He sits across from Pei Shan, listening as the young governor introduces the town, but his mind is elsewhere, mapping the future.

Beyond cultivation, his goal is to turn Ding Town into a Divine Town, restoring the Ji Family’s vanished influence along the border.

To do so, the population must reach ten thousand permanent residents, and a temple must be established for a specific Divine Cultivator to station there.

The town has a temple, but it is for the collective pantheon of the Great Zhou Dynasty, not a single Divine Cultivator.

With a dedicated Divine Cultivator, he wouldn’t need to remain here constantly.

Jingxuan intends to stay beyond the year-long mission and make this town his base for future expeditions into the Weird Domain.

After the feast, he doesn’t discuss his plan with Pei Shan; it is the first meeting, and revealing it could spark resistance—many do not want the Ji Family to regain power on the border.

He follows Pei Shan’s servant to the residence prepared for him: a courtyard-style house.

Inside, a servant steps forward. “Take me to my room,” Jingxuan says.

The servant bows. “Yes, Young Master,” and leads him to the chamber.

Before entering, Jingxuan instructs, “Prepare a bath for me.”

After bathing and donning a white robe, he sits cross-legged, bringing the two cores—the Sandman and Stone Lion—closer.

At first, they approach easily, but when mere inches remain, an invisible repulsion pushes them apart, and no force he applies can close the gap.

“Do I need to combine the two mysteries first?” he murmurs.

He reaches inward, weaving the mysteries of sand and stone together, coaxing them toward harmony, a delicate dance that might finally allow the cores to unite.

The next day, the five warlocks arrive for instructions, but finding Jingxuan still cloistered in his room, they leave in quiet frustration. The following day, they return, only to meet the same result.

Meanwhile, in his office, Pei Shan frowns at a servant. “What is Lord Ji doing?”

The servant bows. “Lord Ji has not left his residence for the past two days.”

Pei Shan unrolls a scroll and hands it to the servant. “Deliver this to Lord Ji immediately.”

Minutes later, the servant reaches Jingxuan’s house and knocks. A guard answers.

“I am from Lord Pei Shan’s household. Lord asked me to deliver this scroll to Lord Ji,” the servant says.

The guard nods. “Give it to me. I will deliver it to the young master.” He takes the scroll, shuts the door, and walks to the housekeeper.

The housekeeper frowns at the scroll, unsure whether to summon Jingxuan. A female servant speaks up. “Housekeeper, the young master hasn’t come out for days. Perhaps he is cultivating. You know how dangerous it is for a warlock—if he loses control, we’re finished.”

The housekeeper shudders. “Then what should we do?”

A male servant nearby adds, “Housekeeper, read the scroll first, then we can decide what to do.”

The housekeeper nods, hands trembling slightly, and carefully unrolls the scroll.

Inside, it is written that Lord Pei informs the young master that around the iron mine, the guards and miners have noticed traces of weird monsters. He requests that Young Master send someone to investigate.

The housekeeper frowns. The female servant speaks up, “Young Master has the five warlocks as subordinates. Let’s give them the scroll and have one of them investigate.”

The housekeeper nods. “Rei, you are clever. Don’t worry—when Young Master wakes, I’ll ask him to take you as his personal maid along with Xiaoling.”

Rei smiles and bows. “Thank you, housekeeper.”

The housekeeper hands the scroll to the male servant. “You know what to do with it.” The servant bows and walks away.

That night, in the quiet of his room, the two cores hover in Jingxuan’s spirit space, drawn to each other like celestial magnets.

He channels his energy, allowing the subtle threads of sand and stone to intermingle.

First, the cores pulse in opposition, golden sparks flickering where the mysteries clash.

He focuses, weaving his spirit around them, aligning the vibrations of sand and stone until the resistance softens.

Streams of golden and grey energy coil around the cores, twisting like molten rivers, wrapping, unravelling, and intertwining.

The cores begin to spin around each other, forming a spiralling helix of sand and stone, wisping strands of their respective energies into one coherent flow.

He channels more control, guiding the fusion, tempering the energies until the cores’ pulse synchronises—sand and stone flowing as one, each enhancing the other.

Finally, with a final surge of will, the two cores snap together, merging into a single, more potent entity.

The fusion radiates a new energy, a resonance of both sand and stone mysteries, humming with latent power.

Jingxuan seals the newly combined core, golden chains erupting to coil around it, locking the fused essence securely in place.

