Thunder crashed from the heavens, striking the Baiyujing pavilion.

  This stunned many cultivators. Lu Changkong and others rushed from outside the island, too urgent to find boats—they simply strode across the waves, crude and direct, ascending the lake-heart isle.

  They arrived beneath the Baiyujing pavilion and saw Lu seated in his wheelchair, leaning on the railing, listening to the snow while sipping plum wine. Only then did their hearts settle.

  They had truly feared Lu might be struck by lightning and come to harm.

  "Good, you're safe."

  Lu Changkong exhaled in relief.

  The might of heaven and earth carried an indescribable oppression and terror for mortals.

  Though Lu Changkong knew Lu's strength was immense, a mortal defying the heavens' wrath... it felt unreal no matter how he thought about it.

  "I'm fine; no need to worry."

  Lu's calm voice suddenly echoed in everyone's ears.

  Atop the Baiyujing pavilion.

  With a thought, another reward surfaced in Lu's mind: the movement technique Thunder Surge Art.

  "Thunder Surge Art, mid-grade Xuan tier movement skill—swift as thunder, fleeting as wind."

  The system's description was brief, but a movement technique was essentially an advanced form of qinggong.

  Activating Thunder Surge Art, Lu felt ten strands of spiritual energy drain in an instant.

  Brilliant light burst from his eyes.

  Faintly, thunder rumbled and cracked.

  Azure lightning left sizzling trails in the air.

  Lu's figure vanished from the pavilion, reappearing below wrapped in blue bolts—like a phantom, thundering like a deity.

  Everyone jolted. Nie Changqing and Ning Zhao, both at perfected Body Storage, felt their scalps tingle in shock.

  They couldn't even track how Lu had moved.

  "The Young Master's strength... has advanced again!"

  Ning Zhao drew a deep breath, her eyes gleaming.

  Even someone as powerful as the Young Master never stopped cultivating, always pushing to grow stronger—how could she slack off?

  Nie Changqing and the others shared the thought.

  Most were awed by the thunder Lu unleashed in motion—had he harnessed the heavens' might itself?

  "I'm alright."

  Lu smiled at Lu Changkong's worried expression.

  He leaned back in his wheelchair, white robes fluttering. The thunder tribulation had scattered the snow clouds.

  Now, with the tribulation gone, the clouds slowly regathered.

  "Father, this is called 'spiritual liquid'—spiritual energy compressed to its utmost, far purer than strands, with superior cultivation effects."

  Lu raised his hand.

  A crystal-tear-like drop of spiritual liquid hovered in his palm.

  With a gentle flick, it floated toward Lu Changkong.

  En route...

  Lu beckoned toward a distant peach tree.

  A petal fluttered over.

  The drop landed on it like dew, glistening translucently.

  One peach petal bearing spiritual liquid.

  Lu Changkong reached out and caught it.

  Just sensing it revealed the overwhelming purity of spiritual energy rushing forth.

  In Body Storage, this liquid would drastically shorten the time to temper all five storages.

  Ning Zhao, Nie Changqing, and the others watched with envy.

  Lu's gaze shifted to them.

  "Spiritual liquid is limited. Among you, whoever first derives attributed spiritual energy—I'll gift one drop. So, work hard."

  Lu said.

  Ning Zhao and Nie Changqing straightened, knowing this was directed at them.

  Spiritual liquid... undoubtedly a treasure.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Compressed spiritual energy—cultivation would be far more efficient.

  Ni Yu, backpacking her black pot, stared at the peach petal in Lu Changkong's hands and the azure drop atop it, swallowing hard.

  It looked... delicious.

  She remembered a bet with Lu.

  If she reached the third level, maybe swap the special pill formula reward for this liquid?

  It shimmered like nectar—must taste amazing.

  The thought ignited her motivation.

  Lu waved them off; everyone bowed and withdrew, leaving the isle for Beiluo's western mountains.

  On the island.

  Once alone, Lu opened his palm—ten spiritual energy herb seeds.

  He was familiar with these: first chrysanthemums, then peaches...

