Song Wanníng's heart sank.
The faces on these flowers were far too bizarre, but somehow, they didn't seem to be the work of demon cultivators.
Determined to get to the bottom of it, she found a concealed cave nearby and settled in.
After studying several ancient tomes, Baili Shang had made her a number of array plates of all kinds. She placed a hidden-defense array at the entrance, then relaxed into a quiet life inside the cave. Her days passed in peaceful routine—either cultivating, refining pills, or drawing talismans.
At night, she would secretly observe the strange flowers, watching their faces shift little by little.
Half a year later, one night—
Song Wanníng suddenly sensed something amiss.
Someone was outside.
She quickly suppressed her aura, adding several Concealment Talismans for good measure, before slipping to the cave mouth to peer into the distance.
A lone figure stood beside a human-faced flower. His hair was entirely white, standing out starkly in the night. He wore a plain blue robe, his frame so thin and frail it seemed a gust of wind could blow him away.
But Song Wanníng's pupils tightened, her eyes flashing with shock.
This man… was a Mahayana cultivator.
A being who stood at the absolute pinnacle of the Spirit Realm.
Who was he?
Why was he cultivating this strange human-faced flower?
And the face on the blossom… looked nothing like him.
A ripple of unease ran through her. His cultivation was so far above hers that, if he struck, she could be annihilated with a single palm.
Sweat began to bead in her palm. In the next instant, she quietly summoned her immortal furnace.
With this treasure in hand, she felt a little more secure.
Fortunately, the Mahayana cultivator didn't seem to notice her presence. He simply stood beside the flower, unmoving, like a statue carved from ice. He didn't move, so neither did she. They remained that way the entire night.
When the first light of dawn spilled over the land, the Mahayana cultivator finally stirred. His gaze swept the surroundings coldly, then— A flash of light, and he vanished.
Still, Song Wanníng dared not move, much less leave.
She couldn't take the risk.
Sure enough, not long after, the Mahayana cultivator returned—this time with a compass in hand. It was entirely rust-red, its surface corroded, yet it radiated an ancient, dangerous aura.
She couldn't see the markings on it, nor did she dare extend her spiritual sense to try. But her curiosity toward the compass only grew stronger.
What exactly was he planning?
The more she thought about it, the more excited she felt beneath her wariness.
Yet the Mahayana cultivator made no aggressive move. Instead, he sat cross-legged, carefully polishing the compass, his every motion slow and precise. His eyes shone with a deep, almost tender joy.
One day passed just like that.
Night came. The moon hung round and high, pouring silver light over the land, making the world seem like a dream. Perhaps because it was the night of the full moon, the human-faced flower looked especially vivid and beautiful.
One after another, the faces emerged from the petals, eyes closed in bliss as they absorbed the moonlight.
The Mahayana cultivator finally stood. His aura shifted sharply, his gaze turning piercing. He pointed a finger, and the compass in his hands began to spin at great speed.
Just two glances made Song Wanníng's eyes ache and blur, a faint instability creeping into her very soul. She quickly looked away, observing the compass from the corner of her eye instead.
The compass soon halted, pointing directly— In her direction.
Her heart skipped a beat. She tightened her grip on the immortal furnace, ready to act at a moment's notice.
The Mahayana cultivator walked toward her, his aura growing more oppressive with each step.
When she had already steeled herself for a desperate fight, he suddenly stopped—hundreds of meters short of her hiding place.
Squatting down, he pulled the flower before him out of the ground.
The faces trembled restlessly, but he quickly sent spiritual power into the plant to soothe it until it quieted again. Following the compass's guidance, he repeated the process several times, gathering a few more flowers.
He hadn't discovered her.
A sheen of cold sweat ran down Song Wanníng's back. She finally let out a slow breath. Facing such a powerhouse for the first time, she had been afraid to even breathe too loudly. Her desire for strength grew keener than ever.
The higher one stood, the more one realized their own smallness.
She still had a long way to go.
Half an hour later, the Mahayana cultivator arranged the flowers on the ground in a precise pattern. Standing in the center, he bit his tongue, spitting a mouthful of heart's blood to sketch strange markings into the earth.
She couldn't quite make out the shapes, but in the next moment, the wind picked up, chilling and sharp.
Her face paled.
Because she could feel it—dense, unmistakable yin energy.
Ever since the passage between the Netherworld and the living realm was sealed, such a concentration of yin energy was almost impossible to find. Even mass graves only held faint traces, nothing that could form a true source. But now, this oppressive yin aura seemed to be pouring from the circle he had drawn. Her eyes lit with sudden realization.
"Draw—"
His voice was low and commanding as another mouthful of blood shot skyward. From that crimson drop, countless red threads emerged, connecting every single human face. Now, even Song Wanníng could see what was happening.
The remaining flowers formed the core of a Soul-Calling Array. Her expression turned grave. She had just stumbled upon something far beyond ordinary secrets. From the heart of the array, a black-lit opening shimmered into existence. Yin energy billowed from it, chilling to the bone.
But after only a breath, the opening drew the aura back in.
"Hahaha—"
The Mahayana cultivator suddenly laughed, tears running down his cheeks.
"At last… at last, it worked!"
Overcome with joy, he plunged headlong into the dark portal— And vanished.
Song Wanníng stared wide-eyed at the opening, watching for the slightest change.
But he did not reappear.
"Sister, he must have gone to the Netherworld!"
Xiao Jin's voice was filled with excitement. This was an opportunity handed to them on a silver platter.
"Yes, I can feel the yin energy. That must be the entrance to the Netherworld!"
Long Ling's eyes gleamed—she had never been there before, and her curiosity was burning.
Song Wanníng kept her tone calm, smiling faintly at the little ones.
"No rush. Let's keep watching. If we run into that Mahayana master, we'll be in real trouble."
Her gaze never left the dark opening, but her thoughts shifted to a certain treasure resting in her storage ring—
The Guiding Stone.
A treasure that could open the path to the Netherworld.
===
Author Note:
The Guiding Stone was a foreshadowing from a long time ago. Those who have forgotten can refer to Chapter 232