The chains glow softly, a symbol of harmony and restraint, containing the raw potential of the merged core. He examines the new core—both abilities remain intact.

Yet something deeper shifts within him.

The fog that had long clouded his comprehension lightens, no longer as dense or binding. His cultivation surges, but the barrier to the Sixth Ring remains.

“I need to hunt other earth-attributed weirds.” His lips curl faintly. For the first time, he sees a clear path to advancement without relying on rare treasures.

He steps down from the bed, stretching his stiff limbs.

Pain shoots through his legs and back from sitting cross-legged for two days straight.

He grimaces. “I need a way to strengthen my body.”

His body stands at the pinnacle of the mortal realm, yet it is still a mortal shell. The energy of this world favours ghosts, weirds, and souls—not flesh.

Constantly drawing upon weird energy strengthens the body, yes, but at a cost—it pushes him closer toward alienation, a direction beyond his control.

He needs to control the direction of the alienation. If he could reach Lin Yu, the blood lake’s energy could refine his body perfectly.

But that path is blocked by the Demigod, the Black Fog Weird. Until it falls, travel between worlds is impossible.

Then only one choice remains: to create his own cultivation technique, one that governs the alienation’s flow instead of being consumed by it.

But not now. He needs to see what has happened in his absence.

He pulls the string beside his bed, and a soft bell chime echoes outside. Moments later, a knock sounds at the door.

“Come in,” he says, massaging his stiff thighs.

Xiaoling steps inside and, seeing his movements, hurries over. “Young Master, let me do it.”

He stops and lets her take over, her fingers pressing gently along his legs. The warmth eases the tension, and he exhales. “Did anything happen while I was in seclusion?”

“Nothing important,” Xiaoling says softly, “except that Lord Pei sent a scroll for you.”

Jingxuan frowns, thoughts turning. Why would Pei Shan send him a message? If it were urgent, the man would have come himself instead of sending a scroll.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Where is it?” he asks.

“It’s with the housekeeper,” Xiaoling replies.

Right then, the housekeeper enters, followed by a female servant.

“Bring me the scroll Lord Pei sent,” Jingxuan orders.

The housekeeper glances at the servant. “Fetch it from the study.”

She nods quickly and leaves. Jingxuan closes his eyes, his mind drifting toward the half-formed structure of a body-refining technique, tracing the rhythm of energy flow through the mortal shell.

The servant soon returns, holding the scroll with both hands. She passes it to the housekeeper, who then offers it to Jingxuan.

He takes it, but his gaze narrows—the seal binding the scroll has already been broken.

“Who opened this?” he asks, voice calm but edged with danger.

The housekeeper stiffens, lowering his head. “Young Master, forgive us. You were in seclusion, and we feared it might be something urgent from Lord Pei. I… I decided to open it.”

Jingxuan’s eyes narrow, but his tone remains calm. “And?”

The housekeeper swallows. “It mentioned traces of a weird near the iron mine. Lord Pei requested that someone be sent to investigate. Since you were cultivating, I handed the scroll to the warlocks’ subordinates and asked them to send one of their men to check.”

Jingxuan studies him in silence for a moment. His gaze drifts to the faint golden chains still shimmering in his spirit space, a reminder of how delicate control can be—how easily one reckless move could lead to ruin.

“You did well not to disturb me,” he says finally, voice steady. “But next time, seal the scroll again before I see it. And do not act without consulting me unless lives are at stake.”

The housekeeper bows deeply. “Yes, Young Master.”

Jingxuan nods, unrolling the scroll again. His eyes trace the neat characters of Pei Shan’s handwriting. Traces of weird near the iron mine. His mind sharpens. If a weird truly emerged near the mine, it might possess another earth-type core.

He rises. “Prepare my gear. I’ll head there.”

The housekeeper hesitates. “Alone, Young Master?”

Jingxuan glances toward the window where the setting sun paints the courtyard in blood-red light. “No,” he says. “Call the five warlocks. Tell them to bring their teams. It’s time they earned their keep.”

An hour later, Jingxuan rides out of Ding Town at the head of the group.

The five warlocks and their followers follow close behind, dust rising beneath their mounts’ hooves.

They leave the main road, turning left toward the iron mine that sprawls at the foot of the western hills.

As they ride, Jingxuan asks, “Which of you went to investigate earlier?”

Bai Qiren, the youngest of the five—barely a few years older than Jingxuan’s body—steps his mount forward. “Commander, that was me.”

“Did you find anything?”

