Chapter 62: The Profound Cultivators of the New Era Are Filthy Rich!

The setting winter sun blended with the mountain mist, casting a gloomy, chilly pall over the landscape.

This was precisely the moment the Demonic Cultivator had been waiting for. Following an auspicious direction calculated via the art of aura-observation, clad in tattered garments from a century ago, he sprinted down the mountain. It was not that he lacked concealment techniques; rather, he feared that the residual malevolent Qi might attract unwanted attention, forcing him to resort to the most primitive method of fleeing on foot.

Fortunately, the twilight was sufficiently dark, combined with the bitter chill of a southern winter, making most people reluctant to step outside. Yet, just as he emerged from the mountain mist and stepped onto the rural path, a Daoist practitioner walked straight toward him.

For a fleeting second, the Demonic Cultivator's instincts urged him to strike. But he immediately realized that he had already entered the perceptual range of Lucheng County’s protective artifact. To kill someone here would trigger an alarm from the artifact, bringing even greater trouble. Suppressing his impulse, he lowered his head and pressed onward.

The Daoist practitioner was deeply focused at the moment, his eyes locked onto a Luopan compass. Sensing someone ahead, he merely sidestepped slightly without even raising his head, and the two brushed past each other in silence.

"Who would have thought that a century later, these little fellows are still playing the exact same old tricks!"

The Demonic Cultivator thought to himself with a long sigh of relief, while simultaneously feeling a surge of pride in his unique, self-developed system.

Ordinary practitioners, righteous and demonic alike, cultivated their divine souls and utilized true dharma. Without even needing to formally enter the Dao, a simple sweep of aura-observation would allow them to distinguish mortals from practitioners based on the spiritual light of their divine souls. Experienced individuals could even gauge cultivation levels and specific techniques according to the intensity, purity, and clarity of that light. As for demonic cultivators, their bloody resentments and karmic burdens would be exposed at a single glance.

However, his method of separating spirit and flesh drew inspiration from the corpse-demon lineage, dividing himself into two components: a ghost and a corpse. The ghost cultivated obsession, while the corpse drew in malevolent Qi. The fusion of the two yielded a constitution composed entirely of turbid resentment and terrestrial malevolent energy.

Consequently, his body possessed neither the pristine celestial Qi nor the pure spiritual aspirations of deities. As long as he refrained from displaying his arts in public, any practitioner would perceive him as a mortal among mortals—specifically, one of those "prime" mortals who had prematurely lost their primordial essence, suffered from physical depletion, harbored chaotic thoughts, and possessed impure intentions. Not only did he lack any talent for cultivation, but even if he went to a temple to burn incense and pray, no lesser deity would deign to pay him any heed.

Still, he understood that entering the city directly through the main gate would inevitably subject him to security checks. Without identification tallies or local guarantors, his background would be easily exposed.

After a brief deliberation, his eyes fell upon a small river.

This river, known as Lucuai, flowed out from Crab Lake and had existed for over two hundred years. If his memory served him correctly, it should have several tributaries running through Lucheng, eventually reconverging at Mingju Pool. Judging by the current water volume, which differed little from the past, those tributaries entering the city should still be there.

With this in mind, seeing no one around, he plunged headfirst into the river, relying solely on his perception of terrestrial malevolent Qi to navigate downstream.

Then...

"Clang!"

"Good grief, they actually put up iron bars!"

Beneath the turbid water, the Demonic Cultivator forced his eyes open, staring at the rust-covered iron grille before him with a momentary speechlessness. Yet, such defenses could not stop him. He grasped the iron bars with both hands and, without even channeling his dharma, relied solely on the limit-breaking superhuman strength of a zombie to snap the corroded bars clean off.

Following through the breach, the Demonic Cultivator continued forward, his spiritual perception expanding to sense the atmosphere along the riverbanks.

Although his impression of Lucheng remained frozen a century ago, his earlier vantage point from Mount Saddle revealed that while the buildings had changed, the overall layout had barely shifted. After swimming several li along the Lucuai River, human presence finally began to thin out. Realizing he had entered a sparsely populated area, he cautiously poked his head out of the water, spotting a courtyard in the distance.

