Starting as the heir of a marquis's mansion, I gained access to a summoning system.

three days later.

Dongfang Weiwo sat motionless for three days and three nights deep within the light curtain.

Dark golden spiritual energy surged into his body from all directions, like a vortex constantly devouring the surrounding celestial radiance.

Bai Yujing stood guard a hundred paces away, watching the dark golden light shrink and solidify, eventually transforming into a fist-sized cocoon of light that hovered three feet above the green rock, spinning around.

On the third night, the cocoon of light shattered.

There was no loud noise, no strange phenomenon. The light cocoon simply split open like a ripe fruit, and dark golden fragments scattered in the night wind. Dongfang Weiwo, who had been sitting in the same spot, opened his eyes.

His eyes changed. The faint, dark golden light that had been there before now became solid and heavy, like the embers of molten gold after it had solidified.

Something deep within the Qi Sea was pierced, and spiritual energy poured in, emitting a low hum. The entire core of spiritual energy suddenly throbbed violently—and then everything returned to normal.

Bai Yujing glanced back at him. Just one glance, then looked away. There was something in that gaze that made him uncomfortable—not pressure, not murderous intent, but a budding presence that almost made him forget to breathe.

"A quarter of an hour," Dongfang Weiwo said, his voice unchanged. "There are still a quarter of an hour left."

As soon as he finished speaking, the ground beneath his feet began to tremble.

At first, it was just a slight tremor, like the distant sound of drums coming through the mountains. Then it grew more and more violent, with sand and gravel jumping up and falling down, and spiderweb-like cracks appearing on the surface of the blue rock.

The hum deep within the spiritual vein changed from an almost inaudible buzz to a piercing shriek, and the light in the core of the spiritual energy flickered, like the intermittent breathing of a dying person.

Bai Yujing drew his sword. The sword's gleam, like a pool of autumn water, reflected his somber expression.

"They've arrived."

The ground cracked.

A straight crack ran through the center of the light curtain, splitting the ground within a radius of hundreds of feet in two.

The crack was bottomless, its edges as smooth as tofu cut with a knife. The aura surging up from below made Bai Yujing, a half-step Celestial Peak cultivator, jump abruptly—the aura was ancient, chaotic, and cold, like a tomb buried for ten thousand years that had finally had its lid lifted.

Then something floated up from the crack.

It didn't crawl out, it floated. A ball of light, about the size of a bowl, milky white, warm and soft, slowly rose to a height of three zhang (approximately 10 meters) above the ground and stopped, swaying like a child rubbing their eyes after just waking up.

Bai Yujing's grip on his sword tightened for a moment. But he didn't move. He remembered the words of the Old Man of Heavenly Secrets.

The milky white ball of light hovered in the air for about ten breaths.

Then it slowly turned around—if a ball of light has a "positive side"—towards the Eastern One, bobbing up and down three times, as if sizing him up.

Dongfang Weiye was also examining the ball of light. The Demon-Sealing Bloodline was slowly circulating within him, and he could sense an extremely faint, ancient consciousness within the ball of light.

That consciousness was as if it had been startled awake from a long sleep, and it tentatively explored around in confusion and bewilderment, and then all its tendrils converged in its direction.

It recognized the Demon-Sealing Bloodline.

The ball of light flashed brightly for a moment. Then it flew towards Dongfang Weiwo, slowly, with a kind of cautious probing. It stopped when it was three feet away from his face and gently touched the spot between his eyebrows.

Dongfang Wei did not hide.

In that instant, countless images flooded into his mind.

The scene is fragmented and chaotic, like ripped scriptures soaking in water—a majestic mountain gate, a coiled dragon, a battlefield covered in snow, and a white-clad figure standing atop a towering mountain, with a door in front of him.

The door that had split open beneath his feet was the same one. The man in white placed his hand on the door, and three lines appeared on it, lighting up and then fading away, as if sealing something.

The scene ends with the moment the man in white turns around. His face is blurred, but there is a very familiar outline between his eyebrows and eyes.

His father.

