Two days later, the martial arts training ground at Wang Family Ridge was occupied by a ragged line of Qi Refining cultivators. Their motley attire betrayed their origins: the four vassal families of Green Bull Market.

The Qian and Liu families were each led by an elder at the Ninth Layer of Qi Refining, their faces etched with the resignation of those whose paths had ended. The Zhang family could only spare a mid-stage leader. Behind them stood a collection of cultivators mostly hovering around the fourth or fifth layer. These small clans lacked the deep resources required to birth a Foundation Establishment expert; even if a child with decent Spiritual Roots was born, poor cultivation techniques and weak spirit veins often condemned them to a lifetime of mediocrity in the Qi Refining stage.

Wang Hao swept his gaze across the formation. The group instinctively lowered their heads, terrified to meet the eyes of a Foundation Establishment superior. Wang Hao had no interest in asserting dominance over the weak; he was merely memorizing faces.

His gaze drifted to the Wang clan’s contingent, and he paused, surprised to find a familiar figure among the ranks.

“Wenxin? Why are you here?”

Wang Wenxin offered a miserable, self-deprecating smile. “Fifth Brother, you might not know. After Wuyan and Wuxian, my wife and I had five more children with Spiritual Roots.”

Wang Hao raised an eyebrow.

“Unfortunately,” Wenxin continued, his voice heavy, “their aptitude is poor—mostly four or five Spiritual Roots. The family provides a stipend, yes, but it pales in comparison to what the talented children receive. As a father, how can I not worry? I thought if I earned more contribution points, I could smooth their path. I don’t want them to end up like me—forty years old and still stuck in the mid-Qi Refining stage.”

Wang Hao was internally astounded. Seven children with Spiritual Roots? There were likely even more mortals among his brood. Wang Wenxin was certainly… prolific.

It was a stark transformation. Years ago, managing the market shop, Wenxin had been the picture of the carefree bachelor—”one person full, the whole family not hungry”—spending his earnings as fast as he made them. Now, he was the archetype of a burdened father.

But what can a mid-stage Qi Refining father truly earn? Wang Hao thought grimly. Even if he saves for two lifetimes, he won’t afford a single Foundation Establishment Pill.

He wanted to offer advice: Focus on Wuyan. He has potential. Pull Wuxian along if you can. If one succeeds, the whole branch rises. But with resources diluted among seven children, the odds of even one breaking through plummeted.

Everyone had their own Dao. Wang Hao swallowed his critique and nodded solemnly. “Demon Cultivators are ruthless butchers. When we reach the front, stay sharp and keep close to me.”

“Thank you, Fifth Brother! I won’t forget this,” Wenxin bowed deeply, relief flooding his face.

The surrounding cultivators watched with naked envy. They yearned to curry favor with the Foundation Establishment elder but dared not speak. Wang Hao was a figure of authority; a misstep could make their dangerous journey unbearable. They held their tongues, fearful of the sharp-eyed Wang clan members who would surely punish any disrespect.

Wang Hao summoned the Flying Cloud Boat. He ordered them to board. It was slightly over capacity, but with his spiritual pressure securing the vessel, safety was not an issue, even if comfort was compromised.

He glanced back at Patriarch Wang Yanzhao and the others who had come to see them off. Stepping onto the deck, Wang Hao commanded, “Depart.”

Upon arriving at Green Bull Market, Wang Hao found the other families gathered.

The Li family was led by Li Yaozu, likely due to Li Derong’s recent return from overseas. Their transport was imposing: a Tier 2 Upper-Grade Ironback Eagle. The beast was a colossus of muscle and feathers, easily capable of carrying thirty men. However, its passengers looked miserable, strapped tightly to its broad, wind-swept back, clinging on for dear life.

Wang Hao’s own spirit beast, Yaya, paled in comparison. Though she had grown strong at Tier 2 Mid-Grade, she lacked the sheer tonnage of the eagle or the grace of a crane.

