Pay-to-Win Cultivation: I Get 10,000x Returns

Chapter 224: Give Me Another Ten Years

After the terrifying rain of swords ceased, a deathly silence returned to the world between heaven and earth.

Qianji stabilized his figure, looking disheveled and wretched. The terrain around him had been permanently altered. Mountains had collapsed into rubble, and the earth was scarred with deep, crisscrossing ravines. It was a scene of absolute devastation.

He looked up at the figure hovering steadily in the air, his eyes filled with shock.

The opponent clearly radiated only the spiritual fluctuations of a Golden Core cultivator. Yet, the power of the technique he had just unleashed was simply outrageous.

It was impossible to match!

“Who exactly are you?” His voice was hoarse, thick with disbelief.

Zhang Xian flicked the edge of his sword, shedding the residual energy. His tone was matter-of-fact. “As you can see. This old man does not change his name, traveling or sitting. I am Qianji Zhenren.”

“Bullshit!” the imposter cursed violently. “Where did you learn [Myriad Spirits Return to Ruins]? You claim to be Qianji, so where are your puppets?”

Zhang Xian, of course, had no intention of exposing his own puppet army. The models he had on hand were undisguised; revealing them would instantly blow his cover as the drifting tycoon.

He sneered. “To deal with a counterfeit like you, do I need to waste my puppets? This seat using a sword is already showing you too much respect.”

Without waiting for a retort, Zhang Xian raised his blade again, transforming into a streak of black light as he charged.

Madman!

Qianji cursed inwardly. He didn’t dare meet the attack head-on. He turned and fled.

Zhang Xian refused to let him go, immediately giving chase at full speed.

During the pursuit, Zhang Xian keenly noticed a change in the environment. Large numbers of cultivators appeared from the fog. Their eyes were crazed, their minds clearly eroded by [Hatred]. As if summoned by a silent command, they rushed towards him recklessly, throwing their bodies in his path to block him.

“Just as I thought,” Zhang Xian’s gaze turned icy. “Nangong Yao, you have indeed become a primary vessel—perhaps even a source—of [Hatred].”

A bizarre chase unfolded through the darkened forest.

One black shadow fled desperately ahead; another hunted closely behind. From time to time, crazed cultivators pounced from the woods, teeth bared and weapons raised. But they were instantly cut down. Zhang Xian dispatched them with casual, negligent swings of his sword, unable to slow him for even a fraction of a second.

The fleeing Qianji grew increasingly terrified.

What is this monster’s origin?

His strength was completely unreasonable. It defied all logic of cultivation ranks.

This body… the Qianji shell… still has great use. It cannot be destroyed here!

Gritting his teeth, the imposter prepared to burn his essence. He would activate a blood-escape secret technique, regardless of the cost.

However, just as the secret technique began to rev up within his meridians—

Zhang Xian, chasing from behind, suddenly erupted with blinding, fiery light.

His entire body seemed to transform into a burning meteor. His speed abruptly doubled, tearing through the atmosphere with the sharp, ear-splitting shriek of a sonic boom.

“What—?”

Qianji only felt his vision blur. A terrifying heat and the aura of absolute destruction were already pressing against his face.

Pfft!

He couldn’t react.

The fiery meteor pierced straight through him.

Mechanical bone joints and fused, parasitic flesh exploded violently. The unnatural amalgamation of metal and meat shattered, scattering gore and gears in all directions.

Only the head remained intact.

It spun helplessly in mid-air, the face frozen in an expression of shock and disbelief.

A large hand wreathed in black flames shot out, snatching the head out of the air with precision. The flames behind the figure slowly receded, revealing Zhang Xian. He was still shrouded in spiritual light to obscure his true features, though his hunched posture straightened slightly.

Zhang Xian looked at the head in his hand. The eyes were filled with venomous resentment.

“How pitiful,” Zhang Xian said calmly. “You refined yourself into a half-human, half-ghost flesh puppet, yet you still couldn’t avoid the fate of being replaced.”

The head’s mouth opened and closed, the jaw clicking mechanically. It emitted intermittent, hoarse sounds. “You… what exactly… are you?”

Zhang Xian didn’t respond. A faint, ghostly light flickered at his fingertip.

Soul Searching Technique.

He drove his finger toward the forehead.

