Zhang Cuizhan’s resentment was now extinguished upon Thunder-Echo Ridge. This man had spent half his life toiling for his son, and despite all his schemes, he ended with the total dispersal of his soul.

  In Chen Gensheng’s view, this world-renowned, deep paternal love stood in stark contrast to the bond he shared with Li Simin—one that was "both pure friendship and grounded in mutual utility and value exchange." At least he and Simin had clear goals and never sabotaged each other. Zhang Cuizhan, however, was ensnared by ethereal things like kin-love, acting with such indecision that he ultimately forced himself to become an utter madman and a laughingstock.

  Gensheng walked to the corpse and crouched to search it. Aside from a pile of broken bottles and jars, there was nothing.

  Then, he froze.

  Wait. This God-Burial Valley... how does one go down?

  Gensheng looked at the cold corpse and cursed under his breath, "I forgot the main business."

  He had seemingly forgotten to ask Zhang Cuizhan how to break the restrictions of the God-Burial Pit. Or rather, the man hadn't exactly had the chance to tell him.

  Gensheng walked to the edge and peered down. Below was a bottomless darkness. He activated his right eye once more, and the world transformed. In that seemingly empty void, there were now countless forbidden threads—billions of times finer than hair—shimmering with light.

  This web was the manifestation of the fallen Foundation-stage cultivator's Dao-principles. Neither alive nor dead, neither existing nor non-existing, it was more like a set of laws independent of the world’s own. No wonder Zhang and Xiao had schemed for years yet remained helpless.

  But why did they believe he could break it the moment he arrived?

  Gensheng pondered this for several months. Braving wind and sun, he remained motionless. Li Simin stood quietly behind him.

  Finally, unable to sit still, Gensheng opened his mouth. A Soul-Devouring Corpse-Wasp flew from his throat and dove straight toward the pit. The moment its antenna touched the first forbidden thread, it vanished. He spat out ten more wasps to strike from different angles; the result was the same.

  The restriction did not interact with external objects; it simply turned everything it touched from "existence" into "nothingness."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Gensheng stopped the futile waste and turned his gaze to one of the 999 insect chambers within him. There resided 320 grey-blue butterflies.

  Where the Wind of Ash passed, physical bodies were decomposed into basic particles. The Dao-principles of this pit were set by a Foundation cultivator, rooted in flesh and soul. What if he used the method of annihilation to deal with these neither-alive-nor-dead principles?

  He felt a twinge of hesitation. The wasps were expendable, but these grey-blue butterflies were all Tier 3 High-grade, exceedingly precious. Lose one, and he’d have one fewer. After standing for a long time, he steeled his heart: fortune favors the bold.

  A single butterfly took flight. As its wings vibrated, grey-blue phosphorus powder drifted like a dream toward the restriction. The moment the powder touched a thread, it vibrated slightly and grew just a fraction dimmer. A wisp of incredibly faint but pure spiritual qi dissipated into the air.

  It worked!

  Wild joy surged in Gensheng’s heart. He finally understood that those two pieces of filth, Zhang and Xiao, never expected him to use a clever method. From start to finish, they had schemed for the lives of his 320 grey-blue butterflies.

  "Quite a scheme."

  He stood and walked to the cliff’s edge. All 319 remaining butterflies poured from his mouth, gathering into a grey-blue cloud before him, awaiting orders.

  Once used, they would be gone. But what did it matter? Chen Gensheng had struggled from a tiny cockroach to his current state, never relying on mercy. It was greed—grasping every benefit in sight firmly in his palm.

  "Go."

  The butterflies fell like a grey-blue waterfall into the bottomless pit. Every speck of powder was like boiling oil dropped into congealed lard. The indestructible threads began to tremble, their outermost structures being ground down and decomposed into primal qi. The annihilation of one butterfly dimmed a thread; only the death of ten could snap one.

  Gensheng watched his 300-plus Tier 3 High-grade spirit insects turn into a silent, magnificent spray of ash. There were no explosions, no earth-shattering sounds—only a continuous stream of grey-blue falling into the abyss and vanishing.

  This lasted for a full hour. When the last butterfly exhausted its essence, the Dao-restrictions that had shrouded the pit for ages finally collapsed. A stale, decaying, yet divine aura rose from the depths. Gensheng opened his mouth to suck the insects back in, but only caught a mouthful of cold wind.

  A hundred yards down at the bottom, it wasn't the bed of white jade or mat of spiritual qi he had imagined. There was nothing. Only a flat floor and, in the center, a perfectly clear human-shaped depression.

  The outline had all four limbs—it was a coffin custom-made for someone. As for the so-called Foundation Dao-Body, not a single hair was in sight.

  Gensheng stood dazed. He flew down and crouched by the depression, scraping the wall. It was cold and hard, like special rock. Under his Void-Gazing Eye, faint traces of energy remained on the inner walls. It was the scent of soul and flesh, resembling a set of rules.

  It seemed to proclaim to any latecomer: what must fill this pit. The butterflies were just the appetizer, the key to the first lock. This human-shaped depression was the true problem. One had to sacrifice a living, soul-intact cultivator, filling the pit to trade for the Ethereal Dao-Body.

  Did he have to go back to the previous pit and just snatch someone?