“No matter what, the risk must be taken. This is the simplest, lowest-risk channel for me to obtain a Foundation Establishment Pill in the short term!”

Chen Ping murmured softly, a gleam flashing in his eyes.

Armed with this intelligence, he immediately began scouring the archives for records concerning this Secret Realm.

Soon, piecing together fragments from various Sect briefings and historical logs, he constructed a profile of the “Distant Spirit Realm.”

This Secret Realm lay deep within an ancient mountain range at the geopolitical nexus of the Yunli Kingdom, Nanchu Kingdom, and Tianfeng Kingdom.

Every ten years, the spatial barrier at its entrance would destabilize, permitting cultivators below the Foundation Establishment stage to enter.

The interior was a self-contained dimension, vast and treacherous, acting as a cradle for rare spirit herbs seldom seen in the outside world. Crucially, it housed the core ingredients for the Foundation Establishment Pill—True Essence Fruit, Flaming Sun Fruit, and Amethyst Flower.

Great rewards inevitably demanded great risks.

The realm was infested with powerful Demonic Beasts guarding the flora. But the deadliest predators were not the beasts—they were other cultivators.

The Secret Realm was not the exclusive property of the Qingyun Sect.

Qi Condensation cultivators from dozens of surrounding sects would converge upon it.

Every opening was a bloodbath of melee combat and pillaging.

For a single stalk of precious herb, disciples would turn on their own brothers, stabbing them in the back without hesitation. Between rival sects, there was no pretense of mercy; an encounter meant an immediate fight to the death.

The addendum at the end of the briefing served as a chilling footnote.

[…The Distant Spirit Realm is a crucible of opportunity and death. It is common for late-stage Qi Condensation cultivators to perish within. Those lacking formidable strength and exceptional methods should enter with extreme caution! Sect Recommendation: Only disciples at the Ninth Layer of Qi Condensation or above should consider participating. Entrants bear sole responsibility for their life and death.]

Chen Ping closed the cold jade slip, a slight chill seeping into his heart.

Only Ninth Layer and above should consider…

The risk factor truly exceeded his initial estimations.

To the world, he was merely a disciple with a Waste Spirit Root at the Third Layer of Qi Condensation, someone who had scraped into the Outer Sect by sheer tenacity and luck.

Would signing up attract unwanted scrutiny?

Of course, in reality, he stood at the Great Perfection of Qi Condensation.

With his current strength, entering the realm…

To say he would be a crane standing among chickens was an understatement. He would easily rank among the apex predators.

Chen Ping considered another factor.

His Five Elements Waste Spirit Root.

A single Foundation Establishment Pill would not suffice. He needed more. Many more.

The more medicinal materials he harvested, the more pills he could exchange for. This was his optimal path.

Therefore, the Distant Spirit Realm was mandatory.

Objective set, he returned to his remote cave dwelling and immediately mobilized.

He needed to confirm the logistics.

The information was not classified.

Rumors that the spatial fluctuations at the entrance were intensifying, signaling an opening in one month, had already permeated the well-informed circles of the Outer Sect.

Chen Ping “accidentally” loitered near the Mission Hall, eavesdropping on several conversations until he pinpointed the registration location.

It was an inconspicuous cubicle tucked into the side of the hall.

The registration point was practically deserted.

Inside, a single table sat occupied by a middle-aged deacon disciple. He exuded an air of laziness, his cultivation at the Sixth Layer of Qi Condensation, idly flipping through a novel.

Chen Ping approached the table.

The deacon didn’t even lift his head. “Name? Business?”

“Chen Ping. Registering for the Distant Spirit Realm.”

His voice was a flat line.

“Oh?”

Only then did the deacon look up, a flicker of surprise breaking his boredom.

Aside from True Disciples and the top-tier elite of the Inner Sect, Outer Disciples rarely volunteered for the meat grinder…

His gaze swept casually over Chen Ping, reading the deliberately projected aura of the Third Layer of Qi Condensation…

The surprise froze, instantly morphing into a bizarre mixture of astonishment and incredulity.

He gaped, eyes widening as if he were witnessing a hallucination.

He looked Chen Ping up and down, checking for a prank, or perhaps assessing if he was looking at a madman who didn’t know the height of the heavens or the depth of the earth.

“You…! Qi Condensation… Third Layer?”

The deacon’s voice dripped with skepticism and absurdity.

“You want to sign up for the Distant Spirit Realm?”

“Yes.”

Chen Ping’s response was brief, his gaze steady and unapologetic.

The deacon stared at him for several long seconds. His expression was a cocktail of shock, confusion, and a trace of pity so faint it was almost invisible.

In the end, he asked nothing.

He had been in the Outer Sect long enough to see two types of people: those playing the pig to eat the tiger, and those actively courting death.

Which one was this kid?

He couldn’t be bothered to find out.

The rules were simple: anyone below Foundation Establishment could sign up.

Life and death?

That was personal business.

He sighed softly, mourning the stupidity of youth, and looked away. He pulled a thin ledger and a brush from a drawer, his tone reverting to cold bureaucracy.

“Name?”

“Chen Ping.”

“Cave dwelling number?”

Chen Ping provided his coordinates on Qingyun Mountain.

“Cultivation level?”

“Qi Condensation Third Layer.”

The deacon’s brush hesitated for a fraction of a second, but he recorded it faithfully.

He produced a black iron token, half the size of a palm, its edges etched with arcane patterns. He quickly carved Chen Ping’s name and number onto it and tossed it over.

“Take it. This is your entry token. One month from now, at the third quarter of the Mao Hour [5:45 AM], assemble at the mountain gate plaza. Latecomers will be left behind. You know the rules? Life and death are your own responsibility. All harvested materials must be submitted for exchange upon exit.”

“I know.”

Chen Ping caught the cold metal.

“Right. Go.”

The deacon waved a dismissive hand, shooing a fly, and returned to his book as if the interaction had never occurred.

Chen Ping gripped the token and turned to leave.

Behind him, a faint, mocking chuckle drifted through the air.

Only one month left.

Back in his cave, Chen Ping sat cross-legged.

He still had over thirty thousand Low-grade Spirit Stones in his possession.

To him, these stones were currently dead weight.

But now, facing the Distant Spirit Realm and the slim, singular hope of the Foundation Establishment Pill, he had to liquidate his assets.

He had to spend it all.

Chen Ping’s objective was singular: Talismans.

Attack, defense, escape, concealment.

The higher the tier, the better. The higher the quantity, the better.

In the days that followed, Chen Ping utilized the Formless Mask to constantly alter his face, build, and spiritual signature.

He became a ghost haunting the Qingyun Sect’s largest Marketplace and the chaotic shadows of the black market.

He moved gingerly, never lingering, never buying enough in one transaction to draw eyes.

He abandoned his old suppliers.

New faces. New stalls. New targets.

He bought everything.

Tier 2 Low-grade Golden Blade Talisman. Rumored to injure Foundation Establishment cultivators. Five hundred Spirit Stones. Bought.

Tier 1 Supreme-grade Thick Earth Shield Talisman. Capable of blocking a full-power strike from a Qi Condensation Great Perfection cultivator. Fifty Spirit Stones. Bought.

Divine Movement Talisman. Tier 1 Supreme-grade. Essential for escape. Fifty-five Spirit Stones. Bought.

As long as it was high-grade, he took it.