At the foot of Misty Rain Peak of the Wuwei Sword Sect lies the “Yunhua Cave,” a paradise that all righteous cultivators dream of entering. Those who emerge from Yunhua Cave see their powers greatly increased, and within ten years, they can ascend to immortality. Beneath the Cliff of Certain Death in Bonepile City is the “Bottomless Abyss,” dreaded by all demonic cultivators as if it were a venomous snake. Very few who fall in ever make it out, and those who do become peerless fiends, losing their true nature, becoming bloodthirsty and mad. Their ultimate fate is either dying in a frenzy or being hunted down by both righteous and demonic factions working together.

As for a demonic cultivator emerging from Yunhua Cave, or a righteous cultivator coming out of the Bottomless Abyss—such things have apparently never happened. This is only natural: righteous cultivators rarely set foot in demonic territory, and demonic cultivators are strictly forbidden from visiting righteous domains. The chances are slim to begin with.

On this day, it was the five-hundredth anniversary of Bonepile City’s founding. Grant Benson personally appeared atop the city walls to congratulate all the citizens of Bonepile City and to receive their congratulations in return. As dusk fell, the city became lively, filled with the clamor of voices and the beating of drums and gongs. Even cultivators enjoy a bit of revelry; otherwise, if they spent all day cultivating, they’d have gone mad from boredom long ago. The tremendous sounds were all produced using the cultivators’ true essence, and the drums and gongs were no ordinary objects—they were weapons used in battle, or painstakingly refined magical artifacts. How keen are a cultivator’s senses? The commotion in Bonepile City even startled the Wuwei Sword Sect three thousand miles away. The Wuwei Sword Sect values quiet cultivation above all. The sect’s ancestor, the current sect leader’s martial uncle, Earl BensonColin Foster, heard the noise and immediately felt annoyed. He summoned his junior, the current sect leader Nolan Clark, and asked, “What’s going on to the southeast? Why is it so noisy today?” The people of the Wuwei Sword Sect never like to mention having such a “troublesome neighbor,” so they always refer to them as “the southeast.”

Nolan Clark respectfully replied, “Martial uncle, today is their five-hundredth city anniversary, so they’re celebrating in a big way.” The old Daoist Colin Foster nodded, “Oh, so that’s it. Then just leave them be and let them make their noise. Notify the disciples below to rest well tonight, and not to concern themselves with any disturbances.” After thinking for a moment, he added, “In fact, let’s suspend tomorrow’s morning lesson as well, and let the young disciples have a day off.” Though the old Daoist was aged and frail, he was still very thoughtful. He knew that a five-hundred-year city anniversary naturally called for revelry, and he didn’t want to spoil their fun, so he instructed his disciples not to meddle.

Nolan Clark naturally followed the ancestor’s instructions, passing the word down layer by layer, even notifying the disciples still doing menial labor: no matter what happens tonight, do not cause trouble, and tomorrow’s morning lesson is suspended.

Back in Bonepile City, the festivities officially began. Grant Benson’s trusted aide, the deputy city lord Logan 'Seven-Arms' Clark, waved his hand, and three enormous portraits rose into the sky. These portraits, woven by the city lord’s guards over three days from the tough, sinewy poison-vine outside Bonepile City, depicted the three successive city lords, each image outlined by Logan Clark’s ghost sword. The last one, of course, was Grant Benson himself.

The celebration reached its climax, and cheers erupted throughout Bonepile City as Grant Benson’s figure slowly appeared atop the city wall. The citizens of Bonepile City called out his name loudly, the cries of “Grant Benson, Grant Benson” echoing to the heavens.

After delivering his congratulatory speech, Grant Benson left the city wall and returned to his city lord’s residence. He was about to face ascension, so maintaining inner peace was most important; he absolutely could not let such festivities disturb his mind. The sounds of celebration outside could not be heard at all once the heavy stone door of the secret chamber in the city lord’s residence was closed.

Inside the secret chamber, a fist-sized luminous pearl provided illumination, its gentle light casting a crystalline white glow over him. Grant Benson sat cross-legged in the chamber, and the two black flames in his eye sockets extinguished—signaling that he had closed his eyes.

No one knows how much time passed before those two flames reignited. Grant Benson stood up and opened a small square window in the chamber door. It was quiet outside; it was now the early hours of the morning, and the residents of Bonepile City were all asleep. Grant Benson left the secret chamber. It was the darkest part of the night, and a thought suddenly occurred to him: he was about to ascend, and though he had traveled the world, the only place he had never visited was the Wuwei Sword Sect, which was right next door. For the safety of Bonepile City, he had never set foot within the Wuwei Sword Sect’s territory. Now, with ascension imminent, if he didn’t go, wouldn’t that be a lifelong regret?

The more he thought about it, the more he felt he should go take a look—at the very least, circle around Misty Rain Peak and come right back. If he was careful, that old fossil Colin Foster probably wouldn’t notice. He nodded to himself, deciding to go.

Grant Benson silently made his way to the highest point in Bonepile City, the Bone-Watching Tower of the city lord’s residence. With his cultivation, even without a flying sword, he could travel ten thousand miles at will. He thought for a moment, didn’t inform the deputy city lord Logan Clark, and with a flash of white light, flew toward Misty Rain Peak.