After Xuan Yi left, a steward-looking man led eight maidservants to the side hall of Misty Wave Palace. Two of the maids were at mid Void Tearing, the other six were all at mid to late Soul Formation.
Bao Gu couldn’t see through the steward’s cultivation at all. She estimated he had to be at least in the Tribulation Crossing stage.
The steward had clearly been sent to assign attendants to her. The two with Void Tearing cultivation were first-rank personal maids, while the other six were second-rank maids in charge of daily chores. As for sweeping and heavy drudgery, that obviously wouldn’t be left for a “guest” like Bao Gu to worry about. These eight were only responsible for her daily living needs.
The steward bowed and said,
“Young Clan Leader has instructed us that if you’re not used to them serving you personally, you can simply have them wait outside the palace doors. If you need anything, just send them. Should there be any negligence or offense in their service, you need only tell me.”
After these courteous words, he handed the maids over to Bao Gu and took his leave.
As for anything about the War King Manor that Bao Gu wanted to know, he did not mention a single word.
Bao Gu’s gaze fell on the two Void Tearing maids, and she couldn’t help sighing inwardly. Void Tearing cultivators… Back in her old cultivation world, someone at that realm would swagger sideways wherever they went. Here, they could only be first-rank maids.
She had originally wanted to ask about the War King Manor, but then thought that as a guest, it would look bad to start prying into the manor’s internal affairs the moment she set foot inside. If they decided to treat her as some spy, that would be troublesome.
So after asking their names, she simply had the two first-rank maids go find detailed books or jade slips that recorded spiritual treasures and medicinal herbs, introduced the customs of various regions and their beast and demon races, and all the maps they could get their hands on, plus anything that introduced magic tools, cultivation systems, and so on. She rattled off a long list and sent the two maids off to gather everything.
The two were completely baffled, but since Bao Gu said nothing more, they were embarrassed to ask why she wanted things you could buy at any bookstore. They just obeyed and went.
It wasn’t long before the two returned with all the books Bao Gu had requested.
The moment they stepped into the side hall, they saw a pill cauldron over twelve feet tall in the very center, blazing with roaring flames. Bao Gu sat cross-legged before the furnace, controlling the heat, while her disciple sat nearby with her cheeks propped in her hands, staring fixedly at the cauldron with the eager eyes of a starving child squatting in front of a pot of food.
Following Xuan Yi around, the two maids were naturally well‑informed. At a glance at the pure violet color of the furnace, they knew it was cast from top‑grade violet gold.
The violet‑gold pill furnace had an eight-sided lid. Its body was like a gourd cast in one seamless piece, covered from top to bottom with intricate sigils. Around the belly were four sacred beasts and four directional beasts carved in relief on the eight faces. Under the play of firelight and spiritual radiance, they seemed alive, surging and soaring, spiritual energy flowing as though they might at any moment burst out of the furnace to fly into the heavens—or sink back in and fuse into the pills.
Normally, alchemists used their own spiritual power to summon spirit fire and slowly melt and refine the ingredients. This one, however, was set directly over earth fire. Around the earth fire were dozens of sockets arranged in some pattern, each set with a top‑grade spirit crystal according to the five elements.
Using top‑grade spirit crystals… for pill refinement?
The two maids stood silently to the side, both too intimidated to disturb Bao Gu. They watched her work in quiet, occasionally meeting each other’s eyes with a complicated look they couldn’t quite put into words.
Bao Gu sensed movement at the door and opened her eyes.
“Qingying, watch the flame.”
She rose slowly, then turned to look at the two women standing by the entrance.
Their minds were spinning, but their faces remained perfectly calm. They bowed respectfully and said,
“Miss, we’ve brought the books you asked for.”
They handed her a storage ring.
Bao Gu sent her divine sense into it and found that the books inside were piled like a small hill. A rough sweep showed that there were many categories, and each was very complete.
She nodded in thanks, then put a hundred high‑grade spirit stones into a storage pouch and handed it to them. If she asked someone to buy things, she couldn’t very well make them pay for her on top of that.
Seeing how dense the spiritual energy was here and how high everyone’s realm ran, she figured this place produced spirit stones in great quantities. And when something was plentiful, it was cheap. Afraid of giving too little, she simply handed over a hundred high‑grade stones, then made a small dismissing gesture to send them away.
