Cangxuan Continent, Yu Kingdom, Qinghe City.

Bustling streets, blooming spring.

By the roadside, an old tea stand.

Toss a copper, get a bowl of iced tea, no questions asked.

A young man in coarse robes sat there, quietly sipping tea.

He looked calm, yet his thoughts were heavy.

More than a year running for his life… what a joke.

He was Lucas Moor. A transmigrant.

Came to Cangxuan twenty years back. Started at the bottom—outer disciple of Wujizong.

No cheat, no master. Just a handsome face and mediocre talent.

Luckily, Wujizong ran half of the nine provinces in the Yu Kingdom.

He clawed his way up for ten years, barely stepped into Qi Refinement, became inner disciple.

Knowing he lacked talent, Lucas dived into what others overlooked—poison arts, corpse refining, puppetry, disguises, bugs.

Not strong in cultivation, but vicious enough to survive.

Once ranked tenth among inner disciples. Almost made it to direct disciple.

Then all hell broke loose.

Wujizong's top ancestor had a qi deviation, died.

The five righteous sects saw their chance—accused Wujizong of evil, teamed up for the kill.

Wujizong couldn’t hold. Retreated nonstop.

A Nascent Soul old master and ten Core Formation elders—most died, a few surrendered, two escaped.

Sect Master, Vice Sect Master, Grand Elder—either dead, fled, or switched sides.

From peak to ruin—one month flat.

Lucas? A nobody compared to Jindan powerhouses.

Only reason he survived was because no one noticed him.

But his identity kept him on the run.

It’s been a year since the purge.

Many ex-disciples were caught and executed.

He was still alive.

Those obscure arts he studied? Now his lifeline.

Though sitting still, his ears caught everything.

That’s because he had “Di Listening Bugs” in both ears.

They amplified the faintest sounds—made it hard to sneak up on him.

Then, another man approached.

Sat across from him, hesitant, wary.

Lowered his voice. “King covers the land?”

Lucas answered flatly, “And you’re the fool.”

The man tried again. “Tower suppresses the demon?”

Lucas didn’t blink. “You’re real dumb.”

The man finally relaxed, let out a breath. “Senior Brother, you’ve got guts. Meeting here of all places?”

Lucas sipped his tea. “We’re proper rogue cultivators. Playing by the rules. What’s there to be afraid of?”That man swallowed hard and nodded quickly. The look he gave Lucas Moor was full of admiration.

Back in the day, Lucas had ranked tenth among the inner disciples of the Wuji Sect. But now, nearly a year later, all those ranked above him had already fallen into the hands of the righteous sects.

Only Lucas was still free, moving through enemy territory like it was nothing. Just his guts alone made people respect him.

“Ethan, did you bring the stuff?” Lucas asked casually, sipping his tea.

Ethan Zephyr nodded and pulled out a low-grade storage pouch, handing it over.

Lucas took it and checked inside.

His cultivation relied on Blood Arts, and he needed large amounts of blood essence for that. Whether from mortals or beasts—it didn’t matter. As long as it was blood, it worked.

Killing mortals was the fastest way, sure. But over time, it would erode his merit and bring the wrath of the heavens. When it came time for a higher breakthrough, heaven’s tribulation would likely end him.

Lucas suspected that the downfall of the Wuji Sect’s first ancestor had a lot to do with too much bloodshed.

Now that the Wuji Sect was destroyed, the five righteous sects were cracking down on slaughtering the innocent. Killing mortals now was practically begging to die.

That’s why he had Ethan bring him Beast Blood Orbs instead—blood refined and condensed, small in size but packed with energy. Perfect for cultivation.

“Good quality,” Lucas nodded, then tossed ten small spirit stones over.

Ethan's eyes sparkled with greed as he scrambled to catch them.

Lucas was about to get up and leave when he suddenly sensed something off.

The nearby food stalls, produce vendors, makeup shops, meat sellers—all of them had changed. Even the chatter sounded unfamiliar.

He realized then—he was surrounded. Powerful auras, even some at Foundation Establishment level, were hidden nearby.

He glanced at Ethan.

This face he was wearing today—a fresh human skin mask—only Ethan knew it was him underneath.

"Looks like... time for a new face," Lucas said calmly.

“I need one more thing,” he said suddenly.

Ethan nodded. “Say the word, Senior Brother.”

“Got any Spirit Blood Pills?”

Ethan nodded seriously. “Two. Snatched from the sect’s vault when we made our escape.”

Lucas lowered his voice. “I’ll need more. As many as you can get.”

Ethan blinked, then leaned in. “Wait—you found Uncle Vincent, didn’t you?”

Vincent Harper, Foundation Establishment, one of the few Wuji cultivators still at large.

Lucas’s face darkened. “That’s not your concern.”

Ethan quickly shut his mouth. “Got it! Not asking, not asking!”

“Pill,” Lucas said, holding out his hand.Ethan Zephyr lowered his voice. “Spirit Blood Pills are too expensive. You don’t have enough spirit stones, do you, senior brother?”

Lucas Moor said nothing.

Ethan quickly added, “How about this—take me to see Uncle Vincent. Let’s stick together, it’s safer that way.”

“No. Too risky,” Lucas said sharply.

Ethan sighed, then gritted his teeth and shoved a spirit stone into Lucas’s hand.

“One mid-grade spirit stone. That’s all I’ve got!”

Lucas raised an eyebrow.

Low-grade stones, pulled from ore edges, weren’t worth much—mostly used by qi refining types. Mid-grade stones were purer, bigger, and usually seen in Foundation Cultivators’ hands. One mid-grade could trade for a hundred low-grades.

That Ethan had one was surprising.

“With that kind of sincerity, fine. I’m barely convinced,” Lucas said with a nod.

Ethan gave a long breath. “Let’s go, senior brother. I’ll only rest easy with a Foundation expert like Uncle Vincent nearby.”

Lucas nodded. “He’s in a deserted house on the east side of town. Follow me.”

He tossed down a copper coin and stood up.

Ethan quickly followed.

Not long after, six cultivators watching from a distance moved in toward the tea stall. Leading them was a middle-aged man with a refined aura—obviously a Foundation realm cultivator.

“Ethan went with him. We’ve got a big catch,” the leader said, eyes gleaming.

“Move. If we grab that fish, the credit’s ours!” he barked.

“Yes!”

Moments later, in the deserted east-side house.

The middle-aged cultivator and his men had the perimeter locked tight.

“Uncle, when do we go in?” asked a younger disciple.

“Wait for the signal,” the man said in a low voice.

Then—boom!

The door exploded. Ethan shot out, blood streaming mid-air.

He screamed in pain, “Underground! Vincent Harper’s under the floor! They’ve found me!”

Excitement lit up the leader’s face. He roared, “Go! Alive if possible!”

Whoosh—righteous cultivators rushed past Ethan and into the house.

Inside, a deep, dark hole yawned in the floor, leading underground.

The team dove in and found branching corridors, traps everywhere. It was a damn maze.

After searching for a while, someone shouted, “Uncle! A corpse—dried up. The face is skinned!”

The middle-aged man froze, checked the body, then his face twisted in fury.

“It's Ethan! The one outside is Lucas! We’ve been played! After him!”

Rushing back up—

No sign of “Ethan” anywhere.

“Damn you, Lucas Moor! Slipped away again!” the leader roared, veins bulging.