Chapter Four: Depleting the Weak to Serve the Strong

Surname Yan?

Among the disciples of Chishui Cliff, who number in the tens of thousands, those bearing the surname Yan are certainly not few. Yet, to receive such courteous treatment from the steward of the Pill Chamber—there are surely very few who could claim as much.

Ying Chen pondered for a moment, and a name did come to mind. This person was named Yan He; he had entered the sect the same year as Ying Chen himself. In all three minor examinations, he had achieved high marks, and once even received the highest distinction, so he was rather well-known at Chishui Cliff. It was said he acted with great arrogance, which matched well with the scene before him.

Narrowing his eyes, Ying Chen fell silent, choosing not to speak. He saw the steward go about his business as a matter of course, making it clear that any protest on his part would be ignored. So rather than waste words, he simply folded his arms and waited for the man surnamed Yan to finish his errand.

Throughout the entire process, that person didn’t spare Ying Chen a single glance. Only when retrieving his items and leaving did he allow Ying Chen a glimpse of his face—sword-like brows and star-bright eyes, a most heroic visage.

Ying Chen watched coldly, committing the man’s features to memory. Just as he was about to step forward, someone behind him suddenly moved, stepping out to stand beside him.

Ying Chen turned his head halfway, casting a sidelong glance at the man. The newcomer paused, met Ying Chen’s gaze for a moment, then curled his lips into a faint sneer and retreated half a step.

Ying Chen fixed his gaze on him for another heartbeat, then let his eyes sweep over the faces of those behind, finally withdrawing his attention.

Such was the way of the Demon Sect: when the Yan fellow cut in line and Ying Chen did nothing, the others immediately deemed him weak and easy prey. If he didn’t react, everyone would soon try to step over him. This was why in Chishui Cliff, all wore cold faces—any sign of weakness was fatal.

Ying Chen turned back, feigning nonchalance as he cupped his fists and said, “Steward, I’d like a jar of five-colored earth, a stack of talisman papers, six taels of cinnabar… centennial ginseng, jade bead grass, millstone mushroom, ground bone bark… obsidian, pure water…”

The steward behind the window seemed to curl his lips, but said nothing. He wrote down Ying Chen’s requests and replied coolly, “Will you be exchanging contribution points or paying with talisman money?”

Talisman money was even more meager than spirit stones. Ying Chen had some, but not enough for his purchases.

“I’ll use contribution points,” he replied, handing over his token.

The steward took the token, checked it briefly, and almost imperceptibly curled his lip. “Eight hundred have been deducted.”

He then called for a young attendant and instructed him to fetch the requested items.

Ying Chen ignored the blatant favoritism. Only when the items and his token were handed back did he briefly inspect everything.

In the token, after adding his monster-slaying merits, there were just over a thousand contribution points to begin with. Now, more than half were gone, and the items he received were slightly short in quantity.

Yet Ying Chen's heart burned with excitement.

He had no mind to quibble; with a brief bow, he packed his things, left the Pill Chamber without a backward glance, bought a mountain rat at the Beast House, and hurried back to his quarters as if his hair were on fire.

Ying Chen shut and barred his doors, activated his wards, hung talisman papers for defense and vigilance on doors and windows, and finally sat alone in the pitch-dark cultivation chamber, feeling a rare sense of calm.

His gaze settled on the center of the room.

There was nothing there, but in the darkness, Ying Chen seemed to see a blood-soaked ritual array.

When he had "awakened," he had been lying within that very array!

At the time, he was lost and confused, struggling to accept the fragmented memories of his predecessor. He’d spent two or three days in cautious seclusion before finally daring to venture out of his cultivation room. Scouring his meager collection of books, he found a few hints, and then carefully slipped to the library for more evidence, finally piecing together the story of his arrival in this world.

The previous Ying Chen had been a disciple of Chishui Cliff for three years, never once scoring high in the examinations.

By precedent, anyone who failed to achieve a high mark in four years would almost certainly receive the lowest grade in the major examination, and be demoted to menial duties. Under such pressure, the former Ying Chen grew desperate.

He somehow found a statue of a Demon Lord and, following the rites in a demonic scripture, offered up a soul and a spirit in exchange for the so-called “blessing” of this unknown Demon Lord.

He succeeded, and also failed. The Demon Lord bestowed upon him a scripture:

“The Supreme Lord’s Forty-Two Sacred Methods.”

This sacred law, created by that mysterious Demon Lord, comprised forty-two arts: alchemy, dual cultivation, soul harvesting, and many more—each of them wondrous for cultivators, especially demon practitioners.

Though the former Ying Chen only obtained a few fragments of the forty-two sacred arts, it was enough for him to break free from the mire and soar upwards.

But, alas, the rite described in the demonic scripture was far more perilous than he had imagined. The unnamed Demon Lord was insatiably greedy; though it was required to grant a sacred method in exchange, it first ensorcelled the former Ying Chen, subtly altering his prayers, and ultimately used the ritual to drain him of all three souls and seven spirits, devouring every last one.

With his soul utterly consumed, no matter how marvelous the sacred methods, they were useless—

So it might have remained, but fate is never so simple.

With his soul and spirit gone, the former body was left whole and unblemished, and by a twist of destiny, another Ying Chen, sharing the same name, was reborn into it.

And when he opened his eyes, struggling to sort through the shattered memories, the clearest thing, seeming to be engraved into his mind, was none other than “The Supreme Lord’s Forty-Two Sacred Methods.”

After half an hour of meditation, Ying Chen finally lit a lamp. By its faint glow, he took out the supplies he’d bought at the Pill Chamber.

In the Daoist path, whether orthodox or demonic, one first cultivates qi, then builds the foundation, opens the violet mansion, and finally forges the golden core.

Qi cultivation is divided into twelve levels. Ying Chen, nearly four years into his training at Chishui Cliff, had only reached the fourth—an average achievement among his peers.

Thus, those like Yan or Wei could look down on him, even try to manipulate him; disciples of his level numbered in the hundreds or thousands.

But if he advanced further, breaking through to the fifth or even sixth level of qi cultivation, his situation would change at once.

Such was the “order” of the Demon Sect.

Yet achieving this was no simple matter. Given his current circumstances, his only hope lay with “The Supreme Lord’s Forty-Two Sacred Methods.”

The Way of Man is to take from the weak and offer to the strong!

Among these sacred methods was one chapter devoted to this very principle: how to seize the essence of living beings to nourish oneself.

Of course, the demonic path never lacked methods for plundering vitality, but the common ones always carried side effects: muddled spiritual power, unstable foundations, or even damaged minds—one misstep leading to madness. Such shortcuts were neither wise nor sustainable.

Cultivation gained in this way rarely earned high marks in the Daoist examinations; perhaps it saved one from the lowest rank and a life of servitude, allowing for an outer sect steward’s role, but any further advancement was out of the question.

But the “seizing method” in the Forty-Two Sacred Methods was different.

It taught the extraction of a creature’s essence, the use of various techniques and spiritual ingredients to refine it into miraculous elixirs for cultivation—not only avoiding harm to one’s foundation, but also imbuing the resultant power with the purity and potency of true spiritual medicines.

For Ying Chen, the right path was obvious.