Qingying was a born fighter, but she had absolutely no talent for alchemy. Refining pills required the alchemist to inject spiritual power to control the flame. These past centuries, under Bao Gu’s constant nourishment with treasures and spirit herbs, Qingying overflowed with vitality and didn’t look the least bit corpse‑like.
But if she acted, what she released was all blood‑soaked death energy.
Letting Qingying refine pills would be disastrous. She wouldn’t even need to do much—just sending her spiritual power into the cauldron to stir things up would be enough to ruin an entire batch on the spot. She might even turn a batch of Revival Pills into Death‑Seizing Soul‑Reaping Pills.
However, when it came to making Qingying’s “rations,” having her watch the fire and add spirit crystals according to the needed temperature was absolutely foolproof.
Bao Gu no longer remembered how many furnaces of pills she’d opened for Qingying. But she did remember that entrusting the flames to Qingying had never once gone wrong. Reassured, she left the cauldron to her disciple and sat down on a nearby chair with a jade slip from the storage ring.
Her previous cultivation world had two main races: humans and demons. Here, they were classified as humans, beasts, and barbarians, three great types.
Humans were further divided into giants, dwarves, littlefolk, and heavenfolk.
Giants possessed boundless strength and sturdy bodies, with lifespans usually ranging from forty to two hundred years.
Dwarves were those people she’d seen who were barely two feet tall, like gnomes. They excelled at earth‑escaping arts tied to the five elements and mostly lived in underground nests.
Littlefolk were only palm‑sized, with transparent six‑winged wings. They lived in dense forests or marshes, were good at invisibility and concealment, and were usually very hard to encounter.
Heavenfolk were what this world called cultivators—what she would have simply called “cultivators” back home.
The beast race contained many kinds, existing somewhere between man and beast and able to shift between the two at will. Bao Gu understood these “beasts” to essentially be what her old world called demons.
Barbarians had bodies similar to humans but far more robust. The men were burly and powerful, almost like wild beasts; the women were beautiful and seductive. They were famed for their love of battle and their bloody, savage ways.
The books and jade slips the maids had found were written by heavenfolk—that is, by cultivators—and used runes as text. Bao Gu could read all of it.
Many of the spiritual treasures and herbs recorded in the books were identical to those in her old cultivation world. Same types, same names. Some didn’t exist in the old world but did in the Xuantian Mountains, and some she had never seen before, but there were always similar‑attribute substitutes either in her old cultivation world or in the Xuantian range.
This both shocked and delighted her.
She could almost be certain now that her previous cultivation world was connected to this one. Which meant she could return.
Before, it had only been a guess. Now, she could nearly confirm it.
Overjoyed, Bao Gu plunged into the books and jade slips, devouring them as fast as she could.
There were too many categories, and the records were vast and messy. She could only grit her teeth and read slowly. She’d endured several hundred years already; a few days of reading meant nothing.
She flipped to a jade slip about the structure of the cosmos.
According to it, there were ten realms in total.
Above was the Realm of Eternal Life, where only those who had reached the Immortal Realm could ascend. It sat at the center of the universe’s great pattern, and within it humans had established the Immortal Domain, demon cultivators the Demon Domain, demon immortals the Monster Domain, and ascended barbarians the Asura Domain.
Below were nine realms: the Savage Wilderness Realm, the Nether Ghost Realm, the Spirit Realm, the Asura Realm, the Cultivation Realm, the Mortal Realm, the Taixu Realm, the Chaos Ruins, and the Huangtian Realm.
The jade slip gave detailed introductions of these ten realms, right down to clearly marked coordinates.
Bao Gu clutched it like a priceless treasure, eyes racing over every word.
The Savage Wilderness Realm was where she was now, named because the barbarian race was the most powerful here.
The Nether Ghost Realm, from the description, sounded like the underworld of mortal legends.
The Spirit Realm was an extremely mysterious world, home to true dragons, phoenixes, and other beings as strong as immortals yet not quite immortals. It was said that gods that had existed since that world’s creation dwelt there. Outsiders did not dare intrude; anyone who went never returned.
