Chapter 37: Do You Know How Much Effort It Took Me to Reach the Second Level of Qi Refining?

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When Gu Changqing finally saw the true form of the monstrous entity standing in the center of the room, the blood serpent coiled around his shoulder split into hundreds of crimson threads, weaving past the oncoming blood vessels and plunging straight into the creature’s face.

Facing the writhing mass of vessels that filled his entire vision like a thousand serpents surging forth, Gu Changqing’s arms and hands swelled with brute force. He swung his shield in a wide arc, stirring up a roaring gale.

Boom!

Countless blood vessels, thick as pythons, were battered aside. These vessels were even tougher than those outside; even as Gu Changqing swung his shield with all his might, it was nearly impossible to shatter them.

Even more vessels shot toward him.

Gu Changqing flailed his shield madly, striking the blood vessels away on either side. Yet within ten seconds, a thick vessel lashed across his waist, sending him hurtling several meters through the air.

Six or seven more vessels whipped down at him with ferocious force, each blow strong enough to shatter stone and brick.

He kept blocking with his shield, feeling the tremendous impact reverberate through his arm—yet the grin on his face only grew wider.

All around, he saw swathes of blood vessels starting to wither. Elsewhere in the building, the effect was even more pronounced.

Downstairs, vast expanses of flesh dried up and crumbled to dust, layers of fine ash drifting down to reveal the original walls beneath, though those surfaces were scarred and pitted beyond recognition.

The withering spread rapidly toward Gu Changqing’s position, reaching from the first floor up to the top floor in barely half a minute.

At that moment, Zhuo Zhipeng and Tan Li were both wrapped tightly in blood and flesh, feeling their strength draining away, their very breath on the verge of being snuffed out.

Strength, warmth, even thought—their senses were slipping away.

In their hearts, only despair remained, tinged with unwillingness.

But just as they were about to give up, their bodies suddenly felt light—the flesh that had been leeching the life from them abruptly dispersed, dissolving into swirling motes of dust.

“We… we survived?” Weak and spent, they lay on the floor, greedily sucking in air.

Only after their strength returned did they glance around. The room was filled with swirling dust, but they could just make out another person lying nearby.

“Are you alive?” Zhuo Zhipeng asked in a feeble voice.

“Alive… is it… over?” Tan Li gasped for breath.

“Qiao Renxia…” The two remembered the other man—yet there was no sign of movement from him.

As they struggled upright, pain twisted their faces; only then did they realize their skin was covered with fine cuts and scratches.

They found Qiao Renxia lying nearby—still alive, and finally let out a sigh of relief.

…

Gu Changqing himself was dust-covered and disheveled, but he hardly cared.

He watched as everything on the walls withered into fine dust. Then, the monstrous core and all the vessels connecting ceiling and floor were drained of blood and turned to ash.

Just before it crumbled, the monster’s tightly shut eyes cracked open a sliver, revealing an endless tide of blood-red.

But it lasted only a moment before the thing scattered into dust.

A dozen blood serpents then flew back, coiling around Gu Changqing, merging into one thick blood python—several times larger than before.

Where it had once been the thickness of a child’s arm and a meter long, it was now the girth of an adult’s arm and stretched a meter and a half. The human faces drifting across its blood-red surface were larger too, mottled like scales.

A thick surge of blood energy poured into Gu Changqing’s body, swiftly transforming into spiritual energy. It flowed from every part of him, gathering in his vital organs like winding streams merging into a river—a river that was expanding swiftly, growing wider by the second.

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No one knew how much time passed before Gu Changqing felt that inner river run up against a barrier. Suddenly, he understood: he had finally reached the peak of the first stage of Qi Refining.

Then the spiritual energy surged faster, and within a dozen heartbeats, the barrier shattered.

As the spiritual energy coursed through him, stimulating every cell, a wholly new sensation filled his being. He felt the world with greater clarity—especially the spiritual energy suspended in the air, as if it were now drawn toward him.

Yet this sensation lasted only a few moments before fading away.

The most significant change was that there was now another channel for the spiritual energy to flow through his body, and his reserves were far richer than before.

Controlling the blood serpent required spiritual energy, especially when splitting it into numerous threads or operating at distance—the greater the number and range, the higher the consumption.

Without replenishment, he could control a single blood serpent for at most five minutes; dozens of blood threads, barely two minutes before his energy was depleted.

There were many techniques in the Blood Prison Manual he hadn’t dared try.

Now, his spiritual energy reserves had doubled. He could control more blood, over a wider range, for longer periods; his capacity had grown as well.

Of course, being able to manipulate more blood meant greater consumption too.

