After Refusing Marriage to the Dao of Slaughter Patriarch (18)

The little girl was slightly stunned.

The wind lingering by her ears turned into a sharp clamor, like the sorrowful cry of a whale sinking to the bottom of the sea. For a moment, she couldn't react in time and only saw the back of Ji Zhaixing as he turned away. His waist was tied by a sash, outlining a frail curve. His black hair cascaded down like ink, like an ink wash painting that had been stretched out and diluted.

Such a beautiful figure.

Yet, with absolute resolve and without a hint of hesitation, he threw himself into that extremely treacherous Shattered Sumeru.

"S-Senior Brother Ji!" The little girl's voice carried a tone of sorrow.

However, there was no longer anyone to answer her.

The other cultivators were also in shock, yet to recover their senses.

Ji Zhaixing was indeed strong; his sword shocked all directions. Given time, he would definitely become a mighty leader in the cultivation world, and might even cultivate to become the only Nascent Soul Zhenjun to ascend from this realm in thousands of years.

But so what?

Right now, he was only at the Golden Core realm.

If Ji Zhaixing were a Nascent Soul, this mystic realm above the Heaven-Rank might perhaps be where his fated encounter lay.

But he entered with a Golden Core cultivation base... One must know that demonic beasts are inherently more formidable than human cultivators of the same rank. Even if Ji Zhaixing had already reached the peak cultivation in this small world, it was feared that he would end up as nutrients for the mystic realm's demonic beasts or even spiritual plant spirits—

But he still went.

Knowing it was impossible, he still did it.

The surface of the sea was calm, boundless and azure. The entrance to the mystic realm still flickered with flowing light, and all the cultivators fell silent.

......

The surrounding spiritual energy was as thick as a mass of water, squeezing Ji Zhaixing from all sides. It clung to his lapels, and with every breath, dots of rich spiritual energy surged in.

Although the dense spiritual energy in a mystic realm indeed surpassed the outside world, the spiritual energy in this realm—not to mention compared to the spiritually barren small world Ji Zhaixing was in—even when he was in the Mingling Sword Sect of the Upper World, he had never perceived such abundant spiritual energy.

Just entering this mystic realm, one probably wouldn't even need to fight over secret treasures; simply sitting down to cultivate would likely result in rapid advancement, making the journey from Qi Condensation to Golden Core just around the corner.

Ji Zhaixing slightly lowered his eyes, his expression calm, actually feeling much more at ease.

Most of the disciples from the Yushui Sect were astute. With such an anomaly, even if they had initially lost their minds in pleasant surprise, they would quickly react and treat this vastly changed mystic realm with caution.

The mystic realm exit pointed out by the several Golden Core cultivators who had set up the seal outside for them had completely lost its bearings and was nowhere to be found.

Ji Zhaixing had only been in this mystic realm for less than half an hour, but he had already seen several rare treasures.

In the bizarre and dense forest, the floral dew was fragrant. Those thousand-year-old, or even ten-thousand-year-old spiritual herbs grew casually all around, as if they were nothing more than the most ordinary weeds.

Thousand-year-old Bone-Melting Grass, the most scarce spiritual herb ingredient for the Myriad Spirit Pill, the Spirit-Gathering Herb, and the main material for top-tier defensive dharma robes, the Silk-Stripping Mulberry—at a glance, they were bustling and clustered together.

There was also the Jade Pearl Fruit, a great tonic for demonic beasts, which grew leaves every hundred years, bloomed every thousand years, and bore fruit every ten thousand years. It had almost formed overlapping clusters of plump, rosy fruits that weighed the branches down.

They grew casually on the branches, unpicked by anyone. If pill cultivators or medicine cultivators entered this place, their eyes would probably pop out of their heads.

Ji Zhaixing noticed one thing. Many of the spiritual herbs here were absolutely unique, at least in the Lower Three Thousand Small Worlds where he was located.

He only recognized eight or nine out of ten of these herbs relying on the ancient texts he had once seen in the Scripture Pavilion of the Mingling Sword Sect.

Ji Zhaixing faintly had some speculations in his heart.

Along the way, Ji Zhaixing also picked a few spiritual herbs.