The Asura Realm was where barbarians ascended when they reached a certain level of strength. It was wild, bloody, and cruel, but its warriors were so formidable they could contend with immortals, demons, and monsters, so it existed as its own realm.
The Cultivation Realm—Bao Gu had thought this was the place she’d come from. But when she read the entry on the Huangtian Realm, she froze.
The description of Huangtian was extremely similar to that of the Cultivation Realm, but differed in two key points.
First, any powerful being who entered Huangtian would inevitably be suppressed by its Heavenly Dao.
Second, Huangtian was shrouded in astral winds. Anyone below the Immortal Realm could hardly cross them.
At the end of the section was one more line:
“Huangtian Realm, a realm from which there is little return.”
Bao Gu stared blankly at the introduction, thinking,
“So the Huangtian Realm is actually the ‘cultivation world’ I was in before?”
“Master—”
“Master—”
“Cheap Master!”
Qingying’s voice cut in. She stuck her face right up in front of Bao Gu’s dazed eyes and snapped,
“What are you spacing out for? The pills are about to come out!”
Bao Gu glanced at Qingying, then at the furnace.
“Our old world—was it called the Cultivation Realm, or the Huangtian Realm?”
Qingying flicked a glance at the jade slip in Bao Gu’s hand, then shot her a look full of contempt, like she was mocking Bao Gu’s ignorance. But when she noticed Bao Gu’s threatening gaze slide toward the furnace full of her rations, she instantly switched to a fawning smile.
“A place as tiny as Huangtian could never be the Cultivation Realm. If the whole Cultivation Realm were only as big as Huangtian, people would’ve cried themselves to death long ago. Master, hurry, hurry, don’t dawdle. If you keep stalling, you’ll ruin my Revival Pills!”
As she spoke, she grabbed Bao Gu’s arm and hauled her up.
Bao Gu asked again,
“So the world we left before was the Huangtian Realm, not the Cultivation Realm?”
Qingying gave a loud “mm,” shoved Bao Gu in front of the furnace, and said,
“Master, focus. Just focus on drawing the pills out.”
She plucked the jade slip from Bao Gu’s hand and hugged it to her chest.
“I’ll keep this safe for you. You just worry about portioning the pills. Don’t get distracted.”
Dividing pills was critical. Once a furnace was finished, the alchemist had to use spiritual power to separate the pill mass into individual pills according to the refinement outcome. Quite a few mediocre alchemists blew up their furnaces or ruined an entire perfect batch at this stage.
This step, Qingying would rather die than attempt herself.
She hadn’t understood that before, and found it annoying that she had to urge Bao Gu three or four times every time the pills were ready. So once, she went and dragged over some alchemist reputed to be quite good to help divide the pills.
The result? The man ruined the batch.
Seven days of her hard‑guarded pills, and he wasted them in one go. Qingying had almost torn his head off his neck and used it for a ball.
Afterwards she took careful note of other alchemists and realized that explosions at the dividing stage were actually quite common. Even that alchemist really had been one of the better ones in his group. But her Revival Pills were way too high‑grade. That man’s skill level was nowhere near enough—couldn’t even compare to a sliver off her master’s pinky.
Bao Gu sat back down in front of the furnace and focused all her attention on the pill division.
There were three key steps in alchemy: the recipe, harmonizing the medicinal properties during refinement, and pill division.
Dividing pills wasn’t like a mortal pharmacist rolling cooked paste into balls. Pills had spirits. The higher the grade, the more spirit they contained. Their ingredients were all active the moment they entered the furnace.
Especially the Revival Pills—fused from all sorts of spiritual treasures brimming with life essence. They had no consciousness, but in some sense, they were alive.
During division, the alchemist had to slowly guide them with spiritual power, working with the flame to refine and separate them until they naturally reached perfection. Too much haste or too much delay would ruin them.
At this time, the flame temperature and spiritual power had to be absolutely precise. Since the degree of fusion kept changing, every injection of power and every adjustment of the fire had to be tuned to the moment. A hair’s difference could downgrade a batch from perfect to high‑grade, to mid or low grade, or even destroy it outright.
