The gentle hum of spiritual energy lingered over Spirit Stream Valley long after the sun climbed high into the sky, its golden light filtering through the dense pine canopy to cast dappled patterns on the stone ground. Lin Mo sat cross-legged on the weathered stone bench, his eyes still closed, his breathing slow and rhythmic as the Heavenly Immortal Art continued to circulate through his meridians. The vortex of spiritual energy around him had grown denser, twisting like a translucent serpent, drawing in every wisp of free spiritual energy in the valley and funneling it into his dantian. Where most outer sect disciples could only absorb a trickle of energy here, Lin Mo devoured it like a bottomless pit, his Six Paths Immortal Root acting as an unparalleled magnet, refining the raw energy into pure, unadulterated cultivation base.

Hours passed in the blink of an eye. When Lin Mo finally opened his eyes, a faint, golden light flickered in his pupils before fading away, leaving his gaze deep and serene, like a still lake hiding a raging current. He stretched his limbs slowly, and a soft crackle echoed from his bones—every muscle, every meridian had been strengthened tenfold by his breakthrough to Qi Refining Great Perfection. He could feel the boundless power swirling in his dantian, a far cry from the feeble, stagnant energy he had possessed just days prior. The Heavenly Immortal Art had not only repaired his damaged meridians but also unlocked a latent potential he had never dared to imagine. He stood up, his movements light and agile, as if he could leap to the top of the valley’s tallest tree with a single bound.

As he prepared to leave the valley, a soft, melodic rustle sounded behind him. Lin Mo turned swiftly, his hand tensing at his side, ready to unleash spiritual energy at a moment’s notice. To his surprise, there stood an old man in a simple gray linen robe, his white beard flowing down to his chest, his eyes crinkled with a kind smile. It was the Scripture Hall elder who had watched him from the clouds that morning—Elder Qing, as the outer sect disciples quietly called him, a reclusive figure who rarely left the Scripture Hall and was unknown to most young cultivators.

“Your control over spiritual energy is impressive for a newly promoted Great Perfection cultivator,” Elder Qing spoke slowly, his voice soft but carrying a faint, ancient resonance that made Lin Mo’s heart calm instantly. “The Heavenly Immortal Art flows through you without the slightest obstruction… a rare talent indeed. Most cultivators would take years to harness such power after a breakthrough, yet you have mastered it in a single morning.”

Lin Mo bowed respectfully, his posture humble despite his newfound strength. He knew better than to be arrogant in the face of a senior elder, especially one who had clearly been watching him. “Thank you for your praise, Elder. I am just fortunate to have found a suitable cultivation technique.”

Elder Qing chuckled, his eyes glinting with wisdom. “Fortune favors the prepared, child. You have endured years of hardship without breaking—this is not luck, but perseverance. Remember this: the path of immortality is paved with thorns, and strength alone is not enough to survive. Keep your heart steady, your mind sharp, and do not reveal all your cards too soon.” He flicked his sleeve gently, and a small, dark wooden token flew toward Lin Mo. The token was carved with a tiny cloud pattern, warm to the touch, emanating a faint protective aura. “Take this. It will shield you from minor spiritual attacks and mark you as a disciple under my informal observation. Use it wisely.”

Before Lin Mo could thank him, Elder Qing’s figure blurred, and he vanished without a trace, leaving only a wisp of faint spiritual energy in the air. Lin Mo clutched the wooden token tightly, a surge of gratitude warming his chest. He knew this elder was not just watching him—he was protecting him, a beacon of support in the treacherous Azure Cloud Sect.

But peace was short-lived. As Lin Mo walked out of Spirit Stream Valley, a group of disciples wearing the black robes of the inner sect blocked his path, their expressions haughty and disdainful. Unlike the outer sect disciples, these inner sect cultivators carried themselves with an air of superiority, their cultivation bases ranging from late-stage Qi Refining to the brink of Foundation Establishment. Leading them was a young man with a cold, handsome face, his brows furrowed in displeasure—Li Feng, an inner sect direct disciple of the Wang family’s affiliated elder, and a late-stage Qi Refining cultivator who had heard of Wang Chao’s defeat and come to exact revenge.

“Lin Mo, the outer sect trash who dares to lay hands on the Wang family’s kin,” Li Feng sneered, his