Moments of observing the gray fog yielded no insight, so he turned instead toward the floating treasures nearby. He walked to a cluster of herbs suspended in the northern side of the ten-meter space and stopped before them.
Ordinarily, such potent herbs would have assaulted his senses with their pungency, but here they hung silent and inert due to the static time feature of this gloomy space.
He reached out and took a ginseng-like root—one he knew could fully temper the skin in a single refinement session. But as his fingers brushed its surface, his brows drew together as he realized he had no body-refining art to use it.
He searched again, his gaze sweeping over the floating treasures. There were no manuals among them—no arts or techniques for mortal body refinement. It made sense; Mei Xu was a Core Formation cultivator so such things were beneath her notice.
Even her fragmented memories offered little help. The devouring had been incomplete, leaving gaps in the most basic foundational knowledge he absorbed from her.
Releasing the herb, he reached for a small vial drifting nearby. He uncorked it to find a mid-tier, Grade One Blood Qi Replenishing Pill. Settling into a seated position, he studied his own pale, thin hands, his eyes lingering on the half-healed cut across his wrist.
Minutes later, a faint warmth spread through his body and some color returned to his skin; however, the effect was disappointingly shallow, and he understood why.
His body had already begun to falter under the strain of such pills, not from any strength or benefit on his part, but because they were never meant for a mortal to consume. The true danger, however, ran deeper than mere inefficiency. It was the pill toxin.
As a mid-tier grade-one pill, it carried a significant amount of pill toxins. The moment it entered his system, most of its medicinal essence was diverted just to suppress the toxin's spread, leaving only a pitiful remainder for his body to utilize.
And this little essence that remained was then further wasted by his inefficient mortal physique. Without qi or cultivation, he couldn't guide, refine, or circulate the energy. It scattered chaotically through his flesh, burned away uselessly, or settled into his body as impurities.
To a mortal, consuming a cultivator's pill might sound like fortune. In truth, it was often a slow form of self-destruction.
The first few doses might show some major good effects, depending on one's constitution, but beyond that point, continued use only hastens the body's ruin.
Through Mei Xu's memories, he understood the grim truth more clearly: continuing to consume these pills would only further corrode his body. Without a method to purge or neutralize their toxic residue, each pill would leave behind layers of impurity.
Over time, these toxins would silently accumulate, clogging his meridians, corroding his foundation, and sealing off any real path to cultivation.
For now, he had no true means to counteract it—except through body forging. But even that path was shackled, because genuine body-forging arts were strictly monopolized by sects.
What circulated in the mortal world were fragments: deliberately broken, ranked, and repackaged into techniques, made to appear rare and precious. Rank One technique, Rank Two technique, Rank Three technique—each tier was treated as a treasure, guarded with blood, deception, and steel.
A mortal who discovered a Rank Three body-forging technique would regard it as a cornerstone inheritance. A Rank Four technique could found a clan or even a mortal martial sect. And anyone who stumbled upon a so-called Rank Five technique—a complete body-forging art—would proclaim themselves chosen by heaven; though, to be exact, the immortal cultivators were their heavens.
Wuji scoffed. Through Mei Xu's memories, he had seen the truth concealed from the mortal world.
She had once plunged entire kingdoms into chaos by dangling so-called "Rank Five techniques" as bait—watching martial sects crumble, noble clans slaughter one another, and kingdoms burn over these fragmented arts.
In the cultivation world, those same Rank Five techniques were nothing but the standard foundation issued to every novice disciple.
Not rare treasures. Not legacy secrets. Just basic training manuals.
The realization settled heavily in his chest. The world was not merely unfair, it was engineered. Resources were controlled, hoarded, paths to power were gated, and ignorance was cultivated as carefully as talent.
Mortals were never meant to rise. They existed to serve, to struggle, and to die believing the ceiling above them was the sky.
The chasm between the two worlds was staggering. And from that understanding, a quiet resolve took root in Wuji's mind.
His plan had once been simple: slip into the mortal world, hide away, and endure, slowly, and quietly, until he was strong enough not to be crushed like a bug. It would have been a meager and wretched path, but a survivable one.
Now, everything had to change.
With the Interment Space—the name he had given to the coffin's inner realm—and the Heaven Burial Coffin's innate resistance to spiritual detection, the very concept of location had lost its grip. In theory, he could hide anywhere, forever.
Not in the mortal world, nor the cultivation world, but outside both, sealed away from prying eyes, fate threads, and divination.
At least, until he transcended earthly needs like food.
Yet despite such power, no pride or arrogance rose within him. This world was too vast, too ancient, too perverse. If something like the Heaven Burial Coffin could exist, there was no guarantee it stood at the pinnacle. Somewhere, someone, or something might possess an even more bizarre treasure.
He still understood too little of this world.
Was this world like the ones he had read about in his past life? Was it even real? Or was he—
He severed the thought and took a slow, calming breath. Speculation, doubt, and paranoia had their uses, but sometimes they did more harm than good. Sometimes, one could defeat themselves by thinking too much.
Still standing before the floating herbs, his now-calm mind turned toward the darkness beyond the Interment Space's visible boundary. If he could remain within this space indefinitely… then was it not, in essence, a world of his own?
