404: Chapter 398 Extreme Cold Spiritual Qi

"Yes!" Chen Zhengchu responded loudly.

"Second," Chen Zhiwen narrowed his eyes slightly, his deep gaze seemingly piercing through the heavy layers of the night to look upon the vast and boundless land of the Southern Desolation,

"Dispatch all scouts from the Shadow Hall. Spread the news of the Blood Nether Old Ancestor's fall to every corner of the Southern Desolation at the fastest speed possible."

Chen Zhengchu was slightly stunned and looked up in confusion. "Grand Elder, are we... are we going to publicize this matter proactively? Won't this cause those ancient Sects in the Southern Desolation to become wary and unite against us?"

"Wary?" Chen Zhiwen gave an extremely contemptuous sneer and turned to look at Chen Zhengchu,

"Do you think they won't be wary if I don't publicize it? These bumpkins of the Southern Desolation have always feared power rather than appreciating virtue.

The more low-key you are, the more they think you are weak and easily bullied. I want them to know that a Nascent Soul Powerhouse like that old dog Blood Nether was merely a match for a single bout before me! I want them to sleep with one eye open, living in my shadow at all times!"

Chen Zhiwen's fingers lightly tapped on the bluestone of the city wall.

"Once this news spreads, those small demonic Sects and Loose Cultivator families that relied on the Blood Nether Old Ancestor will surely fall into internal chaos without a leader.

Tell the Internal Affairs Hall to prepare to take over their territory. If anyone dares to reach out for what our Heavenly Sword Sect has set its sights on, don't waste words—directly exterminate their entire clan."

Hearing these murderous instructions, Chen Zhengchu felt his scalp tingle, but a surge of unprecedented hot blood boiled within his bones.

"Your subordinate obeys! The Grand Elder is wise!" Chen Zhengchu trembled with excitement. "With the Grand Elder here, our Heavenly Sword Sect's unification of the Southern Desolation is just around the corner!"

"Unify the Southern Desolation?" Chen Zhiwen shook his head, his lips curling into a cold, ambitious arc.

"This Southern Desolation is, after all, just a tiny puddle. My vision is not limited to this place alone."

Chen Zhiwen slowly turned around, ignoring Chen Zhengchu, and walked with an extremely leisurely and slow pace down the stone steps of the city wall toward the City Lord's Manor in the inner city.

"Clean up the aftermath. I am returning to Crescent Moon Valley to go into seclusion for a few days to refine that Nascent Soul Sword Soul. Without my summons, no one is allowed to disturb me. Those who disobey shall be killed."

Chen Zhiwen's cold voice gradually faded into the wind.

Leaving only Chen Zhengchu and the others on the city wall, bowing deeply and not daring to look up for a long time.

...

The night grew deep.

The storm had finally ceased completely.

The bright, clear moon in the sky finally pushed aside the heavy dark clouds, casting its cold silver glow over the entirety of Heavenly Sword City.

The deepest part of Crescent Moon Valley.

Chen Zhiwen sat cross-legged quietly on the white jade pavilion built above a spiritual spring.

A pot of spiritual tea brewed with Ten-Thousand-Year Snow Lotus Leaves was bubbling with steam on a small red clay stove nearby, emitting a refreshing fragrance that cleared the mind.

Everything around was so quiet and peaceful, a world completely different from the hellish slaughterhouse outside the city just now.

Chen Zhiwen elegantly extended two long fingers, picked up a purple clay teacup, and took a light sip. The scalding tea flowed down his throat, turning into wisps of pure spiritual power that nourished his unwearied Meridians.

He slowly closed his eyes, and in his mind, the scene from two hundred years ago at Luoxia Valley of the Ten Thousand Swords Sect in the Central Continent resurfaced—

That cruel battle for treasures that was like a meat grinder.

"Central Continent... Ten Thousand Swords Sect..."

Chen Zhiwen murmured softly, his lips curling into an extremely complex yet endlessly mocking sneer.

In that place in the Central Continent where monsters congregated, although Chen Zhiwen was exceptionally talented, he could only be considered a local lord. He constantly had to guard against the schemes of his fellow disciples and the crushing pressure of old monsters, living as if walking on thin ice.

To fight for those ethereal resources, he had to turn himself into an emotionless killing machine.

But now.

Here in the Southern Desolation.

"Heh..." Chen Zhiwen gently set down his teacup and slowly opened his eyes.

He casually unfastened the "Autumn Water" sword from his waist and placed it on the white jade table before him. On the blade, the ancient patterns emitting a faint blood-red luster appeared even more eerie and powerful under the moonlight.

"Better to be the head of a chicken than the tail of a phoenix. The ancients did not deceive me."

Chen Zhiwen extended his finger, gently stroking the cold scabbard, feeling the Nascent Soul Sword Soul inside that had been completely erased, leaving only pure power.

"In this Southern Desolation, there is no need to scheme against those old monsters of thousands of years, nor to guess the calculations of those Sect giants."

"Because here, I am the greatest calculation. I am the only rule."

Chen Zhiwen looked up, his eyes deep as a cold pool, reflecting the cold moon in the sky.

"The pond of the Southern Desolation might be a bit small."

"But to raise a true dragon like me, it is just barely enough."

A cool mountain breeze blew through Crescent Moon Valley, swirling a few fallen leaves in front of Chen Zhiwen.

After experiencing this catastrophe, Heavenly Sword City fell into a brief period of tranquility.

