Two flicks of the finger.
In an instant, Yuwen Xiu and Xiang Shaoyun were stunned. Who were they? One, the Son of Heaven of Great Zhou; the other, the governor of Xijun—figures of unparalleled status, revered above the masses.
And yet, in this very moment, both were struck upon their brows.
Lu Fan hovered in midair, ethereal spiritual energy coiling about him, shrouding his form and visage in a veil of mystery—elusive, untouchable.
"What… do you mean by this?" Yuwen Xiu furrowed his brows but had yet to speak when Xiang Shaoyun, barely restraining his fury, stepped forward.
"Weren't you seeking immortal fate?" Lu Fan replied serenely. "Then I shall bestow it upon you…"
"You refuse to let me refine and enhance your cultivation methods? Very well. I shall not insist. But remember—when regret dawns upon you in the days to come, do not say you were not warned."
"Immortal fate has been granted—whether you believe it or not is your own affair."
"The spirit awakens. The immortal realm returns. The entire continent stands on the brink of upheaval. To receive this chance is a blessing wrought from three lifetimes. Should you squander it… it would be a tragedy, a lament."
Surrounded by swirling spiritual energy, Lu Fan spoke with a voice both distant and clear—like a deity whispering from the heavens.
"Go now. Since you are the chosen, I shall grant you another chance. Three days hence, you may once more step into the land of ascension."
With a sweep of his sleeve, spiritual force surged like a hurricane.
Yuwen Xiu and Xiang Shaoyun opened their mouths to protest—but before a word could form, their figures—condensed of spiritual essence—were torn asunder and expelled from the Dao Platform.
In the vast pavilion of celestial grandeur, only the distant butcher, Nie Changqing, remained.
Lu Fan floated amid the mist-laced currents of spirit, casting a deep and thoughtful gaze upon Nie Changqing.
"Do you wish to leave as well?" he asked coolly.
Nie Changqing drew a deep breath. Though all before him bordered on the fantastical, some instinct whispered—this was no dream.
"Are… immortals truly real?" he asked.
Lu Fan offered no immediate reply. He merely looked at him.
"There were no immortals in this world," he said at last."My coming has made them so."
The calm declaration struck Nie Changqing like thunder. His body trembled violently, as though shaken by an unseen force.
He closed his eyes. After three breaths, he opened them again.
He looked at Lu Fan, eyes resolute.
"I… do not believe in immortals," he said stubbornly.
Lu Fan's expression remained unmoved.
"Believe or not, the divine exists nonetheless."
Nie Changqing chuckled.
"Still, though I do not believe, I am willing to offer you my cultivation techniques."
He laughed again, but his eyes held a shadow of sorrow.
"For me, they hold no more value. I am, after all, merely a butcher now."
Lu Fan sat calmly atop drifting spirit currents, his expression tranquil and detached. Perhaps Nie Changqing had a story to tell—but Lu Fan had neither wine, nor the desire to listen.
"Recite your techniques aloud. I shall listen," he said.
Nostalgia flickered in Nie Changqing's gaze as he began to chant the incantations of the "Blood Transmutation Art"—and the techniques of the blade.
As each syllable left his lips, the characters condensed from spiritual energy and danced forth like a river in flood, forming neat rows in the void.
Startled by the phenomenon, he paused—but soon calmed his mind and continued reciting.
Time passed.
Eventually, he finished.
Above the firmament, thousands of characters hung like drifting petals.
"Cultivation Method: Daoist Sect's Blood Transmutation Art.""Blade Technique: Art of Blade Evolution."
Lu Fan was genuinely surprised. Who would have thought this unremarkable butcher had once walked among the extraordinary?
A disciple of the Daoist Sect.
Beyond the Great Zhou court and the myriad warlord factions across the Five Phoenix Continent, numerous martial sects stood independent.
These martial forces divided into clans and schools, among which were the so-called Hundred Schools.
The Daoist Sect was one such school—shrouded in mystery.
Among the others were Confucianism, Mohism, the Military School, Sword Sect, the Yin-Yang School, the Celestial Mechanism Sect, and more.
Of course, "Hundred Schools" did not imply exactly one hundred sects—it was merely a collective term.
The current Imperial Preceptor of Great Zhou—the mentor to Emperor Yuwen Xiu—was himself a disciple of the Confucian School.