He entered the mystic realm to save people, so naturally, he wouldn't harvest all these spiritual herbs clean like a gluttonous beast. Instead, he only took spiritual herbs with mild medicinal properties that could detoxify, stop bleeding, regenerate flesh, and replenish spiritual energy, to prepare for unexpected needs.

The deeper he went into the dense forest, the thicker it became, forcing Ji Zhaixing to use his sword to chop through the branches and leaves in order to move forward.

Suddenly, mist arose.

The mist was extremely cold. Landing on Ji Zhaixing's black hair, it condensed like frost, as if covering him in a layer of translucent silk. His dark eyelashes and frail shoulders were all dyed with that touch of silvery-white, resembling frost or snow.

Ji Zhaixing was only wearing two layers of robes. His delicate and soft wrists were frozen to a pale color, and his cyan veins lay dormant, faintly discernible beneath his snow-like flesh and bones.

Ji Zhaixing looked as if he were walking amidst a sky full of snow.

He clearly should have been extremely cold, but it was as if he hadn't noticed it in the slightest. He allowed the mist to turn into ice and penetrate his clothes, not using his true essence to isolate himself or brush it away at all.

His footsteps gradually became sluggish.

It was as if in that very moment, Ji Zhaixing's steps slightly staggered. He took his sword to support his body, but it was to no avail. He suddenly fell backward, leaning against the roots of a thick, ancient tree. His face was pale, and the heat from his body continuously drained away.

He was so cold that he could barely open his eyes. He lightly bit his lip, the crimson lips bitten into an even more vibrant hue.

The white mist grew heavier, and the snow-like frost flowers on Ji Zhaixing's body piled up even deeper.

A bizarre demon spirit floating like a wisp of a soul poked out from the white mist, quietly approaching the cultivator who, in its eyes, was brimming with the aura of fresh flesh and blood, tempting it beyond compare.

That clump of white mist, which could barely gather into a fixed shape, slightly opened a black crevice—that was its "mouth." Just as it was about to devour the cultivator with closed eyes, it saw the black-haired cultivator suddenly open his eyes.

In that instant, Ji Zhaixing's black eyes were exceptionally bright, as if all the stars in the sky had fallen into his eyes, incredibly clear and calm.

The sword in his hand was drawn extremely fast, instantly thrusting toward the demon spirit that had opened its mouth at him. With a slight twist of his body, he slashed open a massive wound in the demon spirit's maw and belly; sword cultivators naturally suppressed these ghosts and spirits. Ji Zhaixing injected his true essence, ruthlessly driving the sword in. His stunning face was icy cold and incomparably serene. He slaughtered the demon spirit until it was as dead as could be before pulling his sword out.

He conveniently extracted the demon spirit's inner core.

That inner core was a full half-palm in size, with cloudy white mist swirling over it. It was very round and full, almost corresponding to a cultivator's high-stage Golden Core cultivation base.

"Golden Cores walking everywhere"—it really wasn't an exaggeration.

Ji Zhaixing paused slightly, then stored that inner core into his Sumeru Ring.

It was also precisely at this moment that rustling footsteps and conversational voices suddenly came, faintly drifting over from the distant mist.

"Senior Brother, I saw that Mirage Demon heading towards this place—"

"The Spirit-Sniffing Beast is very agitated, I can barely control it. I'm afraid there's more than just that Mirage Demon inside; a great demon must be hiding here. We cannot advance rashly."

"Tch," the youth who had earlier clamored about the Mirage Demon being here let out a mocking laugh. "Fang You, you just lack skill and can't control your mount, what 'great demon'? This is merely the edge of the Spirit Domain."

"Fang Jian, are you looking for a beating?"

The two's tempers flared even higher, almost breaking out into a fight. The senior brother, who was roughly the leader, said with a bit of a headache, "Stop arguing, I'll go take a look."

Ji Zhaixing eavesdropped for a while. Noticing that cultivator approaching, he slightly lowered his eyes, stored the demon spirit's corpse into his Sumeru Ring, and meekly leaned against the tree roots, half-reclining with his eyes closed. His cheeks were pale, and he half-pressed down on his waist and abdomen, no longer concealing his aura.

