A hidden staircase wound its way deep into the earth.

The passage was narrow and suffocating, twisting like a serpent’s intestine. No light penetrated this depth, and the air was thick with the scent of ancient decay and stale dust.

Qin Lu and his group navigated the dark tunnel with caution. It took the time it takes to burn one stick of incense—roughly thirty minutes—before the oppressive walls finally receded, spitting them out into a new chamber.

They stepped into a hall of preserved opulence.

Though the furnishings were sparse, every item spoke of imperial extravagance. Time had been kind here; despite the centuries, the artifacts remained glossy and pristine.

Glass lamps hung from walls covered in intricate, swirling frescoes. Inside them, improved whale-oil candles burned with an eternal, steady flame, bathing the hall in a bright, amber glow.

But the centerpiece commanded all attention.

A colossal bronze alchemy cauldron dominated the center of the room. Its surface was a masterpiece of metallurgy, etched with reliefs of mythical beasts and arcane, twisting runes.

Yet, the scene around it was a grotesque contrast.

Piles of bleached bones and desiccated corpses littered the floor at the cauldron’s base. Countless ceramic jars and porcelain bottles lay scattered among the dead, forming a small, chaotic hill of debris.

“Wow, it’s actually an alchemy room!” Gu Can’s eyes lit up, his eyebrows raising in genuine surprise.

Lu Anchen scanned the perimeter, his voice low. “Just like the antechamber. No ghosts here, either.”

“Sure enough, sure enough…” Zhang Ju looked around, vibrating with excitement. “The High Ancestor indeed consumed the Immortal Pills and ascended! The proof is right here!”

Qin Lu glanced at the young emperor, speechlessness washing over him. The man was slipping deeper into his own delusions.

The group approached the cauldron.

Qin Lu frowned, sensing the energy radiating from the bronze vessel. “It seems Emperor Wulie indeed had contact with a cultivator. This cauldron is undeniably a magical artifact.”

“It is,” Cao Yunxi agreed, tilting his head. “But since there’s a cauldron, the cultivator must have been an Alchemist. Why would a noble Alchemist waste their time in the mortal realm, refining pills for a dying king?”

Alchemists were the aristocracy of the cultivation world. Their time was precious, their skills coveted. Serving a mortal was beneath them.

“No. Not an Alchemist.”

Lu Anchen’s voice cut through the air, sharp and cold. “Look at the floor. Those white bones scattered everywhere… they are clearly human. The one refining pills here wasn’t a righteous cultivator.”

A chill ran through the group.

The implications were instant and understood. In the vast world of cultivation, there were many paths to power. Most sought harmony with the Heavens, refining Qi through meditation and discipline.

But there were others. Those who hit bottlenecks. Those who grew impatient. Those who sought shortcuts through blood and suffering.

To absorb or sacrifice the lives of others for power—this was the line that separated the Dao from the Heretic.

These were Evil Cultivators.

Demonic, Corpse, Blood, Ghost… the titles varied, but the nature was the same. In the cultivation world, they were rats crossing the street—despised, hunted, and killed on sight.

“Little Lu is right,” Qin Lu said, his expression hardening. “This ‘State Preceptor’ wasn’t helping the Emperor. He was farming him.”

“If there are no ghosts here, the source of the trouble must be nearby. Fan out. Search everything.”

The group scattered. Even Zhang Ju, blind to the grim reality, squatted down to rummage through the discarded bottles, hoping to find a leftover miracle.

Qin Lu remained by the cauldron. He placed a hand near the bronze surface, extending his spiritual sense. Faint residual energy hummed within—a complex formation array that felt wrong. It was twisted, designed for containment rather than refinement.

“This cauldron is higher grade than the clan’s…” Qin Lu mused. “But if this was an Evil Cultivator, why leave such a treasure behind?”

“Everyone, I found the old man’s diary!” Lu Xuan’s voice echoed from a corner.

The group converged on him. Lu Xuan held a dusty, bound booklet, flipping to a bookmarked page.

“The useful parts are here,” he said, clearing his throat to read aloud.

“Noon. Today, I gather here with the State Preceptor to jointly explore the Great Path of Longevity. The eighty-one young maidens are gathered. At the third quarter of the Hour of the Ox, the Preceptor will fire the cauldron and refine the Ascension Immortal Pill. My great undertaking is at hand!”

“Hour of the Tiger. The Immortal Pill is complete. I kowtow and bow in gratitude, moved to tears as I consume it. Tonight, I will shed my mortal shell, ascend in broad daylight, and achieve the Great Path of Longevity!”

Thud!

Gu Can slammed the butt of his spear into the stone floor, his face twisted in disgust. “Damn it. Eighty-one maidens? It really is an Evil Cultivator.”

Zhang Ju, however, heard only what he wanted to hear. He leaned in, eyes shining with hope. “So… my High Ancestor really became an immortal?”

Shing!

Lu Xuan drew his sword in a blur of motion, the tip hovering inches from Zhang Ju’s forehead.

“You mortal fool!” Lu Xuan roared, his patience snapping. “You truly have no sense of right and wrong! This is the Heretic Path! Murdering innocents for power! If you dare entertain such thoughts, I will execute you right now to save the world the trouble!”

“No, no! Immortal Master, I wouldn’t dare!” Zhang Ju stumbled back, pale and trembling, waving his hands in frantic surrender.

“Hmph.” Lu Xuan sheathed his sword with a sharp click.

Qin Lu ignored the drama, his mind racing. “It doesn’t add up,” he muttered, stroking his chin. “If this was an Evil Cultivator’s scheme, why feed the pill to Wulie? An Evil Cultivator takes; he doesn’t give. What did he gain by feeding the Emperor?”

“And why leave the cauldron?” Qin Lu tapped the bronze metal. “This is worth a fortune. And most importantly… where is Emperor Wulie?”

“True,” Lu Anchen nodded. “There are too many loose ends…”

CLANG!

A metallic ring resonated through the hall.

Heads snapped toward the center. The sound had come from the cauldron—which no one was touching.

Qin Lu’s pupils constricted.

“Back! Get back!” he shouted, his voice straining. “The ghostly aura—it’s spiking!”

His [Heavenly Eye Technique], always active, suddenly screamed a warning. A massive, dark energy signature had just ignited inside the vessel.

BOOM!

The heavy bronze lid of the cauldron blasted upwards, slamming into the ceiling with the force of a cannonball.

A geyser of thick purple smoke erupted from the opening. It swirled violently in the air, coalescing into a solid, imposing silhouette.

A chilling, maniacal laughter shook the dust from the rafters.

“Hahahaha! A mere demonic Daoist, still trying to trap Zhen? I have finally seen the light of day again!”