The architectural style of this estate differed vastly from a century ago, but what caught his attention most was its dilapidated state. Expensive glass panes were shattered to pieces, and the iron gate bore distinct claw marks. Above all, what commanded his utmost attention was a faint trace of lightning Qi.

Though nearly imperceptible, the Demonic Cultivator still detected the lingering remnants through a slight, numbing sensation in his divine soul.

"A powerful practitioner unleashed a formidable lightning art here not long ago!"

His heart tightened. Instantly, he hauled himself out of the stream. As his dharma circulated, a wave of heat evaporated his soaked garments and shook off the clinging mud and filth.

Even though he knew a mighty practitioner had once been here, he was equally certain that anyone capable of wielding such lightning arts could not have escaped his perception. With no divine spiritual light remaining in the vicinity, that practitioner had evidently relocated. Though dilapidated, the estate had once served as a temporary lodging for such a formidable figure and was unlikely to be renovated in the immediate future, making it a decent makeshift resting place.

With this thought, the Demonic Cultivator formed a hand seal with one hand. A faint ripple of dharma spread outward, shrouding his figure. Unlike outside the city where he had to evade scrutiny, once inside, he no longer deliberately suppressed the use of his spells. Even a century later, the city would not lack local temples and shrines, and if those gray rats dared to conduct reckless searches within city limits, the local City God would deal with them first!

"The lightning Qi is condensed yet lingering, suggesting a massive output of dharma, but lacking in nuance. An ordinary rogue cultivator? No, perhaps they simply couldn't be bothered with finesse?"

Sensing the lingering aura within the room, the Demonic Cultivator shook his head and began a brief search of the estate.

"Cleaned up quite thoroughly. Makes sense, given that someone recently broke in. Even if the enemy wasn't formidable, one still has to guard against underhanded tricks. But that being said..."

At this thought, an odd expression crossed his face. The traces of lightning arts here were no more than two days old. Connecting this to the sudden disturbance that had awakened him today, an answer practically shouted itself out—

"Could I have been collateral damage?"

A nameless fury flared up within him. Yet, as a demonic cultivator who had reached the level of a Grand Master, he quickly suppressed his restless emotions.

The workings of karma were often a web of such coincidences. While termed coincidence, it was equally possible that the spiritual momentum of the human realm was utilizing these very coincidences to impose a tribulation upon him.

Recalling various predecessors who had perished under seemingly coincidental human tribulations, his composure gradually returned. He selected a secluded room in the house and retrieved the items from his Sumeru bag to inspect them one by one. The shadow bag bound to his primary Sumeru bag had been left behind in the subterranean cavern because it bore too much weight and volume, but this posed no real issue. Even if it could not be recovered, he could simply find another box or warehouse of sufficient capacity to bind anew.

His immediate priority was to quickly understand his current environment.

Having lived through several centuries, he knew well that a hundred years was more than enough time for a city's customs and social fabric to undergo a complete transformation. If he were to charge in blindly, he would likely expose himself within moments. Fortunately, among impoverished families, clothing was often passed down across generations; as long as he dressed raggedly enough, things should proceed smoothly.

With his mind made up, the Demonic Cultivator sat quietly. Having reached the threshold of transmuting into a corpse-demon, routine cultivation was entirely out of the question, while the city's protective artifact restricted him from hunting for cultivation cauldrons.

Just as he was pondering how to pass the long night, an alluring fragrance drifted over from somewhere nearby.

He instantly peroused his alertness and approached the window. Though described as nearby, it was at least two li away. An ordinary practitioner would never perceive such a subtle scent, let alone understand its significance. But as a demonic cultivator who had once fueled his cultivation with the vital essence of others, he understood the very essence of this aroma—

"Someone is actually nurturing a spirit ghost with their own vital essence? And look at the volume, the purity... Slurp! Could it be that over the past century, practitioners have developed a new method for extracting vital essence? Otherwise, how could anyone be so wasteful?"

The Demonic Cultivator, who had not fed in a century, felt his mouth water, yet his reason forcibly restrained the craving.

Nevertheless, he firmly memorized the direction from which the scent emanated, resolving to pay a visit to this wasteful—ah, no, remarkably affluent junior once dawn broke!