Cultivation: I Can Steal Lifespan from Spirit Beasts

Chapter 170: The Mountain Moving Ape’s Tribulation!

“I never imagined, Senior Brother, that your experiences over these past few years would be so storied.”

In the silence of a desolate wilderness, Wang Ba and Zhao Feng sat cross-legged upon the earth, exchanging accounts of the years spent apart. As he listened to Zhao Feng’s succinct narration, Wang Ba couldn’t help but exhale a sigh of genuine admiration.

Earlier, when he had struck down the stout cultivator, he had been shaken by the suddenness of the ambush, even if the man himself had proven unexpectedly fragile. When Zhao Feng had first appeared, Wang Ba nearly lashed out again, certain that a second, more powerful adversary had arrived. Even now, looking at his friend’s face, he found it difficult to believe his eyes.

Encountering Zhao Feng near the Eastern Sage Sect might have been plausible, but meeting him here, outside the Sword Billow Garrison, felt like a trick of fate. Yet, the world was a tapestry of such impossible coincidences. Zhao Feng had wandered blindly southward, only to end up at the doorstep of the Heavenly Gate Sect’s Yan Kingdom territory. Even without this chance meeting, it would only have been a matter of time before he discovered the garrison.

While Wang Ba had spent the years sequestered within the sect—only recently finding the courage to venture out after reaching Foundation Establishment—Zhao Feng’s journey had been a gauntlet of steel and spirit.

Because he lacked a physical body, existing only as a soul condensed from the Soul-Nurturing Pearl, he had been a beacon for every Demonic Cultivator along his path. To them, a powerful, masterless soul was a prize to be shackled and used.

They had not expected to meet a man whose Sword Heart was as clear as a polished mirror. Since splitting his soul, Zhao Feng’s spiritual essence had grown exceptionally pure within the pearl, allowing his sword cultivation to advance by leagues every day. With his high base cultivation and a combat prowess that sought to “break ten thousand techniques with a single strike,” he had left a trail of defeated foes in his wake.

He had even chanced upon a method to condense a soul-body, rendering him immune to most soul-targeting arts. Once his Soul-Nurturing Pearl advanced in grade and he weathered his next lightning tribulation, he would step into the Golden Core realm. At Perfection, he would finally shed the shackles of the pearl and glimpse the path to becoming a Nascent Soul ancestor.

Zhao Feng spoke with a casual brevity, but Wang Ba could taste the iron and blood behind those words. The Heavenly Gate Sect was a den of exploitation, but it offered a twisted form of sanctuary. Out in the wilds, there was no such thing as safety. Only a sword cultivator, one who thrived on pressure and grew stronger through slaughter, could have survived such a journey.

“Compared to yours, Senior Brother, my time has been quite dull,” Wang Ba remarked.

Zhao Feng shook his head. “Every man has his own path, Junior Brother. You should not disparage yours. Despite being immersed in the filth of the Heavenly Gate Sect, your aura is remarkably pure, and your foundation is as flawless as translucent jade. That is a rare feat. In truth, my path was likely the easier one.”

He paused, recalling the shocking display he had just witnessed. In just a few years, Wang Ba had not only reached Foundation Establishment but had mastered a potent second-order technique. Though the spirit beasts had bought him time, the exquisite timing of Wang Ba’s “Needle Hidden in Silk” tactic had been masterful.

The concept was simple, but simplicity was often lethal. Without immense control over one’s Qi, coordinating a Magical Artifact and a technique in such perfect harmony was impossible. Most cultivators focused so much on their cultivation level that they lacked the resources or patience to master such arts, preferring to let artifacts do the heavy lifting.

The mid-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator currently rotting in the dirt was a testament to why that was a mistake.

“It is strange, though,” Wang Ba admitted, a trace of lingering fear in his voice. “That man was at the mid-stage, yet… he felt weaker than I expected.”

He wasn’t trying to boast; he was genuinely perplexed. The gap between the early and mid-stages of Foundation Establishment was usually defined by a significant leap in the density of one’s Dantian reserves. Ordinarily, even with a second-order technique, Wang Ba should have struggled to pierce a mid-stage cultivator’s protective barrier, let alone their defensive artifacts. Yet, the man’s defenses had shattered like wet paper.

“This is the divide between a Rogue Cultivator and one from a proper Sect,” Zhao Feng explained. “Most rogues have hollow foundations. Their arts are shallow, and their cultivation methods are full of holes. They rely on higher realms to bully the weak, but when they encounter someone like you—someone with a vast, majestic foundation—they crumble upon contact.”

He looked at Wang Ba with a serious expression. “Based on what I’ve seen, few early-stage rogues can stand against you. With your spirit beasts, you can handle the mediocre mid-stage ones as well. However, you must be wary of the late-stage. In that realm, the weak are still weak, but the strong are monsters. Even I, though I feel I have reached the limit of my current stage, would not guarantee victory against a stranger at the late-stage.”

Wang Ba nodded solemnly, etching the warning into his mind. He realized with a start that he had spent so much time hiding from the high-level monsters in the sect that he hadn’t noticed his own growth. He was no longer just a chicken farmer; he was a minor expert in his own right.

“However,” Zhao Feng added, his voice sharpening, “do not let arrogance take root. Your combat execution still has many flaws.”