However, just as the technique was about to touch the core of the soul, a complex golden talisman suddenly surfaced on the head’s brow. It formed a solid, impenetrable barrier, completely blocking Zhang Xian’s probe.

“Again with this restriction!” Zhang Xian frowned.

Whether this was the real Qianji or Nangong Yao, the connection pointed undeniably to the Guiyuan Sect.

The severed head let out a series of hoarse, strange laughs. It sounded both smug and hateful. “Little thing… don’t… don’t let me find you. If I find you, I will definitely—”

Zhang Xian couldn’t be bothered to listen to the villain monologue.

His five fingers clenched.

Bang.

The head exploded like a ripe watermelon.

Immediately after, a mass of scorching flames surged from his palm, instantly incinerating the brain matter, bone fragments, and blood into the finest ash.

Zhang Xian coldly swept his gaze over the chaotic, ruined battlefield.

“Truly unexpected, Nangong Yao,” he muttered to himself. “Falling into demonhood, colluding with [Hatred]… it seems this is the most fitting end for trash like you.”

Just then, Zhang Xian sensed a notification from the System.

Guiyuan Sect. Guizang Palace.

Inside the cultivation hall.

Yang Poxiao slowly opened his eyes. The surging spiritual power around him gradually receded, settling deep within his dantian. He exhaled a long breath of turbid air, feeling the raw power coursing through his veins—power far greater than anything he had possessed before.

He couldn’t help but let the corner of his mouth curl into a slight, arrogant arc.

Nascent Soul, 2nd Layer.

The [Disciple’s Halo] was indeed domineering. It was unparalleled.

It had taken him from a cripple with a shattered Golden Core and a severed path to his current Nascent Soul realm in just three short years. He had even broken through two layers of heaven in that time. This speed was nothing short of terrifying.

He clenched his fist tightly, his eyes flashing with the cold light of ambition.

He had long heard the news of Long Zhi appearing on the Western Front battlefield. His heart burned with desire. But he had forcibly suppressed the impulse to go find her immediately.

Strength. Only absolute strength was the foundation of everything.

He believed that as long as he was strong enough, descending with invincible momentum, he would surely conquer Long Zhi’s heart.

And when that time came, it wouldn’t just be Long Zhi.

That man… Zhang Xian. The one who had humiliated him.

Yang Poxiao vowed to trample him underfoot.

Just ten more years!

Give him ten years, and he was confident he could sweep across the Southern Region and crush Zhang Xian like an ant.

Suddenly, a communication talisman flew into the hall, hovering before him.

A sweep of his Divine Sense revealed the message: Grandmaster Taichu was summoning him to Taichu Hall for a talk.

Yang Poxiao frowned slightly.

Towards this nominal master, he always harbored a trace of inexplicable resistance. It was an instinct he couldn’t quite place.

Grandmaster Taichu was mysterious and taciturn. In the three years since Yang Poxiao had joined the Guiyuan Sect, the number of times he had seen this master could be counted on one hand. There was certainly no deep master-disciple affection.

But the man was, after all, the publicly recognized Number One in the cultivation world—a half-step Soul Formation existence.

Surface-level etiquette had to be observed.

He straightened his robes and set off for Taichu Hall, located on the highest peak of the Guiyuan Sect, a place perpetually shrouded in clouds and mist.

Taichu Hall was as empty and desolate as ever. Only a few immortal cranes and spirit turtles strolled through the courtyard, moving with a slowness that suggested they were isolated from the flow of time itself.

Yang Poxiao respectfully knocked on the door and entered.

Deep within the great hall, a young man sat quietly on a meditation cushion.

He had long, dark hair that flowed loosely down his back and a temperament as peaceful as a still lake. Faint, misty energy circulated around him, softening his presence.

It was Grandmaster Taichu.

Beside him stood a young woman with a serene and beautiful appearance. Song Zheng, Grandmaster Taichu’s only direct granddaughter.

“Disciple Yang Poxiao pays his respects to Master.” Yang Poxiao bowed low.

Grandmaster Taichu’s expression was gentle, almost paternal. He slightly raised his hand.

“Rise. Observing your aura… your cultivation has advanced again.”

Yang Poxiao maintained his respectful demeanor, keeping his head lowered. “It is entirely due to Master’s cultivation and the Sect’s blessed land. This disciple was fortunate to break through to the second layer of Nascent Soul.”