The milky white light retreated, swayed, and as if it had completed some task, suddenly shattered into countless fireflies, scattering and disappearing into the night wind.

The aura emanating from the cracks in the ground changed again. It became deeper and more intense, with the clanging sound of metal colliding echoing from the depths of the cracks.

The second item has arrived.

It was a sword.

The sword is entirely black, without a sheath, tassel, or inscription. It is three feet long, two fingers wide, and the blade is so thin it is almost transparent.

As it slowly rose from the crack, the radiance of the entire spiritual core tilted toward it for a moment—like ministers kneeling before a monarch, the spiritual veins of heaven and earth bowed down before it.

Bai Yujing recognized that feeling. The Autumn Water Sword in his hand emitted a very soft mournful cry, like a disciple feeling ashamed before his master, and the tip of the sword drooped.

"Ancient spiritual weapon..." Bai Yujing said in a low voice.

The black longsword hovered in mid-air, its tip aimed at Dongfang Weiwo. Then it moved—not by thrusting, not by slashing, but by circling him nine times at an almost imperceptible speed, each rotation generating a vibration that made the protective aura around him buzz.

Dongfang Weiwo remained seated. He extended his hand.

The dark longsword stopped three inches from his palm. The blade trembled violently, like a wild horse resisting its reins.

But the aura of the Demon-Sealing Bloodline emanated from Dongfang Weiwo's palm, enveloping it layer by layer. The sword's trembling gradually subsided and stopped, finally settling down in his palm, as docile as a trained eagle.

Bai Yujing watched this scene, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his sword, lost in thought.

The moment the black longsword came into his hand, Dongfang Weiwo felt an unfamiliar power surge into his dantian.

That power was ancient, sharp, and carried the killing intent accumulated over millennia, but under the suppression of his bloodline, it quickly subdued and submitted, like a ferocious beast sheathing its claws after recognizing its master.

Then the third thing came.

Simultaneously, a plume of black gas erupted from the cracks in the ground. The black gas was as thick as ink, and as soon as it appeared, it stained the entire interior of the light screen so dark that one could not see their own hand in front of their face.

The moonlight, the spiritual radiance, and even the dark golden light emanating from Dongfang Weiwo were all completely devoured. Countless sounds emanated from the black mist—crying, roaring, savage laughter, chanting scriptures, and the clanging of metal—all mingling together and piercing the eardrums.

Bai Yujing closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again. His clear mind, typical of a half-step Celestial, was nearly disrupted by the sounds. He took three steps back, planting his sword tip in the ground to steady himself, and looked up—

At the point where the black mist was thickest, a giant human face was taking shape.

The face was over ten feet in size, with blurred features but a ferocious outline. Its mouth was split from the corner to the ear, and a vertical slit was split in the middle of its forehead, through which was a bloodshot eyeball.

The human face slowly lowered its head, and its vertical eye looked down, locking onto Dongfang Weiwo, who was sitting cross-legged on the green rock.

Dongfang Weiwo stood up. He grasped the black longsword, and dark golden light burst forth from its blade, colliding violently with the surrounding darkness and emitting a creaking sound like shattered glass.

He looked up at the giant face—the Demon-Sealing Bloodline was operating at full power, and the "key" deep within the bloodline was trembling violently, as if it were trying to align with some ancient keyhole.

The blood vessels in the vertical eyes of the face throbbed rapidly.

Then the face spoke. The voice seemed to come from the deepest part of the earth, muffled and heavy, each word striking down:

"Sealed... Demon... Bloodline... Who... are you...?"

Dongfang Weiwo gripped his longsword tightly. Dark golden light and black mist tug at each other in the air as his voice, neither loud nor soft, carried through the air:

"I alone reign in the East. I am the master of this land."

The face remained silent. The vertical eye slowly rotated, sweeping across the entire core of spiritual energy, across Bai Yujing, and finally landing on Dongfang Weiwo.

"This...gate...is...sealed...for...ten...thousands...years...we...wait...for...ten...thousands...years..."

"What are you waiting for?"

