In less than a week, Fang Yuan's cultivation surged from Rank 1 Initial Stage to Rank 1 Peak as the power of the Green Copper Relic Gu roared through his aperture like a rising tide, washing away all barriers.
A faint smile touched Fang Yuan's lips as his gaze swept across the crystal-clear membrane walls of his aperture. Within, Black Green Primeval Essence churned and danced like living ink in the sea of his aperture.
He sat cross-legged upon the bed, calm as an ancient statue as a soft glimmer of light revealed the Liquor Worm in his palm.
The little creature lay fast asleep — its body plump and white, tender as fine jade, shining faintly like moonlight on porcelain.
Beneath the flickering glow, it seemed almost innocent, its round head adorned with two bead-like black eyes, naive and harmless.
A gentle whiff of wine fragrance wafted from its body, light yet intoxicating.
Resting in Fang Yuan's palm, it was delicate, light — perhaps half the weight of a chicken egg.
Without hesitation, Fang Yuan willed his primeval essence forth.
A stream of Black Green Essence surged out like an uncoiling serpent, wrapping around the Liquor Worm and lifting it into the air.
Instantly, the Liquor Worm awoke in terror. It trembled as Fang Yuan's essence invaded its body, instinctively trying to resist.
Yet when it saw that cold, familiar face — those calm eyes that had watched it suffer for ten years — all struggle drained from it.
To this tiny creature, Fang Yuan was no master, no benefactor. He was a demon — the tormentor that had haunted its life, the shadow it could never escape.
It shivered violently, its resistance faltering and the refining process began to flow more smoothly and steadily.
Fang Yuan's will pressed forward like an iron tide, unstoppable.
Though the Liquor Worm still resisted, it was half-hearted now, its power ebbing away with each trembling motion.
...
Rain fell in torrents upon Qing Mao Mountain and mist coiled between the ancient trees.
The scent of wet earth and blooming grass drifted through the mountain village like a forgotten melody.
Inside a dimly lit hut, Fang Yuan sat cross-legged in stillness, his long shadow flickering under the wavering lamplight.
Droplets drummed against the rooftop like war drums in the distance.
"The Liquor Worm… is fully refined," Fang Yuan murmured, his voice low.
Four days. It took him four days.
Before him, the Liquor Worm glowed faintly. The once-defiant creature now lay utterly docile; its life, its will, its essence, all branded with Fang Yuan's mark.
He willed it to move, and it obeyed. When he commanded it to coil, it coiled; when he told it to curl into a ball, it became a perfect little sphere.
The connection between Gu and master was seamless — it felt as though he were flexing his own fingers, moving an extension of his very soul.
With a flick of intent, Fang Yuan drew back his primeval essence.
The Liquor Worm relaxed, regaining its soft, plump body — pure white and smooth like jade.
Then, as if leaping into another world, it vanished into the air, diving straight into Fang Yuan's aperture.
Within the boundless sea of green copper primeval essence, waves rippled gently as the Liquor Worm descended.
It stretched lazily upon the shimmering surface, its plump body twisting in delight, soaking in the primeval energy like a spirit bathing in divine spring water.
Fang Yuan opened his eyes. The reflection of stormlight flickered in his dark pupils — calm, deep, and unreadable.
Outside, thunder rolled across the heavens.
"So… there is no Spring Autumn Cicada in this life," Fang Yuan murmured, his tone calm yet edged with a trace of loss. His gaze sank into the flickering lamplight — eyes dark as an abyss, reflecting neither joy nor sorrow.
A faint sigh escaped his lips.
For a moment, silence ruled the room.
The sound of rain against the eaves seemed to echo his quiet disappointment.
But only for a moment.
Soon, that fleeting melancholy was swallowed whole by his boundless will. His expression returned to stillness.
"Even if it is gone," he whispered, "I can simply refine another."
The words were spoken softly, yet carried the unshakable arrogance of a man who defied heaven itself.
For others, such a statement would be madness — to recreate a legendary Gu that transcended time.
But for Fang Yuan, it was merely a path—steep and perilous, yet already marked in his heart.
After all, though the Spring Autumn Cicada had vanished, he was far from empty-handed.
He possessed a treasure greater than any Gu — his attainments, the accumulation of years of slaughter, schemes, and endless pursuit.
Within the depths of his mind lay countless memories — of forgotten inheritances buried in mountains, of ancient Gu Houses still sealed by time, of calamities yet to unfold and heroes yet to rise.
Every secret, every treasure, every vein of fortune in the river of history — he knew them all.
To others, the future was fog.
But to Fang Yuan..., it was a map.
Outside, the storm howled like the roar of heaven's wrath.
Inside, Fang Yuan sat unmoved, like an immortal demon waiting in the dark — eyes half-lidded, calm, and fathomless.
He had lost the Spring Autumn Cicada. But he still held the future in his palm.
He walked towards the window, the cold night stretching endlessly beyond the horizon.
"Star Constellation, Giant Sun, Spectral Soul, Reckless Savage, Paradise Earth, Red Lotus…" Fang Yuan's voice was low, calm — almost tender.
"Did you foresee this as well?" A faint smile curved his lips, sharp and mocking.
In the river of history, countless Venerables had used him — the Otherworldly Demon — as their blade and shield.
Some guided his hand to shatter Fate Gu, others maneuvered him to obstruct their rivals. Each one plotted, each one thought themselves the puppeteer.
But in the end… the puppet had cut his own strings.
Through the endless cycles of time, with Spring Autumn Cicada as his lifeline, Fang Yuan clawed his way to supremacy.
He became what they never intended — a Venerable in his own right.
"In this life… I will—" His words trailed into the night, the stars gleaming like countless cold witnesses.
The heavens above seemed serene, tranquil — yet Fang Yuan's heart was a vortex of defiance.
He had thought himself in control, but reality's cruel mirror showed otherwise. His steps, his choices, even his thoughts — all threads tugged by unseen hands.
So overwhelming was their might — what chance did he ever truly have?
Luck? Perhaps. To be molded, manipulated, and still emerge victorious — that was a kind of luck in itself.
More than five Venerables had played their roles, pushing him toward the destruction of Fate Gu, handing him tools, secrets, and the Sovereign Aperture as bait for their schemes. Each sought to use him, and each in turn was used.
And Spring Autumn Cicada — the very core of his rebirth — was itself a piece placed by those venerables.
A Back Up for their schemes.
But, if not for Spring Autumn Cicada — could he, Fang Yuan — still defy the heavens and ascend once more?