Once the last of the blood energy converted to spiritual energy, Gu Changqing opened his eyes. He extended a finger, and a blood thread shot from its tip. Unlike before, this thread was blindingly fast—fully fifty percent quicker than before—piercing the wall like a bolt of lightning.

When he drew the blood thread back, there was a barely visible tiny hole in the wall, its edges corroded.

This was the simplest spell in the Blood Prison Manual: Blood Sea Needle.

Its speed was unmatched, and combined with the manual’s properties of corrosion, melting, refining, and absorption, its power was considerable—especially as the user’s strength grew.

But it did consume quite a lot of spiritual energy.

With his current reserves, he could cast it nine times before emptying his energy.

“Second level! Finally, the second level. How much effort, how many risks, how many sacrifices have I made? It took… it took… three and a half whole days to break through from the first to the second stage of Qi Refining!”

Feeling the surge of spiritual energy within, Gu Changqing grinned, baring his white teeth.

Although moving from the first to the second stage was the easiest part of cultivation, even the most gifted ordinary cultivator would need half a year or more of day and night effort.

Gu Changqing knew his rapid progress was thanks to the selfless “help” of the Yu family and these monstrous entities.

Three and a half days—but those days involved thirty disciples of the Yu family, two low-tier Feathered monstrosities, and one high-tier Feathered monstrosity.

And that wretched member of the Earth Alliance!

That high-tier monstrosity alone had provided more blood energy than all the others combined, boosting his progress enormously.

He glanced down at himself—his waist was bruised and his clothes shredded by that one blow. The outfit he had just changed into, worth thousands, was now ruined, and a large bruise marred his waist.

He was a little disgruntled, especially since the enemy hadn’t left him a thing!

He returned to the previous room to find the others lying on the ground, smeared in blood.

“Still alive?” Gu Changqing looked down. Zhuo Zhipeng and Tan Li raised their heads, their eyes full of resentment.

After all, both Zhuo Zhipeng and Qiao Renxia had been thrown in there by Gu Changqing, while Tan Li had been dragged in against his will.

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Gu Changqing reckoned these three human shields might still be of some use, so he decided to comfort them and ease their minds.

“Hate me, do you?” Gu Changqing sneered, looking down at them. “Get your heads straight. If I hadn’t done what I did, none of you would have survived!”

“Who do you think kept you alive in there?”

“It was because I was decisive—and strong enough! Meeting me was your stroke of luck.”

“If not, your families would already be collecting the death benefits!”

“In the end, you’re just not good enough. Figure that out for yourselves. Otherwise, just go and join the logistics team.”

The two looked at Gu Changqing, his clothes ragged and his waist bruised, and remembered the overwhelming surge of blood and flesh from earlier—their expressions grew complicated.

Gu Changqing, having said his piece, couldn’t be bothered to deal with them any longer. He jumped straight out the window.

There was still one more in the neighboring building, and he had already wasted enough time absorbing all that blood energy.

Even before he landed, he saw dozens of people standing below like puppets. They looked no different from ordinary folk, except their skin had a bluish pallor.

But they stood utterly motionless, as if carved from wood.

Crash!

Gu Changqing landed with a stomp on one person’s head. The dry, withered body crumbled like rotten wood, fragments flying everywhere.

The moment he touched down, he barreled to one side, smashing everything in his path to dust.

Then he felt several thin, threadlike strands stick to his body.

“Off!” Gu Changqing swung his shield and broke the threads, then crashed straight toward the next building.

This place was nothing like the deathly silence of the previous blood-meat tower. From within, he could hear the cries of children and the quarrels of couples—he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Through the mist, he saw that several households on the first floor had their lights on, with people standing at each window, staring at him.

One by one, they gazed blankly, unblinking, yet their mouths uttered the sounds of daily conversation, marital spats, children’s wailing.

Hearing a commotion from the top floor, he looked up and saw countless fine threads stretched across the air like a spider’s web.

Gu Changqing raised his shield over his head, crouched, and leapt up to the third floor. Gripping the windowsill, he hauled himself up two more stories.

In that brief glimpse, he had seen people standing at the third-floor windows—two of them a young couple in pajamas, and another in a deep blue uniform.

It was a short-haired young man from his own squad, his eyes lifeless as carved stone, the blood draining from his face, a bluish tinge creeping in.

Countless fine threads were attached to his body.

Just then, a red beam shot from the roof, streaking toward the entrance of the complex.

“Tch.” Gu Changqing’s expression was dismissive—he was, as expected, the most formidable.

He glanced upward. The edges of his shield were thick with white, web-like threads, and above him, countless more stretched across the air.