Cultivation Begins with Daily Intelligence Reports

43: Burning Blood Secret TechniqueLightning light raged, and the booming sound in the cave was like ten thousand drums beating together, vibrating so hard the eardrums felt like they would burst.

The entire cave shook, as if an earth dragon were turning over.

Rubble fell from the cave ceiling like a rainstorm, and dust rose into the sky, mixed with the pungent stench of charring and burning flesh.

Blinding purple light swallowed all other light, completely engulfing Chen Biao, the Grand-Uncle’s figure.

The protective spiritual light on his body, which had lit up in haste and was as thin as a cicada’s wing, vanished silently like snow under the sun.

A string of bone bead Magical Artifacts at his waist had just begun to emit a faint black light before they shattered inch by inch in the violent Lightning Balefire, turning into powder.

”No—!” The shrill, desperate scream only managed to reach halfway before it was completely drowned out by the even more violent thunder.

The violent power of the Lightning Balefire tore at his body frantically, and his protective robes were instantly charred and carbonized.

Flesh sizzled under the high temperature, and the smell of char and nauseating roasted meat filled the air.

Chen Biao, the Grand-Uncle’s eyes were wide like copper bells, his eyeballs burst, and he ”stared” hollowly toward the cave entrance, frozen in an expression of endless resentment and horror.

A sound like a broken bellows came from his throat, as if silently accusing.

Even in death, he couldn’t understand how a mere ant at the Qi Refining Second Layer could possess such a Heaven-Defying killing weapon.

That immense Opportunity... should have been mine... Before the thought could finish, the violent aftershocks of the lightning swept through like the final scythe of the Grim Reaper.

His charcoal-like body could no longer maintain its form; with a soft ”poof,” it disintegrated inch by inch, turning into flying ash.

Along with all his ambition, greed, and sin, it all returned to dust.

The lightning light continued to rage like an invisible giant plow, forcibly scraping a thick layer off the ground to reveal the charred rock beneath.

The lightning light gradually faded, and dust filled the air like a thick fog.

There was a dead silence inside the cave, with only the ”patter” of falling rubble sounding like the echoes of a funeral bell.

The campfire had long since been annihilated, leaving only a circle of charred marks.

On the charred ground, a piece of charcoal that barely maintained a human shape curled up, emitting wisps of blue smoke.

Only a gray, unremarkable leather Storage Pouch lay quietly among the charred ashes.

Exhausted and limp, his mind was clear and unburdened.

*Thud.*

The exhausted Lin Jingyu, like soft mud with its spine removed, collapsed heavily to the ground, leaning his back against the cold rock wall.

His muscles were sore and weak, his Meridians stung as if burned by fire, and his Dantian was as empty as a desert.

Cold sweat soaked his clothes, clinging to his skin and bringing waves of chilliness.

But in his heart, a wave of unprecedented, almost trembling relief surged.

It was as if a riverbed blocked for many years had been burst open by a flood, sweeping away all the accumulated turbid Qi.

Killing his enemy with his own hands. His thoughts were clear.

This pure pleasure of revenge was like the strongest wine, burning through his limbs and bones, far exceeding the brief triumph he felt when plotting against Lin Chengyuan yesterday.

He breathed greedily, each inhalation carrying the lingering scent of char, blood, and dust in the cave.

His Sea of Consciousness was clearer than ever before, as if it had been washed clean by the lightning.

Even the circulation path of the Evergreen Art in his body seemed to have become clearer and smoother.

A trace of weak but pure spiritual power actually began to grow spontaneously from his parched Dantian, flowing slowly.

Forcing himself to sit cross-legged, he tremblingly took out a Low Grade Qi-Restoring Pill from his robes—one he hadn’t been willing to eat before, left by the original owner—and popped it into his mouth.

The pill was bitter, but it turned into a warm, moist current that slowly nourished his parched and stinging Meridians.

After about seven or eight minutes, he barely regained a bit of mobility.

He struggled to stand up, his steps unsteady, his gaze sweeping over the human-shaped scorch marks and flying ash.

