Inside the coffin, it was pitch-black and utterly still. The air here had long ceased to be fit for human survival. But Li Yuan had no need for air. Within his body, Yin and Yang circulated ceaselessly, sustaining his energy. His flesh no longer relied on oxygen, and so there was no danger of suffocating. On the other side, the crow was still as noisy and lively as ever. Strictly speaking, Sheng'er wasn’t just herself. She was both herself and the countless crows she controlled. Right now, placing a crow inside this coffin was no different from putting one of her own tiny hands into a sealed box. Nothing could possibly go wrong. But the essence of this cultivation technique was not mere survival. The true heart of the technique lay in abandoning one’s original body, using one’s Yin energy to bridge into the Yang, and from that resonance, giving birth to a new physical form. And as time went on, father and daughter were gradually beginning to understand this truth. One day, Sheng'er chipped out again, “Papa, I went to ask that old man again.” Li Yuan listened expectantly. “The old man said…he doesn’t know about my case. But for other Heavenly Soul cultivators, their original body usually dies inside the coffin. It decays and disappears. If the body doesn’t die, the cultivation won’t succeed.” Li Yuan’s face darkened. “Complete bullshit. Don’t you dare believe a word of that.” Sheng'er blinked. “Oh…Okay.” Then she added softly, “Papa, you said a bad word.” Li Yuan coughed lightly. “Point is, don’t believe him. Anyone who does is an idiot.” She obediently nodded, but in truth, Li Yuan himself wasn’t entirely convinced by his own words. Deep down, he suspected there was some truth buried inside the old man’s warnings. But he also believed these things were never said plainly. It was always nine parts truth, one part fatal trap. If he imagined himself in that god’s position, with his own tomb being invaded and claimed by strangers, would he honestly hand over his cultivation technique out of kindness? No. His first instinct would be to kill the intruder—or, failing that, control them. Thinking the so-called god was truly teaching them out of goodwill…that was just wishful thinking. At best, Li Yuan comforted himself with the thought. He didn’t delude himself with thoughts of being an exception, or the old man genuinely wanting a new guardian for the Deathless Tomb. He was still mulling this over when Sheng'er’s voice suddenly turned anxious. “Papa! Papa! I… I think my soul is slipping out of my body!” “What!?” Li Yuan froze. A moment later, the crow went silent. “...” Li Yuan frowned, unease creeping in. Far away, before the gates of Yan Yu’s newly built temple, the incense smoke rolled like a boundless sea of clouds. People came and went in steady streams, their prayers and murmurs rising into the haze. The three divine statues on the altar were half-shrouded in mist, their faces indistinct, like gods hidden behind veils. Here, you could find all kinds of worshippers. Common townsfolk came to pray for safety, or to pour out grievances they had nowhere else to voice. Sixth rank disciples from the Bladeseekers came regularly to pay respects, believing firmly that Yan Yu’s emissaries had saved them from their bouts of uncontrollable madness, restoring their ability to cultivate normally. Judges and enforcers from the Court of Judges came too, revering Yan Yu’s doctrine of rewarding virtue and punishing evil. Among them, whispers had begun to spread. “Only Yan Yu can open the path to a new world.” Even wandering cultivators gathered here, hoping to borrow a trace of the third rank blood aura emanating from the nearby meat field to advance their own cultivation. It wasn’t much, but it was still a legendary third rank meat field, something most of them had only ever heard of in ancient tales. In the past, even a fourth rank meat field was an unimaginable treasure, the kind only great sects could possess. Yet now, in humble Gemhill County, a third rank meat field actually existed. The meat field was wreathed in a perpetual haze of drifting blood mist, thick and cloying. Inside, nothing could be seen clearly, and the closer one approached, the more oppressive the heat became, making one’s very bones tremble. Li Yuan could only imagine that to harvest meat from within would require at least a fourth rank martial artist’s strength. On a nearby branch outside Yan Yu’s temple, a small white sparrow perched silently. This sparrow was one of Li Yuan’s scouts. At this moment, it surveyed its surroundings with deep focus, sharp little eyes darting across the temple grounds. Inside the coffin, Li Yuan could no longer hear any sound from Sheng'er’s coffin next door. Instinctively, he had the urge to throw the lid open and scoop his daughter into his arms. This could all be a trap. He was willing to take risks with himself, but there was no universe where he would gamble with Sheng'er’s life. Just then, the faint fluttering of wings sounded behind the sparrow. Turning, it spotted a tiny black crow swooping in. With a deft motion, the crow hooked its talons onto the branch and perched beside the sparrow. Tilting its head, it rubbed gently against the sparrow’s side in an almost affectionate gesture before leaning close and whispering in a soft voice, “Papa, I’m okay… One of the crows slipped out of my control, but I can still sense it.” “Huh…?” Li Yuan froze. The sparrow, of course, couldn’t speak, but the little crow understood him well enough. “I really am fine,” it chirped softly. “I’m still sitting here in the Deathless Tomb, interrogating that old man. He’s not getting away from me.” The sparrow hopped down, landing on the earth below. With its sharp beak, it carefully scratched out a single phrase into the dirt, “To take, one must first give.” The little crow croaked twice, clearly exasperated. “I know, Papa! I won’t fall for it. And this time, I’m not the one cultivating, you are. So I’m definitely not listening to him.” Satisfied, the sparrow bobbed its head in approval. Even so, a strange unease gnawed at Li Yuan’s heart. Something about Sheng'er felt…different, as though she was on the verge of some irreversible change. Before he could ponder further, a pebble suddenly came whistling through the air. The sparrow sensed danger instantly and tried to dodge, but the stone came too fast and too close. Its little body simply wasn’t built for that kind of speed. Li Yuan, controlling the sparrow’s movements, reacted as quickly as he could. But he was still