Chapter 1: Still Warm Enough to Savor

Gu Changqing packed his belongings, though there was little to gather—just a tattered piece of clothing and two coarse grain cakes, the kind that scratched at the throat with every bite. The only other possession was a hatchet, its blade pitted with rust and nicks the size of rice grains; this was the most valuable item his entire family owned.

He had been in this world for five days now and found it unbearable. The place was surrounded by mountains and wild beasts. The village was home to barely a few dozen households, not a single woman worth a second glance, and meals were an uncertain affair—sometimes hungry, sometimes half-full, always a meager cake and a bit of boiled wild greens.

His throat burned with every swallow, even saliva felt like swallowing shards of glass—all from eating those harsh cakes. He thought to himself: anyone who wants to stay here can, but he would rather die than remain trapped in these mountains.

As for wild beasts, he figured a quick slide-and-dash would suffice. In his previous life, he had some martial training, and with the hatchet in hand, he was confident enough against common beasts.

“Hey, boy from the Li family, where are you off to?” A burly woman called out just as he stepped out the door.

This body had once belonged to someone surnamed Li.

“I’m going to Wang Family Village,” Gu Changqing replied gruffly.

It was several dozen miles to Wang Village. Every few months, a merchant caravan would visit, and people from the surrounding villages would bring animal hides and herbs to trade for salt.

“You can’t make the journey alone! Last time, seven or eight lads went and almost got eaten by wolves!”

Gu Changqing ignored her. He was determined to leave. The next chance to go to Wang Village for trade wouldn’t come for two months, and he couldn’t last even a couple more days here.

He strode quickly toward the village entrance, only to hear a commotion outside.

“What happened? What’s going on?”

“Little Third was dragged off by a tiger on the road… we barely managed to bring back his body… luckily the tiger wasn’t hungry…”

Gu Changqing squeezed past the crowd and saw some of the village hunters, two of whom wore expressions of deep sorrow. On the ground lay half a person—only the upper body remained, mangled and incomplete. The lower half was missing.

Before long, the villagers gathered around, and the sound of grief-stricken wailing rose at the village gate. “My boy… my boy…”

Gu Changqing paused in silence, then turned back to his hut, shouldering his bundle. He decided he could endure a little longer; there was no need to rush.

…

That night, Gu Changqing sat in the yard, gazing at a strange unfamiliar sky. No internet, no phones—how was he supposed to live like this? In two months, when the merchant caravan arrived at Wang Village, he’d join the other men and find a way to follow them to the county town, then find a way to earn some money.

With his knack for business, making a living should be no trouble. His father had taught him from a young age: business was simply the art of turning other people’s money into your own. Sometimes the middle steps could be skipped—the core was all that mattered.

Lost in his plans, Gu Changqing suddenly saw a streak of blood-red light speeding across the sky. “What on earth?” He sprang to his feet. That was no shooting star; it wavered and faltered in the air as if about to fall.

As it drew closer, he thought he glimpsed a human figure within the crimson glow, which then crashed down on the outskirts of the village.

“Damn, is that a cultivator?” Gu Changqing didn’t recall anything like that from the memories of this body, but he reacted immediately.

He dashed inside for his hatchet, snagged a torch and some dry grass from the village wall, and hurried toward where the blood light had fallen.

This was an opportunity not to be missed!

He ran more than two miles beyond the village under the starry sky, clutching his hatchet tightly, scanning for any sign. He was wary—after all, beasts were especially active at night—but for the sake of whatever had fallen from that blood light, he was willing to risk it.

He searched for over an hour before finally noticing broken branches and trampled undergrowth at the edge of a forest.

Staring into the darkness, Gu Changqing calmed himself. He had no idea what lay within—friend or foe—but he knew one thing: if whoever was inside wanted his life, he probably wouldn’t even have a chance to fight back.

So there was no rush to go in.

He’d seen how unsteady the figure in the blood light had been; after falling from such a height, perhaps by dawn the person would be dead or dying. Even if not, he could observe from afar in daylight.

With that, Gu Changqing retreated a few steps and sat down by the edge of a field.

After about ten minutes, he heard coughing from within the woods, followed by a weak voice: “Who’s out there?”

Gu Changqing grew even more cautious and kept silent.

“No use hiding, I can hear your breathing,” the voice called again.

Still saying nothing, Gu Changqing crept a few steps to the side, and then a few more.

A fit of violent coughing followed, the voice growing fainter. “I am a disciple of the Daoist Sect. I encountered a demon while descending the mountain and fought him, but was defeated. Now grievously wounded, I fear I will not return to my sect…”

“Come here. I have something to give you. Take it back to the Daoist Sect, and it will be your fortune!”

Gu Changqing listened to the direction of the voice and moved quietly. How he wished he had a gun—one shot and he could claim the treasure.

“You’re a cautious one, I’ll grant you that. So be it, my fate is sealed… Remember to return my item to the Daoist Sect… It’s a pity; I had hoped to pass on my legacy before death, to find a successor…” The voice faded to a whisper.

