The land of Sui values martial prowess and its people delight in conflict. Here, the tribulations of cultivators began earlier than in other places.
Though the great calamity aberration arose from external circumstances, when one’s character is insufficient and the heart follows external influences, internal tribulations are born—this is nothing unusual.
Struggle most easily gives rise to a competitive heart, and a competitive heart most easily gives birth to anger, while competition itself is a form of attachment.
Regardless of one’s level of cultivation, as long as one has not yet attained the Dao, the heart will inevitably have flaws. This is not something to be criticized—demanding perfection is unrealistic. Cultivation itself is a process of self-perfection. Requiring cultivators to be sages without fault is like demanding that a student currently studying must already comprehend all knowledge. Learning is a process, cultivation is also a process. Simply stepping onto this path and moving forward is already a good thing.
“When desire is not seen, the heart does not become confused.” These cultivators of Sui might ordinarily be able to discipline their hearts, but now that the Great Calamity has arrived, it is like people seeing objects of desire. A hungry and thirsty person might still be able to endure and not steal, but if a table full of sumptuous delicacies were placed before them at this moment, how could their heart not become confused?
Like those cultivators who sought to seize the Huai River Lord’s palace—they worried about the external tribulation and wished to prepare in advance. The external tribulation had not yet manifested, but the internal tribulation first drove them to madness, ultimately causing the external tribulation to descend prematurely. These cultivators’ various efforts to avoid tribulation instead caused them to sink ever deeper into it. The changes were subtle, though the principle was quite clear. Unfortunately, people whose minds have been confused by the seven emotions and six desires rarely awaken clearly.
Moreover, Sui’s martial culture, under the influence of the Great Calamity, had already grown increasingly extreme. Sometimes even when one wished to avoid conflict and seek only self-preservation, it was already too late to withdraw. Like soldiers on a battlefield, with blades slashing toward them from all directions, there was already no way to escape.
Sui was like a vortex, swallowing these cultivators one by one, gradually spinning faster and faster, larger and larger.
However, at this time, the speed of this spinning vortex called Sui had quietly decreased.
A force called the Mingdeng Sect was descending like spring rain that nourishes all things.
In the Great Calamity, countless forces rose and fell. Since some were destroyed, naturally some also arose. Among them, the most eye-catching was probably the Xuanqing Sect.
But the Mingdeng Sect’s rise was different from the Xuanqing Sect’s. The Xuanqing Sect was like a bamboo shoot suddenly bursting from the ground—after a single rain it suddenly appeared, and within a few days had grown into a long bamboo pole. But before this, it had been hidden deep underground, unnoticed by anyone.
The Mingdeng Sect’s rise, however, gave many people a sense of sudden realization. Perhaps they had occasionally heard this name in idle conversation, or perhaps they hadn’t heard it but had happened to encounter those cultivators holding heart lamps, or perhaps they had received the crude lamp-lighting method that could diminish the resentment and suffering of yin souls…
The Mingdeng Sect was like moisture in the air, habitually ignored by people in ordinary times, but when the rain fell, it wouldn’t surprise anyone.
The heart flames of these Mingdeng Sect cultivators could reduce the resentment and malevolent energy of yin souls, and naturally could also reduce the malevolent qi of the living. In the past when the Mingdeng Sect was scattered like loose sand, the power they could exert was extremely limited, but now that they had unified, in Sui—a place where many cultivators had their minds confused by the ferocity of struggle—the Mingdeng Sect cultivators burst forth with inconceivable power.
Sometimes, those people whose minds had been confused by rage or resentment simply needed someone to pull them back. Once they calmed down, they could discipline their own hearts.
The Mingdeng Sect’s unification was undoubtedly timely rain for Sui, which was heading toward losing control. But there was certainly a reason why this sect that had been scattered for thousands upon thousands of years suddenly chose to rise up in Sui—their purpose lay in Sui itself.
Changpu had already gone to Sui to begin her actions. Yang Cang naturally had to support his disciple, so he began integrating the Mingdeng Sect here.