Without waiting for a response, Zhao Feng began to dissect the battle. “You do not hide your presence well enough. You were insufficiently vigilant of the terrain. You delayed in summoning your artifacts… you must use offense to create your own defense.”

He spent the next hour instructing Wang Ba, eventually teaching him a specific concealment art: the Lightless Art.

“This technique suppresses your presence to the extreme,” Zhao Feng demonstrated. “It does not hide your realm, but it causes others to misjudge your actual strength.”

As the technique took hold, Zhao Feng’s sharp, sword-like presence vanished. He suddenly looked like a commoner, perhaps even weaker than the fat cultivator Wang Ba had just killed. Even knowing who he was, Wang Ba felt a subconscious urge to dismiss him as “nothing special.”

“Senior Brother… that is truly devious,” Wang Ba said, giving a thumbs-up.

Zhao Feng chuckled. “In this world, if you don’t have a few tricks up your sleeve, the hidden arrows will find you sooner or later. Learn it well.”

With the help of a small sacrifice of 1.4 years of Lifespan, Wang Ba mastered the essence of the Lightless Art in record time.

“Junior Brother, your talent for techniques is truly… exceptional,” Zhao Feng noted, a hint of genuine shock in his eyes. He remembered it taking him months to grasp the same art.

“It’s a pity,” Zhao Feng sighed, changing the subject. “I have found no way to bypass the Spirit-Hosting Bamboo Slip.”

Wang Ba wasn’t discouraged. He reached into his spirit beast pouch and summoned a High Grade spirit turtle. “Look at this, Senior.”

Zhao Feng’s eyes widened. He could not sense the turtle’s soul at all. Wang Ba explained how the Yin Food Worm larva was parasitizing the creature to mask its signature.

“A fascinating creature,” Zhao Feng mused. “But parasitism is a double-edged sword. Tell me, have you heard of the ‘Second Dantian’?”

Wang Ba looked confused.

“It was a theory proposed by an ancient senior,” Zhao Feng explained. “To overcome bottlenecks, he suggested cultivating a second Dantian from scratch. Once both reached the limit, their combined power—originating from the same source—could shatter any barrier. He succeeded, and the Eastern Sage Sect once held records of such a method. If you can find a way to open a second Dantian in your own body, you could allow the worm to parasitize that instead, solving your problem without sacrificing your main cultivation.”

Wang Ba felt a surge of hope. This was a tangible path forward.

“By the way, Senior… you mentioned the lightning tribulation.” Wang Ba looked at the Mountain Moving Ape (his Wu Ape King). The creature was a mess of charred fur and bloody gashes, clutching a jar of Spirit Poultry essence like a lifeline. It had saved Wang Ba’s life today, acting as a meat shield against the mid-stage cultivator’s hammer and the Heavenly Thunder Pearl.

“Let it recover first,” Zhao Feng suggested. “That ape is a loyal protector. It would be a shame to lose it to a reckless tribulation.”

Wang Ba agreed and moved to recall the ape, but for the first time, the creature resisted. It pointed its furred finger insistently toward the darkening sky.

“You want to go now?” Wang Ba frowned.

The ape nodded vigorously, its eyes burning with a stubborn, desperate determination.

“No, you’re in no condition—”

“Xi! Xixi!” The ape screeched, kowtowing before Wang Ba, its palms pressed together in a silent plea.

Wang Ba’s heart softened. This creature had bled for him. “Fine. If this is the path you choose.”

He didn’t just let it go. He poured out a drop of Divine Essence Dew, fed it more essence, and then, with a heavy heart, quietly infused a small portion of Lifespan into the creature to bolster its vitality.

The sky above the wilderness turned the color of bruised iron. Thick, swirling clouds gathered directly over the ape. Wang Ba and Zhao Feng retreated, while the other spirit beasts—including the parasitized turtle—fled in terror.

A crack of thunder shook the heavens. A bolt of silver lightning, thick as a python, tore through the gloom.

Golden River City, Outskirts

Near Li Three Bays, Lin Xiwen hovered in the air. His ancient face was set in a mask of cold fury as he held a green-robed cultivator by the throat like a broken doll.

“Finally,” Lin Xiwen hissed. “I have caught you, you damnable demon.”

The green-robed man, a late-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator, gasped for air, his eyes wide with horror. “You… cough… you’re that Elder from the Five Classics Sect… You’re supposed to be dead!”

“You have a keen eye, demon spawn. Did my arts give me away?” Lin Xiwen sneered. “It matters not. Dead men tell no tales. As for the Five Classics Sect… heh.”

He tightened his grip. A massive surge of Qi imploded, crushing the cultivator into a sphere of mangled flesh. Lin Xiwen’s palm split open, and a grotesque, human-faced insect crawled out, hungrily diving into the meat.

Suddenly, the insect stopped. It let out a shrill, piercing shriek that vibrated in Lin Xiwen’s mind.

“A larva is feeling fear?” Lin’s eyes narrowed. “There are more demons nearby?”

He recalled the insect and summoned his Musk Dog. The hound sniffed the air, ignoring the bloody remains. It began to bark frantically, its tail stiffening.

Lin Xiwen’s eyes lit up with a predatory glow. “You recognize that scent? It’s that brat from the Heavenly Gate Sect? He’s actually left the safety of the garrison?”