Chapter Eighty-Five: The Amethyst Cloud Mountains

The sea of consciousness had returned to tranquility, transformed into a vast ocean of stars. The beautiful night sky shimmered, and among the constellations, a planet seemed to hang close to the ground. A figure identical to Dao Sansheng stood atop a stone, his feet surrounded by darkness. A single beam of light shone down, guiding him forward. All the planets around him were shrouded in gray, save for one azure world, its land teeming with life.

Following the guidance, Dao Sansheng descended, as the soul butterfly fluttered its wings and flew upward. On the grassy plain lay Chen Xiaofeng, the palace master of the Purple Immortal Palace. The soul butterfly greeted Dao Sansheng with extraordinary excitement.

"I remember the place where I was born—it was just like this, with countless stars all around. The strongest in our clan could traverse to nearby planets. I’ll stay here from now on," the soul butterfly spoke.

Dao Sansheng had just exited the auction house when he felt the energy within his body surge uncontrollably. His spiritual consciousness was particularly powerful now, having broken through the Golden Core stage. A splitting headache wracked him.

"I need to find a place to retreat. If you have matters to attend to, go ahead. I’ll head to the Ziyun Mountains outside the city. Contact me with a communication talisman if needed."

Dao Sansheng's face was anxious, and before he finished speaking, he was already running toward the city’s outskirts. If not for certain restrictions, he would have flown long ago.

"I have some personal business to take care of. Afterward, I’ll return to the sect. Now that the marketplace has been sold, there’s no reason for me to linger in Autumn Pool City." With his head drooping, Zhao Jinqian, listless and drained of his usual vigor, muttered to himself as he departed.

Chao Xiong and Li Zihong, without discussion, walked toward the small courtyard in Autumn Pool City.

Dao Sansheng dashed out of the city and saw a crowd—mostly those who’d attended the auction in the grand hall. Ignoring them, he soared skyward and plunged straight into the Ziyun Mountain range.

As a cultivator, Dao Sansheng had never ventured into a monster-infested mountain range. From a distance, the Ziyun Mountains were veiled in a perpetual layer of purple miasma, obscuring the forested slopes below. This haze was deadly to most practitioners at the Qi Refining stage, who avoided lingering here for fear of poisoning.

Dao Sansheng cared nothing for such dangers. Like a reckless youth, he dove straight into the thickest part of the purple miasma.

A group of rogue cultivators on the mountain’s edge watched this newcomer flying in. Such foolishness was unprecedented—even those at the Foundation Establishment stage wouldn’t dare such rashness.

The moment he pierced the purple clouds, Dao Sansheng felt his breath halt. The spiritual energy within his body was tainted by the miasma; he dared not use it, lest his life be endangered. His sea of consciousness, muddled by the influx of purple haze, urged him to quickly find a place to cultivate.

Landing in the forest, surrounded by trees and with no spirit beasts nearby, Dao Sansheng hurried to search for shelter. His body felt increasingly heavy, his steps slowing, every stride a struggle.

At last, he spotted a cave ahead, plumes of purple smoke wafting from within, identical to the haze in the sky. But his mind was already clouded; paying no heed, he staggered to the cave’s entrance, guided by sheer will.

The cave led underground, its depths invisible to the naked eye. Dao Sansheng, fueled by determination, took a step inside.

He had barely set foot before slipping and tumbling downward, his body bouncing against the walls as he slid deeper. The collision jarred him awake, but his descent continued, involuntary, through clouds of purple mist. He could not stop himself.

The purple haze inside the cave was as thick as that outside. Dao Sansheng’s skin turned violet, though his meridians remained relatively clean. He held his breath, forcing himself not to inhale the poisonous mist, and used his spiritual energy to drive it out from his meridians and skin.

Yet the deeper he fell, the denser the miasma became. The effort to expel it could no longer keep pace with the amount absorbed. If this continued, the purple mist would invade his meridians.

Dao Sansheng felt his consciousness slipping away, his whole body weightless. A sharp pain seared through his backside, jolting him back to clarity—he had finally reached the bottom, landing in the cave’s depths.

Surveying his surroundings, he saw plants everywhere, all tinged purple and exuding violet vapors. The cave stretched into a boundless forest, but everything was colored by the pollution of the miasma.

"I must find an exit quickly—there must be a way out," he thought. "I can’t breathe here, and my spiritual energy is running low. I need to keep circulating it to drive out the miasma, but at this rate, I can only last a few hours."

Dao Sansheng entered his hair-binding ring. Thankfully, he had plenty of spiritual stones, purchased with Zichenyu’s money at the auction. They would sustain him for about a month; if he couldn’t find the exit by then, he’d have to make further plans.

He touched his aching backside, the pain etched in his memory. Struggling to his feet, he limped aside.

The undergrowth was thick with small branches. Dao Sansheng stumbled and fell, forcing himself to crawl forward. Spotting a small sapling the size of a cup, he grew excited.

"I can make a walking stick—this will make things easier," he thought, crawling over.

He channeled spiritual energy into his palm and struck the tree, but it only cracked slightly. The vegetation here was far tougher than outside. Even a sapling was unusually resilient.

He struck several more times before finally breaking the tree. Pulling out a top-grade spirit stone, he quickly replenished his energy. The effort of chopping a single sapling had drained much of his power; without a quick recharge, the miasma would invade his body.

As time passed, the spiritual stones in his hand were gradually depleted. Leaning on his new walking stick, Dao Sansheng trudged through the cave with difficulty. Three days passed. Though some light filtered through, the haze obscured the environment, making it impossible to tell day from night. Dao Sansheng did not rest for three days, but his body—honed by years of cultivation—was resilient.

Yet prolonged battle with the miasma and his injuries wore him down. His bruised backside still ached after three days, as he needed to both heal his wounds and fend off the miasma. His strength waned.

"Am I going to die here?" Dao Sansheng wondered, scanning the endless purple haze. He could see nothing of the path ahead.

He didn’t know when he would find an exit. Using the spiritual stones at the current pace, he could last for many years, but if he remained trapped, entering and exiting would become impossible.

He pressed forward, convinced there must be an exit ahead. Another seven days slipped by unnoticed. Dao Sansheng did not rest or pause, but his legs had healed, and the pain in his backside had eased. Soon, he would be fully recovered.