CHAPTER 78

  Ancient Training Ground

  LUO FAN

  — ? —

  The week following my ingestion of the elixirs was a trial of endurance I had not anticipated. The illness struck me with a ferocity that left me bed-bound, trembling with fever and wracked by waves of nausea and pain. It felt as though my very soul was being reshaped, as the elixirs worked to force harmony between my light and dark cores.

  But as the days passed, the storm within me began to settle. My cores, long at odds, finally quieted.

  When I finally rose from my bed, I felt a clarity I had not experienced in months. The agonizing conflict between my cores was gone. My energies flowed seamlessly, light and dark intertwining in perfect balance. The weight of despair I had carried for so long lifted, replaced by a cautious hope. But I knew better than to grow complacent. The balance was precarious. If one core faltered or grew too strong, the harmony would shatter, and chaos would return.

  I threw myself into research and practice. For the first month at the temple, I lived in the library or the training yard. Nan Wucheng read to me from the journals of dual-core grandmasters while I experimented with the techniques they described. Each day, I practiced wind casting, coaxing the air to move in precise patterns with the help of my bamboo stick.

  The wind element was a revelation, a perfect medium for harnessing the dual energies within me. Light and dark came together in the currents of air I summoned.

  The progress was exhilarating. Each successful casting strengthened my confidence, and the harmony of my cores held firm. But even as I grew stronger, the shadow of the White Vulture loomed over me. The destructive drug remained a silent predator in my body, devouring me from within. I could feel its effects, subtle at first—a creeping fatigue, a gnawing pain in my chest—but as the weeks wore on, it grew worse. The White Vulture slowed my progress and sapped my strength. No amount of balance could stop its relentless advance.

  Tao Liu, ever observant, noticed the toll it was taking on me. “You must seclude yourself,” he urged one evening after a particularly grueling practice session. “Slowing down the White Vulture is our priority now. If we can buy enough time, perhaps we can find a solution.”

  Reluctantly, I agreed. For three months, I remained in seclusion, meditating and conserving my strength. The days bled together in a haze of stillness and silence. When I finally emerged, my condition had not worsened, but neither had it improved. The White Vulture was a patient hunter, waiting for its moment to strike.

  I was beginning to despair when Tao Liu entered my chamber, a small pouch of pills in his hand. “Abbot Mo came to visit last month,” he explained, placing the pouch on the table beside me. “He instructed me to give you these when you woke.”

  Curious, I opened the pouch and examined the pills. Their scent was familiar, but stronger, more potent than I remembered. They were the same pills I had taken before to bolster my body’s defenses against the White Vulture, pills that had eventually lost their efficacy. But these were different, their energy palpable even through the thin material of the pouch.

  “Let’s hope this works,” I said, hope flickering within me like a fragile flame.

  Tao Liu smiled faintly. “Abbot Mo said they would buy you time. That’s all we can hope for.”

  As usual, I sought solace in the library, hoping to find answers. Unfortunately, Nan Wucheng and Xiao Leng had accompanied Elder Tao to the market to purchase supplies.

  Bing Hai appeared with a tray, bringing me my tea. He noticed my frustration and offered to help.

  “I can read for you,” he volunteered, his voice earnest.

  “You can read?” I asked, surprised.

  He nodded confidently. “Elder Tao taught me.”

  A smile crossed my face, gratitude softening the edges of my exhaustion. “That’s wonderful. Could you help me find a book, then?”

  “I’ll find anything for Priest Luo,” he replied, his determination clear.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Bing Hai diligently searched for books and read their contents aloud. Though he lacked understanding of the more complex passages, his steady cadence brought the text to life. One scroll he read spoke of a secret beneath the temple, a hidden graveyard cloaked in mystery. It described a legendary herb said to grant invincibility for a year.

  The words seemed to leap off the page, igniting a flicker of hope deep within me.

  Invincibility for a year.

  Such a gift could change everything. With a year free from the clutches of the White Vulture, I could focus on strengthening my dark core, achieving true balance, and perhaps even finding a permanent solution. It felt like destiny had placed this knowledge before me.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  When Bing Hai finished reading, I thanked him, but my mind was already spinning. I had to find that herb. Yet, the scroll warned that the graveyard was a sacred ground and must never be disturbed. It was a stark warning, but desperation has a way of dulling caution.

  That night, sleep eluded me. The scroll’s words echoed in my mind, battling with the memory of the warning. I was torn. Respecting sacred ground was a tenet I had always upheld, but what was one rule against the weight of my survival?

  By dawn, my decision was made. With careful steps, I retraced the clues from the scroll, venturing into the temple’s depths.

  The underground passage was hidden behind a false wall in the library. It was narrow and damp, illuminated only by the faint glow of energy from the bamboo stick in my hand. I descended carefully, each step echoing in the silence. The air grew colder, heavier, until I reached a chamber at the end of the path.

  What greeted me was far from the vast graveyard I had envisioned. Instead, the chamber was modest, scarcely larger than a bedroom. At its center stood a solitary object—a tall stone tablet.

  Curiosity tugged at me. I approached the tablet and ran my fingers over its rough surface, inspecting its ancient inscriptions. As my hand touched it, a sudden shift occurred.