  What would the third be?

  With a thought, he inspected.

  [Bamboo Nodes Thirty-Two]. Lu raised a brow—this seemed more interesting than Skyward Chrysanthemums or Biluo Peaches.

  Ten needle-like seeds, faintly fragrant.

  "Bamboo rice?"

  Bamboos bore seeds—the essence of groves. After flowering, rice formed, then groves died in swathes.

  Holding the ten grains, Lu didn't plant near the chrysanthemums or peaches. He wheeled around the isle to the rear, scattering them around the Master's tomb.

  Sloppy scholar Kong Nanfei watched warily.

  Meng Haoran was curious.

  Mo Tianyu stayed silent, fingering three copper coins.

  Planting done, Lu sat in his wheelchair. Soul strength at 608—not yet 1000 for transformation—but enough for six spiritual senses (100 soul strength per sense).

  100 physical strength condensed one drop of demonic blood.

  Its use? Lu hadn't explored yet.

  Spiritual sense mobilized; energy vortexed to him.

  He grasped the void bare-handed.

  Lake water rose as dragons.

  One spiritual liquid drop infused, spreading through.

  It sprinkled where seeds lay...

  Soon.

  In midwinter.

  Green sprouts pierced snow, growing taller...

  Ten tender bamboo stalks, nodes reaching thirty-two—matching [Bamboo Nodes Thirty-Two].

  As they matured, from light green to deep, then ink, finally tinged purple.

  Ten bamboo clusters drooped with leaves, rustling, purple hues swaying, exhaling dense spiritual energy.

  Meng Haoran gaped.

  One thought: Look at this bamboo—tall and straight!

  ...

  Wangtian City.

  Heavy snow fell like leaden skies, oppressive, suffocating.

  Inside, tension peaked. Great Zhou elite soldiers leaned on walls, gripping weapons tight.

  Snow blinded them to Xiliang forces beyond.

  But compared to Tong'an City, Wangtian bore far greater pressure—facing Xiliang's lord, Overlord Xiang Shaoyun.

  A peerless cultivator of the age, once charging unrivaled through Tantai Xuan's northern army on a single horse.

  Even pre-cultivation era, few matched that.

  Overlord deserved "strongest of the era."

  Wangtian's strain was imaginable.

  Among Great Zhou's defenses, it wasn't top-tier, yet it had held before.

  Now, against Xiliang amid the anti-Zhou fervor, pressure multiplied.

  On the battlements.

  Wangtian City's lord looked decades older.

  He eyed five black-light-armored Black Dragon Guards afar, silent.

  Black Dragon Thirteen—infamous in the capital.

  Five at once showed Great Zhou's regard for Overlord.

  Air thick with cold and killing intent.

  The lord in banner armor still shivered.

  He suddenly missed teahouse days—sipping tea, hearing pipa melodies.

  Alas, gone forever. Red Dust Teahouse disbanded; Lü Dongxuan took even the signboard, leaving no memento.

  Exhaling steam, the lord didn't flee.

  Great Zhou was tyrannical; the young emperor fed humans to Black Dragons. He'd considered deserting.

  But duty as decades-long lord of a key defense won out.

  No retiring to fields, no retreat.

  Fight.

  Gaze piercing snow, at distant Xiliang forces.

  The lord smiled faintly.

  Clashing with a warrior like Overlord? No loss. At life's end, tales to tell.

  If he survived, bragging rights over tea with old cronies.

  He lifted a hand; a snowflake melted to water.

  Walls shuddered.

  Ground quaked; air reeked of ice and slaughter.

  Xiliang cavalry attacked.

  No nocturnal clamor, no shattering silence—just mute oppression, trudging through thick snow, advancing slow.

  Air compressed like bricks on every defender's chest.

  "Hold the line! Slack off and die!"

  A black-armored Black Dragon Guard barked coldly.

  Under him...

  Archers nocked bows.

  Boom boom boom!

  War drums thundered, blasting snow to white grains.

  Falling flakes shattered in the beat.

