Chapter One: The Enigma Amidst the Clouds

Linglong Continent, the Realm of Spirit Cultivation.

Upon an ancient mountain, two figures darted relentlessly across the rugged terrain. Judging by their speed, both had clearly reached a legendary mastery of spirit leap techniques. Suddenly, the one behind gave a flick of his hands, releasing thirteen flying daggers. They spun forward with astonishing swiftness, each one finding a cunning angle. The man ahead was forced to turn and face his pursuer; his hands formed a seal before his chest, summoning a white spirit shield in an instant, which clashed violently with the incoming blades. Though the shield held for a time, the power behind the daggers was immense. Forced to retreat to dispel the momentum of the assault, he found himself driven back. Suddenly, the shield shattered, the daggers vanished.

“So, you dared to spoil my plans, and for that, you must die!” the dagger-wielding man shouted.

“You certainly have reason for such confidence,” replied the pursued man with a gentle smile. “Your flying daggers, though not quite as swift as the Divine Blade Li Clan’s, are nearly their equal. Your spirit power rivals even that of the Cold Monk, and most impressively, you possess a secret point-seeking technique akin to Mistress Bi Xuedao’s.”

“Then you should know you’ll die here today. Your spirit shield may have blocked my thirteen daggers, but you won’t stop my fourteenth.” The man known as Flying Demon was supremely sure of himself, for his fourteenth dagger was invisible.

The other man touched the scar at the end of his left eyebrow with his index finger and said, “It’s a pity your confidence will be your undoing. For you are not those three, so it is not I who must die today, but you.” He raised his right hand, revealing a flying dagger shaped and suspended by spiritual energy, spinning ceaselessly in his palm.

Flying Demon’s face drained of color. “Who are you? If a cultivator possessed such skill, I would know of you.”

With a flick of his wrist, the man released his transparent dagger. Like silent rain, it sliced through Flying Demon’s throat. “My name is Mo Bai, just an ordinary spirit cultivator. If there is anything special about me, perhaps it is this scar.” He spoke to himself, for Flying Demon could hear no more.

The wind atop the ancient mountain remained as cold as ever, blowing as if no one had ever stepped foot upon that lonely peak.

Cloudgap Town—a remote, outlying settlement.

“Help! Help! Please—!” A desperate scream pierced the night above Cloudgap Town, but no one came to rescue her. The house was sealed with spirit power by a man in black; the woman’s cries could not reach the outside world.

Though not a great beauty, the woman’s figure was alluring—clearly honed over years of training. Her body was full and voluptuous, her waist slender, and beneath a green camisole her curves were half-revealed, her chest heaving with terror. The sight could only arouse the most primal desires. The man in black could bear it no longer; with a rip, he tore away her garment, exposing her most enticing features as if they were inviting him closer. With a wild cry, he threw himself upon her.

She was the sixth woman to be violated in Cloudgap Town.

Though not a major town, Cloudgap nevertheless enjoyed some prosperity. Yet on this day, the streets were deserted; not even Old Wang the pancake vendor, usually up at dawn to set his stall, made an appearance. Even Li the Drunkard, who without fail would sing three songs in the morning before heading off to drink, was nowhere to be found. It was truly strange.

Cloudgap Inn, the largest in town, boasting three floors and over twenty guest rooms. Yet at this moment, only one room was occupied. The first floor, also the town’s grandest tavern, was packed this morning—every man in town seemed to have gathered here.

Li the Drunkard did not sing, but still clutched his wine jug. Normally carefree, he now seemed weighed down by sorrow. At last, someone could no longer bear the oppressive atmosphere and shouted, “So what if we’re not real men? At least we have wine today—let’s drink while we can! Who cares what tomorrow brings?”

His outburst stirred every heart, unleashing a clamor as the men raised their bowls, shouting and venting their emotions. Even Li the Drunkard was caught up in the moment, murmuring, “Cheers.”

Suddenly, the inn’s door creaked open—a sound far older than the door itself warranted, but heard by all. From above, a man descended, landing before the crowd. The serving boy gasped, dropping his wine jug in shock.

The newcomer smiled, deftly catching the jug mid-air. “Wine is a treasure—how could you let it spill so easily?” he said, handing it back to the stunned boy.

The boy’s jaw hung slack, for this man was the inn’s sole guest, staying in the innermost room. Normally, it would take a run from his room to reach the tavern below, yet the man had appeared in an instant. It was beyond belief.

Stretching lazily, the man smiled. “Wine may be wonderful, but drinking so early isn’t healthy. Besides, a tavern full of men is hardly entertaining. Why not go about your work, and return at dusk? Bring your wives or lovers, share a few drinks—wouldn’t that be more delightful?”