Bai Qiren shakes his head. “Only trails of weird, no sightings. I suspect they come out at night.”

Jingxuan’s eyes narrow. “If they come at night, what stops them from coming by day? We can’t take chances.”

The warlocks nod silently.

They soon reach the mine—a network of dark tunnels burrowed into the rocky slopes.

The iron vein here had been discovered fifty years ago, the very reason Ding Town was founded. Without it, the town itself would vanish into dust.

Jingxuan questions the guards but learns nothing new.

He inspects the area personally, finding only faint traces of strange energy clinging to the stone.

As the sun dips below the horizon, miners and guards begin their descent back to town.

Jingxuan remains, his gaze fixed on the jagged mountain range—the final edge of the Zhou Empire and beyond it, the boundless Weird Domain.

Fang Wu, the eldest and strongest of the five warlocks, rides up beside him.

A four-ring warlock, his presence carries quiet steadiness. “Commander,” he says, his voice low, “the weird must have come from those mountains.”

Jingxuan nods slightly.

His thoughts drift toward the potential gain—a weird’s core could strengthen the town’s standing and his own cultivation.

If the creature holds earth attributes, it could push him closer to the sixth ring. Even if not, the power itself would be valuable.

He says, “Send the soldiers back. We five will stay and wait for the weird.”

Fang Wu studies him for a moment, then nods and turns his mount. He rides off to deliver the order. Soon, the soldiers begin their retreat, their silhouettes vanishing into the dimming light.

As the last of them disappears, silence settles over the mine. Jingxuan and the five warlocks take hidden positions among the rocks, the desert wind whispering between them.

The sun sinks.

Three moons rise together, pale and immense, flooding the land with silver light.

In this world, the moons never wane—they shine full every night, their light born not from reflection but from their own divine essence.

Each moon holds its own power, the very force that higher warlocks learn to comprehend when stepping into the Moon Realm.

While waiting, Jingxuan’s mind drifts to Ding Town.

He needs to make it self-sufficient—able to grow its own food.

The town keeps thirty per cent of the mine’s income, yet more than seventy per cent of that goes toward purchasing grain.

What remains is barely enough to pay the officials and guards.

He doesn’t need the town to grow all its food—even reducing ten per cent of their dependence would be a major step forward.

His mind drifts through possibilities, thinking what crops might survive the arid soil and thin water of the borderlands.

Without change, Ding Town will never prosper, and his plan to turn it into a Divine Town will remain nothing more than a dream.

A faint rustling breaks his thoughts. The sound comes from the grey desert sand. Jingxuan turns his gaze toward it.

From behind a low dune, a shape emerges—metal gleaming beneath the moons.

The creature rises, tall and menacing, its scaled body covered in natural armour that glints like forged steel.

Its legs are long, giving it a predatory height, and ridges run along its spine to a tail tipped with jagged spikes.

Jingxuan narrows his eyes.

An Iron Eater.

They consume metal to harden their bodies—creatures both gluttonous and deadly. Judging by its aura, it is a seven-ring weird, low-level yet, possibly rare or special grade.

He wastes no time. Grey sand surges around his feet as he releases Iron Shard Barrage. Hundreds of sharpened stones shoot forward like arrows.

The Iron Eater roars—a harsh, grating cry like steel grinding on steel—as the shards strike. Sparks scatter across its armour. The attacks leave shallow dents but no deep wounds.

Jingxuan steps out from cover, sand swirling around him like mist.

The Iron Eater locks its molten eyes on him, tail whipping once before it charges, each stride shaking the ground. It roars—a grating, metallic screech like blades grinding together—that drills into his ears and sends pain through his skull.

The sound is meant to disorient its prey, but Jingxuan’s will holds firm.

He ignores the noise and channels his weird energy.

Sand surges before him, rising and shaping into a massive palm.

As it closes in on the charging beast, the sand hardens into stone, gripping the Iron Eater in place.

The other warlocks emerge from hiding, releasing their spells in unison.

Blasts of elemental energy strike the trapped creature again and again.

Under the combined assault, the Iron Eater’s armoured body fractures, its metallic shell breaking apart until it dissolves into grey dust. A faintly glowing core drops onto the sand.

Lou Ying dismounts, retrieves a crystal-gold box, and seals the core within before leading the team back toward town.

Later, in his room, Jingxuan sits beneath lamplight, the sealed core resting in his palm. Weird energy hums faintly within it—dense, refined, and potent. He recognises the quality at once.