And yet, here stood a Daoist disciple… reduced to a butcher?
Had he concealed his identity, or was there a deeper tale?
Lu Fan felt a flicker of intrigue.
"These techniques are useless to me," Nie Changqing said wearily. "I am a cripple. If you, an immortal, wish them—take them."
He waved his hand, a lazy, indifferent gesture.
"May I go now? I have twelve pigs waiting for the slaughter."
Lu Fan lingered amid streams of spirit, his figure flickering faintly in the immortal pavilion.
"No rush…"
"A crude and unrefined technique that cannot even harness spiritual energy—modifying it won't take long."
His voice was ephemeral, enigmatic.
Nie Changqing stiffened. Unrefined? That was a top-tier Daoist method!
"Activating [Dao Platform] authority… modifying Daoist Sect's Blood Transmutation Art, Art of Blade Evolution…"
Lu Fan invoked silently.
At once, an array of Bagua characters floated before his eyes, forming an orderly grid.
To Lu Fan, they were like keys on a celestial keyboard, ready to be coded and reassembled.
He rubbed his hands together, a faint smile playing at his lips.
Then, palms outstretched, fingers began to dance—tapping the runes as though conducting a symphony, graceful as a fae weaving a song.
Qian, Dui, Li, Zhen, Xun, Kan, Gen, Kun…
Each rune bore meaning. Through intricate combinations—like programming—they formed new, operable systems of power.
The [Dao Platform] could optimize cultivation techniques, forge artifacts, and more—but required Lu Fan's own efforts to unlock each function.
In Lu Fan's mind, the [Dao Platform] was akin to a fantastical version of a development environment.
"Congratulations. Cultivation Modification Tool Ten Thousand Arts Furnace (LV1) has been created. You have received a reward of 5 Attribute Points."
As the modification program completed, a system notification popped up.
Lu Fan froze—and then exulted inwardly.
A hidden quest? And a reward of five attribute points?
Five points—equivalent to fifty strands of spiritual energy. A bountiful harvest!
With a thought, the system panel appeared.
Host: Lu FanTitle: Qi Cultivator (Permanent)Cultivation Level: Qi Refining Stage 1 (Progress to Stage 2: 10/100 strands)Soul Strength: 1.5Body Strength: 0.5Spiritual Energy: 6 strandsModification Reward: Foundational Qi Cultivation ScriptureWorld Rating: Five Phoenix Continent [Low Martial]Permissions: Quests, Dao Platform, Spiritual Energy DistributionSub-Permission: Ten Thousand Arts Furnace (LV1)Available Attribute Points: 5
"So the Ten Thousand Arts Furnace… is only LV1?" Lu Fan chuckled. "Looks like it, too, has its own ranks."
Within the Dao Platform, Lu Fan's consciousness brushed over the sub-permission.
A moment later—a resonant boom, like the tolling of the Great Dao, shook the platform.
Nie Changqing heard the sound and was struck with dread. It was as though the heavens themselves whispered secrets into his soul.
In Lu Fan's hand, a small furnace appeared—no one knew when it had manifested.
Facing Nie Changqing's stunned gaze, Lu Fan remained poised, as if the sight of such divine marvels was but routine.
With the elegance befitting an immortal, he raised a single pinky, delicately lifting the furnace's lid.
At once, the suspended characters of the cultivation techniques stirred—leaping into the furnace like sentient entities.
"Consume 5 strands of spiritual energy to modify Daoist Sect's Blood Transmutation Art and Art of Blade Evolution?"
A line of text surfaced.
Lu Fan's expression twitched. Even breathing felt painful.
Five strands? Just to modify one technique? They're bleeding me dry!
His heart ached, but there was no escape. He had put on this act—now he must carry it through, tears and all.
"Do it," he said through clenched teeth.
In a blink, his spiritual energy dropped from six strands to one—a lonely remnant.
The Ten Thousand Arts Furnace began to spin rapidly.
"Modification complete. Cultivation Technique: Daoist Spiritual Flow Art; Battle Technique: Blade Sovereign Manual. Grade: Yellow Tier - High."
Below, Nie Changqing drew a long breath. The resonant echoes of the Dao just now… had stirred the blood within him—blood that had lain dormant for many years.