Chapter 30: Laozi’s Exit, Traveling to the Witch Race

Xuan Qing had practiced the Avatars for many years and had become relatively familiar with their various manifestations. He had also cultivated many killing and destructive divine abilities and was particularly adept in the Thunder Laws. After all, the Three Qing Evolutionary Thunder Laws were formidable on their own—and when fused, the resulting Evolutionary Purple Heaven Divine Thunder was even more powerful. Unfortunately, Xuan Qing’s current cultivation realm remained insufficient, making it difficult for him to master the Violet Heavenly Thunder.

In addition to developing his divine aptitude, Xuan Qing had secluded himself to refine the Nine Revolutions Xuan Gong. Although he had not broken through the third revolution, he had nonetheless improved significantly.

During this time of cultivation, sporadic news reached his ears—rumors that the First Heavenly Father and Tongtian had both departed, seemingly headed toward some distant region of the Flood Wasteland. Laozi alone had remained behind in seclusion, appearing to be comprehending something profound, and had requested not to be disturbed.

…

One day, Laozi stepped out from behind closed doors and sought out Xuan Qing.

“Master, you’re out of seclusion?” Xuan Qing brightened at the sight, visibly surprised and relieved.

Laozi studied his disciple with a serene smile. “Apprentice, after so many years of practicing only the Nine Revolutions Xuan Gong and divine abilities, are you not bored?”

“No. On the contrary, it is quite fulfilling,” Xuan Qing answers casually, unconcerned with the pace of his cultivation.

“Not bad, not bad… The path of cultivation must never be rushed. The Flood Wasteland is eternal, and our lives are just as boundless—there’s no need to hasten breakthroughs.” Laozi whisked his beard lightly. “That said, it is time for you to seek out a supreme spiritual root. Only then can you begin cultivating the Heaven-Mending Method and truly elevate yourself.”

“Master… I am not in a hurry. Besides, extreme spiritual roots are exceedingly rare. I…” Xuan Qing trailed off, unsure.

“There’s no need for concern. I already have a destination in mind where we might find one suited to you.” Laozi smiled once more, his tone calm and certain.

Xuan Qing blinked in curiosity. “Where are we going to find a spiritual root, Master?”

“Naturally, we’re going to the richest region within the Flood Wasteland.” As he spoke, Laozi tugged at his sleeve and led Xuan Qing up into the drifting green clouds.

“The richest region?” Xuan Qing frowned. “Disciple does not understand. Could it be the Purple Heaven Palace?”

“No. We’re headed to Buzhou Mountain, to the domain of the Witch Clan. I intend to trade with them. Among their accumulated treasures, I believe we’ll find an exceptional spiritual root for you.”

“The Witch Clan?” Xuan Qing’s heart sank slightly. He was no stranger to that terrifying race—one destined to become central to the future war between the witches and the demons.

“Disciple… The most blessed land in the Flood Wasteland is not Kunlun, nor the Purple Heaven Palace, but the core of Buzhou Mountain. That place—formed from the spine of the Great God Pangu—is steeped in spiritual energy and has birthed countless treasures. Hence, it is also called the ‘Treasure of the Flood.’

“However, the residual will of Pangu permeates the mountain, exuding immense pressure. Ordinary cultivators can scarcely approach it—let alone fly into its depths. Only the Witch Race, born of Pangu’s blood essence, can ignore that pressure and move freely. As a result, the Witch Race has accumulated countless spiritual roots and treasures over the ages.

“Yet, the Witch Race cultivates only the physical body, not the Yuan Shen. Nor do they rely on conscious refinement—they depend on the Earth’s Fateful Qi. Because of that, Innate Spiritual Treasures and Roots are of limited use to them. Over time, they have amassed an abundance of such items. You will surely find a spiritual root there that matches your path.” Laozi sighed as he stroked his beard.

To think Master would travel to the Witch Clan just to find a spiritual root for me… I hadn’t imagined the Witch Clan to be so rich. Xuan Qing felt a warmth stir within him.

“Master… will the Witch Race even agree to trade?”

“They’ve traded innate objects with outsiders before in exchange for items they find more suitable,” Laozi answered without hesitation.

“Items suitable for the Witch Race?” Xuan Qing tilted his head. “But do they not lack the ability to refine treasures, since they do not cultivate the Yuan Shen?”

“They can refine treasures, but rarely. In the Flood, countless spiritual treasures are born—most derived from fragments of chaotic artifacts. Yet a few special treasures were formed from the shattered bones of Chaos Demon Gods.”

Laozi’s gaze deepened.

“Great God Pangu’s fleshly body evolved the Great Dao of the Flood. But by chance, some bone fragments failed to fully transform and instead became unique spiritual treasures. These treasures, when possessed by the Witch Clan, can be refined using their essence blood to greatly enhance their physical form.”

So there are such distinctions in spiritual treasures… Xuan Qing marveled inwardly. Then Master must be preparing to trade one of those rare treasures… The realization caused a faint ache in his heart.

…

In the blink of an eye, thousands of years passed.

Laozi brought Xuan Qing with him, flying leisurely across the endless Flood Wasteland until they reached Buzhou Mountain.

The journey had taken so long not only because the Flood Wasteland was vast, but because there was no urgency. When they had sought the Innate Gourd Vine, they had flown at full speed, covering the distance in mere centuries. But now, they had traveled unhurriedly.

Moreover, the Vine had only been located near the outer edge of Buzhou Mountain. To reach its core required far more time.

As they neared the central region of Buzhou, flying was no longer possible. The pressure from Pangu’s will grew so dense that only walking remained viable.

Descending from the clouds, Laozi and Xuan Qing made their way slowly toward the Witch Tribe.

The Witch Tribe resided within the core range of Buzhou, where Pangu’s will loomed the strongest. As they entered the outer tribes, figures began to emerge from among the settlements.

“Outsiders?” A brawny member of the Witch Tribe appeared before them. He wore rough beast hides, his frame massive and imposing. Coiled serpents slithered lazily around his body, and his gaze—sharp and savage—settled warily on the pair.

The moment their eyes met, Xuan Qing’s breath caught in his throat. So this is the Witch Race… Even this minor figure feels as ferocious as a mountain tiger.

Laozi stroked his beard and spoke with calm authority. “I am Laozi. I come seeking Daoist Friend Di Jiang.”

His voice resonated like a bell of the Dao, echoing throughout the Witch Tribe’s settlement. At once, various tribespeople stirred, expressions shifting with surprise.

“Haha… Laozi, my old friend! It has been a long time!” A loud, hearty laugh rolled forth from deeper within the camp. In moments, a towering figure emerged, striding toward them.

The man’s frame was massive—equal in height to Laozi—but restrained, not revealing his full size. He bore the commanding aura of a chieftain.

Laozi met him with a warm smile. “Daoist Friend Di Jiang… It has indeed been a long time. If I recall, no one from your Witch Clan attended Hongjun’s sermon at the Purple Heaven Palace, did they?”

Di Jiang scoffed, his expression dismissive. “The Old Daoist’s teachings? They’re useless to our path. The Great Dao of our Witch Race does not rely on such things. Attending would have been a waste of time.”