One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

The blood... was not the usual bright red, but a dark golden-red, like molten lava! Under the pale lights of the corridor, one could even vaguely see tiny, star-like glimmers flowing across the surface of the blood, as if it contained some kind of active, boundless energy.

Even more strangely, when the first drop of blood left the wound and dripped into the glass bottle that had been prepared below, a thin layer of white frost instantly condensed on the inside of the crystal-clear bottle wall. However, the frost only existed for a moment before being melted away by the restrained yet scorching warmth emanating from the blood itself—a direct manifestation of the contradictory yet harmonious coexistence of extreme cold power and primordial yang fire in the bloodline of the Qilin!

One drop, two drops, three drops...

Nie Lingfeng silently counted, controlling the wound, and precisely dripped five drops of golden-red blood into the bottle.

Then, he put down the Snow Drinking Blade. The wound on his left arm began to shrink and heal at a speed visible to the naked eye! The granulation tissue under the skin grew and intertwined wildly, and a few seconds later, only a faint line, slightly lighter in color than the surrounding skin, remained at the wound, almost imperceptible unless one looked closely.

He handed the bottle of golden-red blood, still warm from his own body and with condensation and melting on the outside of the bottle, to Xu Si's trembling hands.

"Fourth Brother, if the old man's condition becomes critical, feed him this. You can dissolve it in warm water if you like. Whether it will work... how much it will help... I really don't know. We can only... leave it to fate."

Xu Si clutched the small glass bottle tightly in both hands, as if holding the most precious treasure in the world. His hands trembled violently, causing the blood inside to slosh slightly. He looked at the few drops of golden-red blood in the bottle, which seemed to possess life, then looked up at Nie Lingfeng. His lips trembled, as if he wanted to say something, but he couldn't utter a single word. In the end, he could only let out a heavy, tearful "Mmm," and tears finally streamed down his face.

Xu San said nothing, but stepped forward and hugged Nie Lingfeng tightly, patting him hard on the back twice. All gratitude, all entrustment, all unspoken words were contained in this silent action.

A few days later, at a special training villa in the mountains on the outskirts of the city.

Morning light filtered through sparse clouds, illuminating the tranquil courtyard. Feng Baobao's left shoulder bandage had been removed, revealing smooth, newly formed skin, leaving only a faint, almost imperceptible mark slightly lighter than the surrounding skin—as if the terrifying penetrating wound of that night had never occurred. At this moment, she was squatting on a small stool in the corner of the yard, slowly and methodically peeling an apple with the same kitchen knife that had rendered it so invaluable. The blade danced nimbly between her fingers, slicing the peel as thin as a cicada's wing, evenly and without break, hanging down like a pale pink ribbon.

Zhang Chulan sat on the wooden steps in front of the villa, his chin resting on his knees, his eyes vacant as he gazed at the morning mist slowly drifting among the distant mountains, seemingly lost in thought.

Nie Lingfeng sat cross-legged on the slightly steep roof of the villa, facing the morning breeze, and closed his eyes to regulate his breathing. The Ice Heart Technique flowed slowly through his body, cleansing his mind and soothing the occasional, subtle throbbing deep within his blood.

After Mr. Xu Xiang ingested Nie Lingfeng's blood, his condition took an unexpected turn for the better. Although he didn't immediately regain consciousness, his vital signs miraculously stabilized and showed signs of slow recovery. The multi-organ failure that doctors had initially deemed irreversible seemed to have been forcibly halted. Although still weak, he was at least... temporarily out of the most dangerous predicament. Even the attending physician found it incredible, attributing it to a medical miracle and the patient's strong will to live.

This news filled Xu San and Xu Si with joy and deepened their gratitude towards Nie Lingfeng. However, Nie Lingfeng himself was not entirely at ease.

"My blood can keep me clinging to life... but what about the mad blood within me?" He murmured to himself, facing the morning breeze, his brow furrowed slightly. "Senior Nie Feng left behind warnings and cultivation methods regarding the 'Demon Blade' in his inherited memories. The third layer of inheritance should involve the Demon Heart Crossing... This is also because Senior Nie was afraid his successor might be troubled by this violent bloodline originating from the Qilin. The Demon Heart Crossing... only by completely embracing the demonic path and then tempering one's character with demonic nature, controlling the extreme with the extreme, can one ultimately reach the supreme realm of 'The Demon Heart Crosses Me, and I Am Enlightenment'..."

He shook his head; it was too early to think about such things. Cultivating the Demon Blade was extremely dangerous, demanding exceptionally high levels of mental fortitude, experience, and skill. A single misstep could lead to utter destruction. His own mental fortitude was not yet fully developed, and his control over his power was far from complete. Moreover… the curtain had only just risen on the story; it was far from the point where he would need to resort to this ultimate weapon.

"Never mind, there's always a way out." Nie Lingfeng sighed softly, composed himself, and lightly leaped down from the rooftop, landing in the courtyard and crushing a few withered leaves that had fallen the night before.