Gu Changqing’s heart raced, but he did not move. He suspected cultivators would have healing techniques—by morning, the man might recover. Then not only himself, but the whole village could be wiped out.

But seeing how desperate the man was to lure him in, he was reassured. This was no good person.

He waited until the sky brightened and the sun began to rise, then found a fist-sized rock among the grass, climbed from the field, and headed for the forest’s edge.

The man had never left the woods; Gu Changqing knew his injuries must be dire.

At the forest’s edge, he spotted a body in the tangled weeds—a man in a tattered purple robe, missing a leg and an arm, his body torn and bloodied, lying utterly motionless as if already dead.

Gu Changqing hurled the rock at the man’s head. No reaction.

He threw a few more stones—still nothing.

“Dead?” Gu Changqing sighed in relief and approached. But as he drew within a few meters, his foot caught something and he stumbled, the hatchet in his hand swinging down toward the man’s neck.

The corpse’s eyes flew open, filled with malice and rage. “You little—!”

The sneer hadn’t even formed when the hatchet struck.

Thunk!

This man was Kou Dahai, an ordinary demonic cultivator who had, by chance, obtained the legacy of a demon lord. Pursued by righteous cultivators, he was gravely wounded in battle. Fleeing for his life, he spotted the village, hoping to slaughter and devour its people to recover his strength.

But his injuries were too severe. He crashed before reaching the village, unable to move, awaiting death.

When Gu Changqing approached, hope flared—if he could only drain the boy’s blood, he might recover a little. Then, he could slaughter the villagers.

But the lad was cunning, waiting outside all night, never drawing near. Kou Dahai’s anger burned, wishing he could flay the boy alive.

By morning, he was half-delirious, jolted back to alertness only when struck by the rocks. He thought he’d finally caught his prey—only to look up into the swing of a hatchet.

A demonic cultivator, dead at the hands of a mere villager.

“Sorry, I slipped and lost my grip. Let me help you pull that out…” Gu Changqing yanked the hatchet free and swung again. Again and again, until he’d severed the man’s head, finally relaxing.

He rifled through the body, eventually finding a small bag. Heart pounding, he hoped for a cultivator’s storage pouch, but inside was only a regular pouch, made of some unknown but supple material.

Inside, he found a jade knife, palm-sized, and a bead the size of a thumb.

He dragged Kou Dahai’s body into the woods, then settled down to study the jade knife and bead.

The knife was inscribed with countless tiny characters. As soon as Gu Changqing touched it, blood-red letters appeared in his mind.

“Blood and Flesh Refining Method.”

“So books of cultivation are this straightforward?” he mused. “The meaning is instantly grasped, unlike mundane writing, which might not be so easily understood, much less practiced.”

His expression shifted, brows knitting, but then he let out a slow breath.

“This technique is not a gentle one; all living things possess spirit, and this method refines their flesh and blood to replenish one’s own life force. It’s vicious in the extreme.”

“Moreover, it has almost no entry requirements.”

“And I have no other choice.”

What is most important in cultivation? To cultivate, of course!

To obtain a technique like this—what luck!

Gu Changqing’s eyes gleamed. “That man’s body—perhaps it’s not too late!”

According to the method, the essence must be drawn from living beings, but after death the energy quickly dissipates. Still, as a cultivator, perhaps there is some left…

Life is precious; the dead wouldn’t care.

Gu Changqing hurried back to the corpse, glanced at the jade knife, and stabbed it into the man’s chest.

Fine crimson lines snaked along the blade, filling it with a strange, eerie power.

He felt streams of warmth seep from his palm into his body, spreading through his limbs, bringing a faint swelling sensation wherever they passed.

Then, nothing.

“What a pity…” Gu Changqing opened his eyes, disappointed.

Just as the manual said: once dead, the energy disperses.

He’d wasted too much time reading the technique. Even the body of a cultivator offered little benefit now.

He flexed his fists—he did feel a bit stronger, his vitality a bit fuller.

He looked down and his eyebrows shot up. All that remained of the corpse was a skin-wrapped skeleton, the flesh utterly gone.

“No one can ever know about this technique…”

He understood at once. This was a cruel and wicked art—the darkest of dark cultivation. If discovered, he’d be hunted down by all, righteous and wicked alike.

He tossed the body aside and examined the bead.

When in doubt, add a drop of blood.

The bead suddenly flew into his forehead. Startled, Gu Changqing was enveloped in white mist.

Within his mind, he saw the bead—inside, a passage leading to another… world!

With a thought, his figure vanished from that spot.

…

Half an hour after Gu Changqing disappeared, two figures arrived at the village outskirts—a man and a woman. The man was handsome in white, the woman, proud and cold, wore a blue dress and looked barely twenty.

“I didn’t expect Kou Dahai to have a Blood Escape Talisman and flee this far.”

“With injuries like his, he couldn’t have gotten far. He would have sought someone to devour and recover his strength.”

“If he escaped with the treasure left by the Blood Lord, he’d be a disaster for the world. We must not let him escape.”