Watching each pill gradually take shape in the cauldron, then grow more and more complete until they became fully formed, round pills—that unhurried, natural, water‑to‑canal sense always made her feel that every division was a form of cultivation, a kind of enjoyment and insight.
Before long, the batch was done.
She opened the furnace. Radiance sprayed from within and rolled outward, washing the entire hall in multicolored light.
Pill after pill, like pieces of warm jade, emanating dense life essence and haloed in misty glow, flew out of the cauldron under Bao Gu’s spiritual control and arced into the jade bottle in her palm.
Each pill was like a plump, lively little spirit. Without Bao Gu’s guidance, it felt like they might just fly off on their own.
Watching them pour toward the bottle in Bao Gu’s hand, Qingying’s mouth watered. She opened her cherry lips and took a hard breath, sucking one pill straight out of the air and into her mouth.
She closed her eyes in pure bliss, savoring as the freshly refined Revival Pill melted, turning into pure life essence that flowed into her bones and limbs. The feeling was like a cool mountain stream trickling down from green peaks.
She’d always felt that freshly‑out‑of‑the‑furnace Revival Pills were the best—an unrivaled delicacy.
When Bao Gu refined a perfect batch, a furnace usually yielded forty‑nine Revival Pills.
She split them into five bottles. Four bottles held ten pills each and went to Qingying. The last bottle in her own hand held the remaining eight.
Then she put away the pill furnace, slipped her jade slip back out of the smiling, lips‑pressed, eyes‑closed Qingying’s arms, and reread the information about the Huangtian Realm, memorizing the coordinates firmly.
Coordinates meant there was a way from the Savage Wilderness to Huangtian.
But the slip didn’t say exactly how.
Bao Gu stored the jade slip, walked out of the side hall, and found the eight maids still waiting outside. Their eyes were strangely bright when they looked at her—likely startled by the movement from the pills emerging—so she didn’t comment, and instead asked directly,
“Do you know how to get to the Huangtian Realm?”
As soon as she spoke, she noticed all eight maids staring at her, stunned.
“You can just say whether you know or not,” she added. “It’s fine.”
They still stared woodenly at her for quite a while. At last, one of the first‑rank maids said,
“If you break open a Worldbreaking Gate, you can be transmitted there. But…”
“But what?” Bao Gu thought, “Don’t tell me the gate is broken?”
The maid replied,
“But the Huangtian Realm is shrouded in astral winds. They’re extremely terrifying. Anyone beneath the Immortal Realm cannot withstand them. Yet any powerhouse who steps into Huangtian will immediately have their cultivation suppressed by that realm’s Heavenly Dao, down to a mere cultivation stage. Some are even forced down to the Nascent Soul stage. Once the astral winds sweep them up, they die without a doubt.”
Bao Gu thought for a moment.
“Does the Worldbreaking Gate transmit people directly into the astral winds?”
The maid nodded.
“So they say. I’ve never seen it myself. Rumor has it that there is no return from Huangtian, so those who use the Worldbreaking Gates for tempering would rather choose the Asura Realm, the Nether Ghost Realm, even go far to the Taixu Realm or search for the Chaos Ruins, but they won’t go to Huangtian. Cultivation is for growth and progress, to ascend as an immortal. No one wants to go to a place where they’ll have their cultivation beaten down just to train.”
“Where is there a Worldbreaking Gate?” Bao Gu asked.
At that, all eight maids looked at her in open disbelief, as if she’d asked the most ridiculous question.
“What is it?” Bao Gu said. “Did I say something wrong?”
The first‑rank maid answered,
“That highest stone platform in the center of the city, the one built from five‑element immortal stone with one thousand and eighty steps—that’s it. Once you climb to the top, you can see the Worldbreaking Gate.”
Bao Gu stared, then couldn’t hold back her delight.
“It works? It isn’t… broken?”
Not like the Ascension Platform back in—no, in Huangtian—right?
The maid said,
“It works any time you wish to use it.”
She was extremely patient, her expression calm as she answered anything Bao Gu asked.
The six second‑rank maids beside her couldn’t help twitching their lips. None of them dared use divine sense on Bao Gu, or even look straight at her, only sneaking glances at her from the corners of their eyes.
