Chapter Nine: The Dantian's Transformation

The horizon gradually blushed, as clouds tumbled and shifted, as if something beneath them was about to erupt, transforming into myriad forms. Every wisp of cloud was stained red, the edges especially, gilded in gold, noble and elegant.

In the distance, the vast sea of trees swayed like rolling waves. One by one, the roars of magical beasts echoed, the rulers of the night withdrew, and the lords of the day returned to the earth.

Yun Yufeng sprang to his feet. It was time to set out. He pushed aside the stone blocking the cave entrance, gripped his longsword, and began descending the mountain at a cautious pace. Only such care could keep him alive here; to charge recklessly would be to offer himself as a meal to the magical beasts before long.

He moved carefully through the forest. Suddenly, a faint rustling brushed his ears, too quiet to deceive him. He watched warily the thicket ahead, where a sharp snout emerged, and a pair of small eyes fixed on him, glimmering with menace.

It was a late-stage third-rank pangolin beast, dwelling underground. Its claws could pierce metal and stone, while its agile, powerful tail had sealed the fate of countless foes, often crippling them with a single blow.

For Yun Yufeng in his current state, this pangolin beast was an insurmountable opponent. His only hope lay in his Autumnwater longsword, sharp as a blade slicing through iron as if it were mud. He cast his ordinary sword at the pangolin, hoping to lure it from the thicket, even as his hand grasped Autumnwater tightly within the spatial pouch.

The pangolin beast was instantly enraged, erupting from the undergrowth with a roar, lunging straight at Yun Yufeng. With a flash, Autumnwater shone, cutting off the beast’s path and, with ease, severing one of its flailing claws.

The pangolin howled in agony, never expecting to be wounded by such seemingly frail prey. As its body still hung in midair, its tail—over a meter long—swept viciously for Yun Yufeng’s head.

He hadn’t anticipated such agility. His sword stroke had committed him; there was no time to defend. Yun Yufeng could only retreat swiftly. The tail tip grazed the bridge of his nose, drawing blood and cold sweat. A bit closer and he would have lost his nose—his handsome figure nearly wasted right there.

Missing its mark, the pangolin landed, hind legs tensing as it sprang again, arrow-quick. There was no time to dodge; Yun Yufeng, without hesitation, wielded his sword as an axe, cleaving downward. The beast’s skull split open, but its heavy, diving mass—hundreds of pounds—could not be avoided. Its sharp front claws ripped through his chest as if tearing paper, exposing the beating heart within.

Yun Yufeng groaned, his face instantly pale, sweat beading down his brow. Damn you, couldn’t you be any sharper? He nearly became a legendary figure who perished alongside a magical beast—how ironic.

He leaned against a nearby tree, quickly pouring coagulant powder into the fist-sized wound to staunch the bleeding, then applied healing balm and tightly bound his chest with cloth, gritting his teeth against the pain as he searched for shelter.

He could not linger; the scent of blood would quickly attract other beasts. He crept another five hundred meters before finally finding a hollow in a tree, a meter above the ground—just enough to squeeze inside.

He smashed a rotten egg gourd at the entrance to mask his scent, then curled up within, knowing he would need time to recuperate before moving on.

After a day’s rest, he felt much improved, the searing pain gone, his taut nerves finally able to relax. After days of constant terror, always fearing an attack from a powerful magical beast, he was near his breaking point.

He reflected on his recent experiences, silently drawing lessons, a habit cultivated since his student days. Inexperience in battle—being a spoiled wastrel had truly done him harm. Only when knowledge is needed does one regret having too little. When he returned, he vowed to train diligently.

With the advantage of Autumnwater, he should have avoided direct confrontation, but the pangolin’s speed had been too much. At the thought, Yun Yufeng cursed himself again, displaying no guilt over inhabiting another’s body.

He had nearly died here, yet his recovery was astonishing. Such a grievous wound, treated only with some mercenary’s healing powder and two days’ rest in the tree hollow, had nearly healed, leaving only a fresh, jagged scar. The newly grown flesh was still tender and would tear if strained.

As for his extraordinary powers of recovery, Yun Yufeng attributed it calmly to his own innate gifts. In truth, it was the transformation wrought by primordial chaos energy and his latent life talent. More importantly, this talent had yet to be truly awakened—its only visible effect so far was rapid healing. Even so, it was shocking.

He vaguely recalled Huo Qubing telling him he possessed a life talent. While recuperating in the hollow, Yun Yufeng took out the “Genealogy of Life” from his spatial pouch. He turned the yellowed pages, and ancient script met his eyes: “Life is the root of fate… Heaven and earth, primordial and vast; sun and moon, waxing and waning; constellations ranked in the dawn…”

In those few hundred words, he felt an ancient, primeval aura wash over him, as if he stood at the dawn of the world, witnessing the evolution of all things, the mysteries of the universe’s formation.

This was a transformation of life, a sublimation of spirit. To encounter such primordial energy, to touch the source from which chaos evolved, was to temper one’s soul and elevate one’s state of being beyond measure.

Yet for Yun Yufeng, a novice, the benefits were not immediate. Only as his power grew would the unique qualities of this practice become apparent, subtly influencing his cultivation, sparing him many detours, and broadening his horizons. Contact with the primeval lore opened his mind and allowed the seed of potential to sprout, leaving his future bright and clear of confusion.

