Mortal Cultivator: Lin Tianzun

Chapter 44: Chen Minghui wins the bet and takes the treasure, while the monks return empty-handed
Chen Minghui witnessed firsthand how the disciples of the Yellow Maple Valley, with their overwhelming advantage of sixty-one spiritual herbs, emerged like a long-dormant dark horse, unexpectedly rising to the top of the leaderboard. This unexpected yet predictable victory was like a surging wave, crashing heavily upon his heart. Instantly, a brilliant smile spread across his face, like a spring flower blooming in the gentle breeze, his joy and triumph unreservedly on display.

He clasped his hands together in a swift, flowing gesture, then leaned forward and bowed respectfully to the assembled Jindan-stage cultivators. Despite his humble and courteous demeanor, the glint of excitement in his eyes was hard to conceal; his elation was like a wine glass about to overflow, ready to burst forth at any moment.

He straightened his back slightly and raised his voice confidently. His voice was loud and clear, echoing in the empty space, and every word was heard by everyone. "I'm so sorry, brothers. I was lucky enough to win this bet. Please pay the stake as agreed."

At this moment, Chen Minghui felt a surge of joy, like an eagle freed from its cage, soaring freely and galloping across the boundless clouds. His mind reeled in the priceless stakes he had won: the incredibly powerful talismans, their radiance so brilliant it seemed to rend the very void; the precious materials used to craft his magical treasures, each one radiating a mysterious and alluring sheen, as if bearing the vicissitudes of time and the gifts of heaven and earth; and the precious elixirs; swallowing just one pill would rapidly elevate his cultivation, making breaking through bottlenecks as effortless as strolling in a garden.

When Chen Minghui thought about these rare treasures that would soon become his without a doubt, he felt like he was injected with a dose of super-strong stimulant. He was filled with ecstasy and his heart seemed to jump out of his throat.

He subconsciously straightened his body, chest puffed out, like a victorious general, clad in glorious armor, standing on a podium where everyone was watching. His eyes gleamed with a gleam of pride and contentment, as if everything in the world was under his control.

At this moment, he exuded an indescribable confidence and arrogance, as if the entire world revolved around his victory. He stood quietly there, a determined smile on his face, waiting for everyone to obediently present their bets.

When several Jindan stage cultivators heard Chen Minghui declare victory and ask for the gambling money, they were like being struck by thunder, and a very obvious look of pain flashed across their faces.

You have to know that these gambling funds are all real rare treasures. Talismans are incredibly powerful, able to protect lives in critical moments of life and death; magic weapons are made of rare materials, each piece has been precipitated through countless years, and condensed with the essence of heaven and earth; rare elixirs are even more valuable. One pill can greatly improve cultivation, helping practitioners break through seemingly insurmountable bottlenecks in their practice.

Each of these treasures had been painstakingly accumulated through countless hardships, near-death experiences, and countless efforts and energy. Now, to give them away so easily felt like someone had stabbed their hearts with a sharp blade, gouging out their most cherished possessions. This piercing pain, like countless needles piercing their hearts, was a source of deep regret.

Their hearts were filled with resistance, as if someone had forced them to drink a bowl of bitter, astringent medicine, the pain unbearable. Yet, in this public place, under the watchful eyes of so many, as highly respected and prominent Jindan-stage cultivators within their sect, how could they dare to openly break their promise? If they did, the stigma of "untrustworthy" would follow them like a shadow, a name they would never be able to shake.

Helplessly, they could only grit their teeth and swallow their resentment. Their faces were as gloomy as the heavy, suffocating clouds before a storm. Reluctantly, one by one, they handed their gambling money to Chen Minghui. At this moment, each of their faces was as black as the bottom of a pot, as if ink could drip out of it, filled with pain and regret.

They must have been filled with regret, constantly wondering if they had been too impulsive in this gamble, or if their desire to win had blinded them.

Thinking about it now, this was simply an unavoidable nightmare. They lost so many precious treasures that they had obtained with countless efforts for no reason. Regrets surged like a surging tide, wave after wave, completely drowning them.

The moment the stakes were paid, several Jindan-stage cultivators felt as if struck by five thunderbolts, their bodies trembling violently. The pain that had once been thick on their faces now surged like a surging tide, surging layer upon layer, so intense it threatened to overflow from their faces.

In their eyes, the place they now stood in had become an ominous, hopeless place shrouded in a vicious curse. Every inch of the air seemed to be filled with a stench of decay, making them almost nauseous. Invisible demonic hands seemed to reach out from all sides, clawing and baring their fangs, mercilessly tearing at their hearts, again and again, excruciating pain.

Every second they stayed there intensified the tormenting feeling of stabs in the back and discomfort. Every breath felt like swallowing pain. They felt that if they stayed even a moment longer, they would be completely swallowed up by this despairing aura, trapped within it, with no hope of recovery, as if they had fallen into an endless abyss of darkness, with no hope of finding a glimmer of hope.