The face fell silent again. Then, an extremely complex emotion welled up in that vertical eye—anger, resentment, longing, and a frantic urgency like that of a drowning person seeing a rope.

"Wait... for... the... key..."

The black mist suddenly contracted, and the giant face instantly collapsed into hundreds of black streams, surging wildly towards Weiwo in the east from all directions! The speed was so fast that Bai Yujing, a half-step Celestial, only had time to utter a single word—"Gong"—

Then all the black energy stopped at the same time, one foot away from Dongfang Weiwo.

It was as if blocked by an invisible wall. The black current crashed, overlapped, and twisted, but could not advance even an inch further.

The dark golden light on Dongfang Weiwo condensed into a thin but tough light membrane, on which flowed countless fine and ancient patterns—the sealing power of the Demon Sealing Bloodline was completely activated within his body, and each pattern was a lock, a door.

The black mist crashed against the light membrane, producing a hissing sound like molten iron being quenched in an icy river. Within the thick black fog, the gigantic face solidified again, its vertical eyes fixed on Dongfang Weiwo, roaring like thunder:

"Let...me...out...!"

I, the only one in the East, stood firmly amidst the raging tide of black energy.

A dark black longsword was held horizontally in front of him, with tiny sparks constantly bursting out at the junction of the dark gold light and the black aura.

He sensed the essence of that power—ancient, powerful, yet incomplete. Behind the giant face lay no complete body, no complete soul, only a lingering obsession sealed away for millennia, almost extinguished.

He recalled the words of the old man of the heavenly secrets: "Acknowledge what you can, accept what you can, and negotiate what you can."

This is not an enemy.

This is something left behind by the previous owner of the Demon-Sealing Bloodline—a lingering resentment trapped within the gate for ten thousand years. It recognized his bloodline; it didn't want to devour him, but rather to be freed.

"You want to go out," Dongfang Weiwo said.

The black mist suddenly froze. The giant face stiffened, and the madness in its vertical eyes froze for a moment.

"The key is with me."

Dongfang Weiwo slowly raised his left hand, the demon-sealing patterns on his palm shining like a bright lamp. "But I will not let you out. Your lingering resentment is too strong; going out will bring disaster."

The giant face trembled, and black energy surged like boiling water. Then it suddenly fell silent. The blood vessels in its vertical eye slowly receded, revealing a deep and profound weariness beneath.

"So...what...do...you...want...to...do...it...?"

Dongfang Weiwo stared at it for a long time.

"You recognize this sword."

He raised the jet-black longsword. Dark gold light and black energy intertwined and flowed along its blade, like two intertwined destinies bound together for millennia. "How many years has it followed you?"

The giant face did not answer. But a blurry hand emerged from the black mist, brushing across the sword's surface with extreme slowness and care. The movement was as gentle as stroking a sleeping child.

"...For so long...I've...forgotten..."

"I'll keep it." Dongfang Weiwo sheathed his sword. "You stay here. I'll come back when it's time for me to release you."

The black energy surged violently once more. The giant face's vertical eyes widened, and its mouth opened and closed as if torn apart.

But this time there was no roar, no charge. It struggled—ten thousand years of waiting had resulted in nothing but "waiting."

Then the black mist began to contract. The giant face shrank, collapsed, and retreated into the depths of the crack. The sand and gravel at the edge of the crack rolled down and filled in, and the ground slowly closed up like a healing wound.

As the last wisp of black smoke disappeared into the ground, an extremely faint sound drifted out from the crack, as soft as the wind rustling through withered leaves:

"……good."

The earth closed up. The crack disappeared. The winding path deep within the spiritual vein was suddenly straightened, and spiritual energy surged up from three thousand feet underground. The already incredibly dense spiritual energy core nearly doubled in size in that instant.

The dark golden spiritual vein light curtain became even more solid and heavy, and this one of the three towering light pillars on the entire wasteland subtly overshadowed the other two.

Dongfang Weiwo stood on the green cliff, with Bai Yujing holding a sword behind him. He carried an ancient spiritual weapon that was entirely black in his arms, and his feet were on a completely connected spiritual vein.