Chapter Sixty-Two: Establishing the Palace of the Heart (Second Chapter After Release – Please Subscribe and Vote for Monthly Tickets)

Interior world—utter silence.

And after that absolute silence, a thunderous roar, as if the heavens and earth themselves were being torn open.

Yunqi sensed it clearly: the fireball representing his heart’s aperture suddenly contracted, shrinking to a single, infinitesimal point of light, then exploded outward in a rush, blossoming into a vivid crimson nebula.

But this nebula was no longer veiled or indistinct—each filament was sharply visible, illuminating the entire inner landscape, its brilliance even outshining the “Peach Capital.”

Within the nebula, a blood-red river wound into existence, flowing in a spiral with no visible source or end, hidden among the stars. Yunqi understood: this was the manifestation of his own vital blood. With this river coursing through him, so long as his heart was not pierced or his throat cut, even grave wounds could heal; even severed limbs could be restored.

Next, an immense surge of vitality erupted from the blood river, spreading to every corner of the inner world. For a fleeting instant, this life force overwhelmed even the deathly aura brought by the true fiendish energy rushing through his apertures. In that moment, Yunqi felt a power unlike anything he had ever known.

For a heartbeat, the skin and hair destroyed by the fiendish energy began to regenerate.

This vitality, this power, intoxicated Yunqi. It was an all-conquering joy, an incomparable comfort, a sensation beyond words.

As the master of this flesh, Yunqi knew what it meant.

The Heart Palace opened—a life extended by thirty years.

Within the blood river sat a solitary figure, face obscured, clad in a striking red robe. He might have been called the New Year Daoist, or the Star Lord of Sirius, yet the aura surrounding him—of darkness before his words, infinite brilliance after—remained unchanged.

This was the spirit of Cheng Yunqi’s inner world. From now on, the movement of blood, the absorption of vital fire, command over the apertures, the crafting of talismans—none would require conscious effort.

The Palace of Light before the Heart Palace drifted slowly toward the depths of the blood river. Bathed in the glow of the nebula and the river, it solidified, settling into place. The inscription on its plaque shifted of its own accord, reading “Palace of Radiant Heart.”

The spirit entered the palace and sat with the stillness of a god or Buddha.

In that fleeting moment, the gray torrent of true fiendish energy surged into the heart aperture. Yet now, the Heart Palace blazed with light, blood energy surging forth, firmly resisting the gray flood, as if declaring: this place is claimed!

Bolstered by the newly-won vitality, as if rooted in the midst of a raging flood, the Heart Palace stood unshaken, no matter how the fiendish energy battered it.

But the other organs, like the minor apertures throughout the body, were not so fortunate. The fiendish energy clogged them; liver, spleen, lungs, kidneys—all dimmed, one by one. Yunqi watched from above, unable to describe the feeling.

At length—perhaps only an instant, though it seemed endless to Yunqi—the gray flood reached the Purple Gate.

The “Peach Capital” flared once more, dazzling swords circling like a fiery dragon’s coil, treating the fiendish energy as an enemy; any wisp that approached was instantly cut down, not a thread could penetrate the Purple Gate.

Seeing this, Yunqi finally breathed a sigh of relief. His life, at least, was spared.

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This “poison miasma” wouldn’t ravage him for much longer, for Yunqi could feel that every aperture and meridian in his body was now saturated with the stuff. He was like a dried-out melon rind tossed into water—once it had absorbed all it could, what more could the water do to it?

His thoughts returned to the external world, and he opened his eyes.

Thanks to that surge of vitality, his appearance had returned to normal from the ghastly visage of a blood corpse. The essence still lingered within him, slowly dissipating, but for now, it served as the perfect talisman to stave off death.

He rolled his eyes, only to find that was all he could move.

His body felt wooden, like a clay statue—he still lay atop the “Dragon Carriage,” but could not control the cloud-chariot; his meridians were clogged, not a trace of magic could flow.

He rolled his eyes again, and at last, a solution came to him.

Though his meridians blocked the flow of magic, his mind was unfettered. He sent a thread of consciousness probing into the stone loop on his wrist.