A special-grade core.

He closes the lid without absorbing it. The hunt was a group effort, and the decision on how to use it must be made with the five warlocks.

The next morning, he asks a servant to invite them for breakfast. After the meal, Jingxuan brings up the Iron Eater’s core.

They discuss briefly and agree to sell it. Jingxuan buys their shares, paying each their portion, making the core entirely his.

He then assigns duties.

One team will guard the iron mine daily. Two others will patrol around the town, and the remaining two will rest and train within it. He lets them decide the rotation themselves. When the meeting ends, they disperse.

Jingxuan seals the core, places it safely in his room, and rides out into the desert. His goal is twofold—to hunt an earth-attribute Weird and to survey the lands around the town for potential resources.

Under the burning sun, wind lashes his face with fine grey sand. He guides his beast toward the rocky mountain range.

Along the way, he encounters a few Weirds, but none bear the earth attribute, and none show aggression, so he passes them by.

He finds a few scattered water sources but no resources valuable enough to strengthen the town. As the sun begins to sink, he turns back.

That night, sitting in his room, he murmurs to himself. The lands around the town must have been surveyed long ago. If nothing remains, then only the Rocky Mountains are left.

They lie beyond the Divine Domain, a place of danger beyond measure—but also of promise.

Tomorrow, I’ll enter the Rocky Mountains.

He then takes out the Iron Eater’s core and begins absorbing it.

Within minutes, the core melts into his spirit space, where it reacts with the other two cores. His mind is pulled into illusion once more.

This time, the illusion is far stronger, shaping entire worlds from his memories to confuse him.

But still, it isn’t enough. He breaks through, seizes control of the space, and seals all three cores.

The Iron Eater’s core settles within him, and with it, he gains its abilities—Metal Screech, Iron Stomach, and Iron Armour.

Metal Screech is a sound attack that shatters focus and causes pain. Iron Stomach allows the digestion of metal, while Iron Armour transforms digested metal into armour around his body.

He doesn’t linger to comprehend their mysteries. As dawn breaks, he leaves the town and rides toward the rocky mountains.

His desert horned beast cries low, refusing to move further.

It senses the border of the Divine Domain. Jingxuan dismounts, ties it to a rock, and steps forward alone into the unknown.

At the same time, far away, two groups move through the desert.

One—five cloaked warlocks—ride toward Ding Town, their warped skin hinting at the corruption beneath: scales, stone, burns, and strange marks.

The other—a golden-armoured team riding wulvens—heads into the grey desert.

One side comes to kill Ji Jingxuan.

The other, to protect him.

The question is—who will reach him first?

--

Zhang Wenrui’s breath comes ragged, blood dripping down his torn sleeve. Across from him, the enemy—a human twisted by alienation—grins, red eyes glowing under the noon light. Cat ears twitch atop his head, and long claws glint like blades.

Wenrui blocks, but the claws tear through his guard, slicing across his ribs. Pain flares, and his knees nearly buckle. Each breath feels heavier than the last. He’s losing strength fast—poison, maybe, or something worse leaking from those claws.

Behind him are his team members and the villagers. He can’t fall here. If he falls, the village dies.

He clenches his teeth, forcing air into his lungs, and roars. His body trembles as he draws every drop of strength inside him. Silver light bursts from his fist—pure and sharp, cutting through the sandstorm swirling around them.

“Silver Tiger Fist!”

His punch slams into the Weird Believer’s chest. The impact cracks the air. The enemy flies backwards, crashing into the dirt. Blood gushes from his mouth, eyes wide with disbelief.

For a moment, the world is still. Then the creature stumbles to its feet, fear flashing across its red eyes. It turns and runs, vanishing into the dunes. A small mirror slips from its torn robe and clatters to the ground.

Wenrui stays standing until the last trace of the cat-eared figure disappears. Then his legs give out. His teammates rush toward him as he collapses.

“Captain! Are you okay?” one shouts, catching him before he hits the ground.

Another kneels beside them, staring at the broken sand and blood. “So this… this is what you called National Martial Arts?”

Wenrui chuckles weakly, silver light fading from his fist. “Yeah,” he murmurs, breath slowing. “It’s back… my strength… and the Seeing God Realm…”

His smile softens as his eyes close, exhaustion overtaking him.

The villagers hurry forward, bringing a carriage. His teammates lift him gently onto it. As the wheels creak into motion, one of them bends down and picks up the fallen mirror, its surface faintly rippling like water under moonlight.