A man stepped forward from the crowd and shouted, “We’ll drink when we please! Who are you to meddle? Even the innkeeper doesn't care, so why should you?” The others murmured in agreement, admiring Zhang Bold’s audacity, especially in his drunken state.

The stranger turned to Zhang Bold, who squinted through his haze and saw that, though the man was not especially handsome, he seemed eminently likable. Only the scar running from his left brow to his cheek stood out, strange and ominous. At this moment, the man was absently stroking the scar with his left index finger—a gesture that instantly sobered Zhang Bold.

The man declared, “If that’s how it is, then I’ll simply drink up all the wine myself, and only then will you return home and mind your affairs.” With a flick of his hands, a dozen wine jars began to spin in place, then lined themselves up obediently. The man opened his mouth wide, and the jars tilted in midair, pouring their contents into him like mercury.

One jar, three, seven—until the last was empty. He belched, “Now, will you go home?”

The crowd stared, stunned. Suddenly, someone shouted, “He’s a spirit cultivator!” The words, tinged with awe and fear, sent a shock through the room. In a frenzy, nearly all the men fled the tavern, gathering anxiously at the door, faces full of anger and terror.

The man chuckled foolishly. “What’s so frightening about a spirit cultivator? Linglong Continent has thousands upon thousands. If I’d known admitting it would clear the place, I wouldn’t have bothered with all that wine.” He shook his head at himself, looking almost childlike.

“If you knew what’s happened here, you’d understand why they fear spirit cultivators,” a deep voice intoned. At a table sat another man, who now raised his wine jar and drank deeply, as if finally finding solace.

Mo Bai grinned. “So there was one more jar. I see you’re a spirit cultivator too, brother. My apologies for not noticing.” Thus, his name was revealed—Mo Bai.

The man rose slowly. “Young man, if you weren’t so flamboyant, with your skill at concealing your spirit aura, I’d never have noticed you. Nor would this matter have been resolved so swiftly.”

Mo Bai looked puzzled. Though he’d drunk plenty, it was nothing to him. Had he misheard? Had he somehow offended this man in a dream? After all, he’d been sleeping here for nine days and nights.

Seeing Mo Bai’s innocent expression, the burly man spoke with some anger: “In the past ten days, there have been ten cases of lewd crimes in this town, all perpetrated by a spirit cultivator. And you are that criminal!”

It was an absurd accusation. Mo Bai had never imagined that after waking from a long sleep and preparing to journey across Linglong Continent, his tale would begin with such a charge—him, a lecherous fiend. He cupped his hands politely. “May I ask your name, brother? On what grounds do you accuse me of such crimes?”

Before the man could answer, two others emerged from behind him. “This is my elder brother, Blood Vengeance, the chief constable of this town. I am Ma Long, and this is Mole. We’re both deputies. Today, you’ve been caught—debts must be settled, and this case ends here.”

The short man beside Blood Vengeance piped up, “No need to worry about closing this case, Brother Blood. We’ll give the people of Cloudgap Town an answer, and show them Yuntian Sect still safeguards this place.” Blood Vengeance nodded solemnly, the weight of the case etched upon his brow.

Mo Bai smiled at the three. “So, you’re cultivators of Yuntian Sect, one of the five great spirit sects. My respects. But this so-called lewd case has nothing to do with me. If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave.” Before the three could react, he dissolved into a streak of white light and vanished from the inn.

Ma Long and Mole gaped. Blood Vengeance said coldly, “Cloudgap Town is sealed with the Yuntian Locking Array, set by Uncle Shunqing. He cannot escape. Let’s go.” The other two nodded, full of confidence in the array.

Outside the inn, Mo Bai glanced up at the sky and nearly laughed aloud. After waking, he found himself enmeshed in such absurdity—life’s caprices indeed. Had he not suffered enough in his earlier years? Now, Heaven played another joke on him, one not so easily shaken off. Blood Vengeance and his companions stood before him once more.

To track down a man walking openly through town was no challenge for spirit cultivators. Blood Vengeance stepped forward, his voice cold. “Will you surrender, or must I slay you?”

Mo Bai shook his head. “Why are you so sure I am the criminal?”

Before Blood Vengeance could reply, Ma Long cut in, “Cloudgap Town is remote, but under the Yuntian Sect’s care. There is no spirit cultivator here but Brother Blood. All the evidence points to a cultivator. Since the crimes began, the town has been sealed by Uncle Shunqing’s array; the criminal cannot have escaped. After days of searching, you’re the only cultivator we’ve found. Who else could it be?”

Mo Bai sighed. Ma Long spoke with conviction, but lacked any real evidence. Was he to be condemned as a scapegoat? Ever cheerful, Mo Bai smiled and said, “Why say there’s only one cultivator here? Aren’t you two as well?”

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