Chapter 8: The Wisdom of a Mahayana-Stage Practitioner

All kinds of spiritual treasures shone and intertwined, weaving a flowing neon tapestry that weighed heavily on the waters outside the Dragon Palace.

Beyond the Dragon Palace, a group of cultivators in various garb had gathered outside its gates, brandishing swords and spiritual treasures as they shouted threats toward the palace.

Though their voices were loud, there was a trace of caution and awe in their eyes.

This was respect for the East Sea Dragon Lord, and a careful regard for their own lives.

Suddenly, Black Dragon Aura surged around Qin Qingyue, her armor’s Dragon Scales coming alive, emitting a subtle metallic hum.

She gripped her Spear, her loose black hair swirling, and strode slowly to the palace gates, her beautiful eyes cold and indifferent.

Jiang Huai remained at the entrance, his brows tightly furrowed as he surveyed the scene before him.

It felt like a dream—just days ago, he had been an ordinary man, settling accounts, working to make ends meet, and caring for his family. His life was mundane and unlucky.

But now, he was witnessing a showdown between the world’s top cultivators, their auras clashing, revealing extraordinary might at the bottom of this river.

Though they were outnumbered, watching Qin Qingyue’s tall, commanding figure, Jiang Huai felt that these challengers were nothing to her.

“Qin Qingyue! You killed my granddaughter and stole her fated treasure! Today, I shall avenge her!” the leading female cultivator shouted angrily.

Qin Qingyue stood with her Spear, heroic and unyielding, her lips curling in disdain.

“The cultivation world is just like this. Your granddaughter got a Secret Realm opportunity—naturally, I wanted to take it. In the Secret Realm, it’s survival of the fittest.”

“If I’d gotten the opportunity, wouldn’t someone have come to take it from me? Would you have avenged me then?”

“Besides, how long ago was that? I’ve long since used up what I took. Do you really think I’d give it back if you asked?”

The woman was so furious she could barely speak, pointing at Qin Qingyue and sputtering, “You… you Demonic Dragon!”

“What about me? You and your granddaughter are the same—useless.” Qin Qingyue dismissed her with a glance and looked to the others.

She had no patience for these people from great sects, raised like flowers in a greenhouse. No matter how high their cultivation, she looked down on them.

“A Demonic Dragon wreaks havoc on the world, slaughtering the innocent! Today, this Monk shall act for the heavens and subdue this Evil Being!” The Monk’s voice boomed, his staff striking the ground.

Another shouted, “Qin Qingyue, you damned Demonic Overlord! To increase your power, you’ve killed millions!”

“You’ve committed Great Sins—unforgivable, your crimes fill volumes!”

One after another, Qin Qingyue swept her gaze over their familiar faces—all people with whom she had enmity.

Climbing up from the bottom, never joining any sect, neither Righteous nor Demonic Path would accept her.

To advance her cultivation and seize resources, she had offended countless people—today was just a small gathering of them.

“Seeking vengeance? Fine.”

“Will you come at me one by one, or all at once?”

Qin Qingyue stood proud, Spear in hand, black aura blazing like fire, her long hair whipping wildly in the surging currents. Her stunning face was frosted with cold, Dragon pupils brimming with undisguised contempt and killing intent.

The leading old woman snorted, swinging her sword. “Of course we’ll—”

She hadn’t finished when black mist surged, and a fierce wind rose.

Qin Qingyue made no sign or incantation; the entire Dragon Palace, along with Jiang Huai’s location, was swallowed by the sudden, pitch-black Dragon Mist.

The wind didn’t come from outside—it was whipped up by the rolling black mist. Spiritual sense vanished into it like stones sinking into the sea, and not even a hand could be seen before one’s face.

“Not good! The Demonic Dragon is escaping!”

“Attack!” the old woman yelled, waving her sword and urging the others forward.

But no one dared advance, at most casting a few talismans into the mist.

In this black fog, not only was nothing visible, but even spiritual sense couldn’t penetrate. With Qin Qingyue’s strength, whoever entered would die.

Who would dare go forward in such a situation?

The Dragon Mist came quickly and receded even faster, as if sucked away by a giant invisible mouth.

All that remained was the empty riverbed—no sign of Qin Qingyue or the Dragon Palace. Not even a trace of their presence lingered.

“You people! Ah!” The old woman sighed, waving her sword twice in frustration.

Such a golden opportunity was gone.

A thousand miles away, Jiang Huai lay atop the Black Dragon’s head, watching the scenery race by, utterly dumbfounded.

