More and more people gathered in the courtyard — strange shapes and odd trades, every sort of calling — all of them craning their heads to watch, and they saw that the first wooden tower had already been riddled with holes, battered past saving. Amid the exploding splinters, Shen Mu walked toward the second wooden tower, the Azure Dragon coiled about his body, blasting away each chunk of wood that hurtled at him. Bang, bang, bang... The tower shook without pause, as though some monstrous beast were ramming the walls from within. Its fate was little better than the first tower's: the walls kept bursting apart, and one figure after another was sent flying out. Boom. The second wooden tower collapsed, raising a storm of dust. Then Shen Mu walked toward the third. ... Night fell. In the village of the Nether Demon Cult, the stone basins atop the stone pillars were filled with lamp oil and set alight; within the village it was bright as day, while beyond it lay a sunken murk. Wherever the village's light touched the dark, the dark swallowed it — inside and outside the village, two worlds. "Young Master Mu, you haven't rested in a day and a night, have you?" In the history of the Nether Demon Cult, the great majority of its guardian elders had come out of these four halls; even several cult leaders had risen from them. This woman had refined her qi into silk, forging her primal qi into threads of incomparable toughness; yet she had never cultivated the art of riding a flying sword on qi. Her qi-threads were her sword. Her body, meanwhile, was like a specter of the wastes, supple as though boneless, moving through the room at will; from her fingertips shot blade after blade of primal qi, stretching out like her own fingernails, like soft swords that lengthened and shortened at will, and she struck at Shen Mu with murderous intent. The woman moved with a cat's tread and a tiger's stride; in that small room, wall or ceiling alike, she was nimble beyond measure, as though walking on flat ground. She used primal qi as her sword; the soft blade was uncanny, able to bend to any angle, even to twist into eighteen curves, and her mastery of swordplay was far from weak. Shen Mu was wounded again and again; he had to guard against the qi-threads and her qi-sword both, and the fight was bitter beyond words. Neither Elder Huo's boxing nor the Lame Elder's legwork could be brought into play, and the Butcher's blade technique, hampered by too many obstacles, was pressed into the inferior position. Shen Mu raised his blade and cut through the qi-threads in the room, then took up the medicine kept there, applied it to his wounds, and bound them. He sat down, regulated his breath, and ate little by little of the food provided in the room. When the pain in his body had eased somewhat and a little of his strength had returned, he broke off several planks, whittled them into wooden swords with the slaughtering knife, slung the swords across his back, and only then rose and walked toward the next room. Three hundred and sixty rooms — he had fought through three hundred and fifty-seven of them, and only the last three remained. His body and his will had both reached the limit of what he could bear; his head hummed and buzzed as though a thousand people were clamoring without cease. Never had he been so exhausted; he longed to simply lie down and sleep. Even his spirit embryo had lost its former vigor, listless and dull. He was no longer sustained by will; he fought on mechanically, fought on by instinct alone. One conviction alone remained in his heart: he could not let these people take away Granny Zhu, who had raised him. His parents had given him life, but it was Granny Zhu who had saved that life, who had brought him up, sparing no effort or thought. Granny Zhu was his mother, the dearest person he had. Shen Mu turned woodenly, lifted his feet like a machine, and shuffled slowly toward the next room. Bang — Shen Mu walked out of that room step by step, his tread heavy as stone, and dragged himself toward the next. "Young Master Mu, I can wait until you have rested..." Bang! "Is it over?" Shen Mu froze for a moment, then suddenly felt all strength drain from him; his legs gave way and he collapsed with a thud. He heard the clucking cry of the plume-crested fire pheasant dragon of Hidden Remnant Village — the sound they made after laying their eggs. But the youth was far too tired, and soon sank into deep sleep. Then his spirit embryo began madly drawing in the golden light from the divine treasury of his primal embryo, and afterward fell silent as well. Shen Mu slept no one knew how long, and woke in a daze to what seemed the sight of the village head and the Pill Master, their voices distant and high, as though coming from very far away: "Nothing serious, he is only exhausted..." Then he sank back into deep sleep. He woke several times: sometimes he saw Granny Zhu, sometimes that young patriarch of the Demon Cult; many faces swayed to and fro around him. He wanted to speak but had no strength, and sank once more into sleep. When Shen Mu woke again, every muscle in his body ached, yet his spirit was good, and the wounds on his body had scabbed over and begun to peel — no doubt the Pill Master had come and dressed them anew. "My spirit embryo has fallen asleep again." Shen Mu examined himself and found nothing seriously wrong apart from the silence of his spirit embryo. Enduring the ache, he stood, and holding to the stairs, made his way slowly down; every step he took felt like his muscles were being torn apart. When at last he managed to drag himself to the ground floor and stepped out of the wooden tower, he raised his eyes and suddenly froze. They were sitting or standing, waiting quietly, making no sound at all. When they saw Shen Mu come out of the tower, one after another they rose to their feet, every gaze falling at once upon him, their expressions grave. The young patriarch of the Demon Cult stood at the village entrance, and there too were the village head, the Pill Master, Elder Huo, and the others; Granny Zhu stood there as well, her gaze on Shen Mu, her expression somewhat complicated. Suddenly four elders bowed, their voices loud and clear, ringing to the heavens: "The Four Great Cult-Guarding Heavenly Kings of the Holy Cult pay their respects to the Young Cult Leader!" Shen Mu was stunned, at a loss what to do, when several more voices rang out in unison: "The Left and Right Protector Envoys of the Holy Cult pay their respects to the Young Cult Leader!" "The Eight Great Inspectors of the Holy Cult pay their respects to the Young Cult Leader!" "The Twelve Guardian Elders of the Holy Cult pay their respects to the Young Cult Leader!" What had Shen Mu ever seen of such a scene? His heart fell into confusion, and he looked imploringly toward the village head, Granny Zhu, and the rest — but they did not come forward; they stood far off and watched. The cowherd boy of Hidden Remnant Village steadied himself, and with a composure that was almost unhurried, slowly raised both hands and said, neither fast nor slow: "You — rise." "We thank the Young Cult Leader!"