yan Wujin had barely glimpsed the motion. One moment the old man was alive—his inner energy fierce enough to rival Yan's own—and the next, he was dead.
A chill ran down Yan Wujin's spine.
What kind of monsters are hiding within Qingxiao Sect?
Tang Ziqi stood trembling, unable to move or speak, staring at Li Qingqiu as though looking at a ghost.
The forest was thick with mist, the sky still dark before dawn. Tang Ziqi couldn't even see Li Qingqiu's expression clearly—but in his eyes, that man had already become something terrifying and unearthly.
Cold sweat drenched Yan Wujin's back. Just from that single strike, he knew—if Li Qingqiu wanted him dead, he wouldn't stand a chance. His wounds weren't even healed; resistance would be pointless.
Tang Ziqi didn't dare move either. Silence filled the forest, heavy and suffocating.
Li Qingqiu finally turned his gaze toward Yan Wujin. He didn't speak, but that single look made the man's chest tighten painfully.
Clang—!
Li Qingqiu drew the Tianhong Sword. A flash of cold light streaked across Yan Wujin and Tang Ziqi's faces.
Thud!
Tang Ziqi fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. "Please, senior! Spare us! We can't die—no, he can't die!"
Yan Wujin lowered his head. His fists clenched inside his sleeves, his jaw tight with silent frustration.
"Why can't he die?"
Li Qingqiu's voice was calm, unreadable.
Tang Ziqi crawled forward on his hands and knees until he reached Yan Wujin's side, pressing his forehead against the ground like a dog groveling for mercy.
"He is the son of the former Crown Prince Zhao Yan," Tang Ziqi said through clenched teeth. "By decree of the Great Ancestor, he is the rightful imperial grandson—the true heir to the throne. His father was framed by traitors, and he was abandoned in the mortal world. The current emperor is foolish, easily swayed by demonic advisors. Because of him, chaos spreads across the land—countless commoners have lost their homes, and the Demon Emperor's ambitions grow ever darker. He seeks immortality and secretly abducts innocent boys and girls for twisted rituals, leaving endless tragedies in his wake. Only if Yan Wujin overthrows this corrupt throne can the world see light again, and the people regain peace!"
"That's enough!"
Yan Wujin's tone was low and sharp, his anger barely contained.
Tang Ziqi turned toward him, shouting in desperation, "Elder Brother! You can't die—we can't die here! Even if we lose all dignity tonight, we must beg for our lives! You carry the hope of all under heaven; you cannot die!"
Yan Wujin said nothing, torn between pride and survival.
Li Qingqiu's voice broke the silence. "So you wish to use 'the fate of the world' to threaten me? You were the ones who attacked Qingxiao Sect first. How easily you twist your story to sound righteous."
Tang Ziqi looked back quickly, his voice trembling as he tried to explain. "We had no choice. To rise from the martial world, we needed power—evidence of the emperor's crimes. We chose Qingxiao Sect because the Taikun Mountains are far from the court's reach. We never meant to destroy your sect—only to absorb it. If you hadn't resisted, no one would've died!"
Li Qingqiu neither spoke nor sheathed his sword. His eyes stayed cold and distant, as though weighing something in silence.
Tang Ziqi's voice cracked. "It's our fault, we admit it! Whatever it takes to atone, we'll do it—just please, spare us! We can die, but not here, not like this!"
Despair filled his voice. All his pride had long since crumbled.
When he first met Yan Wujin, he was awed by his martial power. Learning of his noble origin had ignited in him a burning ambition—to restore the world through this man, to build an empire worthy of his lineage.
He never imagined their dream would die before it even began. Their newly founded sect crushed to dust, their plans buried in fog. And now, like a stray dog, he was begging for mercy.
Tang Ziqi had always been proud. But in this moment, he was utterly broken.
Li Qingqiu's gaze fell on him. "You're his strategist, aren't you? He focuses on martial arts, so his foolishness is understandable. But you? You didn't even bother to investigate your target before making a move. And you still believe you can save the world?"
Tang Ziqi's face burned red with shame. He couldn't utter a word in reply.
Yan Wujin's humiliation ran even deeper. He didn't blame Tang Ziqi; he blamed himself. If only he were stronger, things would never have come to this.
Li Qingqiu spoke again, his tone suddenly calm. "Head that way. Keep your eyes closed and don't open them. When you no longer feel the chill in the air, then you may look."
Both Yan Wujin and Tang Ziqi lifted their heads, stunned. Li Qingqiu raised his sword and pointed diagonally toward a direction through the mist.
"Thank you, Senior!" Tang Ziqi bowed deeply and stood up, trying to pull Yan Wujin along—but Yan didn't move.
"You trust us that easily?" Yan Wujin asked quietly, suspicion in his eyes.
Tang Ziqi's heart tightened. Idiot! Why ask that now?
Li Qingqiu met his gaze and replied simply, "I don't trust you. I just want to leave this world a little hope."
Yan Wujin stared at him for a long moment, then took out a book from inside his robe and tossed it over. "Our cause may fail, but at least let this Great Sun Pure Yang Art remain with Qingxiao Sect."
He turned away, dragging Tang Ziqi along as they walked toward the direction Li Qingqiu had pointed. Within moments, both vanished into the fog.
Li Qingqiu opened the manual and flipped through a few pages. Seeing no hidden traps or poison, he nodded slightly and tucked it into his robe.
Then he resumed walking toward the direction marked in his Fortune Opportunity.
As he moved through the mist, old memories surged unbidden to the surface.
When he was less than a year old, his father had tried to join the Li clan of Linchuan by posing as a lost branch family member. But when his father brought his wife and infant son to the clan estate, a Daoist there declared the child—Li Qingqiu himself—was cursed and must be cast out before the clan would accept them.
His parents agreed. They abandoned him outside the city walls. Before leaving, they told him that perhaps they would be parent and child again in the next life.
He had never hated the Li clan, nor even his parents. He once believed it was fate—just repaying the kindness of birth.
But now, he finally understood why his master had been hunted when he took him in as a child.
Even if his father had joined the Li clan, he was just an ordinary member. The true reason was that the emperor had begun capturing young boys for his dark rituals. Without his master's protection, Li Qingqiu's fate would've been unimaginable.
Perhaps that Daoist had been acting on imperial orders. The Li clan's rise in power was no coincidence—they were likely tied closely to the throne.
Thinking of this past, Li Qingqiu quickened his pace.
The miasma here wasn't poisonous, but it confused the senses. Anyone not careful would lose their way. To stay on course, one had to keep their eyes fixed on the ground—but the forest wasn't safe either; beasts lurked within the fog.
He noticed faint traces beneath the fallen leaves—a narrow path trodden by those who had come before.
Following it, he moved deeper into the forest.
As dawn broke, sunlight filtered weakly through the mist, but the world around him remained blank and white.
After walking roughly twenty li, he began to see scattered human bones along the way. Some were still wearing fragments of clothing.
He didn't stop. He needed to find the great tree first—then he would account for the dead.
That tree was his Fortune Opportunity.
And that meant—for the current Li Qingqiu—nothing along this path would threaten his life.