Chapter 34: Spiritual Roots, Traveling to the West

Xuan Qing knew that Hongjun was wealthy, but he had not expected this wealth. According to Laozi, many great powers of the Flood, numerous races, and even the collection of the Luo Shu had all fallen into Hongjun’s hands. No wonder Laozi had spoken so.

But it made sense. As the Flood Wasteland changed, spiritual roots had become increasingly scarce. After all, the blessed lands capable of nurturing them were diminishing. As a result, spiritual roots were gradually weakening. In contrast, although spiritual treasures would also become rarer, they could still be refined and replaced through craftsmanship and divine methods. Thus, with time, the value of innate spiritual roots had far surpassed that of innate spiritual treasures.

Of course, nothing in the world was absolute—exceptions always existed.

Xuan Qing fell into a contemplative silence, his brows slightly furrowed.

“Master, are there truly so many spiritual roots in the Flood Wasteland? Senior relied on just ten arrows and exchanged them for so many. It seems as though spiritual roots are everywhere and worth very little.”

“Disciple…” Laozi stroked his beard gently. “There are indeed many spiritual roots within the Flood Wasteland. Most of them originate from the Chaotic Spiritual Roots. In terms of quantity, the number of Chaotic Spiritual Roots is not inferior to that of Chaotic Spiritual Treasures. After the great Cataclysm of Chaos, both types were shattered and scattered across the Flood Wasteland, evolving into what we now call Spiritual Roots and Spiritual Treasures.

“At the beginning, their numbers were roughly equal. There were even more spiritual roots than treasures. But over time, as the spiritual energy of the Flood Wasteland waned and the environment deteriorated, spiritual roots declined rapidly. After all, they demand extremely favorable conditions to survive.”

Xuan Qing nodded silently, realizing that the Flood Wasteland indeed had once been filled with many spiritual roots—fragments of Chaotic Spiritual Roots that had fallen and evolved into countless innate forms. In terms of quantity, they were truly abundant.

As they conversed, Xuan Qing and Laozi gradually departed from the Witch Clan’s territory.

But before long, Xuan Qing noticed something strange.

“Huh…? Master, are we not heading home? This direction does not lead back to Kunlun.”

Laozi stroked his beard and looked into the distant sky.

“Apprentice… we are making a detour to the West, to join your Senior Uncles.”

“Master Uncle Yuan Shi? Master Uncle Tongtian…? Did they not go to purge the demonic cultivators and cleanse the demonic aura? If we head there too, are we not—” Xuan Qing faltered, dumbfounded. Why had a journey turned into a mission to deal with the remnants of the Demonic Sect?

Laozi nodded slowly.

“Indeed. I brought you along precisely to let you witness the demonic cultivators… and the cruelty of the Flood Wasteland.”

“Master…” Xuan Qing looked troubled. “This disciple’s cultivation is shallow, my divine abilities are incomplete, and I have no battle experience. If I must fight… would it not be dangerous? The demon race is ferocious.”

Laozi shook his head lightly. He had already heard from Tongtian that this disciple of his disliked conflict and preferred a stable, peaceful life. He was cautious and reluctant to dabble in bloodshed. But the Flood Wasteland was merciless—some things simply had to be experienced.

“You are always so lazy. Do not worry. There will be no real danger this time.” Laozi reassured him gently.

Xuan Qing’s expression shifted, but he had no choice except to nod. Truthfully, had he known things would turn out like this, he would never have left Kunlun.

Years passed.

Laozi led Xuan Qing across the vast Flood Wasteland.

Along the way, they traversed great distances. From Kunlun to the Witch Tribe, they had witnessed countless majestic sights—the spiritual aura of the lands vast and awe-inspiring.

But as they moved westward, they began to grasp the Flood Wasteland’s brutality. Scars of ancient battles marred the land. Mountains were shattered. Rivers polluted. Remnants of demonic energy still drifted.

“Alas…” Laozi sighed. “These are the traces left by the war between the Dao and the Devil. That conflict was far too brutal. Nearly nine out of ten cultivators in the Flood Wasteland were dragged into the war. The outcome… was tragic.”

The earth lay barren, stained with demonic qi that still had not dissipated. Bleached skeletons remained, untouched by time. Some true spirits, having lost their chance to reincarnate, had twisted into resentful ghosts, their cries haunting the land.

Looking upon the scene, it was as if one had descended into a nightmare.

Especially near the western regions—battlefields stretched endlessly across the horizon.

Xuan Qing shuddered. “Master… is this the real Flood Wasteland? Why is it so different from Kunlun?”

“Silly child. The Flood is vast—east and west are worlds apart. The heart of the Dao-Demon War lay in the west, so the east was spared. Moreover, the Demonic Sect’s rise forced many great powers to retreat eastward, treating it as their final refuge. To preserve the East, they laid down countless protective arrangements, shielding it from war.”

“So that’s how it is… No wonder the East is tranquil, but the West is ruined—death and killing linger everywhere.”

“Apprentice… this is the true Flood Wasteland. It has always been this cruel. Especially during great catastrophes, when calamity descends, the consequences are unimaginably brutal. In the future, you must cultivate diligently, lest you be swept away.”

Xuan Qing nodded solemnly.

“Master, rest assured. Your disciple will cultivate earnestly and remain steady, to avoid calamity.”

Seeing this, Laozi could only shake his head slightly. It seemed his disciple had misunderstood his intention again.

Without saying more, Laozi continued forward, taking Xuan Qing deeper west.

The closer they drew to the western regions, the more they sensed the lingering horror of the Dao-Demon War.

Battlefields lay everywhere. Demonic qi still clung to the land, unpurified. Beasts born in these lands were tainted and turned into feral creatures driven by instinct alone. Even intelligent cultivators, once contaminated by demonic qi, would often become unrecognizable—violent and bloodthirsty.

As they entered the western range, the demonic aura thickened, hanging heavily in the air.

Xuan Qing instinctively felt a deep sense of disgust and unease. He subconsciously moved closer to his master to avoid the encroaching filth.

But unexpectedly, a sudden brilliance flared from within his body.

It was the Purification Gourd—long dormant, now seemingly stimulated by the surrounding demonic qi. It released a soft divine radiance, enveloping Xuan Qing and dispelling the miasma around him.

“Huh…? My Purification Gourd… it can resist demonic qi?” Xuan Qing exclaimed, staring in surprise.

Laozi chuckled softly.

“The Purification Gourd embodies the Great Dao of Purification. Against demonic qi, it naturally holds the power to resist and cleanse. This gourd… is a gift born from the Gourd Vine, fated specifically for you.”