Purple Moon
Ten Thousand Puppets Realm.
At the summit of a towering volcano.
A placid lake, smooth as a mirror, shimmered with rising steam, while snowflakes drifted from the sky, creating a scene of extraordinary beauty.
By the volcanic lake stood a magnificent and lavish palace.
In front of the palace, a boardwalk stretched out over the water to the heart of the lake.
Within the clear, warm waters, a slender and graceful figure lounged contentedly in the hot spring. Her snowy skin rivaled the falling snow, making it hard to tell which was whiter.
Suddenly, a flash of spiritual light appeared on the horizon—one moment distant by a hundred miles, the next, it materialized before the woman.
A wooden kite hovered in the air, its voice stiff and mechanical: “Lady Ziyue, the Ancestor commands you to return to Nine Gods Mountain.”
The woman, Ziyue, frowned. “Wasn’t the next mission half a year away? Why summon me now?”
Red light flickered in the kite’s eyes as it responded in a monotone: “It’s said that Zhao Mengfo perished in a minor world. The Ancestor cannot spare anyone else, so you are to go in his stead.”
“Heh.” Ziyue sneered. “That useless Zhao Mengfo, so arrogant and self-important with the Nine Gods Puppet granted by the Ancestor—he had it coming.”
With a wave of her hand, Ziyue draped a white gauze over herself. Spiritual light surged around her, and she vanished in an instant.
The wooden kite hovered in place for a few breaths, as if realizing only then that Ziyue had already departed. It flapped its wings and flew off into the distance.
Nine Gods Mountain was a low, unremarkable peak.
Its slopes were covered in verdant pines. The land undulated gently, with nothing of an immortal’s grandeur.
Yet here lay the very heart of the Ten Thousand Puppets Realm.
Atop the mountain was a clearing, where a stone statue stood tall—about thirty feet high, with the body of a human and the head of a bird-beast, gazing into the distance.
A figure, draped in white, descended from the sky and knelt before the statue, her voice reverent: “Disciple Ziyue pays respects to Master.”
A radiance flowed over the statue; in an instant, it seemed to come to life.
The statue lowered its gaze to Ziyue, and from its mouth came the voice of an aged woman.
“Three days ago, Zhao Mengfo’s life ended. You are to replace him—bring back the world-source from that realm.”
“Your disciple obeys,” Ziyue replied, though she muttered inwardly.
A flash of light appeared in the statue’s hand, revealing a golden Immortal-Binding Rope. “Take this with you.”
Ziyue was stunned. “Is the cultivator of that realm so formidable that the Immortal-Binding Rope is needed?”
“Do not underestimate them,” the statue intoned. “Zhao Mengfo entered that world and, within half a day, was slain by a single sword.”
At this, excitement flickered across Ziyue’s face, her eyes shining. “Interesting.”
The statue sighed softly, producing a purple talisman. “This God-Sealing Talisman is yours. If you encounter a tough opponent, use it to subdue them and make them serve you.”
“Thank you, Master! With a seventh-grade treasure like the Immortal-Binding Rope and the God-Sealing Talisman, even if the opponent is at the Nascent Soul stage, I am confident I can contend with them.”
The statue’s voice deepened. “In this world, aside from myself, there is no other at the Nascent Soul level…”
A sense of profound loneliness colored those words.
Though Ziyue did not understand, she dared not inquire further.
She, who had achieved Golden Core Perfection a century ago yet could not break through because of the flaws in the world’s Dao, was hardly unique in the Ten Thousand Puppets Realm.
More despairing still was that, in all the other realms, it was the same.
Across the Three Continents and Seven Seas, the Eighteen Lower Worlds of the Ten Thousand Puppets Realm, among countless cultivators, only the Ancestor Wuhua had reached Nascent Soul.
The stone statue before her was one of the Ancestor Wuhua’s Nascent Soul-grade puppets.
No one had ever seen the true face of the Ancestor Wuhua—
Not even Ziyue, ranked seventh among the one hundred and eight Golden Core disciples.
Every disciple of the Ancestor was required to undertake missions of conquest across the worlds.
Wherever they went, they used peculiar treasures to devour the world’s source and bring it back, offering it to the nine avatars of the Ancestor.
For tens of thousands of years, countless disciples of Nine Gods Sect had come and gone, while only the Ancestor Wuhua had remained unchanged.
The worlds destroyed by the Nine Gods Sect were beyond counting.
Only those with extraordinary or abundant resources survived.
Yet, to this day, only eighteen such worlds remained.
The number of beings slain by the Nine Gods Sect reached into the billions—tens or hundreds of billions.
After receiving the Immortal-Binding Rope and the God-Sealing Talisman, Ziyue set out at once, stepping through the Gate of the Void and arriving in the Xuanyuan Continent.
…
The Great Abyss of Nine Nether.
Amidst the darkness, the Gate of the Void shimmered with light.
