"Master Xian…"
"What is it."
"Have you heard of the Divine Sect?"
"…"
Seeing Master Xian open his eyes and fix him with a faint stare, Li Qingyun added,
"The one with things like Blood Shadow Godstride, Blood Register Scripture, and the Soul-Draining Blood Arts."
Master Xian just looked at him.
"I know it."
"…"
Li Qingyun waited a beat. When no second sentence came, he had to press on.
"In a dream I saw that sect—it seems like a cultivation lineage, yet there's no record of it in the temple's canon. What exactly is this 'Divine Sect'?"
Master Xian kept staring for a long moment before he finally spoke, slowly.
"The origins of the Blood Register Divine Sect lie with the Ban clan of Fufeng."
"Ban… clan?"
"In those days," Master Xian said, "the Ban family head served as Lantai's Historian-in-Chief. Drawn into a Grand General's treason case, he was dismissed and died ill. His son Ban Jian inherited his father's scholarly work and privately continued the national history; for this he was imprisoned. By fortune in that prison he helped the Divine Lord escape. Later, together with the family's second son Ban Sheng and third daughter Ban Hui, he took the Divine Lord as teacher and aided him in traveling west to complete the Blood Register Scripture, founding the sect's lineage.
"That Blood Shadow Godstride—its root was the Divine Lord's idea, inspired by Ban Jian: he affixed his own divine soul onto a human skin, wrote history upon that skin, and hid it among Ban Jian's scrolls. Thus he deceived heaven and earth and slipped out of the heavenly dungeon."
"Oh…"
So you really do know it—and in ridiculous detail… but starting from the very beginning? Seriously?
Li Qingyun tried another angle. "Then… have you heard of someone named Duan Kecheng?"
Master Xian was blunt as ever.
"Surname Duan—must be from the Grand Commandant's line. The Heaven-Mountain Duan clan's Blood-Flame Tyrant Saber is no small matter. Terrifyingly powerful. You can't take it yet. After you've tempered your body, perhaps you can stand against it."
Great—so they're all neighbors, huh.
"So what if he comes to chop me?" Li Qingyun asked.
Master Xian chuckled.
"The Blood Register Sect cultivates spirit first, then qi, then body—the reverse path. The Divine Lord took a crooked road out of necessity; it is not the proper way.
"Before they reach 'Refine Spirit to Return-to-Void', they're startling and unorthodox—one of the few arts under heaven that can overwhelm disciples at entry level. But once they step into Return-to-Void, they fall behind the Mysterious Gate's dual cultivation of life and fate—the true methods of condensing the primordial spirit, deep-rooted and well-founded.
"And upon reaching 'Refining Void and Merging with the Dao', their defects become glaring. An ordinary Blood God-Child avatar, at the same realm, is no match for our Mysterious Gate. A few of their pinnacle secrets are strong—but perilous beyond measure, calamity upon calamity, and few can truly master them.
"If your aptitude is shallow and you don't seek the Great Way—only longevity—then learning their divine art to 'Return-to-Void' for long life… that much 'barely suffices'. But if you aim to merge with the Dao and stand atop heaven—keep your distance from such heterodox paths. Once you yourself reach Return-to-Void, you won't fear him."
So… I can't beat him before Return-to-Void; after that I can? Uh-huh.
Li Qingyun had seen this play out before—cultivators all think they're the One. You boast, he boasts, everyone looks down on everyone else. Says much, means little…
What he didn't expect: disdain aside, Master Xian flipped his hand and drew a bamboo slip from his sleeve.
"As for the Blood Register Scripture—this volume is the sect's town-sealing divine canon, Blood Register Scripture. Nine out of ten of them cultivate this.
"I've annotated within it the methods to counter and unravel each of its arts. Read and learn."
…Wait, the other side's top-secret, sect-guarding scripture? Why are you just… handing it over? Isn't this exactly what that Duan Kecheng wanted—something he said he'd conquer a world for? And you just fish it out of your sleeve?!
"Th-thank you for the transmission, Master…"
Li Qingyun had no expression left suitable for the moment. Well—thanks, then? Is it real, though? Not just a cover—huh, there's text. Looks real…
Master Xian rolled his eyes and flicked his whisk.
"Such side-paths are for idle flipping—know thy enemy, win a hundred battles.
"Most days: rein in your mind and refine pills. Watch the fire. Don't let stray thoughts delay your cultivation."
"Yes, I will heed Master's instruction."
Fine. If I can get the sect's manuals, that's enough. As for how to deal with Duan Kecheng—and where to make that trillion—leave all that to the 'stray thought' over there.
Li Qingyun only skimmed the opening passage, memorizing the first method, Dao-Breath Blood Refinement, then tucked the scripture away, bowed, and went back to squatting beside the alchemy furnace, fanning the flames.
By now the cauldron had been scrubbed more than a hundred and fifty times, bright as a mirror. His days stayed simple and unadorned—the Way in plainness: refining pills with Master Xian, reading, refining qi, cultivating, sweeping, feeding the fish.