He walked up to Zhang Chulan, who was still lost in thought, and patted him on the shoulder: "Stop daydreaming. There are only half a month left until the opening of the Luo Tian Grand Ceremony. Your special training needs to enter the final and most crucial sprint stage."

Zhang Chulan jolted from the slap, his unfocused gaze slowly sharpening. He looked up at Nie Lingfeng, his lips moving slightly, "Brother Feng, I..."

"Stop." Nie Lingfeng made a crisp stop gesture. "I know you have a lot to say right now—'thank you,' 'I'm sorry,' 'I will work harder'—say these emotions once and keep them in your heart. Now, stand up."

His tone was calm yet carried an undeniable power: "Transform your gratitude, your guilt, and your determination into action. On the stage of the Luo Tian Grand Ceremony, your opponents won't listen to your emotional journey."

Zhang Chulan paused, then took a deep breath, a breath that seemed to suppress all the confusion and melancholy in his chest. He abruptly stood up, his eyes sharp and resolute: "Come!"

For the next two weeks, this villa, nestled in the mountains, was completely transformed into a secluded, high-pressure, hellish training ground.

Feng Baobao was in charge of the most basic and tedious solid foundation work—a daily, unwavering 50-kilometer cross-country run with heavy loads (her backpack contained specially made lead weights that Xu San had specially obtained), hours of standing meditation in the "Three-Body Stance" under the scorching sun (requiring a unified mind and spirit, and a harmonious flow of Qi), and repeated practice of fine manipulation of Qi (such as using the Golden Light Mantra to condense a fine thread to thread a needle, or using the weak current of thunder magic to light light bulbs of different wattages). Her supervision method was simple, direct, and effective: If the set standards weren't met? The day's food rations would be folded in half; if still not met? Then she'd have to watch others eat.

Zhang Chulan once tried to offer a mild protest using the theory of "scientific training": "Sister Bao'er, people need food to survive. High-intensity training must be combined with sufficient nutrition, otherwise you'll break down..."

Feng Baobao was practicing her fly-catching skills with chopsticks (real flies) with her dinner—a bowl piled high with braised pork. Hearing this, she didn't even look up: "Steel needs to be forged and tempered. Food can only be prepared if you practice it well."

Zhang Chulan: "..." He silently turned around and continued to vent his excess energy in front of the wooden dummy in the yard.

Nie Lingfeng took on the more technically demanding training in combat skills and tactical thinking. He deconstructed, simplified, and recombined the "Ten Directions Invincible" martial arts technique, which contains profound martial arts principles, and combined it with Zhang Chulan's existing Golden Light Mantra and Yang Five Thunder characteristics to create a tailor-made offensive and defensive system suitable for his current stage.

"The essence of the Ten Directions Invincible lies in 'defense within attack, and attack within defense,' a seamless and flawless integration of offense and defense." On the training ground, Nie Lingfeng slowly and clearly demonstrated the movements while providing a simple and easy-to-understand explanation. "'Defense' should be as solid as a mountain, unmoving, no matter how fierce the storm; 'attack' should be as swift as thunder, lightning-fast, striking with deadly precision. But your current skill, experience, and understanding of martial arts are far from meeting the threshold for mastering the complete Ten Directions Invincible. Therefore, I will teach you a simplified version of the fist and foot techniques, more suitable for actual ring combat."

He adopted a simple yet steady starting stance, his aura becoming increasingly solid: "Watch closely. This move, 'Eight Directions Defense,' involves lowering the center of gravity, coordinating the footwork, and using the arms as if sealing off an attack. Combined with your Golden Light Mantra, it's sufficient to handle most attacks from various angles. This move, 'Double Kill Breaking Formation,' is a counter-attack technique that seizes the moment when the opponent's attack is interrupted or their strength is exhausted, breaking through the surface with a single point and using skill to overcome force. It can be combined with your Palm Thunder to create unexpected effects..."

Zhang Chulan studied with extraordinary diligence. He knew that when he set foot on Longhu Mountain in half a month, he would be facing the elites, geniuses, and freaks of the entire younger generation of the supernatural world. Without real skills, let alone coveting the "Heir to the Celestial Master" and the truth behind it, even escaping unscathed would be a problem. With every punch, every kick, every burst of golden light and lightning, he poured all his strength into it, imbuing it with the past Xu Xiang had recounted, his grandfather's entrustment, and his own yearning for the truth.

Days passed by amidst sweat, exhaustion, occasional wailing (mainly from Zhang Chulan), and rapid growth.

Zhang Chulan's progress can be described as rapid. The Golden Light Mantra, which was originally somewhat superficial, has become condensed and substantial, and its operation is more at will; the control of Yang Wu Lei has gradually become more sophisticated in terms of variations and combinations, from the straightforward "electrocution"; the simplified version of "Ten Directions Fist and Foot" is also performed quite well, and there is beginning to be a sense of order and rhythm in the offense and defense.