But let us set aside how they acted for now. At this time, there was also another group of people in Sui.
The ethereal, immortal-like red-crowned crane released its full size as a great demon. With a spread of its wings, Bai Hong rode the wind and rose. Carrying Ding Qin, in just a moment they crossed the Huai River.
The three kingdoms of Lu, Liang, and Sui were neighbors. Between Lu and Liang stood the Daqing Mountain range as a barrier; between Lu and Sui lay the Huai River. The Daqing Mountain range was difficult to cross, while the Huai River was wide with unobstructed views—these were natural barriers. To travel between Lu and Liang required passing through the Jiuqu River’s course; to travel between Lu and Sui required crossing the Huai River.
For cultivators whose cultivation was insufficient to fly through the air for long periods, the wide and turbulent Huai River was still a difficult obstacle, let alone for ordinary people. Only sufficiently sturdy and heavy large boats could cross the Huai River. However, both banks of the Huai River were wide and open, with stationed troops standing guard who could see everything clearly. Crossing the river required considerable time—no one could launch a surprise attack on anyone else.
As for those cultivators with cultivation high enough to cross the great river… there was no need to worry about them.
The cultivator stationed in the army only raised his head to glance at the giant crane flying past overhead before withdrawing his gaze. Bird-type demon cultivators had particular advantages in crossing rivers, but he could distinguish that this was a true great demon, not something he could intercept. Spiritual qi fluctuated in his hand for an instant, and a message was transmitted back to the nearest large city in Sui territory. From this large city, messages spread to other cities, gradually extending throughout all of Sui.
In the increasing chaos of the Great Calamity, it was impossible to guard Sui like an iron barrel, but at least they needed to know which powerful cultivators were within Sui territory.
Bai Hong brought Ding Qin to Sui. They weren’t chasing after Changpu—what Changpu had to do was too important, and they couldn’t be trusted to that extent yet, so they had separated before. But Ding Qin and Bai Hong had originally been heading toward Sui anyway, otherwise they wouldn’t have encountered Changpu near the border between Lu and Sui.
Lu Kingdom revered the gods most. With the Divine Court’s assistance, it had already returned to normal operation. Liang Kingdom was filled with evil sects—too dangerous and not a good place for training. Sui Kingdom respected the Divine Court but was neither as peaceful as Lu nor as chaotic as Liang. Although it had been quite some time since Bai Hong’s last visit to Sui, Sui had many branches of the Huai River, most controlled by former subordinates of the Huai River Divine Lord, whom they could visit and befriend. Thus their arrival in Sui wasn’t completely blind. Additionally, there was another reason. Ding Qin had once studied the method of using music to guide emotions with Yu Jian, sharing a half-teacher relationship with him. Yu Jian had been a Sui person in life, and after death was sustained by offerings from Sui musicians. Shortly after the Great Calamity began, worried, he had left Shuigu Town to return to Sui.
Therefore, after separating from Changpu, Ding Qin and Bai Hong still proceeded to Sui according to their previous plans, just taking a different route from Changpu.
After crossing the Huai River, Bai Hong didn’t immediately descend. They didn’t know much about Sui territory, but when conversing with the old turtle earlier, they had heard him mention General Xie in Zhao Lake, so they planned to visit him first.
The autumn sky was high and wide. Wind supported Bai Hong’s wings, and below, mountains and rivers spread out like a painting scroll, magnificently vast.
In the eyes of cultivators, this landscape was covered with another layer of light qi—clear and handsome mountains and waters had their clear qi, dangerous places had their fierce qi, where mortals gathered there was the qi of the red dust… Looking at different qi, some areas were vivid or hazy, adding true color to heaven and earth, revealing the true beauty of heaven and earth. Only now, all of heaven and earth seemed covered with a layer of gray, turbid qi that caused unease when observed—this was the tribulation qi of the Great Aberration.
Without leaving the mountains, without seeing heaven and earth, one would not know the terror of this Great Calamity. Lying on Bai Hong’s back, Ding Qin couldn’t help but press her lips tight. She needed to grow faster.
