Disturbances stirred in the Eastern Sea, and sea demons revealed themselves.
After years of tranquility, the fractured Central Plains could no longer suppress those waiting for their chance to make a move.
Over a decade ago, traces of marine monster beasts had occasionally surfaced near the Tiannan Continent. Recently, however, their sightings had grown increasingly frequent, and they were becoming ever more restless.
During their latest sea-patrol mission, the Zhou clan encountered a sudden swarm attack by sea demons.
With few high-stage experts presiding at the time, the ambush inevitably inflicted heavy casualties on every major family.
The Zhou clan was no exception.
In total, seven Foundation Establishment True Cultivators and over thirty Qi Refinement cultivators perished in battle.
For a Zhou clan in the midst of resurgence, this was undeniably a heavy blow.
In recent days, a somber mood hung over the Zhou clan. As funeral rites were held, sobs and wailing lingered endlessly through the quiet of the night.
Inside the deliberation hall, a voice charged with fury suddenly exploded.
"Impudent fool! Who told you to break the news of his parents' death to him so bluntly three days ago?"
The current clan head, Zhou Junxiao, glared with rage at the woman before him.
Zhou Shuzhen was puzzled. "Second Brother, is something the matter? Zhou Fuyou is known for his precocious intellect, and he's now the sole pillar of Bohan's branch. Wasn't it only natural for me to tell him?"
"The procedure was correct, but..." Zhou Junxiao shook his head, still displeased. "He's still just a child!"
Zhou Shuzhen parted her red lips slightly, caught off guard.
To outsiders, Zhou Fuyou's precocious growth made it hard to associate him with peers his age; he appeared scarcely different from an ordinary adolescent youth. Combined with his mature speech and manner, it was all too easy to forget his actual years.
When she went down the line notifying the closest kin of the fallen clansmen, she had overlooked this.
Zhou Junxiao admonished solemnly, "Be more mindful in the future. Right now the Old Ancestor doesn't concern himself with daily affairs, Eldest Brother is focused entirely on his secluded cultivation to break through to the Nascent Soul stage, and the other two only formed their Golden Cores not long ago. The responsibility of running the clan rests upon you and me. When matters arise, confer with me more often."
"All right, Second Brother. Little Sister will remember," Zhou Shuzhen replied. Then she watched as Zhou Junxiao turned to step outside. "Second Brother, where are you going?"
Zhou Junxiao paused. Recalling the order the Old Ancestor had sent him through a messenger, he sighed softly.
"I'm going to see that child."
Leaving the deliberation hall, he made his way toward the wake.
Before long, he stood outside the mourning hall.
Inside, many people stood or knelt—all family members of the clansmen who had fallen in battle. Most were young, yet there was no shortage of white-haired elders mourning the young.
And that gaunt, delicate boy knelt before a coffin, silently burning joss paper.
His expression was calm. Though sorrow marked his face, not a single tear could be seen.
Zhou Junxiao observed in silence for a moment, secretly nodding in approval.
'A resilient one, indeed.'
...
The burial took place four days later, bringing the entire funeral to seven days.
On the day of the interment, every Zhou clansman set aside their duties, clad in plain white mourning robes to attend the final rites.
Zhou Fuyou stood before the gravestone with tightly pressed lips, holding the hand of his tear-stained little sister.
Those around them cast sympathetic, pitying glances from time to time, but he seemed entirely oblivious.
"Brother, are Father and Mother really gone?"
His little sister still seemed unable to accept reality.
Zhou Fuyou could only lift her into his arms, comforting her in a soft voice.
Seeing the girl still distraught and helpless, doing nothing but weeping, Zhou Fuyou said in a deep voice, "Father and Mother may be gone, but you still have me. Brother will protect you from now on."
"Will Brother leave too?"
Zhou Fuyou gazed at the gravestone, gently stroking his sister's head.
"Brother will never leave!"
The boy's words were quiet, but resolute as an unyielding mountain.
As Clan Head Zhou Junxiao activated the graveyard's defensive warding formation, the funeral drew to an absolute close.
Though sounds of weeping and remembrance still echoed, the clansmen ultimately returned to their homes to go on living their lives.
That night.
After coaxing his sister to sleep, Zhou Fuyou entered his father's study once more.
The scenery was as familiar as ever, yet the tall man was nowhere to be seen, nor was that gentle voice to be heard by his ear.
As warm memories flashed through his mind, tears had unwittingly begun to stream down the cheeks of the boy who had appeared so steadfast before others.
Suddenly!
He thought of the medicinal broth he had drunk, the mysterious death of Yin Siniang, and the calm detachment with which Elder Zhou Shuzhen had broken the news of his parents' death.
A chill surged into his heart.
Within great prominent clans, warmth certainly existed, but far more common were the power struggles and schemes seen in cautionary tales.
Those without value were unworthy of regard.
And the parents who had once shielded the siblings from heaven and earth were gone. If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to ensure his sister grew up well, he could rely on no one else—only himself!