But across the broader lands of the Southern Desolation, as the news of the Blood Nether Old Ancestor's fall was about to spread, an unprecedented and even more bloody and cruel reshuffling of power had only just begun its crimson overture.

And the chess player behind that curtain was currently sitting quietly in Crescent Moon Valley, sipping his slightly cooled spiritual tea.

The moon, like an icy plate, hung high in the night sky that had just experienced a storm of blood.

Inside Crescent Moon Valley, Spiritual Qi was dense, and mist swirled.

This mist was no ordinary mountain dew; it was Extreme Cold Spiritual Qi that Chen Zhiwen had forcibly restrained from the cold springs deep within the earth's veins using his vast, sea-like essence of the Late Nascent Soul Stage.

Every wisp of white mist, reflecting the bright moonlight, cast an ice-blue halo that was as dazzling as crushed diamonds yet extremely dangerous.

At the four corners of the jade pavilion hung Dust-Repelling Pearls and Night-Luminescent Pearls the size of fists, illuminating this small space as bright as day, yet with a cold and solitary chill.

Chen Zhiwen was still dressed in a moon-white robe, unstained by a speck of dust. Every golden thread of the Formation patterns on the robe flickered slightly in sync with his long and deep breathing.

He sat quietly cross-legged on a prayer mat carved from a single piece of Ten-Thousand-Year Profound Ice.

On the table of the same material before him, a small and exquisite purple clay teapot was making a "bubbling" sound.

This pot was fired from "Flame-Patterned Clay," a specialty of the Heavenly Fire Sect in the Central Continent; it was in itself a rare Top Grade Magical Artifact.

This clay naturally contained a wisp of inextinguishable fire essence. Using it to brew spiritual tea could maximize the latent spiritual essence within the tea leaves without being tainted by even a hint of mundane smoke.

"Whew..."

An extremely subtle night breeze blew past, ruffling a strand of black hair at Chen Zhiwen's temple.

His eyes, deeper than the night and colder than profound ice, slowly opened.

"Clack."

His long, pale fingers lightly grasped the handle of the teapot, his wrist tilting slightly.

The clear, amber-like tea soup pulled out an extremely thin, continuous stream of water,

Falling unerringly into the white jade teacup that was only half the size of a palm. The scalding tea splashed against the inner walls of the jade cup,

Instantly rising into a cloud of spiritual tea fragrance with a hint of bitterness and clarity.

But this precious tea fragrance still could not completely mask the faint scent of blood in the air.

It drifted in with the biting sea breeze from the outer city buffer zone dozens of miles away, from that massive bone ship still floating on the sea.

It was the scent remaining after tens of thousands of living beings had their blood drained and their bodies torn apart in extreme despair and fear.

For an ordinary righteous Cultivator, smelling this nauseating aura of blood and slaughter would cause them to frown and cover their nose, or at least feel a tightness in their chest, potentially affecting the clarity of their Dao Heart.

But for Chen Zhiwen, this scent was more comforting and peaceful than any precious ambergris.

In this incredibly cruel cultivation world, especially in this desolate Southern Desolation, a thick scent of blood often represented a hearty victory, countless spoils of war, and absolute hegemony built upon countless corpses.

Chen Zhiwen elegantly picked up the cup of spiritual tea, which was still slightly boiling, brought it to his lips, and took a light sip.

The scalding tea soup flowed down his throat, and the moment it fell into his stomach, it turned into wisps of extremely pure and gentle spiritual power, quietly nourishing his vast, sea-like Meridians like spring rain.

"This 'Pre-Rain Silver Needle' brought from the Central Continent is, after all, running low."

Chen Zhiwen murmured softly, his tone unreadable—whether it was regret or a simple statement.

He placed the teacup gently back on the table, making an extremely faint crisp sound.

A barren place like the Southern Desolation might have some Spiritual Plants and fruits that could enhance cultivation, but in terms of the sophisticated foundations of sensory pleasure and mental nourishment, it was simply an uncivilized wilderness compared to a place of spiritual excellence like the Central Continent.

The Cultivators here only knew how to fight to the death like beasts for a few Low-Grade Spirit Stones; they had no idea what true years of cultivation meant.

"But, no matter."

The corners of Chen Zhiwen's mouth slowly curled into an extremely cold arc.

"When I have turned over the entire soil of this Southern Desolation and used the blood and bones of these billions of living beings to forge my path to the heavens, and then strike back at the Ten Thousand Swords Sect in the Central Continent... those old fogies will pay back what they owed me back then, with interest, drop by drop."

Just as he was alone enjoying this solitude and planning that belonged to a superior.

On the defensive Formation at the periphery of Crescent Moon Valley, a circle of ripples like water waves shimmered extremely lightly.

Chen Zhiwen did not turn his head, nor did he even lift an eyelid. His Divine Sense, vast enough to cover hundreds of miles, had already clearly captured the trembling figure outside the Formation, who was even suppressing their breathing.

"Come in."

Chen Zhiwen's voice, as flat as water yet carrying an irresistible pressure, pierced directly through the thick mist and rang in the ears of the person outside the valley.

"Yes... Yes! Your subordinate obeys!"

Accompanied by a series of extremely panicked and respectful responses, the mist at the entrance of the valley was slowly pushed aside by a pair of invisible hands, revealing a winding path paved with bluestone slabs.

Chen Zhengchu stooped slightly, his hands pressed tightly against the sides of his trousers, like a humble subject granting an audience with an emperor, taking extremely cautious short steps as he walked into this deep valley that rarely saw the light of day.