The Golden Aspect Sect’s gift truly was extraordinary. The stone loop was unharmed by the fiendish energy—understandable, as it was a treasure of void-space—but Yunqi was pleasantly surprised to find that the white cord threading the stone had also emerged unscathed.

Within the stone loop, he found few items, but a quick scan revealed a yellow talisman. On its surface, cloud-script was inscribed, forming a pattern of auspicious clouds encircling a cluster of violet dots arranged in the shape of the Big Dipper.

His consciousness focused on the handle of the Dipper; as his intent merged with the rune’s magic, the “Dragon Carriage” stirred beneath him.

Yunqi wished to laugh, but could not.

And so, the “Dragon Carriage” slowly began to ascend with Yunqi aboard. Though it swayed precariously in the howling wind, sometimes tossed downward, rising and falling, its path was ultimately upward.

Now, he no longer needed to fear the fiendish energy he had once thought was poison miasma. He pressed forward like a carp swimming upstream. Along the way, he glimpsed the corpses of Miao tribesmen, the demon cultivators of the Hundred Barbarians Mountain, and those of Shudao. He felt no urge to retrieve his fallen kin; he simply could not. In such “miasma,” a corpse would either be dried out and mummified, or eventually scoured to dust by the fire-winds rising from below. In any case, this place was the furthest thing from damp or dark—corpse transformation was impossible.

But he did not see Li Yingqiong, and wondered whether that piece of ten-thousand-year-cold jade could preserve her.

He did not know how long it took, only that his focus nearly wore away all the magic from the talisman before at last he glimpsed daylight.

Had the rain finally stopped? Yunqi wondered.

Around Rotten Peach Mountain, the red-haired patriarch, the green-robed patriarch, Li Yuanhua, Hong Changbao, Xin Chenzi, and Liu Tianfang—all of whom had ceased their struggles at some unknown point—watched the mountain’s center with strange expressions. Amid the swirling fiendish lights, a red cloud slowly rose, bearing a young Daoist atop it.

“Who is that? Did anyone besides Wen Sukong go down there?” asked the red-haired patriarch.

Liu Tianfang squinted, incredulous. “It looks like her disciple—Cheng Qiqing?”

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“And where is Wen Sukong?”

“Still searching below, perhaps?” Hong Changbao ventured, seeing that no one else replied to his master.

The red-haired patriarch waved his hand, summoning the red cloud closer. He smiled—this one was a fine candidate for the fire-forging path.

As the red cloud neared, everyone saw the young Daoist clearly. None present were ordinary folk; they saw at a glance that this first-realm novice had been utterly ravaged by the fiendish surge—his body was little better than a corpse. Yet he’d managed to preserve his heart aperture and Purple Gate, clawing his way back to life.

“Call Wen Sukong out, quickly!” the red-haired patriarch urged.

Hong Changbao obeyed, not daring to enter the cavern. He simply called out from afar, “Sister Wen! Sister Wen!”

Yunqi, meanwhile, could only wish he had died in the cavern below. Heaven knew why there were so many people above Rotten Peach Mountain!

And he wasn’t even wearing a thread.

The red-haired and green-robed patriarchs exchanged glances, both noticing the green dragon-scale clinging to Yunqi’s chest.

At that moment, Wen Sukong, having searched the cavern in vain, arrived as a streak of mysterious light. She saw Yunqi and her eyes reddened. Without hesitation, she fished a robe from her own storage treasure, covering Yunqi, then transformed once more into light, ready to leave with her disciple.

But just then, the red-haired patriarch called out, “This child entered danger for the sake of our disciples, and hastily opened his heart aperture to save himself, draining his energy and blood. I am indebted. Let this drop of heart’s blood serve as recompense; a greater gift will be delivered to Mount Sanqing in due course.”

With that, the red-haired patriarch flicked a blood-red bead, which hovered before the streak of light.

The bead shimmered with auspicious brilliance, crystalline as jade.

The light accepted the bead without ceremony and vanished in an instant.