Feng Baobao would occasionally join in the sparring, using her unorthodox yet incredibly sharp and precise "instinctive swordsmanship" to give Zhang Chulan "stress tests" and "crisis response training"—although most of the time, it would end with Zhang Chulan being chased all over the yard, running away with his head in his hands, and having a few shallow knife marks on his body (Feng Baobao was very careful with her attacks).

While serving as a "sparring partner" and "instructor," Nie Lingfeng never stopped cultivating himself. The agility and speed of the Wind God Leg, the magnificent and ever-changing Cloud Dispelling Palm, the chilling and fierce Heavenly Frost Fist, the ruthless sword intent of the Six Secrets of Frost, the unrestrained power of the Creation Blade, the invincible martial arts principles of the Ten Directions, the profound foundation of the Xuanwu True Scripture... He was like a tireless martial artist, greedily and systematically absorbing, digesting, and integrating the vast essence of martial arts passed down from Nie Feng. With each cultivation session, he could feel his understanding and control of power advancing to a new level.

Only when the night is deep and quiet, and the bright moon hangs high, will he climb onto the roof alone, sit cross-legged, and gently press his palms against his chest.

The Qilin tattoo there seemed to become clearer and clearer over time, the lines more and more fluid, and the colors deeper and more vibrant, as if a miniature fire Qilin were truly lurking beneath his skin, slowly exhaling and exhaling a fiery breath with his breath and heartbeat. Sometimes, in deep meditation, he could even vaguely "hear" a heavy and powerful pulsation coming from the depths of his blood beneath the tattoo, like a war drum, like some ancient and powerful life slowly awakening.

The threat of madness, like an invisible yet incredibly sharp sword of Damocles, always hung over his head, ready to strike at any moment.

But he had no way out, and nowhere to retreat. Having inherited this power and borne this karma, he must have the awareness and ability to control and master it.

The two weeks passed in the midst of intense and fulfilling training, like sand slipping through my fingers.

That evening, as the setting sun painted the sky a magnificent blend of orange and crimson, Xu San's familiar black SUV once again drove into the small courtyard in front of the villa.

Xu San stepped out of the car, still dressed in his impeccably tailored suit, but his brows held less of their usual somberness, replaced by a more serious and expectant air. He looked at the three people who had come out of the house upon hearing the commotion and announced in a calm voice:

"Pack your things, we'll set off early tomorrow morning for Longhu Mountain in Jiangxi. The Luotian Grand Ritual... officially begins the day after tomorrow."

Upon hearing this, Zhang Chulan's body tensed imperceptibly, then he slowly exhaled a long breath. The last trace of hesitation in his eyes faded, replaced by a sharp light like a drawn sword. He silently clenched his fist, his knuckles making a slight "crack" sound.

Feng Baobao pulled out her old canvas bag with a cartoon panda print from somewhere and began to carefully pack things into it—besides three kitchen knives of the same style but different ages (which she called the "main knife," "spare knife," and "emergency knife"), there were also several packs of spicy strips, a jar of Lao Gan Ma chili sauce, and a pair of brand-new plastic flip-flops of the same style but different colors.

Nie Lingfeng returned to his room and took the Snow Drinking Blade, which had been with him for many days, from the sword rack. He took out a piece of soft deerskin, dipped it in special conditioning oil, and meticulously wiped the cold, dark blue blade from end to end. His fingertips traced the intricate, ancient cloud patterns and the unicorn relief, as if he could feel the slumbering, fierce will within the blade. After wiping it clean, he flicked his wrist, and the longsword transformed into a streak of light, disappearing into the Qiankun pouch at his waist.

He walked to the window and opened it. The evening mountain breeze, carrying the fragrance of grass and trees and a touch of coolness, flowed into the room. The distant mountains were like dark eyebrows, and the last rays of the setting sun were slowly sinking among the peaks, dyeing the world a vast and magnificent golden-red.

Longhu Mountain.

The Grand Ritual of Luotian.

A gathering of heroes among the younger generation in the world of supernatural beings.

Various forces lurking in the shadows, and greedy eyes watching.

And then there's... that thorny and foggy road leading to the Jia Shen Rebellion, the Eight Extraordinary Skills, and even the ultimate mystery of Feng Baobao's origins.

"What's meant to come will come eventually." Nie Lingfeng murmured to himself as he gazed at the last rays of sunset on the horizon. His voice was calm, yet it carried a resolute determination.

He turned and pushed open the door. Warm orange light streamed into the living room. Zhang Chulan was giving his luggage a final check, while Feng Baobao sat at the dining table, gazing longingly towards the kitchen—Xu San had said there would be an extra meal tonight.

"Let's go." Nie Lingfeng's voice broke the silence in the room.

Zhang Chulan and Feng Baobao both looked up at him at the same time.

Nie Lingfeng's gaze swept over the two of them, a calm yet firm smile playing on his lips:

"Let's go to Longhu Mountain."

"Let's go and see what this world is like..."

"Heroes of the younger generation."