The moment the wooden box was opened, the broken jade token lay inside, exactly as expected. As for the green jade slip, a sweep of spiritual sense revealed it to be a set of annotations on the token's contents — every word brimming with profound mystery. After reading through it carefully, Han Li knew that while it would be impossible to fully comprehend and absorb everything immediately, the contents were almost certainly genuine.
He stored both items away and offered the boy a faint smile.
"Since Fellow Daoist has done as promised, I will not go back on my word. I will begin at once using a secret technique to slowly sever your Primordial Spirit from the Void Heaven Cauldron. However, this process will likely take several decades, so I would advise you not to be too impatient."
"Naturally. As long as I can regain my freedom before you ascend, that will suffice." The boy seemed quite satisfied with Han Li's commitment. Having said this, his figure flickered and the illusory image dissipated and vanished.
Han Li pondered for a moment, then opened his mouth and spat out a wash of cyan radiance that swept up the small cauldron. Within the glowing light, the cauldron rapidly shrank and vanished in a flash, swallowed into his mouth.
Almost simultaneously, the Nascent Soul that had been sitting in meditation within his body suddenly opened its tiny eyes. With a wave of its small hand, a cyan cauldron no more than an inch tall materialized strangely before it. The Nascent Soul then tossed the cauldron before itself, formed a series of hand seals, and a hazy cyan spiritual light immediately surged from its body, enveloping both the cauldron and the Nascent Soul within its glow. Through the misty radiance, what was happening inside could no longer be discerned.
All the while, Han Li's expression remained perfectly calm. His escape speed surged by several notches, and in the blink of an eye he vanished beyond the distant horizon.
Before long, across the various cultivation regions of the human world, reports began to emerge of a mysterious cultivator who specifically sought out rare treasures and obscure secret techniques. These items were invariably connected to spatial abilities or possessed formidable defensive power.
Yet this mysterious cultivator's standards were exceedingly high. In any given location, he would take interest in — and act upon — only a handful of things at most. Moreover, he moved with clean precision. Every time he appeared, his face, build, and attire were completely different. Whether he purchased items through coercion or bypassed restrictions to take them silently, no one could ever track him down.
The only thing that cultivators in the know could say with certainty was that this person's abilities were unfathomably deep. Even Nascent Soul cultivators were as helpless as children before him. Fortunately, the mysterious cultivator was after treasures and would at most wound his opponents — he never killed anyone.
Thus, while the sects and factions that lost their treasures and techniques felt deeply aggrieved, they were too afraid of his astonishing power to publicize the matter or launch any serious investigation. They could only lament their ill fortune.
As for ordinary cultivators, they knew nothing whatsoever of this mysterious cultivator's existence.
And so, year after year, time flowed on.
Seventy years later, on the summit of an unnamed mountain on the Tiansha Continent, the mysterious cultivator stood atop a boulder, gazing at two elderly men glaring furiously at him from the air. His expression was utterly blank.
He currently appeared as a middle-aged scholar with three long whiskers, dressed in a robe as black as ink.
The two elders were at the early and mid stages of the Nascent Soul respectively — among the very highest existence on the Tiansha Continent.
"No matter who you are, if you have any sense at all, hand over the Gold Shining Ring you stole. You managed to infiltrate our sect's most restricted area and steal the treasure, which means you must be at least a mid-stage Nascent Soul cultivator. How could someone of your standing engage in something so beneath their dignity?" One of the elders, a thick-browed man, spoke in a harsh, sinister tone.
Their opponent's escape speed had not been particularly fast, so after a prolonged chase the two had managed to catch up. But the mysterious figure was shrouded in impenetrable fog — they could not discern his cultivation level at all. This struck the two cultivators as peculiar, so they refrained from attacking immediately and instead probed with these words.
The mysterious cultivator's gaze flickered. He raised a hand, and an object shot forth, hurtling toward the speaking elder.
Startled, the elder reflexively reached out and caught the item in an invisible grip, drawing it into his hand.
It was a storage bag.
A flicker of confusion crossed the elder's face.
"The Gold Shining Ring is of great use to me. The spirit stones in the bag are payment for the treasure," the mysterious cultivator said, his expression unchanged, his voice slightly hoarse.
"Utterly absurd! The Gold Shining Ring is our sect's most sacred guardian treasure! No amount of spirit stones could make us sell it!" The elder was initially stunned by the quantity of spirit stones in the bag, but upon hearing the rest, his rage erupted.
"Then I'm afraid there's nothing more to be said. I won't be returning this treasure," the mysterious cultivator replied flatly.
"Hmph. Then, Fellow Daoist, you shall leave your life behind as well!" The other elder — a hawk-nosed man — suddenly spoke in a cold, venomous tone. He opened his mouth, and a streak of red light shot forth. In a single flicker, it arrived directly above the mysterious cultivator's head.
Seeing that their opponent had absolutely no intention of returning the treasure, this mid-stage Nascent Soul cultivator struck without a shred of mercy.
But what followed was an inconceivable sight.
The mysterious cultivator moved no treasure whatsoever. He simply traced a single arc through the air with one hand, and rings of hazy grey light appeared from nothingness, then swept upward in a spiraling wave.
The red streak was caught in the grey radiance and immediately shuddered. Its spiritual glow scattered in all directions, and it reverted to its true form — a tiny crimson sword, no more than a few inches long, glinting coldly.
Yet at this moment, the small sword was spinning ceaselessly within the grey light, utterly powerless, as though it had been stripped of all its strength.