Zhou Fuyou wiped away his tears, walked over to the bookshelf, and deftly pulled down several books.
Cradling the thick stack of books, the boy was about to return to the desk, but after a moment's hesitation, he pulled out one more book from a corner.
Spreading them all open, familiar titles greeted his eyes—the very Qi Refinement texts he had read over the past half year.
"I must cultivate!"
"I need strength!"
"No one can be trusted. I have to protect my sister!"
His gaze swept across each book, weighing and deliberating in his mind, until his ink-black eyes finally settled on the *Dew Cicada Art*.
Other cultivation arts were too slow and carried all sorts of restrictive thresholds.
Only this demonic technique offered the swiftest cultivation speed, completely devoid of barriers—as long as one possessed a spiritual root, one could cultivate it.
Did Zhou Fuyou possess a spiritual root?
He believed he did!
Without any magical treasures or formations to test him, and far below the proper age, the boy made the most reckless judgment.
Yet this judgment rested on a certain basis.
Namely, what people often called "spiritual qi affinity"!
Without a spiritual root, one could not sense the presence of spiritual qi. With a spiritual root, one could sense the spiritual qi existing between heaven and earth. And whichever elemental attribute one's spiritual root held, one could sense the qi of that corresponding attribute. The easier and deeper this perception, the higher the affinity, indicating superior root quality.
Rumor had it that a Heavenly Spiritual Root could even shut out interference from other chaotic qi, exclusively sensing spiritual qi of its own attribute, leading to astounding cultivation speeds.
In truth, spiritual roots existed within the human body from birth. The reason one had to wait until age twelve was that by then, a youth's body was relatively mature and their faculties sound, allowing them to perceive spiritual qi with reasonable clarity.
Even so, that perceptiveness remained very weak.
That was why cultivators needed to lay down specialized formations to supply a massive, balanced amount of spiritual qi and utilize magical tools to test for specific spiritual roots.
Zhou Fuyou, however, was different!
From a very, very early time—when he was exceedingly young, spanning as far back as his memories went—he had been able to sense an omnipresent energy surrounding him.
At first, he did not know what it was.
Yet during a meal once, when his mother mentioned that the food contained trace amounts of spiritual qi to help nourish their bodies, he realized what that energy surrounding him truly was.
Spiritual qi!
He had been able to perceive spiritual qi since infancy. Moreover, it was very likely water-attribute spiritual qi, for the sensation grew vastly more profound whenever it rained.
This meant his affinity for water-attribute spiritual qi was at its highest!
In other words, he had to possess a water-attribute spiritual root.
Thus, the impediment to cultivating the art vanished.
Zhou Fuyou could not wait until he was twelve. He felt danger looming all around; no one was trustworthy anymore, and everyone seemed out to harm him—everyone except his sister.
"Then let cultivation begin!"
Having made up his mind, the boy spread open the *Dew Cicada Art* and sat cross-legged on the cold floor tiles of the study according to its prescribed posture.
Forming a hand seal with plausible precision, he began to inhale and exhale in rhythm.
The initial difficulties recorded in the manuals never manifested.
With only his first breath, the energy swirling around him scrambled to bore into his body.
The boy was caught slightly off guard, yet seemed to have anticipated it as well, guiding that energy toward his dantian along the circulation pathway of the *Dew Cicada Art*.
Throughout this process, the energy never wavered or broke. Whenever it began to flag, even more energy poured into his body from the outside world.
It seemed as though as long as he willed it, and as long as his body could bear it, heaven and earth would bestow endless energy upon him.
Outside the window, a white flash gleamed, followed by the rumble of thunder.
Crash!
In the height of midsummer, a torrential downpour burst forth.
Through the half-open window, the boy remained motionless.
Only when a feeling of repletion welled up inside him did he slowly open his eyes. Exhaling a breath of turbid qi, he gazed at the world in a slight daze.
Day had already broken.
Faint morning twilight filtered inside and fell over Zhou Fuyou, casting a soft, shimmering radiance.
With a mere thought from Zhou Fuyou, that distinct fluctuation of spiritual power completely dissipated, as though nothing had ever transpired.
Yet only the boy knew that he was now an immortal cultivator.
"Entering the Dao overnight—the first layer of Qi Refinement!"
...
Across the distant Silver River, the starry galaxy stretched boundless and vast.
Amidst that dead silence, a black-robed Daoist sat cross-legged in the void, motionless and seemingly devoid of breath.
Only the fierce dragons of qi exhaled from his nostrils from time to time proved he was still among the living.
Not far from his side, a massive grey cauldron stood beneath the stars.
The cauldron vibrated ceaselessly, venting beast-like sounds from within now and then: furious roars, relentless howls, mingled with curses, pleas for mercy, threats, and all manner of chaotic cries.
Yet neither the dead silence of the universe, the boundless expanse of stars, nor the bestial roars ringing close by could perturb the black-robed Daoist in the slightest.
Suddenly!
The black-robed Daoist's eyelids trembled, and he slowly opened his eyes.
