Chapter Forty-Seven: A Surge in Cultivation

As night deepened, the grand hall remained silent, and Su Fan was still seated, idly toying with the cup in his hand.

Mr. Zhao had already sat down, his gaze fixed on Su Fan, as if he were staring at a lover.

Unfortunately, Su Fan was not his lover. He only wished to leave this place, yet departure was impossible.

He could sense the threat looming from the Three Sovereigns' Stronghold—perhaps it truly was those Three Sovereign Immortals.

Su Fan’s expression shifted slightly as he spoke, “Are you certain that by killing Er Gou, you can replace him? That you’ll be able to defeat the generals of the other eight cities?”

Mr. Zhao withdrew his gaze. “I am confident. This matter benefits both you and me. I can also help you fend off the threat from the Three Sovereigns’ Stronghold.”

Su Fan paused. “Mr. Zhao, what a clever move you’ve made—like the mantis stalking the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind. First, you used me as bait, orchestrating a war between Qingyuan Pavilion and Ransuo Sect. While you took advantage of Er Gou’s power to eliminate the two great factions in Luocheng, you then brought me here, luring me to kill Er Gou, so that you could assume the position of general.”

Mr. Zhao did not deny it, his silence an admission.

Su Fan continued, “Killing Er Gou isn’t difficult; you could have done it yourself. Why involve me? Wouldn't that just complicate things?”

Mr. Zhao smiled. “You have indeed surpassed my expectations. Your aptitude is average, but your mind is sharp. By asking you to kill the general, I’m actually helping you. There’s nothing in it for me—perhaps even trouble.”

Su Fan said, “Then what is it exactly that you want me to do?”

Mr. Zhao replied calmly, “There’s no rush. Kill the general first, and I’ll make arrangements.”

Su Fan’s demeanor grew serious. He lowered his voice. “The General’s Mansion is heavily guarded. How am I supposed to act?”

It was as if Mr. Zhao had anticipated Su Fan’s agreement. He produced a jade tube and handed it to Su Fan. “This is the map of the General’s Mansion. With this jade tube, the mansion’s formations will not affect you. I’ll take care of the guards—you needn’t worry about them.”

Su Fan accepted the jade tube and strode out of the hall. The rain had just passed, and now the sky was clear. The bright moon hung high, stars scattered across the heavens—a night like this seemed perfect for revelry and pleasure.

Er Gou was indeed indulging in pleasure. From the brightly lit room, the silhouettes of enchanting bodies danced behind the curtains, and waves of lewd sounds drifted out.

In such merriment, he was oblivious to the fact that the guards outside his door had vanished.

He was even more unaware that Su Fan now stood at his door—not as a guard, but as his would-be assassin.

Thus, Su Fan did not linger to listen to the licentious voices. He slipped silently into the room.

On the spacious bed, pale bodies sprawled. Su Fan cleared his throat softly.

With a wave, the Violet Moon Blade appeared in his hand. A gust of wind swept by; blood spattered the bed, and the sounds ceased abruptly.

But Er Gou, having reached the late stage of Foundation Establishment, dodged Su Fan’s attack in the blink of an eye and swiftly dressed himself.

Su Fan’s expression remained unchanged. He had never expected to kill Er Gou with a single strike.

He drew the Phoenix Feather Crossbow. Before Er Gou could retaliate, a fiery phoenix shot forth, striking him—a wide area attack, yet leaving no room to escape.

Su Fan had already set up a trapping formation; Er Gou could not break free no matter how he struggled.

All he could do was watch helplessly as the phoenix, powerful enough to kill him countless times, bore down upon him.

With a scream, Er Gou vanished; even his last wisp of soul was devoured by the gray mist on Su Fan’s shoulder.

Su Fan exhaled deeply. The battle had seemed easy, but it had drained him considerably.

Just as he was about to leave, shouts and howls erupted outside.

Standing at the doorway, Su Fan saw an endless tide of black-armored soldiers charging toward him.

Wearily, he swung the Violet Moon Blade in his hand. Each strike drew blood, dying his white robe crimson.

His vision blurred, and he nearly collapsed. In desperation, he took out a handful of pills and swallowed them.

He quickly formed a spell sign, and from his storage pouch flew a strange creature.

It was a corpse puppet—its body incredibly strong, the soldiers’ attacks ineffective against it.

Su Fan had not wanted to reveal this trump card, but Mr. Zhao was ever eager to see it. Perhaps by revealing it, he’d gain a slim chance at survival.

Indeed, Su Fan’s guess was correct. Before the corpse puppet could fully unleash its power, Mr. Zhao arrived.

With a casual wave, all the black-armored soldiers halted, then quickly arranged themselves into formation.

Su Fan, sensing the situation, made a gesture, recalling the corpse puppet to his pouch.

Mr. Zhao stepped forward with a smile. “Your cultivation is quite impressive.”

Su Fan replied, smiling, “Mr. Zhao—or perhaps I should say General Zhao—you certainly know how to train your soldiers.”

Mr. Zhao responded, “A man who does not use cunning will die a miserable death.”

Su Fan nodded. Er Gou had died a miserable death indeed. He, too, was cunning, but there are always those more clever than oneself.

Su Fan asked in a low voice, “Is Mr. Zhao here to kill me now?”

