Chapter Fifty-Two: The Brilliance of Starry Energy, Yu Zhengrong

“Fellow Daoist, what has delayed your arrival…”

Gazing into the distance at the figure within the white streak of flight, Rong Tuo’s aged face twitched. He hastily picked up his robe from the ground, draped it over himself, and offered Chen Heng a formal salute.

Chen Heng smiled faintly, descended from the cloud, and paused at the foot of the steps, walking leisurely into the hall. With each step he took, Rong Tuo could not help but feel his hair stand on end, a shudder of dread running through his very soul.

The newcomer was tall and slender, dressed in plain robes and a white crown. Though his face was veiled with bamboo and wood, one could imagine he was a young Daoist of remarkable bearing. Yet there was an indescribable aura of authority about him. Merely standing still, he seemed to tighten the very air around him, an overwhelming presence far beyond the ordinary.

Rong Tuo, already at the eighth level of Qi Refinement and not far from forming true Qi and laying his Foundation, found that his spiritual senses quivered and his blood surged painfully in Chen Heng’s presence, as if his entire body was being pricked by needles.

Such a strange sensation—he had only felt it once before, in the company of the late Grand General Tong Gaolu. Both men were like ancient mountains, towering and unyielding. Their every motion exuded a majestic power, as if dust and boulders were flying about them. To face them was to be like a rabbit or a snake before an eagle—unless one had a heart of steel, resistance was impossible, and one would be crushed into pulp with a single blow.

How could this be? Had he somehow obtained Tong Gaolu’s external body-refining art? But that technique was forbidden to outsiders! In just a few days, he had already reached the level Tong Gaolu had attained in life? His eyes shone with a jade-like brilliance, almost seeming to leave his body!

Rong Tuo, unable to hide the trembling on his face, found himself only three paces from Chen Heng. At this distance, if Chen Heng wished to strike, it would be over in a heartbeat.

He considered fleeing, bursting through the hall in a flash of light, yet feared appearing cowardly. His thoughts tangled in knots.

“It seems your hall is rather stifling, Fellow Daoist?” Chen Heng halted, half-smiling as he spoke.

Rong Tuo froze, then hurriedly wiped his brow, only to realize he was drenched in cold sweat. He understood that his hidden intentions on the day Tong Gaolu was slain had been noticed by Chen Heng, who was now deliberately exerting pressure to humiliate him.

But Rong Tuo was an old fox. He quickly composed himself, swept his sleeves with exaggerated ease, and warmly invited Chen Heng to sit, pouring wine as if nothing had happened.

About a quarter of an hour passed. Several more Rong clan cultivators entered the hall, each startled at the sight of Chen Heng. Most especially Huang Zaichen, the clan’s retainer, who went deathly pale at once.

He had faced Tong Gaolu twice. The first time, only two of five retainers survived, the others torn apart. The second, Tong Gaolu’s shout alone nearly disrupted his vital breath, causing him to almost fall to his death from the clouds.

Even after Tong Gaolu’s execution for treason, Huang Zaichen suffered nightmares of being torn apart and dying in pools of blood.

Now, entering the hall to find Chen Heng composed and at ease, his aura vast and hidden, like a mountain or a surging sea—if not for his physical form, one might think Tong Gaolu had returned.

A cold terror seized his heart; his composure failed. He almost turned and fled the hall, only stopped by Rong Jin’s quick hand. Otherwise, he would have made a spectacle of himself.

Once all were seated, Chen Heng remained calm and serene. Sensing the tension, Rong Tuo took the initiative to toast and tell a few tales to lighten the mood.

During this, Chen Heng learned that the mortal Sima Yu, frightened by Tong Gaolu, had died of fear and spitting blood, and that the position of commander of the Imperial Guard would soon be reassigned. Each had their own fate—Chen Heng thought nothing of it and let the matter pass.

After several rounds of wine, seeing Rong Tuo still stalling, Chen Heng set down his jade cup and spoke plainly.