a fraction too late. Crack! The sparrow was sent tumbling through the air. The little crow blinked once, startled, then immediately hooked its claws into the falling sparrow and beat its wings furiously, carrying it away in escape. From behind came a boy’s gleeful shout. “Ha! These two birds are so weird! Fun, fun, fun! Dad! Help me knock them down!” Li Yuan turned his gaze in disbelief. The voice belonged to a teenager, maybe 14 years old, standing on the cliff above. From his aura, he was seventh rank, and judging from his attire, likely just a pilgrim visiting the temple. Li Yuan was speechless. Of all the idiots… The crow carried the sparrow as fast as its tiny wings could manage, but on the cliffside, the brat had already pulled out a slingshot, taking aim again. The little crow pushed itself to its absolute limit, beating its wings as though its life depended on it. But the boy released another stone, and with a sharp snap, it struck the crow square in the wing. The two tiny bodies spun wildly in the air before plummeting into the forest below. Just as the brat prepared to leap down after them, a voice called out sternly from behind. A disciple from the Court of Judge had arrived. “This is sacred ground where we pay respects to Yan Yu,” the disciple scolded sharply. “How dare you shed blood here?” The boy pouted and shouted back, “It’s just two stupid birds! Not people. What’s wrong with catching them if I want to? I just want to play with them however I like! And besides, we’re far from the temple, why do you care?” The disciple frowned deeply, his face growing cold, but before things escalated, a middle-aged man came rushing over from a distance, panting. Clearly the boy’s father. He grabbed his son by the arm, scolded him harshly, and bowed profusely to the disciple with apology after apology, before dragging the brat away. On the forest floor below, the little sparrow and crow lay sprawled out, unmoving. The crow croaked faintly, almost laughing despite itself: “Papa…even you have days , huh?” The sparrow said nothing. Deep within the undergrowth, a shadow moved, the brat had returned. Humiliated and furious after being scolded in public, he couldn’t swallow his anger. He remembered the two birds that had caused his embarrassment and figured they couldn’t have flown far after being hit. So he’d circled back from the foot of the mountain, quietly sneaking through the bushes. Soon, he found them, two tiny bodies lying helpless on the ground. A savage grin twisted across his face. Without hesitation, he raised his foot and stomped down hard. The little sparrow and crow burst apart beneath his heel. Blood and feathers splattered the earth. He exhaled with satisfaction, a cruel smile curling on his lips, and strolled away humming softly. A moment later, another sparrow and crow descended from the sky, landing silently on a branch nearby. They gazed at the broken little bodies on the ground, neither making a sound. Finally, the crow spoke, voice quiet but steady. “Papa…don’t worry about this. I’ll handle him myself.” Far away, in a place neither Li Yuan nor Sheng'er could sense, a black, crow-shaped shadow slowly drifted out from the coffin. The crow’s former body began to rot rapidly without it. The shadow, unbound by any material obstacle, floated effortlessly through earth and stone alike, drawn forward as though summoned. After a long while, it encountered something strange—a current of red, like underwater strands of glowing seaweed, writhing in the darkness. But these weren’t plants at all—they were rivers of energy, countless scarlet serpents plunging downward into the earth. This was pure Yang energy. Yang flowed downward, radiant and unrestrained, spreading like sunlight through the soil. And naturally, the crow shadow’s Yin energy was pulled toward it, an instinctive gravitation of opposites. Yin condensed. Yang dispersed. And then, the two made contact. The shadow latched onto the flowing Yang, wrapping around it, but the violent collision caused its form to tremble, threatening to destabilize completely. Just then, faint wisps of incense energy drifted down from above, seeping into the crow shadow and soothing its turbulence, slowly stabilizing its form. Updates are released by 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⁂𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖⁂𝕟𝕖𝕥 Gradually, Yin and Yang fused. The crow shadow sank into the Yang energy and began coalescing into a tiny, delicate sphere, like an unborn embryo cradled in darkness. The sphere floated silently for a moment before slowly drifting downward until it nestled itself against the roots of an ancient locust tree, where it finally stabilized. Soon after, a small sparrow and crow arrived, perching on the gnarled branches above. The little crow relayed everything it sensed to the sparrow, then glanced down at the strange old tree and muttered, “This tree is so ugly.” The sparrow, as usual, said nothing. The crow tilted its head, uncertainty creeping into its voice. “I…I wonder what’s going to happen now. Don’t tell me one of my feathers is going to advance to third rank? That’d be…way too ridiculous, right?” It spread its wings toward the sky, as if trying to question the heavens themselves. Back in the coffin, Li Yuan was speechless. He had seen his daughter’s transformation clearly now, and there was no longer any doubt. The Heaven Soul cultivation technique truly worked. But if that was the case, then Sheng'er had succeeded…and he had failed? He lay there in silence, emotions tangled and sour. He couldn’t even pretend not to care. For now, his soul was firmly anchored within his body, refusing to drift free no matter how he willed it. And within him, the Yang flame within had already burned to its utmost limit. And then, suddenly, he understood. The problem wasn’t the technique. It was him. Everyone else’s souls were naturally pulled outward by the surge of Yang energy. That was how the Heaven Soul cultivation worked. Yin sought Yang, the soul drifted free, and a new vessel was born. But his case was different. His soul was trapped—dragged down, anchored stubbornly within his body by the raging Yang flame he’d cultivated inside him. No matter how he willed it, it wouldn’t budge. Li Yuan finally understood the flaw. Still, he wasn’t one to give up easily. Even with this realization, he didn’t quit. Instead, he chose patience, waiting in silence to see if some shift, some unexpected change, might yet occur. But time…would not wait for him.