Mr. Zhao shook his head. “You are a smart man. You know what I mean.”

Su Fan understood: if Mr. Zhao wanted to kill him, it would be easier than crushing an ant. This was merely a warning.

Su Fan was not one to miss the point. “Then perhaps you should tell me what you want me to do.”

Mr. Zhao looked at him approvingly, his lips curling into a smile. “Everyone knows there are nine cities in Tianyuan Prefecture, but few know there are actually ten.”

Su Fan was puzzled. “Ten cities?”

Mr. Zhao explained, “Nine are cultivators’ cities. Only one—the Imperial City—is a city of mortals.”

Su Fan asked, “A city of mortals? Are there truly no cultivators there?”

Mr. Zhao replied, “There are cultivators, and their origins are extraordinary. Even Tianyuan Sect dares not offend them lightly.”

Su Fan paused and asked, “What is their origin?”

Mr. Zhao sighed deeply. “I do not know. I want you to help me negotiate an agreement with the Imperial City.”

Su Fan inquired, “What kind of agreement?”

Mr. Zhao’s face darkened. “That is not for you to know.”

Su Fan remained calm and silent.

The room was both luxurious and sumptuous, its gold-inlaid and jade-embedded décor far surpassing even the finest cultivation abodes in spiritual energy.

Su Fan felt a strange mix of emotions. He had been used time and again, yet now all he could do was follow the other’s wishes.

He had no mind to cultivate, for he was waiting—waiting for the “grand gift” Mr. Zhao had promised as he left.

Soon, a black-armored soldier entered, bearing a large tray of pure spirit stone.

The spiritual energy emanating from it made Su Fan’s heart pound. Such an item was worth at least several thousand lower-grade spirit stones.

A brocade cloth, embroidered with golden threads and ornate designs, covered the tray.

Even without looking, Su Fan could guess the contents were no ordinary item.

Beneath the brocade was indeed no common treasure, but a small bottle carved with an ancient character for “Yellow.”

Yellow represented the Yellow Division of Tianyuan Pavilion, and the bottle was full of pills.

The elixirs inside were enough to drive Su Fan wild with desire, but he managed to keep his composure.

He smiled. “Please thank the General on my behalf.”

The black-armored soldier cupped his fist and left.

Su Fan’s gaze never left the bottle, not blinking once.

Inside were seven superior-grade Violet Spirit Pills. Just one would be enough to elevate his cultivation by a whole realm—let alone seven.

He carefully took one, studied it for a long moment, then finally put it in his mouth.

Torrential spiritual power surged into his body. Fortunately, with his jade pendant’s help, the energy was softened and made suitable for absorption.

In less than half an hour, he had fully absorbed the pill, though his cultivation had not yet broken through—he was just a step away.

Gritting his teeth, Su Fan formed a spell sign and summoned the corpse puppet to his side, then set up numerous formations.

With a wave of his hand, the remaining six Violet Spirit Pills flew from the bottle into his mouth.

This time, the influx of power was like the ocean pouring into a small stream. Even the jade pendant could barely keep up with the conversion, and Su Fan endured the pain with all his will.

Drowsiness overwhelmed him—a sensation he had not experienced in all his years of cultivation.

Because it had been so long, he fell asleep almost instantly.

He felt himself falling endlessly. He did not know how long he had been falling before a sudden brightness appeared before his eyes.

Willows swayed in the spring breeze, flowers bloomed, and pleasure boats with singing girls floated on the lake.

Su Fan found himself lying in the street, surrounded by pointing passersby. He realized he was dressed in rags, reeking of decay.

His gaze was blank—this scene was all too familiar, a recurring image in his dreams over countless years.

But this time was different: he was a beggar.

Just as Su Fan was puzzling over this, the sound of gongs rang out.

Looking up, he saw a young man seated proudly atop a palanquin. The youth’s brows were fine, his eyes bright and clear.

Clad in a red official’s robe, he looked every bit the newly appointed scholar, with guards in close attendance—a sign of high status.

Su Fan was about to investigate, curious to see how the dream would unfold.

He had just risen when a sudden kick knocked him down, followed by a flurry of fists and boots.

He felt no pain—his cultivation was useless in this dream.

Yet he instinctively tried to dodge; it was a reflex.

The gong’s sound grew louder; as a gap opened, the noise abruptly ceased.

Scolding voices rang out, momentarily halting the beating.

Just as in his previous dreams, the young man intervened, stopping the assailants.

He stepped forward, wiped the blood from Su Fan’s lips, and asked his name.

Su Fan did not wish for the dream to end so soon. He replied, “My name is Luo Xun.”

The young man seemed not to recognize the name but smiled. “My name is Su Fan.”

As soon as he spoke, the scene around them began to shatter, everything sinking into darkness—and somewhere, a sigh echoed.

That sigh was so faint, yet so filled with utter despair.

When Su Fan opened his eyes, Mr. Zhao was already in the room, an angry look on his face.

Seeing Su Fan awake, Mr. Zhao said coldly, “Do you know I have waited here for you for a month?”

Su Fan coughed lightly. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Mr. Zhao suddenly smiled. “Congratulations on your advancement. Late-stage Foundation Establishment is not bad at all.”