To the west of Kangzhou lies a mountain range known as the Hengduan Mountains, renowned throughout history for its majestic and perilous nature.
Its majesty lies in its main ridge, which stretches north to south for over three hundred and eighty thousand miles. Its peaks merge with the heavens, exhausting even the wings of flying birds. Its peril lies in its crisscrossing branches and overlapping peaks, where ten-thousand-yard cliffs can be seen everywhere, too steep even for mountain apes to scale.
Its malevolence is found in its countless miasma-filled valleys, poisonous pools, ominous marshes, and treacherous ridges. Within, tyrannical beasts and rampant ghosts run wild. Even accomplished cultivators who venture inside would be left without a trace of their bones if they made the slightest misstep.
At its southern end lies a branch known as the Yinsha Mountain Range. This range curves and thrusts northeastward for over thirty thousand miles, enclosing a vast area within its main ridge. The warm southeast monsoon is blocked, and the hot, dry southwest wind cannot pass through. Instead, this region is subjected to the howling north wind all year round. Due to the unique terrain, the north wind is trapped, swirling endlessly within its confines. Consequently, this place is swept by bleak, chilly winds day in and day out.
It is said that countless years ago, the once-mighty Great Shang Empire was defeated. Several million soldiers protecting the Shang Emperor, along with over a million nobles and their families, fled and inadvertently entered this seemingly wide gorge, only to realize too late that it was a dead end. Naturally, a monumental, earth-shattering battle took place here between these nearly five million people and their pursuers. From then on, corpses littered the ground, and countless aggrieved souls lingered.
As time passed, the Great Shang Empire faded into oblivion. Even the victorious Great Chen Empire, after thousands of years of glorious reign, vanished like smoke over thirty thousand years ago.
Today, this region, known as the Yinsha Valley, emanates a cold, gloomy yin-fiend energy and a dense ghostly aura. At night, dark clouds blot out the sky, making it so pitch-black that one cannot see their own hand in front of their face. Within the valley's hills, fiendish winds howl, ghosts wail, wolves cry, and phantom shadows flicker in layers. Ordinary, weak mortals dare not draw near.
Yet, in the heart of this Yinsha Valley—a realm where thousands of demons and ghosts roam—a great mountain with its peak sheared off was extraordinarily bustling.
It was originally a massive mountain spanning several hundred miles, but someone using supreme divine abilities had sheared off its upper half. Upon this flat summit stood rows of majestic halls and countless exquisite pavilions. However, as grand as those palaces were, they appeared freezing cold and steeped in heavy yin energy no matter how one looked at them. The pavilions were indeed exquisite, but their carved details featured either skeletons and malevolent ghosts, or evil gods and fierce demons. Most striking of all was a ceremonial archway several hundred zhang high, which seemed to be constructed from countless white bones. Ferocious, aggrieved souls were nailed inside, howling, weeping, struggling, and cursing. If anyone drew near, they would often be swarmed by tens of thousands of these souls, devoured without a trace in just a few breaths.
At the highest point of the archway, three large characters, "Yinsha Sect," stood imposing and terrifying. Upon closer inspection, one could see that each character seemed alive, writhing slightly.
Occasionally, indistinct, ferocious faces would manifest, constantly exuding a resentment that pierced the heavens. These were the souls of several orthodox Nascent Soul Ancestors who had been destroyed by the Yinsha Sect, then suppressed within the Ten Thousand Fiends Grand Array for years until they turned into Ghostly Nascent Souls.
Not only did these Ghostly Nascent Souls suffer the agony of yin-fiend fire burning their bodies every single second, but they were also forced to risk their lives to repel enemies whenever the sect came under attack. It was truly a fate worse than death.
Such a scene seemed to paint a picture of hell on earth.
The fourteenth day of the seventh month.
Every ten years, this day was the grand festival of the Yin Sha Sect. On this day, the patriarchs from the various mountains, caves, and valleys would gather to exchange insights and trade treasures. Of course, the most important event was still the decennial distribution of disciples.
For any sect to endure, flourish, and expand over generations, it could not rely on just one or two top experts. The continuation of a sect's legacy was regarded as a matter of utmost importance by every sect, whether orthodox or demonic. As for cultivation—the so-called path to immortality—not just anyone was qualified. To cultivate, one had to possess spiritual roots. Yet among ordinary people, those with spiritual roots were fewer than one in ten thousand. And of those who did possess them, nine out of ten had useless spiritual roots with no future prospects. Even the remaining one would have uncertain potential.
Consequently, the Yin Sha Sect maintained a massive network of personnel who, both within and outside their sphere of influence, were constantly snatching children with spiritual roots for the sect. Within their territory, they could take them openly. Outside of it, they resorted to kidnapping, deception, and every other means at their disposal.
The Yin Sha Sect's sphere of influence encompassed three or four major empires and six or seven minor nations, with a total population of one billion. Yet, even among these one billion people, they could only supply the Yin Sha Sect with six to seven hundred trainable children every ten years.
Adding the clan members sent for training by the various branches and clans under the sect's banner, along with those abducted from external territories, the largest batch in recorded history had only amounted to just over nine hundred children.
This time, there were seven hundred and sixteen in total.
…
Lei Dong's face was deathly pale. In fact, any thirteen-year-old child in his position would look no different.
In a hellish place like this, surrounded by eerie green flames and the wailing of countless ghosts, looking like Senluo Purgatory itself, anyone else's reaction would likely have been even worse than his.
The other children had already been scared to tears. However, after one crying child was decapitated with a single sword strike, the hundreds of remaining children—whether paralyzed by fear or silenced because the brutal warning had served its purpose—instantly quieted down.
The reason Lei Dong's face was so pale was, first of all, because he was thoroughly terrified by this gloomy, horrific place. Second, he was deeply disappointed. Ever since he had transmigrated into this ancient town, he had fantasized about making something of himself, living a glorious and spectacular life like other transmigrators. To this end, from the moment he could walk, he had never stopped training his body. He had hoped to rely on his physical strength to charge into battle, slay enemies, and win military glory in the future. Although his family was not fabulously wealthy, they were well-off enough to never worry about food or clothing. Thus, despite his young age, he had built a tall, sturdy frame that made him look more like a youth of sixteen or seventeen.