Chapter Forty-Eight: The Blood Spirit Secret Realm

Tianhai Sect.

It had been more than ten days since the Storm on the Life-and-Death Platform, but the names of Luo Hao, Yan Longyuan, and Sikong Xuan were now etched into everyone’s memory. Especially Luo Hao—who, with only the seventh level of Qi Spirit, first defeated Li Long of the Blood Gathering Realm, and then confronted Murong Ying—had left many deeply shocked.

In these ten days, Tianhai Sect remained relatively peaceful, with only two interesting events occurring. First, a campaign to respect the elderly swept through the vast sect; whenever disciples encountered a white-haired elder, they would hurriedly pay their respects—who knew when another hidden master might reveal himself?

The second event stirred much discussion: Murong Ying of the Ziwei Pavilion was punished by the Hall of Heavenly Punishment to meditate in seclusion, facing a wall on the Cliff of Reflection for three months.

Within a courtyard of the Ziwei Pavilion at Zhen Tian Peak, a man in purple stood with his hands behind his back, facing away from the two people behind him. The two kept their heads bowed low, seemingly not daring to meet the man’s eyes.

“Inform Mu Huo,” the man in purple spoke after a long silence, “if he can kill Luo Hao at the Newcomers’ Tournament, I will assist him in joining the Ziwei Pavilion once I am released, and personally teach him the Ziwei Star Technique.”

The two behind him immediately bowed and replied in unison, “Yes, sir.”

With that, they swiftly left the room. After they departed, the man in purple turned around, a hint of viciousness flashing across his handsome face. He was none other than Murong Ying.

In the ten days since, his injuries had long since healed, but the Hall of Heavenly Punishment eventually traced the affair at the Ancient Ravine back to him. Despite his efforts to cover it up, he was sentenced to meditate facing the Cliff of Reflection for three months.

Yet, he had never given up on the fortune that Luo Hao possessed—especially when he recalled that streak of azure light as the void shattered. Even with his lofty state of mind, he couldn’t help but tremble at the memory.

In the newcomers’ rest area, within Luo Hao’s courtyard, he stood shirtless under the scorching sun, practicing his punches. With every strike, though devoid of any trace of Dragon Force, the very air trembled violently, arcs forming in the space around his fists.

“Hah!” he roared, as a divine radiance shimmered across his bronze skin. His iron fist swept out like a great bell, and the terrifying force shattered a massive boulder in the courtyard to pieces, sending fragments shooting in all directions.

“Boom!”

Suddenly, a deep rumble echoed through the void. Then, from the sky, a colossal hand descended like the palm of a god, crushing the flying stones to dust.

As stone powder rained down, Luo Hao was struck by a flash of insight. He immediately sat cross-legged where he stood, beginning to contemplate. Like a meditating monk, he was without sorrow or joy, while thunderous sounds occasionally erupted from within him.

“What’s this?”

Abruptly awakened by realization, Luo Hao opened his eyes, astonished. Within his dantian, he saw another vision: a golden spiritual infant, practicing the Doomsday Tiger Fist and the Heaven-Shattering Hand, two supreme techniques.

The golden infant’s head was crowned by a haze of chaos, which faintly assumed the shape of an ancient mirror. At its brow was branded a character for “War,” emanating an ancient, primordial fighting spirit so overwhelming that even Luo Hao felt a chill. But he knew that this mark had not existed innately.

The “War” sigil only appeared after the ancient scroll he discovered in the serpent-drake’s lair merged into his body. Luo Hao had felt uneasy at first, but later realized it hadn’t harmed him at all.

On the contrary, the mark seemed to have induced changes in the golden spiritual infant. Luo Hao once suspected the infant had gained sentience, but quickly dismissed the thought.

“Well, fortune or disaster, what will be will be.” Thinking of the scroll’s former owner, Luo Hao believed that such a predecessor couldn’t have harbored any malice toward future generations.

As he silently rehearsed the Tiger Fist in his mind, the golden infant instantly began to demonstrate the moves, each one executed with peerless finesse, as if a supreme master were performing before him. Luo Hao watched, utterly entranced, like a parched sponge fervently absorbing the essence within.

