Chapter 10 – Immortal Arts Cannot Be Shared

Chapter 10 – Immortal Arts Cannot Be Shared

“How did the mortals during the Great Migration arrive at the immortal-barren land?” Perhaps because he had never cared about this question before, Kou Hong was stunned when Li Fan asked.

“The era of the Great Plague ended thousands of years ago. We don’t know the specifics of what happened back then. Everything we know about those times is basically hearsay.” After pondering for a moment, Kou Hong shook his head.

“Why, still haven’t given up?” Kou Hong glanced at Li Fan and couldn’t help but mock him. “Even if you made it out, what good would it do? At seventy years old, you still want to cultivate immortality…”

He trailed off mid-sentence when he noticed Li Fan’s icy gaze sweeping over him, while the several torturers beside them wore eager, predatory expressions. He couldn’t help but shudder and sheepishly shut his mouth.

Kou Hong had already been released from the dungeon by Li Fan.

After being trapped in the Chamber and baptized by the Mortal Taint, his cultivation had drastically regressed, plummeting straight to early-stage Qi Refining.

Unable to use any of his techniques, he was now little more than a slightly stronger mortal.

After his capture, he had initially kept cursing and swearing, but after several rounds of harsh interrogation, Kou Hong finally became cooperative.

“So the lofty cultivators, once stripped of their cultivation, are no different from us mortals. In fact, they have even less backbone than we do,” one of the torturers beside them remarked sarcastically.

“Indeed, this one couldn’t even hold out for a single hour under our hands,” another torturer chimed in.

Kou Hong was quite candid about it: “A bad life beats a good death. Besides, in the cultivation world, life and death, victory and defeat are all commonplace. Though you’re merely a mortal, your methods and resolve are both remarkable. Being outwitted by you—my brother and I have nothing to say about it. We were simply outmatched.”

“You don’t hate me?” Li Fan asked with some curiosity.

“Hate? Of course I hate you!” Kou Hong took a fierce swig of the fine wine Li Fan had prepared for him. “But what good does that do? Right now you hold the knife and I’m the fish on the chopping block. Am I supposed to threaten you? Wouldn’t that just be asking for death?”

“How open-minded of you,” Li Fan said with a sardonic smile.

“Just clinging to life, nothing more!” Kou Hong snorted coldly.

“If you could return to the cultivation world, would you still be able to continue cultivating?” After a moment of silence, Li Fan suddenly asked.

“What…” Kou Hong didn’t immediately grasp what he meant.

“If you can help me find a way to reach the cultivation world, perhaps I’ll take you along when the time comes,” Li Fan offered.

“You treacherous scoundrel, trying to trick me again?” Kou Hong erupted in fury, but quickly calmed himself down and glared hard at Li Fan.

Li Fan’s expression remained calm: “Whether it’s the truth or a lie, it’s still a hope. Are you willing to give up this lifeline and simply grow old and die in this tiny place?”

Hearing Li Fan’s words, Kou Hong fell silent.

His expression shifted violently, his inner struggle clearly intense.

After a long while, he finally heaved a deep sigh.

“Fine! I agree!”

“Rest assured, I, Li Fan, have always been a man of my word—what I say, I mean,” Li Fan said solemnly.

The torturers nearby straightened their expressions and lowered their heads.

Everyone in the court knew that the Grand Preceptor meant what he said: if he said he’d execute your entire family, he’d execute your entire family!

“Don’t bother painting me a rosy picture. The only reason I’m willing to help you is to gamble on that sliver of a chance,” Kou Hong said with a cold laugh.

Seeing this, Li Fan didn’t bother explaining further and instead laid out his theory directly.

“If my guess is correct, the cultivators who migrated the mortals back then must have used artifacts similar to flying boats or flying shuttles. In ancient times, the cultivation world had a vast population with countless sects standing in great prosperity. Transport-type artifacts like those were extremely popular. Unfortunately, after the great upheaval, cultivators lived in constant danger and mostly acted alone from then on, so flying boats and shuttles became rare,” Kou Hong replied slowly after listening.

“The great upheaval—are you referring to that bizarre Great Plague?” Li Fan asked.

“The Mortal Taint was bizarre, but it couldn’t shake cultivators at their core. In truth, the reason the Mortal Taint was able to run rampant was because the vast majority of cultivators in the world had perished in a Great Calamity. The cultivation world’s strength plummeted drastically, leaving it unable to effectively counter the Mortal Taint.” Kou Hong shook his head, his expression somewhat grave.

“The Great Heavenly Calamity?” Li Fan suddenly recalled the scene of the ruined mountain gate he had glimpsed deep within the Ruins Abyss, and his heart stirred. “Could it be—immortal arts cannot be shared?”

Kou Hong looked at Li Fan in surprise, not understanding how he had arrived at that conclusion.

“That’s right. Immortal arts cannot be shared!” Kou Hong heaved a long sigh.

“In ancient times, there was no such restriction. Back then, countless great cultivation sects opened their gates wide, accepting disciples and teaching their arts. Cultivators had their Masters to guide them—whenever they encountered difficulties in their practice, they could seek advice at any time, and they could spar and exchange insights with fellow disciples who practiced the same techniques. In those days, the entire cultivation world was a magnificent sight brimming with vitality!” As Kou Hong spoke, he could not hide his longing.

“But alas! The great upheaval came! One day, cultivators suddenly discovered that the efficiency of their cultivation techniques had drastically decreased. While cultivating, they could sense how many people across the entire cultivation world were simultaneously practicing the same technique. And they were horrified to discover that the more people simultaneously cultivating the same technique, the lower the cultivation efficiency became for everyone practicing it.” Kou Hong spoke slowly in a low voice, a flash of fear passing through his eyes.

“At first, everyone maintained restraint and tried to find a solution. But over the following decades, countless cultivators found themselves stuck in place, their cultivation making no progress whatsoever. When their lifespans began running out, they could no longer contain the killing intent in their hearts.”

“A catastrophe swept across the entire cultivation world. Anyone practicing the same technique as me was an obstacle on my path—a mortal enemy to be fought to the death! Former Masters and disciples, senior and junior brothers and sisters—in an instant, they all became sworn enemies! Even if someone had no desire to kill, under such circumstances, how could they be sure the other person felt the same? Who could guarantee the other wouldn’t suddenly strike? Every cultivator was plunged into endless suspicion, and the only person anyone could trust was themselves!”

“Every sect instantly became a living hell. And those rogue cultivators who had hidden away in remote mountains and Secret Realms to seek refuge couldn’t escape either. Because cultivators practicing the same technique could sense each other’s locations!”

“Slaughter. Endless slaughter. No one knows how long it lasted before it finally subsided. And by then, the once-flourishing cultivation world had become utterly desolate. Every sect had ceased to exist, leaving only solitary cultivators wandering alone.” Kou Hong narrated this ancient catastrophe of the cultivation world in measured tones.

Li Fan listened with his emotions surging, but even greater questions arose in his mind.

If immortal arts could not be shared, then how did the cultivators of today practice? And what exactly did the cultivation world look like now?