Per Master's syllabus there was no need for bells and whistles—just solid footing and medicine: refine eighty-one furnaces of Nine-Turn Heavenly Pivot Golden-Ao Pills, swallow them all, then talk.
At that pace, he could munch his way from 'Refining Qi and Manifesting Spirit' up to 'Refine Spirit to Return-to-Void', temper his Dao-body to vajra indestructibility—no cracks, no leaks.
Li Pan, on his end, had tried a miscellaneous eight-turn pill himself—boom, level-up chime: a surge of inexhaustible true essence, marrow-washing, tendon-changing, straight to Refining Form, Seventh Turn. The rolling drug force demanded over a dozen rounds of Nine Yin Divine Skill to temper and digest; he was walking around with radiance pouring out, seven feet of golden glow from his eyes like a human flashlight.
No wonder hermits shut themselves in mountains to make pills and pop them all day… With this pace, Nine Yin Body-Refinement and Nine Yin Divine Skill would both hit nine turns easy—then on and on, turn after turn, up and up without end!
By Master Xian's math: only after finishing all eighty-one furnaces and fully tempering the body would the "muscle-changing, bone-forging" be complete—roughly mid Refining Qi and Manifesting Spirit, late Nascent-Embryo. Then he could formally claim to be a disciple transmitted by the Supreme Upper-True Dao and study the inner-hall true teachings.
Great—finally no more scouring pots and town-quelling; time to 'enter the hall.'
Anyway—slow grind. Cultivation is like that: early or late, still cultivation. One mountain after another; one heaven after the next. The peak is cold and lonely.
On the other side, the "stray thought"—ahem, Li Pan—opened his eyes.
K's garage. He raised both hands, touched his face, glanced at his own body lying beside him under a Dream-weaver visor, then checked the mirror.
Looking back was a handsome, fair-skinned face, the kind of euro-asian movie-idol look.
Not that he wanted to preen, but one look at those 007s running B-B-A bodies and you know how cutthroat the bio-body market is. Blood-clan performance can't quite match, so they double down on looks—software-perfected model faces. Even K's straight-combat chassis is runway-model tier. Finding an ugly one would be harder.
Anyway—the cloud-cache and mind-upload took; the swap into an Anarch body succeeded.
As soon as K signaled the chassis was ready, he rushed over to test drive—because that Security Bureau idea had genuinely spooked him.
They dare move on company people? Who gave them the gall? If the Bureau steps in here, we might be looking at a second Purge in a month.
Right—grab the money and bail. Earth's too dangerous. Mars sounds nice.
Back to specs: this Anarch body came from the Ye Group's Claudius clan, a Neonate—eighty or ninety years old, roughly prime by blood standards—with the speed-type blood ability he'd asked K for.
But the clan had issues: to better pilot starships and resist hacking or mental control, they used… aggressive brain-plug implants. Members tended toward deranged—rambling, disordered speech—high incidence of Blood-Sorrow outbreaks, flipping into Anarchs, Blood Beasts, or Mage-Party lunatics.
The particular units sold as Anarch chassis had their clan-locked implants stripped; no more house blood-arts—but physically they were strong, and with mild tweaks could fight well.
Speed-boost itself isn't rare; it's baseline as a bio-body enhancement, and they retained it as the selling point: burn your own blood to accelerate. Think tier-4/5 neural acceleration in effect.
Of course, as an Anarch for sale, its abilities were tech-shackled—no further growth.
A legit blood, as they age, gets longer duration, less drain, shorter cooldown, higher tolerances—plus they can train to advance faster. To avoid Blood-Sorrow, Neonates only train one or two specialties; by one or two centuries—Ancilla—they open up the whole kit. At K's age, she can go full-power.
The Anarch he'd bought specialized in speed—pure runner. Testing back-and-forth in the underground garage, once he fired the boost it outpaced ninja-grade accelerators and even his own serpent-step flips; only lacked a bit in agility and endurance.
Half an hour of sprinting and his vision ran red; burst veins, blood-wet eyes—yeah, thirty minutes is the edge. He showered off the oozing blood and sipped synthetic.
Not bad—acceptable. He still owed K about five-plus million for the blood-wine order; he'd square that with this Neonate body.
No way he'd register this chassis with the tax office; it's a throwaway for theft—use and destroy.
He was just about to slide it back into its coffin for maintenance when he heard a dull thump-thump, and a strange fragrance.
He turned—and saw his real body lying there. The Anarch had burned a lot of blood and entered the hungry edge; through the armor he could feel the geysering warmth beneath the skin. An urge he could barely restrain.
Huh… so what do I taste like?
Every time K or Emiliya inhaled him they looked like they were ascending to heaven. Li Pan was curious.
Biting himself at the neck was gross; good thing K had gear. He drew a bag of blood from his real arm and took a sip…
OMG. …It tastes… basically like synthetic?