The first‑rank maid had long since realized Bao Gu didn’t understand anything and was afraid she might go and get herself killed, so she quickly added,
“If you wish to open a gate to the upper realm, it’s best to wait until you reach Great Ascension. Once the gate to the upper realm is activated, the Heavenly Dao will sense it and descend an Ascension Tribulation. Without the strength of Great Ascension, failure is almost certain death.”
Bao Gu wasn’t foolish enough to ask what happened if someone at Great Ascension failed. Those who succeeded became immortals and flew up; if all the ones who failed died, where did earth immortals come from?
There was no Yu Mi in the upper realm. She had no intention of going there.
She just nodded.
“Thank you.”
Then she turned her head and called,
“Qingying, we’re going.”
Qingying’s jaw dropped.
“Ah?”
She looked at Bao Gu pitifully.
“Um, I think this place is pretty nice. Can’t we… not go?”
“To find the Old Tea Tree,” Bao Gu said.
Qingying brightened at once.
“Really? Not to find Yu—… heh…”
She swallowed the rest of the word, flashed Bao Gu a dazzling smile, then ducked her head in embarrassment and rubbed her nose, stealing a guilty glance at Bao Gu.
The last time, she’d only asked whether Bao Gu would still treat her this well after finding Yu Mi, and Bao Gu had ignored her for a long time. She’d known then that in Bao Gu’s heart, she couldn’t compare to even a sliver of Yu Mi’s little finger.
She didn’t want to go to Huangtian at all. Didn’t want to see Yu Mi at all.
Her eyes rolled, and she asked,
“You’re not going to head back to Huangtian as soon as you find the Old Tea Tree, are you?”
“Mm.” Bao Gu gave a quiet sound of agreement.
Even if it meant dying, she had to go back.
Qingying looked at her with wet, shining eyes.
“Can you… not go back?”
“You can stay here,” Bao Gu said.
Qingying sucked in a deep breath, then got even more upset.
You’re ditching me before you’ve even gone back?
She pointed at Bao Gu, her finger trembling.
“You—”
Grinding her teeth, she shouted,
“You’ve raised me for over five hundred years. Five hundred years! Even a cat or a dog would have your feelings by now. And you just say you’re going to throw me away, just like that. Cheap Master, don’t you think you’re going too far?”
She was shaking with anger, sharp little teeth jutting out.
It was true. You’d develop feelings even for a cat or a dog, let alone a disciple who’d stuck to you for over five centuries.
Rationally, Bao Gu knew leaving Qingying here in the Savage Wilderness would be safest for Saint Aunt and for the entire cultivation world. But when it came to actually throwing Qingying aside… she couldn’t do it.
Five hundred years together, from a man‑eating monster to someone who now barely even touched demonic beast meat. Qingying, the man‑eater, had been raised by her into an almost‑vegetarian.
She could see how used to—and dependent on—following her Qingying had become. How she liked to act spoiled around her, treating her like family.
If she abandoned Qingying here, who had such deep pockets to keep feeding her? Without vast amounts of spirit treasures and herbs, without Revival Pills to suppress her death aura, Qingying would have to feed on cultivators, high‑level beasts, even earth immortals…
Bao Gu let out a long, heavy sigh.
“Promise me you won’t hurt anyone around me,” she said. “Wherever I go, you go.”
Qingying drew a deep breath and then yelled,
“I don’t care!”
She stomped her foot hard and shot into the air, vanishing in an instant.
The moment her foot hit the ground, the solid floor fractured in all directions. The cracks spread across the floor, up the walls, and the courtyard’s protective formation shattered with a hum. The grand side hall instantly turned into a ruin covered in spiderweb fissures.
The maids at the door blanched.
Guards, sensing the disturbance, rushed over.
Bao Gu stared blankly in the direction Qingying had fled, surprised to find that her emotions were actually swayed by her disciple—and that her chest hurt.
She had finally found a way home, yet suddenly felt a little lost and at a loss.
She missed Yu Mi. She wanted to reach his side, but didn’t quite know what to do with herself.
Bao Gu gazed up at the sky, at the direction Qingying had gone, until people crowded in before her. Among them was a presence with a gaze so sharp it felt like it could pierce right through her, a cultivation so deep it made her instinctively afraid.
Qingying’s one stomp had made far too big a mess.