His lips parted slightly, uttering three words:
"Qi Refinement!"
Then, frowning, he pinched his fingers to divine the matter, a look of perplexity crossing his face.
"Six years old?"
"Why has he begun cultivating at age six?"
Above the adjacent cauldron, a wisp of blue smoke drifted up and coalesced into an alluring, shapely woman.
Her crisp voice rang out as she asked curiously, "Master, what happened?"
The black-robed Daoist shook his head. "Nothing major, but... it's too fast!"
Muttering, he sank into deep contemplation.
After a long pause.
He made his decision.
"Xiao Bai, make a trip to the Zhou clan on the Tiannan Continent and check on an avatar of mine."
The woman called Xiao Bai nodded, then asked, "Should I protect him?"
After considering for a moment, the black-robed Daoist replied, "Unless as a last resort, do not intervene in anything concerning him. Focus strictly on surveillance. Take this voice transmission jade token. If any mishap occurs, inform me immediately."
Taking the jade token, Xiao Bai cast a worried glance at the grey cauldron before leaving.
"Master, refining that Kui ox ghost-god has reached its most critical stage, and its resistance grows fiercer. Please be careful not to let it escape."
The black-robed Daoist smiled faintly.
"No matter. Since I could capture it, I have no fear of it breaking free."
Xiao Bai smiled, then drifted away.
Luo Chen was not worried about Xiao Bai coming to harm.
After refining a considerable amount of Soul Stones, Xiao Bai had reached the mid-stage of the fourth rank.
So long as Great Cultivators did not intervene, her ghost cultivator traits meant very few could pose a threat to her.
And on the Tiannan Continent, there were only two Great Cultivators, both residing at the Tiannan Dao Palace.
It was merely a trip to the Zhou family; as long as she exercised caution, perhaps not even Zhou Yunshen would detect her presence.
What worried him more was his avatar. Beginning cultivation at a mere six years of age was truly audacious to the extreme.
Were there no elders around him teaching him to cultivate step-by-step?
Though he had told Zhou Yunshen not to meddle excessively with the avatar's upbringing, surely parents and clan elders should have guided him in such fundamental matters!
"Perhaps an unexpected turn occurred somewhere," Luo Chen muttered, then resumed refining the Crimson Firmament Sword Qi.
Before reentering seclusion, he cast an utterly cold glance at the Hunyuan Cauldron.
...
Half a year later.
In a plaza within Bailu Marsh, more than thirty youths stood in neat formation, listening to the instructions of a white-haired elder.
"You have all surpassed the age of six, and must begin preparing for the spiritual root testing and cultivation that will take place six years from now.
"Next, I will impart a body-forging art to strengthen your physiques.
"Do not underestimate body refinement. In the future, if you test positive for spiritual roots and can cultivate, a robust physique will be of great help during early cultivation, at least enabling you to endure the pain of spiritual qi entering your body. Even if you lack spiritual roots, you can use this to embark on the martial path and protect yourselves in the mortal world, which counts as a viable skill."
The youths raised their voices, answering in unison.
The elder was well pleased with their response. Moving atop a raised platform, he performed a set of fist forms with gentle fluidity.
The fist technique was not especially formidable and held little lethal power, but it offered tremendous benefits for physical conditioning, conditioning many parts of the human body.
The youths followed along methodically, mimicking his moves.
Once they had committed the forms to memory, the elder ceased the demonstration and took a seat to the side, letting them practice on their own.
When someone ran into doubts and came to ask, he answered with patience, putting on no airs whatsoever.
The elder understood his place clearly: he was not some exalted cultivator, merely a mortal Xiantian martial artist who had been granted this post thanks to the clan's favor.
So long as he executed it well, he would not only receive life-prolonging pills for himself, but also establish abundant connections for his descendants.
After all, among this group of youths on the plaza, some were bound to possess spiritual roots and become revered immortal cultivators in the future.
Zhou Fuyou was among them.
Not only him—even his little sister, Zhou Qingyu, was at his side, following along to practice this body-strengthening fist art.
However, unlike Zhou Fuyou, who picked it up remarkably fast, Zhou Qingyu practiced very slowly, even struggling with her stamina; before long, beads of sweat dotted her face.
"Maomao, if you're tired, go rest."
"Brother, I'm not tired."
Excitement showed on the little girl's face; she seemed genuinely fascinated by cultivation.
Yet frail and sickly as she was, a single misstep tripped her up, sending her tumbling to the ground.
Zhou Fuyou hurried to help her up, gently blowing on the red scrape on her elbow.
Such a tender scene, however, elicited a scoff from nearby.
"If you're a sickly weakling, go rest properly. Why join the fuss here? Don't tell me you think you can become an immortal cultivator too!"
Gaze after gaze turned their way.
A shimmer of crystalline tears instantly welled in Zhou Qingyu's large eyes.
Zhou Fuyou lifted his head. His cold eyes settled on the boy standing not far away, and his voice came out bone-chillingly cold:
"Apologize!"
Chapter 1030