Wang Ba whipped his head toward the voice, his eyes widening in disbelief.

The newcomer possessed an ordinary face, yet his long beard drifted ethereally in the wind, giving him the sage-like demeanor of an immortal descended from the heavens.

It was Yu Changchun, the manager of the Ascension Society.

No—to be precise, it was Yu Changchun, a cultivator of the Heavenly Gate Sect.

“Brother Wang, I’ve been searching for you all night! I finally found you!”

Yu Changchun stroked his beard, his laughter booming. “Hahahaha! You didn’t expect this, did you? This old man is also a disciple of the Holy Sect!”

He turned to the dark-faced cultivator, his tone shifting from jovial to authoritative. “Junior Brother Ran, may I take this person with me?”

The dark-faced cultivator, who had just been tyrannizing the Eastern Sage Sect captives, instantly adopted a fawning expression.

“So it is Senior Brother Yu of the ‘Profound Puppet Path’! I heard you and the Blood Bone Path achieved great merits this time. This Junior Brother is truly envious!”

However, when he considered Yu Changchun’s request, a troubled frown creased his forehead.

“Senior Brother Yu, it is not that I wish to deny you face, but the Chief Steward has issued a strict command. None of these Eastern Sage Sect disciples are permitted to join the Sect.”

“The Chief Steward?” Yu Changchun paused. The memory of the Chief Steward’s awe-inspiring display of power last night flashed through his mind. He dared not challenge such authority directly.

He gestured to the rows of captives. “Then how are they to be disposed of?”

Junior Brother Ran didn’t hesitate. He spoke loudly, his voice carrying over the crowd.

“These people? The ones with high talent will be sent to the Blood Bone Path. They will be de-boned, their skeletons harvested as reserve materials. As for the mediocre ones… they will be sent to the Profound Puppet Path to be refined into human puppets.”

“What?!”

The silence was shattered.

The Eastern Sage Sect disciples, who had been clinging to the desperate hope of a new life as ‘recruits,’ froze. The blood drained from their faces.

Hope turned to primal terror in a heartbeat. Screams erupted as they began to struggle, clawing at the air, trying to break the line.

“Silence!”

The Heavenly Gate cultivators moved with brutal efficiency, kicking the screaming prisoners into the mud.

“Behave yourselves! If we weren’t worried about damaging the quality of your bones, you’d be dead already!”

Wang Ba stood amidst the chaos, a chill slicing through his gut.

So that’s why they tested our Spirit Roots, he realized, his blood running cold. They weren’t looking for disciples. They were sorting livestock.

Yu Changchun’s brow furrowed deeper as he looked at Wang Ba. “What about this Brother Wang?”

“Him?” Junior Brother Ran glanced at his ledger, recalling Wang Ba’s abysmal test result. “Four Spirit Roots, Qi Refining First Layer… Trash aptitude.”

Ran shrugged. “He can live. But he is only fit to be an ‘Outer Sect Left-Path Cultivator.’ He is forbidden from entering the Sect proper to cultivate.”

Hearing ‘Four Spirit Roots,’ Yu Changchun looked at Wang Ba with genuine surprise. He quickly recovered, stroking his beard with a satisfied nod.

“That is sufficient. Since the Chief Steward has spoken, we must obey.”

He turned his benevolent gaze to Wang Ba. “Brother Wang, you have no objections, do you?”

“None! None at all!” Wang Ba bobbed his head furiously, not daring to take the man’s politeness at face value.

Internally, he let out a breath he felt he’d been holding for hours.

He didn’t know what an ‘Outer Sect Left-Path Cultivator’ was, but it meant he kept his bones and his mind. A winding path had revealed a way out; he had survived.

Around him, the atmosphere shifted. The Eastern Sage disciples, who had looked at Wang Ba with pity only moments ago, now glared at him with venomous jealousy.

Why? Why did the trash get to live while the geniuses were harvested?

“Why?!” one disciple screamed, his eyes bloodshot. “On what basis can he leave?!”

