Chapter 31: The Secret Realm of the Demonic Clan

Shen Chenfeng steered a gilded flying vessel, carrying the Wind-Stepping Beast, speeding towards the Inner Sect. The vessel darted between mountain peaks and finally descended steadily before a pavilion adorned with carved beams and painted rafters.

Straightening his slightly disheveled robes, Shen Chenfeng’s previously arrogant expression vanished in an instant. He took a deep breath and entered the pavilion with respectful composure.

“Elder Brother!” Shen Chenfeng called softly from the hall, his voice drifting upwards.

From the second floor, steady and powerful footsteps echoed in response. A man in a robe of pale moonlight descended at an unhurried pace. Sword-like brows framed his face, his starry eyes radiated quiet authority; every gesture and movement exuded an innate, commanding presence. Each step upon the wooden stairs resonated with a subtle rhythm, a testament to his profound cultivation.

This was none other than Shen Chenfeng’s own elder brother, Shen Changkong—the most outstanding genius of the Shen family in this generation.

Of course, that was assuming Shen Mingyue did not exist.

At the sight of his brother, Shen Chenfeng instinctively bent his back a little deeper. In a cultivation clan such as the Shen family, blood ties paled before talent and power; even siblings by birth had their worth measured by strength alone.

As Shen Changkong approached, Shen Chenfeng’s face blossomed with a flattering smile, his voice deliberately lowered, “Elder Brother, you seem even more radiant than before—surely your cultivation has once again advanced. With your talent, surpassing Shen Mingyue is only a matter of time!”

Shen Changkong ignored the flattery without the slightest reaction. He was a rare dual-root cultivator of water and wood, a genius who entered the Foundation Establishment stage at thirty. Barring unforeseen events, he was the undisputed heir to the head of the Shen family. Yet fate had produced Shen Mingyue, whose mutated ice spiritual root outshone them all. Not only was her talent greater, but she had become a true disciple of the Azure Cloud Sect, overshadowing him completely.

“Such words need not be spoken again. For now, the family still relies upon Shen Mingyue,” Shen Changkong replied, his tone calm and indifferent, “Why have you come?”

“Your lesson is well taken!” Shen Chenfeng bowed his head quickly, then replied, “I have recently acquired another Wind-Stepping Beast with special bloodline traits, and have come to offer it to you, so it may help the family unlock that secret realm.”

“Not without effort, at least,” Shen Changkong acknowledged with a nod. He turned his hand, producing a single pill which he tossed to Shen Chenfeng. “Your cultivation is near the peak of Qi Refinement. This Jade Essence Pill is your reward.”

He continued, “That secret realm will require even more spiritual beasts with unique bloodlines to unlock. Stay alert for further opportunities.”

“Yes.” Shen Chenfeng answered solemnly.

Though his own cultivation was insufficient to fully understand the secret realm, he had managed to gather some information. It was said to be a relic of an ancient demon clan, discovered by chance, and defended by powerful restrictive formations. The family was now gathering beasts of special bloodlines, using secret methods to draw their essence blood in hopes of breaking through the relic’s defenses.

“I will take my leave now.” Shen Chenfeng bowed respectfully and was about to turn away, when his brother’s voice stopped him.

“Wait.”

He looked back in confusion.

Shen Changkong stood with his hands behind his back. “How goes the matter I assigned you, dealing with the family traitor?”

His tone was so detached, it seemed he spoke of something utterly inconsequential, not even bothering to mention the traitor’s name. Yet even without explicit words, Shen Chenfeng knew exactly who was meant.

In a family as strictly hierarchical as the Shen clan, every few years there would be those who, unable to endure the suffocating pressure, attempted to break free of its shackles.

Shen Chenfeng himself, in his younger days, had once harbored thoughts of escape in such a stifling environment. But after witnessing first-hand the miserable fates of those who rebelled—lives worse than death—he had never again dared entertain such notions.

“It is being handled,” Shen Chenfeng replied softly. “But, acting within the sect’s territory, there are some constraints.”

“I see.” Shen Changkong’s voice remained impassive. “Now that Shen Mingyue has broken through to the False Core stage, we need not be as cautious as before within the sect. Conclude this matter swiftly, and let our family’s authority be known.”

“Yes!” A flicker of delight flashed in Shen Chenfeng’s eyes as he bowed once more before taking his leave.

...

In the pale light of dawn, Shen Qinghe moved between rows of spiritual fields, wielding a spirit sickle with practiced ease. The sickle’s sharp blade gleamed in the sunlight; with every deft motion, stalk after stalk of verdant Spirit Rice fell in neat succession.