A graceful figure in white emerged.
Ziyue, her bare feet as white as snow, walked through the air, each step blossoming with lotuses, moving toward the edge of the chasm.
Wherever she passed, streaks of light flickered—scenes replayed in shadow and light, revealing how, days ago, Pang Yue had used the Blood Shadow Technique to devour the Nine Gods Sect cultivators of the Ten Thousand Puppets Realm outside the Gate of the Void.
Moments later.
Ziyue stood on the vast, barren expanse.
Here was where Zhao Mengfo fell.
The Flowing Light Reflection Technique replayed the moment of Zhao Mengfo’s death.
Her expression grew solemn as she watched the scene again and again.
At last, she sighed softly. “What swordsmanship! What murderous intent!”
…
Northeast Xuanyuan Continent.
Territory of the Hundred Refinements Sect.
A mass of spiritual fire surged at the horizon, spinning like a sun. Countless fire ravens burst forth, filling the sky and swooping down to attack Ziyue.
She stood in midair, encircled by an ice phoenix ten yards long, which soared around her and extinguished the fire ravens.
The ice phoenix glittered like crystal, its feathers sharp as blades, a chill radiating from its body as it darted about like lightning.
Facing Ziyue from afar was a short, stout elder, dressed in coarse linen and straw sandals, with a massive copper furnace floating behind him, flames roaring within.
Had any cultivator of the Hundred Refinements Sect been present, they’d have recognized him:
Jiang Beihai, Sect Master of the Hundred Refinements Sect.
After several exchanges, Jiang Beihai grew increasingly alarmed.
When had such a formidable female cultivator appeared in the cultivation world?
She was clearly a late-stage Golden Core, not recently advanced.
The ice phoenix wheeled and soared, erasing the fire ravens wherever it flew.
Each fire raven was as powerful as a Foundation Establishment cultivator.
A hundred gathered together would overwhelm most Golden Core cultivators.
Yet this woman seemed utterly unperturbed—even a little disappointed in her own performance.
Jiang Beihai was baffled.
He changed his hand seals, and the fire ravens formed a grand formation, unleashing a torrent of flame upon the white-clad woman.
It was as if the Milky Way had been overturned—flames dense and tangible, with searing heat that threatened to annihilate all, cascading down toward her.
Suddenly, the ice phoenix raised its head and let out a piercing cry, breathing a frigid mist into the inferno above.
In an instant—
The world froze.
From below, a vast expanse of blue ice stretched for dozens of miles, appearing from nowhere.
Everything was trapped within the ice.
Within its depths, the fire, the furnace, Jiang Beihai himself—all were frozen in place.
Jiang Beihai’s spiritual aura plummeted in a heartbeat.
A sweep of deadly cold snuffed out his life like a candle in the wind.
The Sect Master of the Hundred Refinements Sect perished then and there.
With a wave of her hand, Ziyue split the ice apart.
She appeared before Jiang Beihai’s body in a flash.
Her jade-white hand pressed to his head.
After a few breaths—
Bang!
Red and white splattered, and Jiang Beihai’s headless corpse crashed down.
The ice phoenix darted forward, pecked gently at his abdomen, and pulled out a perfectly round golden core.
“Bone Demon Sect, Seven-Kills Devil Lord,” Ziyue murmured, her bright gaze turning south.
…
Dew clung to yellowed flowers, and a fine, chill rain fell. Withered branches and trees stood amidst red leaves blanketing the steps.
Though autumn lingered, a biting wind had already arrived.
Inside the Bone Dao Palace, which contained a world of its own, the seasons turned with the shifting stars—spring, summer, autumn, and winter, just as outside.
Deep within the palace,
On a fairy mountain shrouded in cloud and mist.
Rain fell softly.
A lavish pavilion perched on the cliff’s edge, its interior filled with ethereal music like the harmony of the heavens.
Within, warmth and fragrance suffused the air.
At the center of the third floor stood a large bed, gauzy curtains hanging low, the brocade coverlets in disarray—a scene of languorous beauty.
By the window, an ancient zither played itself, its strings humming sweetly as if to amuse those within.
At length, the clouds dispersed and the rain ceased.
Pang Yue lifted the curtains and stepped down from the bed.
Three breathtakingly beautiful female cultivators lay sprawled in the soft sheets, motionless.
Gao Yan.
Dantai Xue.
And the third, coldly elegant and regal, was none other than Ruan Lengshuang, former Sect Master of the Yellow Springs Demon Sect.
By the window, a red light flickered, held back by a layer of wards.
Pang Yue dispelled the ward, and a transmission talisman flew inside.
A moment later, Pang Yue flicked his finger, reducing the talisman to ashes.
He glanced at Dantai Xue, who was lounging lazily against the headboard, and said, “They’ve come from the Ten Thousand Puppets Realm. With their first strike, they’ve already killed two of our sect’s Golden Cores.”