The demon mist brought by the arrival of that Mirage Demon was truly too dense, so much so that Lu Dengming couldn't clearly see the things in front of him for a moment. He only vaguely saw a white-clad cultivator leaning against the distant ancient tree.

Although he knew it was highly unlikely for demonic beasts capable of taking human form to appear in the fringe areas, and that Mirage Demon's eye-bewitching technique couldn't deceive him, Lu Dengming was still very cautious. He took off the magical artifact in his hand and slowly approached that person—

The frail-looking cultivator let out a suppressed cough.

He seemed to have tried his utmost to hold it back, the sound swallowed between his lips, teeth, and chest, yet there was still a trace of a miserable stir.

The white-clad cultivator's voice should be exceptionally pleasant; under such suppression, it even revealed a kind of cold, crisp melodiousness.

That cultivator seemed to have noticed him.

He roughly lifted his head slightly, glanced at Lu Dengming, and then staggeringly stood up, using his sword to support his body, barely managing to half-press the wound on his abdomen.

The white-clad cultivator remained silent for a moment before his voice sounded, gentle yet perfectly distant: "I did not know this was Daoist's hunting ground. I will leave at once."

He didn't have the slightest intention of asking for help. He appeared gentle and polite, but in reality, he was heavily guarded and extremely unyielding.

Under the cover of the mist, Lu Dengming couldn't see Ji Zhaixing's face clearly, but he only felt that this cultivator's staggering figure and aloof voice instantly softened his temper. For some reason, his vigilance dropped, and he said warmly, "What harm is there? I see Daoist... seems to be injured?"

Ji Zhaixing fell slightly silent, remaining very taciturn: "Injured by a Mirage Demon."

"That Mirage Demon was driven away by us." Lu Dengming was full of guilt. Just as he was about to speak, his junior brothers couldn't wait any longer and walked over.

Fang Jian was no more than eighteen and had an extroverted personality. Upon seeing Ji Zhaixing, he immediately began asking: "Which sect's disciple are you? Why are you in this Spirit Domain all alone? This is no ordinary mystic realm. If you move about without permission, be careful not to lose your life in here."

He spoke glibly and leaned in slightly, wanting to see this cultivator's face clearly through the demon mist, his mouth still going: "Eh? I see you only have an early-stage Golden Core cultivation base. How did you manage to enter the Spirit Domain—"

Lu Dengming interrupted him: "Junior Brother Jian, mind your words!"

"I was separated from my fellow disciples." Ji Zhaixing only gave a simple explanation, but that unfinished sense of dejection seemed to reveal even more information.

In fact, Ji Zhaixing greatly appreciated talkative cultivators like Fang Jian.

The more they spoke, the more information he could obtain, and it conveniently verified the speculations in Ji Zhaixing's heart as well. This was indeed no ordinary mystic realm, but a situation recorded in ancient scrolls. The "Spirit Domain" and the realm of the mystic realm had overlapped. Through an entrance refracted in the Lower Three Thousand Small Worlds, they had entered the "Spirit Domain," which was the most dangerous and most valued place by cultivators in the Upper World.

No wonder the level of this mystic realm was so high; it was because it never should have appeared in a small world lacking in spiritual energy in the first place.

Scolded by his usually steady senior brother, Fang Jian curled his lips, not daring to speak anymore.

Instead, he saw Senior Brother Lu instantly switch to a gentle tone, saying, "In this Spirit Domain, moving alone is truly dangerous. Daoist, why don't you travel with us until you find your fellow disciples?"

After saying that, he was afraid Ji Zhaixing might misunderstand and warmly added, "Daoist need not worry that we have ulterior motives. I, Lu, hail from the Mingling Sword Sect, and would absolutely never use such underhanded methods."

The Mingling Sword Sect—a massive sect that would make all cultivators tremble even when brought up in the Upper World; the foremost of the righteous path, the leader of Dao cultivators. Every disciple who came from the Mingling Sword Sect was a favored child of heaven with a noble background. Bringing up their name was a living signboard, making them as trustworthy as a guiding beacon in this dangerous mystic realm.

The not-so-trusting Ji Zhaixing: "..."