“Want to fly a bit higher?” Bai Hong suddenly said. With a beat of her wings, she rose several meters higher, just passing through a small patch of cloud mist that was about to disperse but hadn’t yet, swirling around their bodies, seeming to touch their skin yet not, with the scenery before their eyes changing in an instant.
Bai Hong’s laughter was clear and bright. Ding Qin couldn’t help but relax, and just as she lowered her head to respond, a streak of dark red suddenly flashed through her vision.
Instinctively, she followed it with her eyes. It was a secluded valley area, shrouded in a layer of faint inauspicious blood qi.
Her spirit vision had no limit. When she focused her spirit, she could see the situation in the valley clearly. It seemed to be a hidden refuge from the world, with no roads connecting to the outside. In the valley, people lived in tribal clusters, and the source of that blood qi…
Ding Qin was trying to see more clearly when her eyes suddenly stabbed with pain, and she couldn’t help but close them with a pained groan.
“What’s wrong?” Bai Hong asked.
“I saw something wrong there.” Ding Qin reopened her eyes. No longer trying to see the source of the blood qi clearly, she just pointed out the valley’s location to Bai Hong.
Bai Hong looked over and exclaimed in surprise, “There are actually people living there.”
“Did you see that layer of blood qi?” Ding Qin asked.
“What blood qi?” Bai Hong became serious. “You saw blood qi there?”
If it were just blood qi appearing, there would be nothing grave about it. Places where many living beings died easily accumulated blood qi—execution grounds, battlefields, slaughterhouses, certain evil cultivators’ blood sacrifice methods… all would produce the phenomenon of blood qi shrouding. What made Bai Hong serious was that when she looked at that valley, it was just an ordinary secluded dwelling place, even appearing peaceful and pure because it was far from the mortal world—even the tribulation qi was much fainter there.
If something existed that even a great demon like her couldn’t see through, yet was exposed in Ding Qin’s spirit eyes, it must be extraordinary. And what Ding Qin saw was blood qi portending misfortune—this made Bai Hong even more vigilant.
“Yes, but I can’t find the source of the blood qi. When I tried to look carefully, my eyes began to sting.” Ding Qin considered how to describe it accurately, then continued, “Just before I was forced to close my eyes from the pain, I vaguely saw that layer of blood qi merging with the tribulation qi. Also… I felt it was similar to the Locust King.”
“There’s a big locust hiding there?” Bai Hong’s thoughts went off track.
“No.” Ding Qin tried to explain. “It’s that feeling the Locust King had that was different from other living beings.”
Different from other living beings. The previous flying locust disaster had arisen from the Great Calamity, born because the heart-fields of all beings were parched. Though they manifested as flying locusts, they were not truly existing living beings but rather were transformed from tribulation qi—false spirits with illusory lives. This was their greatest difference from other living beings.
But if Ding Qin meant this, she would have said “similar to the flying locusts,” not specifically pointing out the Locust King.
“It’s not the same as those flying locusts either. That feeling isn’t like them having no living being’s breath, but rather a feeling of ‘thoroughly dying.'” Ding Qin bit her lip. She tried hard to recall that instant’s perception. She seemed to see a vision, seeing an indescribable terminus, where a soul was struggling yet sliding irresistibly toward that end point.
Ding Qin described that vision to Bai Hong, but that instant had been too brief. The more she recalled it, the less certain she became—was what she saw truly real, or just an illusion she had imagined?
“It’s not the death that comes after life transforms into a yin soul, but rather even the soul and true spirit… it’s not annihilation either, it’s like… like there’s a very large void, and if one fell into it… I don’t know what would happen, but I felt it was very frightening. I’m not certain…” Ding Qin’s description was fragmented, and she herself became increasingly uncertain as she spoke. It had only been an instant’s perception, and quite faint at that. Had she really seen clearly? Could such a terrifying, indescribable existence really exist?
But Bai Hong didn’t press further, instead comforting her. “It’s all right. Your feelings may not be wrong. Many things in this world simply cannot be described clearly.”