  Battle cries erupted like thunder from flat ground!

  As dawn's light tore snow clouds, gilding walls...

  Defenders loosed arrows.

  Thousands rained down.

  Beneath Wangtian's snowy expanse, Xiliang raised shields overhead, inching forward.

  Arrows clanged off, sparking.

  All blocked.

  Xiang family cultivators led, spiritual energy in cores; axes swung, deflecting volleys.

  Target: gates—to smash them.

  On battlements.

  Black Dragon Guards took positions.

  Their refined bows fired piercing spiritual arrows.

  Whistling down, piercing shields, pinning soldiers to snow.

  Blood splashed faces, igniting Xiliang fury—roars, charging on.

  Overlord, Qianqi axe on back, stood on chariot pulled by three massive black-maned horses.

  In dawn glow, eyeing Black Dragon Guards atop walls.

  Overlord smirked.

  Whip cracked reins.

  Horses neighed, galloping.

  Hooves exploded, churning snow-mud.

  Overlord on chariot—a black lightning bolt toward towering walls.

  Xiliang parted.

  On battlements.

  A Black Dragon Guard's eyes flashed.

  "Clear!"

  He shoved a soldier; regulars hauled a near-man-high bow, string taut.

  Guard grinned.

  Bow braced on merlon, foot on it.

  Arrow nocked, body arched back, pulling full—spiritual energy roaring in core like a beast.

  Aimed at chariot's Overlord.

  Blood boiling.

  Straightened, roared—arrow flew.

  Sonic boom; snow shredded!

  Terror-speed outstripped others, out-penetrating crossbows, spiritual energy homing on Overlord.

  On chariot, Overlord looked up.

  Face under helm cold, domineering.

  Disdain for the arrow.

  No axe, no shield—he reached bare-handed.

  Boom!

  Snow erupted.

  Overlord caught it one-handed; spiritual force blasted snow upward.

  Yet his grip ironclad, unmoving.

  "Black Dragon Thirteen—trash."

  Overlord said flatly.

  Pinch—arrowhead shattered.

  Chariot at walls.

  Overlord leaped; four spiritual vortexes whirled on him.

  Roar like maddened beast; wall snow quaked off.

  Defenders terrified, collapsing, will broken.

  Overlord swung Qianqi; black demonic aura coiled, hair wild like god-demon.

  Axe cleaved gates.

  Bolts snapped, wailing, exploding.

  Kick—gates crashed inward.

  Below, axe in hand, Overlord turned, swung.

  Xiliang silent, then thundered roars.

  Forces surged in.

  Bloody melee erupted.

  Wangtian defenders low-morale, crumbled under momentum.

  Battlements.

  Lord bitter-smiled at breached gates.

  Glanced at ashen Black Dragon Thirteen fleeing without fight, sneered.

  Drew sword, adjusted helm, shook snow from armor.

  Step by step down.

  Great Zhou tyrannical.

  But he was Wangtian lord.

  Defenders followed.

  Eyeing Overlord's burly frame, raised sword, roared.

  "Kill!"

  "Defend Wangtian!"

  Lord bellowed.

  Vital blood surged; sword in hand, charged Overlord.

  Even stabbed en route by Xiang cultivators.

  Blood-soaked lord rose, locked on Overlord.

  Charged on.

  Overlord waved; Xiang held back.

  Lord staggered, blood trailing, to Overlord.

  Wounds everywhere, gushing.

  Sword tip on Overlord's chest armor—couldn't pierce.

  Lord smiled.

  Faintly, as if in teahouse, legs crossed, pipa melodies by ear, tapping rhythm, sipping steaming tea, bantering with old friends...

  Helm lost, hair disheveled.

  Wangtian lord—city fallen, he never retreated.

  Overlord's expression complex.

  Hand raised, patted lord's shoulder.

  Lord knelt weakly, snow flying.

  Eyes dimmed, life gone; head drooped, blood dripping, staining Wangtian's snow red.

  One of Great Zhou capital's six defenses.

  Wangtian City—fallen.