  The cold stone beneath my feet melted into warm soil, the oppressive darkness of the chamber gave way to golden sunlight, and the faint scent of flowers filled the air.

  I looked around, bewildered. I was no longer in the chamber. Instead, I stood on a dirt path that stretched upward toward a distant hill. Around me were sprawling fields, endless and unfamiliar. The stone tablet remained, now bathed in sunlight.

  The inscriptions, previously unreadable, seemed to shift and expand before my eyes, forming words large enough even for my poor vision.

  “This is the Sacred Training Realm,” it read. “To leave, you must complete your training. Only by defeating the master of this realm can you escape. Proceed to the map on the reverse.”

  Dread gripped me as I circled the tablet. On its back was a detailed map of the realm. It was enormous, with vast regions marked by treacherous mountains, sprawling forests, and unending rivers. The master’s domain was at the farthest edge, marked ominously with a blood-red symbol.

  “It would take at least half a year,” I muttered, tracing the path with my finger. Six months of traveling, training, and fighting.

  A chill ran down my spine as I realized that this must be the legendary Ancient Training Ground, thought to have vanished five centuries ago. It was said that those who survived its trials would gain cultivation advancements equivalent to five years of relentless training. However, failure meant something far grimmer. Those who couldn’t endure would never return.

  The sound of a voice startled me, deep and disembodied. “There is no return without completion. Begin your journey, or remain here for eternity.”

  My heart sank. I had stumbled into something far beyond my intention. I hadn’t come seeking training—I was just looking for the herb. Now, I was trapped in a place no one at the temple knew existed.

  Tao Liu would be worried. He and Nan Wucheng would surely search for me, wondering where I had vanished to.

  Guilt weighed heavy on me, but there was no way to undo my mistake now. My only choice was forward.

  I gripped my bamboo stick tightly. If this was fate, then I would face it head-on. Half a year in this realm might be my only chance to save myself.

  *****

  RUAN YANJUN

  — ? —

  I just took a quiet sip from a cup of tea when Huang Wen burst into my chamber, his face pale and his breaths shallow, as though he had run all the way from the other side of the estate. His anxiety was palpable before he even spoke a word.

  “Master,” he began, his voice trembling, “we have bad news.”

  Despite the urgency in his tone, I remained calm and lowered the delicate cup on the table. “What is it?”

  "Priest Luo,” he said. “He’s gone missing. It’s been a week and they still cannot find him."

  I froze, gripping the edge of my desk tighter than I intended. The wood groaned under the pressure of my fingers. "What do you mean, missing?" I asked, my tone colder than I meant it to be, masking the worry that had already begun clawing at my chest.

  Huang Wen lowered his head. "The elder priest said Luo Fan was ill the day before he disappeared, too weak to even leave his bed. But when they checked his room the next morning, he was gone. No word, no sign of where he might have gone."

  Luo Fan, ill and disappearing without a trace?

  It was unlike him. He was stubborn and defiant, yes, but even he would have informed someone if he intended to leave.

  My mind raced, sorting through the possibilities. He wouldn’t just leave without reason—unless...

  “Search the surrounding areas,” I commanded, pushing myself up from the chair despite the sharp pain in my chest from the White Vulture. “Send every available disciple. Check the mountains, the forests, and any caves or hidden retreats where he might have gone to meditate.”

  Huang Wen nodded and rushed off, leaving me alone with the dark storm brewing in my thoughts.

  The first possibility was seclusion. Knowing Luo Fan’s determination to regain control over his cores, he might have sought a hidden place to meditate. But that would have required preparation, and Luo Fan, foolish as he could be, was methodical. He would have told someone, at the very least.

  The second, more troubling possibility chilled my blood.

  Could he have been taken?

  Emperor Gao’s men or the marquis’ lackeys—those vultures wouldn’t hesitate to strike if they had learned of his whereabouts.

  My fists clenched at the thought of him falling into their hands again. Yet, here I was, confined to my chambers, unable to act.

  I sat back down, the weight of helplessness pressing heavily on me. My core thrummed weakly within, a painful reminder of my incapacitation. At any moment, it could spiral out of control, plunging me into agony for days. If that happened beyond the safety of the estate, my enemies would not hesitate to strike, and with my fall, the Eternal Damnation Sect’s grip over Xianru and Wun Empires would crumble.

  I cursed under my breath.

  Why did this have to happen now? Why did the world conspire to test both of us when we were already at our lowest?

  Reaching for a brush and parchment, I began to write. Every stroke of ink felt like an admission of failure, but I had no choice. The message was addressed to my First Disciple stationed in Wun, one I trusted implicitly. I detailed the situation and gave instructions to dispatch men to Silang Empire immediately, to investigate whether Emperor Gao or the marquis’ men had captured Luo Fan.

  The act of writing felt hollow. If I weren’t crippled by this accursed core, I would be there myself, tearing apart anyone who dared harm my A-Fan. My fingers tightened around the brush until the wood splintered slightly.

  Luo Fan.

  His name echoed in my mind like a mantra, a promise, and a curse.

  He had always been a storm in my life, disrupting the calculated control I kept over myself and the world around me. Yet, the thought of him suffering, captured, or worse…

  No. By all means, I must find him.