The stalks grew tall and straight, their heads full and heavy, casting a faint green glow under the morning dew. Shen Qinghe’s movements were swift and precise, each cut made at exactly the right spot on the stalk.

Before long, the entire field of Spirit Rice lay neatly in waves of harvest upon the earth—a sea of plenty.

She paused, setting down her sickle, showing no sign of fatigue. Gazing at the fallen waves of rice, a satisfied smile curved her lips. This was already the third batch she had harvested in recent days. The three catties of spiritual seeds she had originally received were nearly exhausted.

By her careful estimation, the total yield of these three harvests was over two thousand catties.

“After reaching mastery in planting, the growth cycle of Spirit Rice has shortened so much,” she murmured, gently stroking a plump ear of rice between her fingers. “Now a single crop matures every three days. It seems I should reduce the planting area appropriately.”

Shen Qinghe quickly bundled the harvested rice and stored it in her spatial pouch. Then, her gaze shifted to another section of the field where a lush patch of rice grew, the ears glowing faintly with blue-green light—these were the Marrow-Cleansing Spirit Rice.

In the past days, she had succeeded in fusing several new batches of this rare crop. Yet, limited by her own cultivation and the tremendous energy required for fusion and mutation, their numbers remained modest. The earliest-planted batch, however—a dozen or so stalks—were now thick-stemmed, leafy, and heavy with grain.

Shen Qinghe stepped forward, summoning the ancient book with a thought. On its pages, she saw the Marrow-Cleansing Spirit Rice had reached 298 out of 300, the threshold of maturity.

“They’ll be ready today,” she whispered.

Such astonishing growth was no natural process; she had spared no effort, channeling her own spiritual power through the ancient book to nourish the crops day and night.

After a brief meditation, Shen Qinghe once again activated the book. Instantly, spiritual energy surged from her core like a breached dam. Before her eyes, one stalk of Marrow-Cleansing Spirit Rice matured at a speed visible to the naked eye, a pale blue-green flower blooming at its tip, cradling a jewel-like pill at its heart.

A rich, intoxicating fragrance wafted out, clearing both mind and spirit. Shen Qinghe ceased her exertion, knowing without looking that this stalk had fully ripened.

She carefully plucked the pill from the flower, feeling its smooth, warm texture. Upon closer inspection, natural patterns seemed to flow across its surface.

“Truly extraordinary,” she murmured, placing the first Marrow-Cleansing Spirit Pill into her pouch, already planning to test it herself that very evening.

Just as Shen Qinghe focused her mind to ripen the next plant, a streak of light shot through the air and hovered before her, transforming into a message talisman.

"Junior Sister Shen, come out at once!” Wei Rong’s urgent voice sounded from the talisman, laced with rare panic.

With a wave of her slender hand, Shen Qinghe caught the talisman, her brows tightening in concern.

Over the past few days, Wei Rong had relayed similar messages to her more than ten times—all reports that disciples who had learned her planting methods were experiencing inexplicable wilting of their spirit crops.

She had assumed the problem lay in the disciples not following her instructions precisely. Moreover, she had been too absorbed in fusing the Marrow-Cleansing Spirit Rice to investigate personally. Yet the unmistakable anxiety in Wei Rong’s voice now made her heart clench.

“Could something truly have gone wrong?” she wondered, stowing away the ancient book and hurrying towards the edge of the field.

No sooner had she stepped beyond the protective array than a wall of noise crashed over her.

“How long does Shen Qinghe intend to hide?”

“It’s her planting method that killed my crops!”

“We must have an explanation today!”

Dozens of disciples surrounded the field, faces twisted in anger. Some held withered plants aloft in accusation, while others, more agitated, threatened to breach the array. The scene was utter chaos.

Wei Rong stood at the front, sweat beading at his brow as he tried to calm the crowd. “Please, everyone, let’s not be rash—there must be some misunderstanding...”

“Fellow disciples!” Suddenly, Shen Qinghe’s clear voice rang out, cutting through the commotion like a mountain spring.

At her words, the crowd instantly fell silent, dozens of eyes snapping towards her like arrows.

A disciple shoved Wei Rong aside, shouting, “Shen Qinghe! So you finally dare to show yourself!”

He thrust a withered plant towards her. “My crops are all dead. You owe us an explanation today!”

Shen Qinghe’s gaze fell upon the wilted plant, her eyes flickering with insight. She summoned the ancient book, which unfurled before her eyes.

As she read the words on its pages, a knowing smile slowly curved her lips.