“Let us speak frankly. As for the ‘Jade Womb Mother Pool,’ the contract is sealed in law. How could I dare neglect you, Fellow Daoist?” Rong Tuo forced a smile, a trace of embarrassment flashing across his face. “Three terms were set. First, Tong Gaolu’s possessions are yours. That is settled. Second, the Rong clan shall present a thousand talismanic coins as tribute…”

He clapped his hands. Presently, two beautiful maidens brought in a great jade tray holding a thousand talisman coins, each one glowing with spiritual light, dazzling all present.

“These two girls are exotic gifts from last year, their skin warm and fragrant—”

Before Rong Tuo could finish, Chen Heng waved his hand, and the coins vanished into his bag of holding. “Thank you.”

Rong Tuo’s words caught in his throat, neither swallowable nor spit out.

With no choice, he gloomily dismissed the maidens, sighed, and drank a bitter cup of wine.

“Of the three terms, two are fulfilled. Only the last remains.” Chen Heng said, “Have you forgotten, Fellow Daoist?”

Rong Tuo, seated at the head, fell silent.

The “Jade Womb Mother Pool” had been constructed by the clan’s founder over three centuries ago, nurturing generations of Rong clan cultivators. For a minor clan like theirs, it was as precious as a spiritual vein—a true family treasure.

When Tong Gaolu pressed him, Rong Tuo, desperate, offered it as a bargaining chip. With Tong Gaolu dead, he now regretted the decision.

But what could be done? The contract allowed only five days of cultivation. No matter how skilled Chen Heng’s arts, what could he achieve in five days? Would he not need time to gather energy?

Bound by contract and daunted by Chen Heng’s power, Rong Tuo hesitated, then sighed, saluted, and led the way, transforming into a streak of light that vanished in moments.

Chen Heng smiled, saluted those in the hall, and followed in a white ray.

Once they had left, those remaining wore complicated expressions. Rong Xuantao’s face was grim, his gaze sharp and anxious. Rong Jin was restless, clenching and unclenching his fists. Huang Zaichen, for his part, felt only pure envy.

The “Jade Womb Mother Pool,” known as a minor spiritual vein, was so rich in energy it had liquefied; a day’s cultivation within equaled a month’s effort outside. It was truly a paradise for cultivators.

The pool had fourteen grades; the lowest was only slightly superior to external gathering. But the Rong clan’s founder had reached the third tier of Foundation Establishment, nearly forming a Purple Mansion. Such a one would have built at least a mid-grade pool.

Huang Zaichen had never tasted the joy of cultivation within.

So, aside from envy, his heart felt only longing, unlike the tangled calculations of the others.

“Are we really to let that man enter the pool and do nothing?” Rong Jin, unable to bear his anxiety, sent a voice transmission to Rong Xuantao. “Didn’t our founder leave behind some treasures? Might they be useful?”

“My elder brother told me to keep the ‘White Lion Illusion Scroll’ with me, in case things go awry.”

Rong Jin’s heart leapt, then wavered. The scroll was powerful, but whether it could even handle Tong Gaolu, let alone Chen Heng, was uncertain.

“Didn’t the founder leave more treasures? Should we take out a few more?” Rong Jin ventured.

Rong Xuantao glanced at him, sighed, and fell silent. Seeing this, Rong Jin could only restrain his worry and quiet himself.

Meanwhile, in the underground palace, the two descended in streaks of light. After Rong Tuo’s repeated cautions, Chen Heng smiled and opened a massive stone door.

As the door closed, a sense of weightlessness came over him.

Before his eyes lay a magnificent pool lined with gold, jade, and agate, seven paces long and wide, as high as a pavilion. Countless streams of spirit energy, thick as syrup, surged and swelled within, sometimes fierce, sometimes gentle, ever changing.

The stone door behind him was inscribed with talismans that locked in the pool’s spiritual energies, making them inexhaustible.

At first, Chen Heng suspected a trap. But seeing no harm, he realized his doubts were unfounded.