Ahem. Flavor and smell—synthetic is made to emulate human blood; why would it be different? Difference is, synthetic is cold-stored; his own draw was piping hot. That's it.
And by principle, blood chassis host special nanites that convert blood into energy and nutrients—core tech. The nanites self-replicate but need time; bio blood is a consumable, while synthetic often includes a micro-dose of nanites—'healthier' for bloods.
So… psychological. Fine. They're just conquered by my charm.
He slipped into the coffin to hand control back—when a vise clenched his chest.
Not an illusion.
A prick at first—then like a hand kneading his heart—
"Argh—argh—ARGH!"
Eyes went crimson, veins bulged, fangs popped. He tore open his shirt—veins stood out across his chest, pounding—like a spiderweb, or… a hand.
"Holy—Bro! Blood-Hand bro, is that you—what are you—aaagh!"
A heart-grinder. Like a hot poker through the chest—like the bag of his own blood had pooled into a bloody hand—grabbing his heart: crush—release—crush—release—
"Aaaoooh!"
He howled, flipped the coffin lid, and lurched out.
The pain stopped.
Breathing ragged, face slick with blood-sweat, he heard it in the quiet warehouse: thump-thump, thump-thump.
He looked down. His sternum rose and fell. Blood seeping from his chest formed a handprint. And all his blood began to flow—each squeeze of the heart pushing it through. The once-cold corpse-body felt as if molten lava surged within—warming.
…Cardiac pacing?
And not just pacing—he felt it—
Qi.
Qi moving in the lobes of his lungs.
"Wait—no way—vampires can cultivate?!"
He was stunned. Truly stunned.
But he wasn't mistaken. A moment ago this was a dead shell, a synthetic chassis. Now—heartbeat restored, blood surging—and qi circulation rekindled!
Well damn—cyber-cultivation? Never tried it. Should we? Yes. Let's!
Thrilled, he sat cross-legged and ran the brand-new method—Dao-Breath Blood Refinement.
…Hey!
It works—and it's fast. Damn fast. How can it be this fast? He's taking off—gone!
Dao-Breath Blood Refinement—initial attainment!
He lifted a hand—blood-light gathered over his palm, threads of crimson. He slapped the coffin board—thwack—left a palm-print—and then stared. Then chugged all the synthetic blood in K's fridge to calm down.
It truly refined—and faster than Nine Yin by a mile.
Granted, he'd started from mortal with Nine Yin, double-cultivated with Orange, washed marrow, and in a few nights birthed qi.
Now he started already on a tier-4 blood chassis, with Blood Hand boosting, plus top-shelf scripture—so flashing into blood-qi that quick isn't absurd. Duan Kecheng was even faster.
Still, he could tell the method itself was faster: no sun-moon essence to collect—just convert blood to blood-qi. Synthetic works fine. Ton-ton-ton like popping pills.
Refine. Refine the hell out of it.
He drank on the spot, cultivated on the spot, leveled on the spot—hard practice, steps climbing.
And he was shocked.
Compared to Nine Yin Body-Refinement, which fits his true body like a tailored suit—
Dao-Breath Blood Refinement is tyrannical: it forcibly remodels the practitioner's Dao-body into the scripture's shape.
If your organs and meridians don't match its routes, the blood-qi will carve open new channels—like a blade cutting through viscera and meridians, hacking anything that blocks the path—and then, guarded by the refined Dao-breath, heal those self-inflicted wounds with blood-qi.
Round after round—drink blood, cultivate, bleed, heal—finally mold, evolve, set—a Dao-body suited to Dao-Breath Blood Refinement.
After several great cycles, Li Pan was a man of blood—skin split, flesh gaping, dripping head to toe—yet his power surged, barrier after barrier smashed.
A peerless scripture indeed—tyrannical!
"Hah—!!"
He roared in exhilaration. A pillar of blood-light shot from his crown, punching into the sky; a neighborhood's worth of lights flickered like an EMP pop.
Dao-Breath Blood Refinement—'Refine Essence into Qi', achieved!
Yes—Refining Essence into Qi—in this short while the avatar's cultivation had already caught up to—and was edging past— his main body, still stuck around Nine Yin Third Turn and prone to getting… sucked.
Absurd. Completely absurd.
He stared at his blood-glossed hands, felt the boiling tide within, and could only be speechless.
One cheat out-cheating another…
Suddenly his whole body jolted like a shock. He looked up.
A streak of rainbow-scarlet shot from the void, passed through the wall, turned once, dyeing the room crimson. A blood shadow dropped before him.
Not his reflection—Duan Kecheng.
"Haha! I knew it—big brother is here secretly refining a Blood-Puppet Avatar!
"Oh? About to form the core, are we? Come—big brother! I've found a very interesting place—let's go cross a killing-tribulation!"
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⚠️ 30 CHAPTERS AHEAD — I'm Not a Cyberpsycho ⚠️
The system says: Kill.Mercs obey. Corporates obey. Monsters obey.One man didn't.
🧠💀 "I'm not a cyberpsycho. I just think... differently."
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