“That soul you saw in the vision…” Bai Hong pondered.
“It’s somewhat like a Spirit God, but not quite the same.” Ding Qin said in confusion. “It seemed to have condensed many living beings’ thoughts, but the relationship seemed closer than that between gods and their believers.”
This description gave Bai Hong a conjecture. “Similar to a Spirit God but different—this is probably a totem.”
“Totem?” Ding Qin asked curiously.
Bai Hong explained, “Totems also condense people’s prayers, but their difference from Spirit Gods is that Spirit Gods accept prayers from all living beings who make offerings to them, while totems only accept offerings from their own bloodline descendants. Even if people not of their bloodline make offerings to the totem, it’s useless.”
“Every totem is unique. But true totems haven’t appeared for a very long time. Some people even think there may be no more true totems in this world. I didn’t expect one might still be hidden here.” After Bai Hong’s sigh, she added, “Since a totem appeared in the vision you saw, it definitely can’t be something you imagined.”
“Should we go down and look?” Ding Qin asked.
Bai Hong hesitated, “I’d like to see a totem, but if it’s too dangerous, let’s forget it. Was the frightening feeling you saw intense?”
Ding Qin thought about it and said, “Not strong. Though that terminus void felt very frightening to me, it also seemed very far away, as if it couldn’t cause any harm. Let me look again.”
Though she felt this way, out of caution, Ding Qin focused her spirit and looked again. If it was only eye pain, she should be able to see a bit more…
Tribulation qi gray and misty, blood qi dark red, vast karma appearing like fog.
She didn’t trace back to that terrifying terminus, but rather searched for the direct cause of this blood qi that was compatible with the tribulation qi arising in this place. By glimpsing karma roughly, she could judge whether they had the ability to risk investigating…
“Ugh!” Ding Qin suddenly covered her eyes. Tears slid down pitter-patter, and her body shook uncontrollably—she had actually been shocked and injured.
Bai Hong’s expression changed. With a beat of her wings, she was about to take Ding Qin away.
“Wait!” Ding Qin called out to her, her voice unprecedentedly firm. “I need to go down and look!”
“Don’t be reckless!” Bai Hong said sternly. “Whatever you saw, an existence that can injure you just by looking at it once is not something we should investigate!”
Ding Qin’s spirit eyes were too formidable. This wasn’t the first or second time she’d suffered because of these eyes, but being injured because she couldn’t bear the power of her spirit eyes versus being injured because of the existence she glimpsed were two different concepts. The former was because her own cultivation couldn’t yet bear the ability of these spirit eyes—like when she felt a headache from looking at the karma on Liu Yetao before—not a serious matter. The latter meant she had seen something she shouldn’t have seen.
“No.” But Ding Qin insisted. “I saw a figure. He has very heavy karmic connections with Changpu and also with Changpu’s master!”
Bai Hong fell silent for a moment. She understood why Ding Qin was insisting.
Because of High God Li Chi.
High God Li Chi and they existed on completely different levels. What he saw, what he thought about, what matters he paid attention to—there was no intersection with them. This gap was like peasants speculating that kings use golden hoes to farm. So in the Daqing Mountain foothills, High God Li Chi’s casual guidance was precious instruction for the surrounding living beings, but from the initial Manor Spirit Hou Li to the later loach and little otter, from demon gods with cultivation like hers to the white-cheeked little monkey just starting on the cultivation path—not one could participate in matters High God Li Chi paid attention to. They didn’t even have the qualification to know; from start to finish, High God Li Chi never had any thought of telling them these things. When a divine dragon goes to move clouds and distribute rain, what can the ants on the ground do? Could they even understand?
The earth bears all things, heaven sends down rain and dew—how should the myriad beings repay heaven and earth? Newly awakened little demons gather mountain delicacies to repay the gods’ protection, but great demons who understand the gap can only feel deep gratitude. Because mortal beings simply have no way to repay heaven and earth.
Jin Liushan knew this principle, Bai Hong also knew this principle, but Ding Qin stubbornly held on.