At this moment, Medicine King Valley was cloaked in a swirling mist of spiritual energy. The air was thick with the heady scent of herbs, so rich and intoxicating that cultivators couldn't help but breathe it in deeply, their eyes alight with anticipation—as if a few more breaths alone might propel their cultivation to new heights.
"Haha! I can already feel rare herbs calling out to me!"
"If I can grab even one top-tier treasure herb, I might just break through from the Integration Stage straight into Great Ascension! I'd become a Venerable and live for fifty thousand years—free, unshackled!"
"Top-tier herb? Get real. I'd be happy with a basic treasure herb!"
"Heh, this is Medicine King Valley, not your backyard garden. With any luck, even a Medicine Sovereign herb might show up! One of those could make surviving the Tribulation Stage feel like a warm-up."
"A Medicine Sovereign herb? Keep dreaming! Even powerhouses at the Tribulation Stage would sell their sect for one. We're just small fish swimming in a very dangerous pond."
The air buzzed with chatter and growing excitement.
Looking around, the valley's entrance was packed—cultivators clustered both on the ground and floating in mid-air, their numbers forming a sea of expectant faces.
For many, this was the chance of a lifetime.
Medicine King Valley only opened once every hundred thousand years. A blink in the life of a mountain, but for cultivators—even those at Great Ascension, who might live fifty thousand years—it was almost a myth. Miss this opening, and you simply wouldn't live to see the next.
No wonder every hopeful soul present looked like they were ready to gamble everything.
Most were daydreaming about scoring treasure herbs. Some—bolder, or maybe just more foolish—were fantasizing about finding a Medicine Sovereign herb.
In the cultivation world, herbs were ranked: spiritual herbs, treasure herbs, Medicine Sovereign herbs, greater Sovereign herbs, and finally, immortal medicines.
Each rank was further divided from low-grade to top-grade.
Spiritual herbs were common fare. Treasure herbs, on the other hand, triggered major auctions where factions fought with tooth and nail to win them. Toss one out carelessly and someone would gladly bash your skull in for it.
As for the legendary Medicine Sovereign herbs… well, those were nearly extinct. There had barely been a whisper of their existence in the Eastern Domain over the past tens of thousands of years. Even a Great Ascension powerhouse would salivate at the sight of one. So what chance did the rest have?
"Uncle Fan, do you think Medicine King Valley can really handle this many people?" An Miaoyi looked around, her expression a mixture of awe and worry.
Fan Dezhen folded his hands behind his back, calm yet solemn. "The records say the valley has a strict limit—both in how many can enter and how long they can stay. If things get dangerous, the formation will eject you automatically."
He paused, glancing at the dense crowd.
"The Medicine Sovereign prepared this well. For us younger cultivators, this is a gift we can never repay."
His voice held a note of reverence, as if paying silent tribute to a sage who existed beyond time.
"Grandpa Medicine Sovereign must've been an amazing person," An Miaoyi said with a light smile.
Suddenly, Fan Dezhen's expression changed. His eyes narrowed, scanning the crowd with caution.
"What is it, Uncle Fan?" she asked, alarmed by his shift in demeanor.
He frowned, his tone now sharper. "You were right to worry. Competition's going to be intense. Once we're inside, don't wander. Stay right next to me—at all times."
He had just sensed over a dozen powerful auras in the vicinity—each one no weaker than his own Great Ascension cultivation.
And some were... hidden. Tribulation Stage cultivators, no doubt.
The valley was attracting monsters.
Nearby, beneath a tall phoenix tree, a group of monks sat in meditation. Dressed in robes that shimmered faintly under the sun, they chanted scriptures in hushed tones. Gentle golden light radiated from their bodies, serene and holy.
At their center sat a lean old monk, his long white beard brushing against his chest. Unlike the others, there was no golden glow around him—no visible aura, no pressure.
He looked entirely ordinary.
And yet, the monks surrounding him treated him with reverence bordering on worship.
He was Master Randel, a senior from the Hanging Temple—his cultivation so deep, none dared guess at its limits.
"Amitabha," murmured a stout monk. "With Master Randel leading us, we're bound to return with a bounty of herbs."
"No kidding. Rumor has it he entered Medicine King Valley a hundred thousand years ago and came out with incredible fortune."
"Right? He must've used that to rocket his strength upward. This time, we'll be unstoppable."
Their whispers carried only among themselves—or so they thought.
But Master Randel heard every word.
He opened his eyes slowly. Bitterness flickered beneath his calm exterior, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
They thought he'd gained some miraculous treasure during his visit a hundred thousand years ago. That he'd gone into seclusion to refine it.
What a joke.
The truth was far uglier than anyone could imagine.
Medicine King Valley wasn't just a treasure trove—it was a nightmare disguised as paradise.
Most of those who walked out never spoke of what they saw. Dao hearts shattered, minds broken, and tongues sealed by terror—not by oath, but by fear.
A few had tried to warn others later in life. They didn't last long.
Whispers got out. Some even tried to publish accounts.
The result? Those poor fools were slaughtered in the dead of night—entire bloodlines wiped out, not even a grave left behind. A very loud warning... delivered very quietly.
And so, the silence continued. Generation after generation, drawn in by the illusion. Devoured by the truth.
Master Randel had lived long enough to understand the cost of that silence. He had been one of the lucky ones who crawled out.
The shame of it still burned.
Afterward, he trained with ferocity, rebuilding his shattered confidence piece by piece. His strength now far surpassed what it once was.
This time, he wouldn't crawl.
This time, he would walk back in—eyes open, heart steady—and tear down whatever had once broken him.
"I'm not the same man," he thought. "Whatever awaits inside, I'll face it head-on. And this time, I won't be the one running."
His eyes gleamed, a quiet fury dancing behind them.
The valley waited.
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