They no longer cared about the demeanor they painstakingly cultivated and carefully maintained. They were like ants on a hot pan, whirling in panic. Their hearts burned with anxiety like a raging fire, and they shouted at the top of their lungs, calling on their disciples to assemble immediately. Their voices were filled with unconcealed anxiety and impatience, and the usual polite and courteous greetings had long been thrown out of the window.

Then, with a frantic frenzy, they raised their hands and hastily summoned their magical weapons. Instantly, the magical weapons shone with a dazzling light, blinding everyone. The light was blood-red, shrouded in a chilling aura, like an enraged beast roaring in rage. Panicking, everyone scrambled to mount the magical weapons, and in a flash, they transformed into a streak of light. The light was astonishingly fast, like an arrow shot from a bow, or as if a raging flood was rolling in from behind with overwhelming force, or a ferocious beast was chasing them with its fangs bared. They wanted nothing more than to escape this nightmare-like place; even a second of lingering pain would be torture.

Their backs were filled with helplessness and reluctance, each step weighed down by a heavy emotion. Their bodies were hunched, like defeated roosters, their spirits broken and dejected. Their former high spirits and imposing demeanor had vanished without a trace, leaving only dejection and dejection. Their drooped heads and feeble arms spoke of their inner despair, as if their souls had been drained away, leaving only empty shells.

In the blink of an eye, they and their disciples hurriedly boarded the teleportation device. Their figures rapidly dwindled in the sky, becoming tiny black dots, swaying and swaying, as if they would be swallowed up by the whistling wind at any moment. Finally, they completely disappeared at the end of the sky, vanishing from everyone's sight.

The empty field was left, so quiet that only the rustling of the grass could be heard. In stark contrast, Chen Minghui was immersed in the joy of victory. His face was beaming with joy, an irrepressible smile of triumph on his face. It was as if the whole world was cheering for his victory. At this moment, he felt like he was standing on top of the world, enjoying all the glory and splendor.

In the blink of an eye, the once bustling and bustling Huangtu Slope was instantly emptied, as if cast by a magical and powerful spell. A moment ago, it was bustling with activity, with disciples from various sects excitedly chatting or nervously peering, the air thick with tension and anticipation. The expressions of the various Jindan-stage cultivators varied, but all held a certain level of concern and scrutiny. Now, however, it had become deserted, like an abandoned city.

Looking out across the loess slope, aside from the Yellow Maple Valley still standing there, there was no sign of any other sects. The other six sects seemed to have been swept away in an instant by a sudden and powerful gust of wind, vanishing without a trace, leaving behind not even a scrap of clothing or a trace of breath.

On the loess slope, messy footprints are densely distributed, with varying depths. Some are left by hurried running, and some are made by pacing on the spot. These footprints are like unique paintings, silently recording the movements of disciples from various sects.

There are still some remaining spiritual fluctuations, flickering with faint light, like a candle that is about to go out. They float slowly in the air, as if humming and singing softly, silently telling the silent loess slope about the fierce and tense gambling game just now, and telling about the expectations, competition, loss and unwillingness of various sects.

Chen Minghui stood aside, almost flying with excitement, dancing and laughing heartily. His ecstasy was like a flood that could not be contained.

His face was flushed, as if dyed by the sunset in the sky, and his eyes were shining with the light of victory, as bright as the brightest stars in the night sky.

Sometimes, he would rub his hands unconsciously, as if he had already touched the precious gambling money that was about to be obtained; sometimes he would pace back and forth, each step was vigorous, as if he was patrolling his territory on the battlefield, recalling every exciting and wonderful moment of this gambling game.

After a long while, the excitement slowly faded, and he gradually calmed down. He took a deep breath, his chest puffed up, and then slowly exhaled, as if to expel all the ecstasy in his heart with this breath.

He then raised his hand to straighten his shirt, his movements neither hurried nor slow, yet revealing an unmistakable calmness. In an instant, the smile on his face vanished without a trace, replaced by a serious, almost stern expression.

He stood erect, like a pine tree, his eyes sharp as an eagle's, as if he could see through people's minds. A powerful aura emanated from him, like a surging tide, stirring the air around him and causing it to tremble slightly. He instantly displayed the majesty expected of a Jindan-stage cultivator.

His gaze was like a torch, slowly sweeping across the disciples of the Yellow Maple Valley. Wherever his eyes fell, the disciples unconsciously lowered their heads. His voice was low and powerful, as if it came from the deep valley, with an echo: "Everyone performed well in this bet.

"But we must not become complacent because of this. The road of cultivation is long, and we must work even harder." The disciples all bowed their heads and responded respectfully, no one daring to look directly into his all-seeing, majestic gaze. Chen Minghui nodded with satisfaction. In his heart, this victory was just a small starting point for Huangfeng Valley to reach greater heights. In the future, there would be many more difficulties and obstacles waiting for them to conquer.

(End of this chapter)