The Lei family utilized technology over beasts. They brought three small flying boats. Unlike Wang Hao’s sophisticated vessel which required Foundation Establishment cultivation to pilot effectively, these smaller crafts could be operated by Qi Refining disciples. They were convenient but cramped, requiring a convoy to transport their twenty-one members.

The Zhao family took a different approach: a swarm of Tier 1 Feathered Swallows. Two riders per bird, totaling eleven agile beasts. They were small, but fast—perfect for scouts and messengers.

The Cheng family, lacking both beasts and boats, had been forced to rent three small vessels from the Lei family.

Once assembled, the coalition moved toward the Qingyuan Sect. Forced to match the pace of the slower Lei family boats, the journey was sluggish. They arrived at the Qingyuan Sect on the very last day of the deadline.

The great plaza atop Qingyuan Mountain was a sea of cultivators. Over a hundred Foundation Establishment experts and more than a thousand Qi Refining disciples had gathered.

Only thirty wore the distinctive azure robes of the Qingyuan Sect’s inner circle. The rest were a patchwork of vassal forces, conscripted to bleed for their masters. Rogue cultivators were noticeably absent; this was a feudal obligation, not a disaster relief effort.

Most of the gathered experts barely glanced at the Green Bull Market contingent. However, a few acquaintances approached to exchange greetings. Though Wang Hao was new to these circles, the reputation of the Wang family—and Li Yaozu’s diligent introductions—opened doors.

This was the undeniable advantage of a clan. Relationships were inherited. A rogue cultivator would spend decades building the trust that Wang Hao received simply by standing next to Li Yaozu.

In the cultivation world, the saying went: Wealth, Companions, Techniques, Land. ‘Companions’ did not just mean friends; it meant networks.

The Cheng family was a prime example. Without their alliance with the Lei family, where would they have found airships? They would have bled Spirit Stones to rent from strangers.

The dynamic extended to trade. The Wang family’s pills and the Li family’s talismans were rarely sold to outsiders at the highest tiers. They were reserved for allies, used as currency for favors. Without these connections, one was forced to pay extortionate prices at auctions.

Wang Hao—young, Mid-Foundation Establishment, an alchemist, and heir to a rising clan—was a golden contact.

Ignoring the arrogant Qingyuan Sect disciples who looked at the vassals with “eyes higher than the top,” the leaders of the subordinate families were eager to befriend him.

“Alright, silence!”

A late-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator from the sect stepped forward, his voice amplified by spiritual energy.

“You all know why we are here. For centuries, the domain of the Qingyuan Sect has been free of the stain of the Demonic Path. Now, these wretches dare to pluck the tiger’s whiskers! They must pay in blood. I will not waste words. Follow me. Once Daoist Master Baili divines their location, we will strike directly at their lair!”

A ripple of confusion went through the crowd. They didn’t know where the enemy was? Were they just gathered here to wait?

Wang Hao found it odd. Surely the Demon Cultivators wouldn’t be foolish enough to attack the mountain gate itself.

He followed the sect elder to a massive plaza dominated by a towering altar. The structure was laid out in an Eight Trigrams formation, rising in three tiers. It was constructed from a pitch-black material Wang Hao couldn’t identify, though it radiated the density of at least Tier 2 spiritual ore, with the capstone likely being Tier 3.

Standing atop the altar, eyes closed in meditation, was a figure in azure robes.

Daoist Master Baili. A Golden Core sovereign.

“Are the forces assembled?” Daoist Master Baili opened his eyes, his voice soft yet carrying across the entire plaza.

“Reporting to the Daoist Master,” a subordinate bowed low. “All present. One hundred and two Foundation Establishment cultivators, one thousand five hundred Qi Refining disciples.”

“Good. Then let us begin.”

Daoist Master Baili spread his arms. With a sharp gesture, eight crimson banners shot out from his sleeves. They snapped into place around the altar, their surfaces writhing with complex runes.

Wang Hao studied them intently, his brow furrowing. He recognized only a fraction of the script; the complexity of the array was far beyond his current understanding.