“No matter your schemes, the contract stands. You can only act against me after five days.” Chen Heng sat cross-legged, smiling. “I only hope you are wise enough not to court death.”

The contract only required the pool be lent to him for five days after Tong Gaolu’s removal; it said nothing of what might follow. It was more lenient than his contract with Tu Shan Ge—breach would not kill, but would diminish one’s cultivation.

Ever since Tong Gaolu’s death, Rong Tuo had considered getting rid of Chen Heng as well, but was deterred by his supposed grand-sect background and display of true Qi.

Even in the hall, Rong Tuo’s eyes betrayed murderous intent, though he suppressed it.

Chen Heng was not dismissive, but neither did he take them as deadly foes. If a single Tong Gaolu had left them helpless, then his own abilities, even without considering his core breath, were more than sufficient to escape.

And after five days’ cultivation in the pool, his strength would only grow. Even if the Rong clan had secret treasures, the outcome was uncertain.

“What a celestial paradise—such fortune before the Abyss!” Chen Heng breathed deeply, feeling the pure energy refresh his very organs, his body growing lighter and his mind elated.

This was what a Qi Refiner’s abode should be! If one minor spiritual pool was so wondrous, how much more so would be the top-grade veins and caverns of legend?

Without hesitation, Chen Heng calmed his mind and began practicing the “Supreme Primal Jade Body” technique to refine his mortal shell.

He chose this art over advancing his Qi Refinement because in just five days, even without needing to gather energy, it would be impossible to exhaust the pool’s reserves. The process of refining Qi and strengthening one’s core was complex and slow. Even with the supreme “Daoist Sovereign’s Genesis Scripture,” he could only hope to rise a single rank in Qi Refinement over five days.

But the Supreme Primal Jade Body was different. This divine technique, founded by the Supreme Elder, required only the absorption of spiritual energy and was exceedingly simple. In five days, he could drain the pool dry and elevate his physical state by several levels, not to mention the combat power gained.

To drain the pool’s energy was already a great boon.

“Rong Tuo, since you lacked virtue, do not blame me for repaying in kind.”

Closing his eyes, Chen Heng formed the “Seizing Dharma Seal” with both hands, following the scripture’s guidance.

The chamber, once resplendent with radiance and auspicious vapor, grew dimmer and quieter with each passing moment.

After about three days, Chen Heng finished his cultivation. He took a moment to experience the profound transformation his body had undergone, eyes gleaming with jade light. Lifting his gaze, he saw that the pool now held only a thin film of moisture—barely noticeable.

He smiled, withdrew paper and brush from his bag, and wrote a letter with swift strokes. Then, pausing before the pool, he carved a line of bold, flowing script upon the stone.

When all was done, he calmly opened the stone door and walked out.

Outside, several officials were waiting. Seeing Chen Heng emerge before the five days were up, they were both surprised and pleased. Before they could approach, Chen Heng’s breath coalesced beneath his feet, lifting him into the sky.

“No need to see me off—thanks for your trouble.”

A peal of laughter echoed from on high, leaving the officials staring at each other in bewilderment.

After the time it took to drink a cup of tea, Rong Tuo arrived in haste. Ignoring the officials’ bows, he thrust open the stone door and leapt inside.

One look, and he was struck dumb with horror.

Where once the chamber shone with radiant clouds and dazzling light, now there was nothing. No rainbow brilliance, no shimmering water, no misty haze. The once-brimming pool held only a thin patch of dampness, barely the size of a child’s palm.

“How could this be…”

Rong Tuo muttered in a daze, circling the pool. Suddenly, his fingers brushed across a series of deep, bold grooves.

He stared, and felt the blood rush to his head.

There, in vigorous, soaring script, each stroke exuding an immortal’s unrestrained might, were the words:

“The long sword still guards the thirty-six peaks; beneath the stars and swirling energies, majesty endures.”

At the end of the line, the name “Chen Heng” stood inscribed.

“Arrogant! Insolent wretch!” Rong Tuo howled, unable to restrain himself any longer, roaring in fury until darkness closed over his eyes.