”You Black Wind Stockade beast, letting you die directly under the Lightning Talisman is letting you off easy. If I had my way, I’d have chopped you into minced meat and made buns to feed the dogs.”

His gaze then accurately locked onto the ash-covered but intact leather Storage Pouch beside the scorch marks.

His heart skipped a beat.

”A Storage Pouch?” Wild joy instantly dispersed his fatigue and weakness, like a shot of adrenaline.

The signature equipment of a Qi Refining Mid-Stage Cultivator, worth nearly two hundred Spirit Stones.

A true unexpected surprise.

He quickly inspected the cave.

Aside from the scorch marks, ashes, fallen rubble, and a few dull Spirit Stone fragments, there was nothing else.

He didn’t dare stay long; the commotion here was too great.

He stumbled out of the cave, walked several hundred yards, and found a very well-hidden crevice covered by vines to hide in. He held his breath and concentrated, pushing the Evergreen Art to its limit to sense his surroundings.

After confirming that no spiritual power fluctuations were tracking him and that no birds or beasts were startled, his heart settled slightly.

Only then did he tremblingly and carefully pick up that leather Storage Pouch.

The pouch felt rough and cold to the touch, carrying a trace of Chen Biao, the Grand-Uncle’s lingering bloody scent.

He tried to inject a tiny bit of spiritual power.

The mouth of the bag actually opened with a ”pop” without any resistance.

”It seems to be the most common type of Storage Pouch, one that can’t be locked with the owner’s spiritual power imprint.”

Lin Jingyu felt greatly relieved and let out a long sigh.

If there were a spiritual power lock, with his level at the Qi Refining Second Layer, it would probably take ten days to half a month of spiritual power flushing to break it open.

He couldn’t wait to open the Storage Pouch.

A hazy space about three feet square appeared before his eyes.

The most eye-catching thing was a small pile of neatly stacked Low-Grade Spirit Stones emitting a soft white light; a quick scan showed no fewer than a hundred of them.

Scattered beside them were several warm-colored Jade Slips engraved with runes, and over a dozen bottles and jars of various colors with labels attached.

A few oddly styled, dimly glowing Magical Artifacts were piled haphazardly in a corner.

There were also a few sets of blood-stained clothes... and a thin booklet sewn from an unknown dark brown beast skin with no title on the cover, lying quietly next to the pile of Spirit Stones, exuding an air of age and evil.

The booklet felt heavy and cold in his hand, as if wisps of yin-chill Qi were leaking out.

Flipping it open, the inner pages were filled with messy handwriting that seemed to penetrate the paper, carrying a sharp, murderous aura—”Blood Burning Secret Art.”

Burning Blood Secret Technique, a life-risking trump card.

Lin Jingyu’s pupils shrank suddenly.

”Blood Burning Secret Art?”

He quickly browsed the opening summary, and his mind was shaken.

”Circulate with special spiritual power to ignite one’s own essence blood Origin, briefly exploding in cultivation and combat power... at a heavy cost...”

”Depletion of essence blood, shaking of the Foundation... if maintained for too long, the Dao Foundation will collapse, and the Realm will drop...”

”This... this is the wicked secret technique used by the Black Wind Stockade Bandit Cultivators when Lin Chengyuan and the others were besieging the ’Fat Sheep’ Fei Yangyang.”

His breathing couldn’t help but quicken.

If activated for a short time, the loss of essence blood could still be compensated for.

But if the fierce battle continued... at best, one’s cultivation would regress; at worst, one would die and their Dao would vanish.

”What a vicious and overbearing technique.” His eyes were solemn, yet a flash of heat crossed them.

”In a desperate situation, it’s a trump card to risk one’s life and turn the tables.”

He carefully placed the booklet into his robes, hiding it close to his body; this was a double-edged sword.

If used well, it could be considered a life-saving trump card, capable of making him unexpectedly stronger.

If used improperly, not to mention death, his path of immortal cultivation would certainly be severed.