In the relative safety of a secluded mountain cave, Shen Xian sat cross-legged, the jade slip of the [Spirit Beast Ascending Dragon Art] pressed firmly against his glabella. As his consciousness dove into the script, a map of profound evolution unfolded. The technique was a masterpiece of bloodline refinement: the first three stages focused on purging impurities, the middle three on awakening dormant ancient lineages, and the final three on a true return to the source—allowing a beast to reclaim the world-shaking power of its primeval ancestors.

The path is clear, but the cost is steep, Shen Xian mused. To bridge the gap between common beast and divine sovereign, he would need catalysts of immense rarity. He possessed a single drop of Azure Dragon essence blood—a perfect match for his Mysterious Turtle—but the remaining components would require his family’s vast network to procure.

His contemplation was interrupted by a violent thrashing from his spirit beast pouch. The Mysterious Turtle was nearly frantic.

“Patience, little one,” Shen Xian said with a faint smile, releasing the creature. “We aren’t ready for the ritual yet. Haste only invites disaster.”

Before the turtle could settle, a cataclysmic tremor rocked the God Burial Valley. Mountains groaned as they split asunder, and the very fabric of space twisted like wrung silk. In the distant heart of the valley, a pillar of blinding golden radiance pierced the heavens, tearing a jagged hole through the oppressive, ash-gray clouds.

Within that light, the spectral image of a titanic burial mound flickered, radiating an aura so ancient it felt like a physical weight upon the soul. The Bagua diagram on the turtle’s shell began to spin with a manic hum, its small, dark eyes locked on the golden pillar with naked longing.

At the same moment, Shen Xian’s senses flared. Dozens of powerful auras—all Golden Core cultivators—were surging toward the core from every corner of the rift.

“A heavy treasure is born,” Shen Xian murmured, his eyes sharpening. He patted the turtle’s head. “No wonder you’re so restless.”

He didn’t hesitate. Emerging from the cave, he saw streaks of light cutting through the sky. Fragmented whispers from passing cultivators drifted down on the wind.

“The Tomb of Ten Thousand Corpses has opened! The greatest hoard in the valley!”

“I heard the Holy Son of the Divine Wood Sect is already at the gates.”

“Not just him! The Sacred Fire Sect’s prodigy and the Wind Thunder Sect’s top disciple are there as well…”

Shen Xian’s pupils contracted. This was more than a mere treasure hunt; it was a gathering of the province’s absolute elite. He quickly suppressed his aura to the level of a common rogue and blended into the stream of cultivators heading toward the rift’s center.

The sight that awaited them was staggering. A cyan jade tomb, a hundred zhang in height, towered over the valley floor. Its surface was a forest of silver sword-runes, and a massive, illusory phantom of a Divine Sword hovered above the apex, pointing toward the heavens. Nine white jade pillars formed a perimeter, each topped with a dancing flame of [Pure Yang True Fire]—a celestial flame that acted as both a beacon for the righteous and a crushing weight for the malevolent.

“The Tomb of Ten Thousand Corpses,” a rogue whispered nearby, his voice trembling.

The name was a grim tribute to the countless seekers who had perished within its depths since the dawn of record. Yet, legend whispered that the few who emerged had always ascended to become the absolute masters of their era.

The various factions had already demarcated the clearing, forming a tense, silent hierarchy. The Divine Wood Sect held the center. At their head stood Shen Xing, Shen Xian’s elder brother. Clad in moon-white robes and radiating an ethereal grace, he looked like an immortal descended to the mortal world. Behind him, seven Golden Core Perfection disciples stood in a phalanx, their combined auras as stable and unshakable as a mountain range.

So, Big Brother is here as well, Shen Xian thought, staying in the shadows. Whatever is inside must be extraordinary.

He spotted Liu Qingxu among the Divine Wood ranks, her face pale but determined. To the right, the Sacred Fire Sect formed a wall of heat. Xiao Jin stood armored in crimson, the fire-seal on his brow pulsing like a heartbeat. The air around him shimmered and distorted, the temperature high enough to char common wood.

Xiao Jin is nearly at the Nascent Soul threshold, Shen Xian noted. He checked for the Holy Maiden, but she was nowhere to be seen—likely still recovering from their previous encounter.

A sudden peal of thunder announced the arrival of the Wind Thunder Sect. Lei Yingjie, draped in purple-gold, descended in a flurry of sparks. Seven streaks of lightning danced through his hair, and his eyes crackled with raw electrical power.

“A Great Completion Thunder Spirit Body,” Shen Xian muttered. These three prodigies were the suns of this generation, though he couldn’t help but feel a dark satisfaction knowing that Wei Qingshan, who once stood among them, was now ash.

Boom!

The bronze doors of the giant tomb groaned, and the nine ghostly fires on the pillars flared. Runes began to ignite across the tomb’s surface in a blinding sequence, weaving a grand formation that squeezed the breath from every lung in the clearing.

“It’s opening!”

Shen Xing, Xiao Jin, and Lei Yingjie moved simultaneously, each casting a thread of Divine Sense to probe the entrance.

Bang!

The tomb rejected them with a violent pulse. The Pure Yang flames transformed into nine massive fire-serpents, lunging at the three groups. Shen Xing met the attack with a curtain of clear light; Xiao Jin shattered the serpents with a flame-shrouded fist; Lei Yingjie simply laughed, allowing the lightning to entangle and absorb the fire.

As the chosen ones displayed their might, an elderly man in gray robes approached Shen Xian, cupping his hands.

“Fellow Daoist,” the elder whispered. “I am Han Shan. I see you are a man of steady temperament—surely a Golden Core brother. Look at the field; Xiao Jin and Lei Yingjie have already formed a Wind-Fire alliance. The Divine Wood Holy Son stands alone with his ‘Dao Body’ perfection. Even the small families have huddled together.”

He sneered at a group of bickering clansmen. “A motley crew of loose sand. We rogues must unite if we wish for even a sip of the soup.”

Shen Xian didn’t answer immediately, his mind calculating. The tomb would be a meat grinder. He needed to lie low, using the Mysterious Turtle to sniff out the true prizes while the “suns” of the province fought for the obvious ones.

“We are twenty-three strong,” Han Shan urged. “Will you join us?”

Shen Xian looked at the chaotic throng, then at the stoic perfection of his brother. Blending into a crowd of rogues was the perfect cover for ‘fishing in troubled waters.’

He gave a sharp, decisive nod. “Agreed.”