Several hours later, Luo Hao opened his eyes, within which a phantom tiger flickered and vanished. Then wild laughter erupted in his courtyard. Luckily, the area was protected by a barrier, or any passerby would think him mad.

“Haha! The spiritual infant can perform martial demonstrations—having this is like a cheat code! No wonder people say cheats make everything unfair! Murong Ying, with this, next time I’ll make sure to cripple you.”

Thinking of Murong Ying, murderous intent flashed across Luo Hao’s face. He now understood why Murong Ying had plotted against him. In his eyes, one was either a friend or an enemy.

As his thoughts shifted through various martial techniques, the spiritual infant’s moves changed accordingly. The Heaven-Shattering Hand consisted of a single move, but as the infant demonstrated it, Luo Hao clearly sensed a profound simplicity—returning to the origin—a Daoist resonance.

“In simplicity lies profundity; one palm to break ten thousand techniques! Just as the most basic moves in swordsmanship—slash, chop, thrust—were honed through countless battles. But how does one palm break all?”

He knew he was on the right path, but his current cultivation was insufficient to fully grasp its mysteries.

Shaking his head fiercely, Luo Hao rose and left his courtyard. There was still time before the Newcomers’ Tournament, and only actual combat would bring real progress. He decided to take another mission at the Hall of Contribution.

“That’s Luo Hao—the ruthless one among this year’s newcomers.”

“He alone brought shame to the Ziwei Pavilion. Impressive! If nothing goes wrong, he’ll become a supreme master in the future. Best not to provoke someone like him.”

As Luo Hao passed through the square, many disciples of Tianhai Sect whispered about him. He could only smile—when did he become such a fearsome figure?

Disciples from the Ziwei Pavilion, upon seeing Luo Hao from afar, immediately made way. Used to being dominant, they now felt utterly stifled. Not only did he have the backing of the Hall of Contribution’s master, his own strength was formidable—so much so that even most Blood Gathering Realm martial artists couldn’t suppress him.

Passing through the square, Luo Hao reached the Hall of Contribution. The ancient wooden doors looked the same as ever. As he entered, disciples searching the bulletin board for missions glanced his way, some nodding to him in friendly acknowledgment, which Luo Hao returned in kind.

“Well, look who’s famous now!” Ji Rou’s voice called out from the main platform. She had seen Luo Hao enter but deliberately kept quiet until now.

“It’s all empty fame! But Senior Sister Ji Rou, I must thank you for your help earlier—I am deeply grateful.” Approaching the main platform, Luo Hao thanked her sincerely. If Ji Rou hadn’t summoned the Hall Master in time, he, Yan Longyuan, and Sikong Xuan would likely have perished at Murong Ying’s hands.

“Oh, enough with the thanks. I prefer actions over words,” Ji Rou replied, tossing her head proudly.

“Well, actions then! I’ll just have to devote myself to you. Come, my broad shoulders await you!” Luo Hao teased, opening his arms as if to embrace her.

“Oh? Do you dare? Aren’t you afraid my grandfather will want to have a drinking chat with you?” Ji Rou blinked her large eyes, her tone syrupy sweet.

“Er…”

Luo Hao’s arms froze midair. The girl before him was the Hall Master’s own granddaughter—flirting with her would be courting death. Thinking of the Hall Master’s terrifying power, Luo Hao could only smile sheepishly and withdraw his hands.

“Coward!”

Rumble!

Just as Ji Rou was teasing Luo Hao, a thunderous boom erupted, shaking the entire Hall of Contribution. The disciples inside looked outside in panic.

“Something’s wrong! The Heaven-Watching Mirror shows a massive rift opening in the western sky!” a hurried voice cried from outside. A young man burst into the hall, his face pale with fear.

“A rift in the heavens?” Ji Rou at the main platform was startled, then her eyes flashed with excitement. “Could it be the Blood Spirit Secret Realm is emerging? But it shouldn’t be—it’s not been three hundred years yet.”

“Blood Spirit Secret Realm? What’s that?” Luo Hao muttered, puzzled. This was the first time he’d heard of such a place.