Crunch!

A blur of motion. A Heavenly Gate cultivator appeared instantly before the shouting man, his hand clamping around the disciple’s throat. With a sickening wet snap, the throat bone was crushed.

The disciple slumped to the ground, twitching.

“Heh. Do you still think this is the Eastern Sage Sect? Do you think you can still act presumptuously?”

The remaining captives fell deathly silent, trembling like cicadas in winter. Their Spiritual Power was sealed; without it, they were merely physically fit mortals. Resistance was a fantasy.

“Well then, Junior Brother Ran, I will take him now,” Yu Changchun said with a smile.

Ran glanced at the corner of a storage bag peeking out from Wang Ba’s sleeve. He sneered internally—a Qi Refining First Layer trash wouldn’t have anything worth looting.

“Senior Brother, please. I am on official duty, so I cannot see you off.”

“No matter. Carry on.”

Yu Changchun grabbed Wang Ba and led him away, heading toward the outer perimeter of the conquered sect.

They hadn’t gone far when Wang Ba’s steps faltered.

Lying in the mud was a familiar corpse. The face was stern, cold, and forever frozen in a final expression of defiance.

Senior Brother Zhao…

Wang Ba forced his feet to keep moving. He suppressed the urge to check the corpse’s ribs, where Zhao Feng had hidden something for him. He choked down the grief rising in his throat.

To show sorrow for an enemy of the Heavenly Gate Sect would be suicide.

He followed Yu Changchun in silence. All around them, red-robed cultivators were busy looting and organizing. The mountain had fallen, and the spoils were being tallied.

Yu Changchun slapped a Swift Travel Talisman onto Wang Ba and activated one for himself. They sped up.

“I didn’t expect that in such a short time, Brother Wang… or rather, Fellow Daoist Wang, would actually condense a Spirit Root,” Yu Changchun remarked, his tone sounding casual.

Wang Ba’s mind raced as he channeled Spiritual Power into the talisman. He scratched the back of his head, adopting a look of honest confusion.

“I’m not too sure either, Senior. I just happened to go to Ding Ninth Village, and a man named Tao said I had dormant roots. I didn’t understand it, but later he taught me a technique to practice…”

He was referring to Tao Yi.

Tao Yi was dead. There was no one left to testify. But more importantly, Tao Yi had been a Heavenly Gate spy. By linking himself to Tao Yi, Wang Ba made his story credible and less suspicious.

It worked. Yu Changchun sighed, a look of regret passing over his face.

“A pity. That kid Tao Yi had a sharp mind. I had high hopes for him.”

“We won the battle against the Eastern Sage Sect, but the losses among our lower-level disciples were heavy.”

Wang Ba kept his mouth shut.

Yu Changchun continued, lost in his own thoughts. “Do you remember Li Zhi? The one who sent you to the village… the one you called Deacon Li? That fellow had heaven-defying luck. He silently broke through to Foundation Establishment.”

Wang Ba’s eyes widened. “Deacon Li was a Foundation Establishment True Cultivator?!”

“Indeed. High talent, deep schemes. But his luck ran out. He was shot dead by the Fan Ming Grand Formation.” Yu Changchun shook his head. “As they say, when the body dies, the Dao dissipates. No matter how high the realm, once you’re dead, you’re nothing.”

“We’re here.”

They slowed to a halt. Wang Ba looked around, a sense of déjà vu washing over him.

It was the site of the South Lake Market.

But the bustling market was gone. The battle had erased it completely—not a single tile remained intact. Even the picturesque South Lake was churned into a muddy, cratered mess.

Further out, however, some structures survived. Eastern Sage disciples, stripped of their dignity, were hauling stone and timber, rebuilding the ruins under the lash of Heavenly Gate overseers.

Yu Changchun turned to Wang Ba, his expression turning serious.

“You are wondering about the title ‘Outer Sect Left-Path Cultivator.’ It refers to cultivators who are not of the Heavenly Gate Sect, yet are driven by us.”

