Chapter 137
Every five centuries, the Outer-Clan Families would redistribute neutral cultivation resources.
Rather than wage open war—too costly—they turned the Southern Domain into their arena.
Like cockfights or cricket battles.
Any family with a Purple Mansion expert (the threshold for a second-tier clan) could sponsor a dynasty as their proxy. (Realms: Spirit Severing → Void Refinement → Purple Mansion → Unity → Tribulation → Great Ascension)
The Great Xia Dynasty itself had been born this way, backed by the first-tier Ji Clan.
By pitting their sponsored dynasties against one another, the families could flaunt their prestige without risking their own members.
For them, it was entertainment and efficient resource allocation.
But for the dynasties and cultivators of the Southern Domain?
They were mere pawns—expendable, subhuman.
Did it infuriate her? Fill her with resentment?
Of course.
The last war had occurred before her birth—before Qinglian Sect even existed.
Now, as the Great Xia’s strongest sect, Qinglian would bear the brunt of the fighting.
No wonder the Yuan-Tan Academy barely reacted to losing their ranking.
Those old foxes must’ve known in advance.
A string of curses ran through Liu Ruyan’s mind.
But could they openly defy the orders?
She wasn’t that reckless.
The gap between Qinglian Sect and the Outer-Clan Families was insurmountable.
The Southern Domain’s degraded laws alone capped all cultivation at Spirit Severing.
Even if a Void Refinement or Purple Mansion expert entered, their power would suppress to Spirit Severing—but their skill would still dwarf a native’s.
Teleportation arrays?
Impossible to scale for an entire sect.
They required paired formations at both ends—not just a single departure point.
After millennia of isolation, the Southern Domain was a locked cage with no exit.
Xu Qingyao frowned.
“If that’s the case, why did you have A’Chen reward those ordinary disciples?”
“If they break through to Nascent Soul, won’t they be sent to the frontlines?”
Wasn’t that just shooting themselves in the foot?
Liu Ruyan shook her head.
“This is merely advance notice. Mobilizing a hundred dynasties will take over a decade.”
When the news first arrived, she too had considered halting promotions to stall their cultivation.
But with such a long timeframe…
“By then, even natural progression would’ve pushed them to Nascent Soul anyway.”
“Better they break through sooner—more time to strengthen themselves.”
“This was decided after urgent discussions with A’Chen.”
Qinglian Sect could strategize, but it would not cower.
Once they survived this war, they could focus on escaping this prison.
Hearing it was Ning Chen’s decision, Xu Qingyao immediately dropped her objections.
“Then this is our only path.”
A sense of urgency gripped her.
Among the sect’s Spirit Severing experts, aside from the newly ascended Elder Tantai and her disciple Nangong, she was the weakest.
In a direct fight, she doubted she could defeat either.
With such meager strength, the Hundred Dynasties War would chew her up.
Ten years. I must undergo a complete transformation in that time.
Ji Zhiqing broke the silence.
“Then starting tomorrow, I’ll focus on refining battle-preparation pills.”
The responsibility, at least, was clear.
She finally understood—the sect was heading into a war they could not lose.
Ji Zhiqing suddenly realized that aside from refining the new Qinglian Chongyang Pills, she also needed to develop a combat-oriented pill—one that could rapidly restore energy and enhance battle performance, leveraging the high-efficiency conversion properties of Young Master Ning’s “nectar.”
But that would require even more materials.
Liu Ruyan nodded approvingly, her tone gentle. “Then we’ll leave this matter to Elder Ji.”
Among the sect’s elders, Ji Zhiqing had contributed the most—not only pioneering new pills but also training a generation of alchemy talents. Aside from Zhou Qin, some had even touched the threshold of fourth-tier pills (Nascent Soul grade).
After praising her, Liu Ruyan’s gaze settled on the voluptuous, palace-attired beauty who had been spacing out the entire time.
“Elder Tantai, if you have any thoughts, feel free to share.”
Snapped out of her daze—her mind still occupied with calculating how to split “reward time” with her daughter—Tantai Yuruo blinked in confusion, mirroring Ji Zhiqing’s earlier bewilderment. “Huh? What happened?”
One hadn’t understood, the other hadn’t even listened.
Liu Ruyan: “…”
Gods, leading this sect is like herding drunken geese.
Meanwhile, in the Demon-Sealing Pagoda (Second Floor):
While the sect leadership wallowed in gloom, Ning Chen was in the middle of a massacre.
The standard uniforms of the female cultivators lay scattered across the floor.
Silken undergarments in riotous colors twisted into unnatural shapes, discarded haphazardly—a visual feast.
Splat!
Splat!
Splat!
Ning Chen lounged lazily on his seat, chin propped on one hand, his half-lidded eyes fixed on the hypnotic undulations of a slender waist and the peach-like curves rising and falling before him.
The first round had already concluded.
Though the women had given their all…
Thirty-four participants. Two thousand and forty strikes in total.
And yet—it wasn’t enough to break him.
57… 58… 59… 60!
The system’s counter refreshed.
But the cultivator in front of him, instead of withdrawing, dared to try settling back down.
Audacious.
His expression sharpened. His hand rose—then fell like a judge’s gavel.
CRACK!
The crisp sound reverberated through the chamber, ripples of pale flesh trembling as the woman’s breathy singing cut off mid-note.
“Did I not tell you to keep track of time?”
Pop!
The “flower” detached from its stem.
The cultivator crumpled like a marathon runner hitting the wall, collapsing bonelessly to the floor.
“F-forgive me! Punish this foolish disciple, Senior Brother~”
Ning Chen waved her off. “Don’t let it happen again. Next time, it won’t be just one slap. Go to the back of the line.”
“Y-yes~”
Staggering, she hobbled away to meditate and recover.
Sixty strikes—that was the optimal endurance limit for these women. Beyond that, their inexperience betrayed them. Even their practiced, doll-like voices would shatter into unrestrained cries.
Ning Chen had imposed the rule for efficiency.
Time waited for no one.
When Liu Ruyan had informed him about the Hundred Dynasties War yesterday, even he had been stunned.
The Outer-Clan Families truly saw the Southern Domain’s cultivators as livestock—pawns for their gambling.
But Ning Chen also sensed an opportunity.
The real danger wasn’t the Outer-Clan Families’ interference—it was the lack of a way to reach them.
For over three years, the sealed Five Elements Spirits’ “keyholder” had remained silent.
And since the system had stated the unsealer could appear anywhere in the Canglan Realm—including the outer domains—this war might be the catalyst.
The sealed spirits would be drawn to their liberator. Fate would ensure it.
But the sect had to grow stronger. Fast.
Losing dozens in the Space-Time Rift still gnawed at him. Not out of sentiment—he barely knew the fallen—but because every disciple who joined Qinglian Sect and consumed a Chongyang Pill was his.
He might not have “eaten” them yet, but that didn’t mean others could steal a bite.
In ten years, Qinglian Sect must emerge as the undisputed victor of this war.
Squelch!
A wet, rhythmic sound yanked him from his thoughts.
His gaze traced the snow-sculpted skin before him—from the delicate, jade-like back, down the willowy waist, to the “jade plate” currently sheathing his divine “iron.”
A smirk curled his lips.
That familiar, suction-like grip.
Luo Fanshuang.
The ice-cold, expressionless snow girl had returned.