After all that bluster—Spear in hand, sharp words, facing down the enemy—he never expected her to simply flee.

“What’s wrong? Didn’t expect this Lord to retreat?” Qin Qingyue’s voice sounded in Jiang Huai’s ear.

Jiang Huai laughed sheepishly, lying on the Dragon Scales beneath him, their unique texture both hard and supple.

“I thought you’d fight them all and defeat them.”

Qin Qingyue’s air of absolute dominance was infectious—Jiang Huai had been expecting a grand spectacle.

“No need for that. If it really came to a fight, I’m confident I could kill them all, but it’d be troublesome.”

“They stormed in here, so the initiative is in their hands. Who knows what tricks they’ve prepared?”

“Better to retreat now and deal with them one by one, rather than show off for nothing. That kind of thing is more Wu Zhaohua’s style.” Qin Qingyue flicked her tail, speeding up, her tone relaxed.

After so many years rising through the cultivation world, she no longer saw retreat as shameful—rather, it was wisdom.

Strike hard when necessary; withdraw without hesitation when at a disadvantage.

Without such cunning, she’d have died in some Secret Realm long ago.

“You have a point,” Jiang Huai said approvingly.

“Besides, with my Dragon Mist, those scheming fools wouldn’t dare chase us. It’s enough to get away,” Qin Qingyue said confidently.

She firmly believed that people were selfish—whether mortal or cultivator, Qi Refining or Great Ascension, everyone hid a selfish heart.

In such danger, none of them would dare pursue. They would have to try again later.

When they found her next, the initiative would be hers.

Jiang Huai pondered for a moment, then said:

“To attack Qin with tenfold the land and a million soldiers—”

“The Qin opened their gates to lure the enemy, and the armies of nine states hesitated, not daring to advance.”

“Qin lost not a single arrow or spear, and all the lords of the realm were exhausted.”

Qin Qingyue slowed, her tone puzzled.

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, just saying you’re smart.” Jiang Huai gently stroked the uniquely textured Dragon Scales beneath him.

“Hmph!”

Qin Qingyue snorted, then quickly found a safe place to descend and spat out the Dragon Palace, her Space Treasure.

“Let’s rest here for now.”

She was quite curious about this “husband” of hers—after all, he was the only living thing allowed at her side.

“What are you all gathered here for?”

At the riverbed, Wu Zhaohua strode across the water, her white robes immaculate as fresh snow.

She had changed outfits, her alluring figure wrapped in white.

Though her sword at her waist remained sheathed, a vast, mountain-like aura silently enveloped the river, making even the current seem to slow.

“You’re… the Da Zongzhu of Wenxuan Sect, Wu Zhaohua?” The old woman started, immediately recognizing her.

She was among the most powerful cultivators of the age, her Great Ascension strength no less than Qin Qingyue’s.

“Correct, I am she.”

Wu Zhaohua cupped her hands to the crowd in greeting, then asked:

“Have any of you seen a Beast here? Or a man?”

She hadn’t found Jiang Huai, but she had found a field of Corpses, apparently slain by a Beast—but none of them were Jiang Huai.

At Wu Zhaohua’s side, Qi Yuyong stood tall, chin raised.

She still held Lin Cai in one hand, giving the crowd only a slight nod—a pride and confidence befitting a top sect’s disciple.

Since her Master Sister overcame her tribulation and returned to the sect, Qi Yuyong’s confidence had soared. Now, as a true Great Ascension sect, she no longer needed to tread so carefully.

“There’s no Beast here, but there was a Demonic Dragon. Qin Qingyue just left,” a young woman sighed.

“She escaped again. When will our vengeance be served?”

“Qin Qingyue? She was here?” Wu Zhaohua’s brows knitted, a sense of foreboding rising in her heart.

The Monk pondered, then said, “Da Zongzhu, as for a man, I did see one.”

“When Qin Qingyue emerged from her Dragon Palace, the gates open, there was a man leaning against the door, looking very young.”

“And he was dressed like a mortal, in plain linen clothes…”

Wu Zhaohua’s mind thundered—this had to be Jiang Huai. He’d fallen into that mad dragon’s hands?!

She dared not imagine what Qin Qingyue might do to him.

“Pursue them!”

Her voice rose sharply, her gaze like lightning sweeping the crowd. The full might of a Great Ascension cultivator pressed down without restraint.

“Find him, and Wenxuan Sect will reward you handsomely!”