After the preface came the cultivation method, detailing the myriad nuances of practice. Like the Imperial Purple Heart Technique, it was not a skill or secret art, but an auxiliary method to enhance cultivation, especially for rare talents. To neglect it was to waste one’s gifts.

The Genealogy of Life was a method tailored to the life talent—its rank unknown, but certainly high. The insight gained from its preface alone hinted at its power.

Yun Yufeng’s understanding was still superficial. He followed the method, gradually familiarizing himself with it, slowly exploring this obscure and unusual talent.

As the method operated, Yun Yufeng’s pallor, caused by injury, warmed to a healthy flush. His features relaxed into an expression of bliss—it was so comfortable, he nearly moaned.

A sacred radiance enveloped him, exuding warmth and kindness. Countless streams of life energy converged, permeating his body, flowing through his meridians, rapidly repairing visible and hidden injuries.

Even his dantian underwent dramatic change. The Genealogy of Life and the Imperial Purple Heart Technique fought for territory within, the once-solid dantian now shifting like a bubble, assuming ever-changing forms, as if it might rupture at any moment.

Yun Yufeng’s expression of rapture collapsed the instant life energy entered his dantian. Agony—sharp as needles, wrenching as blades—dragged him from paradise to hell. The torment twisted his features, sweat pouring down his neck in rivulets.

Within his dantian, life energy and battle energy wrestled for dominance. Battle energy, reinforced by prolonged cultivation, began to overwhelm the life energy, cornering it.

Suddenly, a vast spiritual storm swept through his dantian. For reasons unknown, the life energy established contact with his sea of consciousness. A surge of powerful spiritual force passed through this subtle link, restoring the balance between life and battle energy. With this intervention, the two sides found a compromise: battle energy settled at the lower half of the dantian, while life energy, drawn by spiritual power, occupied the upper half.

Thus, a strange dantian was formed—energy pooled at both ends, the middle empty. Their struggle had doubled its volume. If they ceased hostilities, Yun Yufeng would have gained from disaster.

The unbearable pain finally ebbed. Yun Yufeng opened his eyes with effort, sweat stinging as it seeped in. He blinked several times, his heart filled with lingering dread. If he had known it would be like this, he would never have dared to practice recklessly. How he wished for a master at his side. In that moment, he longed for the security of a hothouse flower, though he had always scorned such weakness.

His stomach rumbled in protest. The ordeal had left him drained, body and soul. Rubbing his hollow belly, Yun Yufeng crawled out of the tree hollow to forage for fruit. Thanks to the Genealogy of Life, his wounds were nearly healed. A meal, and he would be ready to head for the forest’s edge.

…

Meanwhile, in the council hall of a grand estate in the Mount Encircling Township, a group of people sat around a long, oval table. At its head, a dignified elder listened silently to the argument between two men, his expression impassive yet commanding respect.

"Yun Feiying, you’re going too far. Yufeng may have been a bit spoiled, but he’s missing now. He’s still family. At a time like this, we should redouble our search, not seize the chance to attack Feiyan’s branch." The speaker was a kindly-faced elder with graying beard, his tone less than warm.

This was Yun Feihe, second elder of the Yun clan and brother to the third elder, Yun Feiyan. Ever since Yun Feiyan returned crippled from grave injury—his position as elder retained, but his status much diminished—it had been Yun Feihe who supported his brother’s line.

Yun Feiying replied with a cold sneer, "That good-for-nothing only ever makes trouble, wasting the clan’s resources. This time, I doubt he’ll survive to collect his monthly stipend. Cancelling it now is only right."

"You—Yun Feiying, you just want to suppress Feiyan’s branch, using a child as pretext. At your age, have you no shame? I’m embarrassed for you!" The second elder would not back down.

With a bang, Yun Feiying slammed a palm on the table and shot to his feet.

"Sit down!" The patriarch’s voice cracked like thunder. "What are you all doing? I summoned you here for a meeting, not a shouting match! How unbecoming!"

Yun Feiying, his breath caught in his chest, snorted heavily and sat down in a huff.

"Second, report. How goes the search?"

"Yufeng was training in the surrounding mountains with his guards, but for reasons unknown, disaster struck. When we found the guards, they’d been gnawed to the bone by wild beasts—yet Yufeng was nowhere to be seen. Reports indicated heavy magical beast activity at the scene, but details remain uncertain."

"You’re suggesting the gathering of beasts was not a coincidence?"

"There’s no definite evidence, but I’ve heard there’s a scent lure from the Western Desert that can draw beasts for miles. A servant in the first elder’s household hails from there."

"Nonsense!" Yun Feiying exploded. "I’d never stoop to harming a child, especially one so worthless. Yun Feihe, have you lost your mind?"

"I never said it was you, Yun Feiying! Don’t assume everyone’s as foolish as yourself!"

"Enough! No more arguing. Increase the search. Remember, we are one family. It’s been three or four days—what have you all been doing? Feiying, have your servant come see me later, I have questions. Dismissed!"

"Yes, Patriarch," the assembly replied in unison. The patriarch not only possessed the clan’s highest cultivation, but also a natural gift for leadership. In over twenty years as head of the clan, he’d earned deep respect; everyone below the first elder deferred to him.

Yun Feiying shot a venomous glare at the second elder, then swept from the hall.

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