Wang Ba straightened up, listening intently. This was the catch.

“The Heavenly Gate Sect opens its doors wide, but resources are finite. We cannot feed everyone,” Yu Changchun explained with a benevolent smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But killing every captured cultivator is a waste of labor. Hence, the Left-Path status.”

“Usually, you are free to come and go like a Rogue Cultivator. We will not touch your earnings. But you must obey two rules.”

Yu Changchun held up two fingers.

“One: You must accept tasks assigned by the Sect. Two: When summoned, you must obey unconditionally.”

His voice dropped an octave. “If you violate these rules… even if you flee to another continent, a Golden Core True Person will hunt you down.”

Wang Ba’s heart skipped a beat. He ignored the threat of the Golden Core—that was too distant to matter—and latched onto the phrase ‘free to come and go.’

“Manager Yu…” Wang Ba started.

“We are both cultivators now. Call me Fellow Daoist,” Yu Changchun corrected him, his tone warm.

“Then… Senior Yu.” Wang Ba chose a safer, more deferential title.

Yu Changchun stroked his beard, pleased. “Let me guess. You want to know if ‘freedom’ is real?”

Wang Ba nodded vigorously. He was a prisoner of war. Freedom sounded like a trap.

“Heh. It is true,” Yu Changchun said. “With constraints.”

He flipped his hand, revealing a bamboo slip. “This is a ‘Spirit-Hosting Bamboo Slip.’ Inject your Spiritual Power into it. It will record your soul signature. I will submit this to the Profound Soul Path.”

He then handed Wang Ba a token. “This is the ‘Heavenly Gate Task Token.’ Tasks will appear here.”

“If you fail a task, or ignore a summon… the first three times, you will face minor punishment. But after the third strike?” Yu Changchun smiled thinly. “The Profound Soul Path will use this slip to locate you and kill you instantly via Soul Curse. Unless your soul is as strong as a Golden Core master’s, there is no escape.”

“Of course, don’t think about defecting to other sects. Within the kingdoms of Sen, Chen, and Fu, no sect can break our curse.”

Wang Ba felt a chill seep into his marrow.

Freedom? This was a leash. A long leash, perhaps, but a leash nonetheless. If he ran too far and couldn’t return in time for a summon, he would drop dead.

But compared to being de-boned or turned into a puppet, this was paradise.

He looked at Yu Changchun, then at the busy cultivators around him. He had no choice.

Wang Ba gripped the bamboo slip and channeled his Spiritual Power. A black, twisting pattern—half text, half painting—surfaced on the wood, sealing his fate.

Yu Changchun’s smile finally reached his eyes. “From today on, Fellow Daoist is one of us!”

“I must thank Senior Yu for your great grace,” Wang Ba bowed deeply.

“No need for formalities. Since we are on the same side, I will be direct.”

Yu Changchun leaned in. “You should have guessed why I spent all night looking for you.”

“Your skill in breeding Spirit Poultry. I value it.”

“I will provide you with eight hundred Rare Fowl. Whatever resources you need, ask, and I will try to provide them. But in exchange, you must guarantee a supply of at least twenty Low Grade Spirit Poultry every month.”

“For ten years.”

Yu Changchun paused, gauging Wang Ba’s reaction. “For the first two years, I will accept half that amount. You can make up the deficit later. If you agree… I will shield you from dangerous missions. I will ensure you stay within the safety of the sect, raising chickens, for a decade.”

“What do you think?”

Wang Ba stared at him, stunned.

Raise chickens? Stay inside the base? Avoid danger?

This wasn’t a punishment. This was the dream. This was the Dao of Gou perfectly realized.

Yu Changchun frowned, misinterpreting the silence. “Do you think it is too difficult?”

“No.”

For the first time since the nightmare began, a genuine, radiant smile broke across Wang Ba’s face.

“Although… it is quite difficult…”

“It sounds wonderful!”