A small one, perhaps—bleak, drowned in gray fog and silence—but a world nonetheless. And more importantly, it could grow.
Through instinct and the coffin's silent guidance, he understood the rules governing its expansion. Simply using the Heaven Burial Coffin to bury was not enough; what was buried mattered far more.
The first measure was relative strength, the gap between himself and the buried. The second was something far more abstract, yet far more terrifying: the weight of existence.
How deeply a being was entangled with fate. How many lives their actions had influenced. Whether their death sent ripples through clans, regions, continents, planets, dimensions, or even across eras.
A nameless creature might offer only the faintest expansion. But something that stood at the heart of an era… could transform this space entirely.
"Guess I'll need a body-forging art before thinking that far," he muttered, stepping forward to look into the black, viscous liquid beneath his feet. With deliberate intent, he let it swallow him whole, and darkness consumed his sight.
Moments later, his head broke through the surface on the other side, followed by his shoulders and then his entire body as he now stood inside the coffin. The liquid beneath him receded, vanishing as though it had never been.
He glanced down at himself, no discomfort, no residue from the gray fog, no sensation beyond a faint chill that faded instantly.
His gaze shifted to the motionless husk beside the coffin. From the stillness in the air and the husk's dormant posture, he understood: time flowed the same inside the Interment Space as it did outside.
His lips twitched in irritation. "Tch… so much for an inner realm with temporal features. Can't even be a hyperbolic time chamber."
Pushing aside his disappointment, he stepped out of the coffin. Beyond the cave's mouth, the forest appeared silent, but his Eye of the End pierced that illusion instantly.
[Lifespan: 23 / 70]
[Lifespan: 40 / 150]
[Lifespan: 80 / 105]
The numbers hovered among the trees, their hues shifting between dull bronze and faint crimson. He understood why. Wild beasts existed on the edge of death, their lives a constant cycle of predation, hunger, and injury.
Now, he had become one of those dangers.
As killing intent crystallized in his mind and he willed the coffin to release a sword, the crimson hue of the life-lights deepened.
Behind him, the coffin's interior liquefied once more. From its dark, viscous surface, the slender sword emerged, hilt-first, floating soundlessly into the air.
Without hesitation, Wuji offered a month of lifespan. The husk activated instantly. Seizing the sword, it vanished in a blur toward the three tiger-shaped beasts.
In a single heartbeat, it stood before them. Before they could react, three precise slashes severed their heads. Blood sprayed, bodies fell. Before the corpses could hit the ground, the husk suspended them with qi and bolted back toward the cave.
"Throw them in," Wuji ordered calmly.
One by one, the corpses were cast into the coffin, sinking into the black liquid without resistance. Moments later, all three floated within the Interment Space—lifeless, suspended, with droplets of blood frozen mid-fall.
Turning his focus back to the husk, Wuji willed it to test something else. It stepped forward, grasped the head of the Heaven Burial Coffin, and lifted it with ease.
Wuji's narrowed eyes slowly relaxed. "So it works," he murmured as this confirmed his conjecture.
The husk was not an independent being, it was an extension of his will, and more importantly, of the coffin's own authority. It wasn't that the husk possessed the strength to lift the coffin; rather, the coffin allowed itself to be carried.
It recognized its own.
A faint smile touched his wrinkled face. "Good," he muttered. "At least I won't be stranded in this forest… so long as nothing unexpected happens."
He turned back to the coffin and made his decision. He granted the husk two years of lifespan—enough for it to act autonomously for two full hours. One hour would place significant distance between them and this region; with an early Foundation Establishment cultivation base, it could move swiftly.
The second hour provided a margin, perhaps enough to reach the outskirts of human settlements, or at least safer ground.
He lay down inside the coffin and issued his final orders clearly: "Do not engage wild beasts. Do not engage sect disciples on training excursions. Move east."
East was the only direction he could reasonably infer. It was not a gamble; Mei Xu's fragmented memories had shown her entering this forest from the east. There had to be a way out in that direction.
The husk closed the coffin lid with a stiff, deliberate motion. It then lifted the coffin, mounted the flying sword, and soared out of the cave.
Within moments, it was cutting through the sky above the forest canopy, its lifeless gaze fixed on the distant horizon, scanning constantly for signs of human presence as the small cave blurred into the distance behind them.
Inside the coffin, Wuji lay still, counting the seconds in silence. Two hours was generous, but not infinite. If the husk's allotted lifespan expired mid-flight, the coffin would fall.
The coffin itself might survive the impact, but he almost certainly would not and he wasn't foolish enough to test that even if he could scurry into the interment space.
Half an hour later, deep within the forest, several blue-robed disciples surrounded a rank-one spirit beast. Their flying swords carved glowing arcs through the air, slashing against its resilient hide. Spells—both orphan spells and natal spells—rained down in chaotic succession.
With a final, furious howl, the beast collapsed.
Whoosh!
A blur streaked overhead. The husk, carrying the coffin, passed above them in a heartbeat.
One disciple froze mid-motion. "Ah—who was that?"
The others barely glanced up, already turning their attention to the spirit beast's corpse, debating the division of materials and merit points.
"Probably a senior from the sect," one said dismissively, and the matter ended there.