Chapter 36: The End of the Road

This system is truly unreliable—always letting me down at crucial moments and constantly issuing all sorts of strange tasks. If I hadn’t genuinely benefited from it, I would have thought its sole purpose was to ruin me, as if its mission would be complete only once I was destroyed.

Slightly aggrieved, Lin Hao asked, “System, why didn’t you remind me just now?”

“You did not ask,” the system’s cold voice replied.

Lin Hao was momentarily speechless. True enough, since he hadn’t asked, the system wouldn’t have offered a reminder—no fault there.

From then on, Lin Hao became more cautious as he traveled. Perhaps touching that great tree had unblocked the meridians along this path, or something of the sort. In any case, the road ahead was no longer smooth. He encountered man-eating flowers, frenzied spirit beasts—things he had never seen before. Though he managed to deal with them for the time being, he was left in a rather sorry state.

These dangers appeared without warning. Along the way, Lin Hao came to understand much he hadn’t known, expanding his knowledge of the world.

Three days passed as Lin Hao walked this path. There were no forks in the road, nor did the legendary Phoenix Feather appear. Yet during these three days, his combat abilities had improved greatly, his strength had stabilized and reached a bottleneck—he was just one opportunity away from breaking through.

Moreover, he had slain many crazed spirit beasts, acquiring a trove of beast cores, which pleased him. And while the system could be treacherous, at critical moments it still proved useful. With its guidance, Lin Hao had collected a wealth of rare alchemical herbs.

On this day, Lin Hao finally reached the end of the road.

At last, he had arrived! Joy flashed in his eyes as he quickly approached, though he remained vigilant.

But as soon as he reached the end, the ground beneath his feet shifted. With a thunderous crash, he had no time to react, not even enough for surprise to register in his eyes.

In an instant, the ground collapsed, and Lin Hao plummeted into a fissure torn open by the earth. Once he had fallen through, the crack sealed itself as if no one had ever passed this way.

As he fell, Lin Hao used his spiritual power to steady himself. This pit was deep—he estimated he had fallen nearly two hundred meters before reaching the bottom.

Fortunately, his strength was formidable. Maintaining control with his spirit energy, he landed unscathed.

But the cave was pitch black.

Lin Hao summoned a burst of flame at his fingertip. Illuminated by the fire, he saw that the cavern was not only deep but also vast. As he walked forward, he discovered nine tunnels ahead. Over the central tunnel, three characters were inscribed: Nine Vein Peak.

Curiosity piqued, Lin Hao wondered—what was Nine Vein Peak? He asked the system, but it feigned death and refused to answer.

Left with no choice, Lin Hao examined the nine tunnels one by one. Sensing the openings, he detected nothing—no spiritual energy, no hint of danger. It seemed the entrances shielded all within.

In the end, he chose the first tunnel on the left and entered.

Inside, darkness reigned. Lin Hao conjured another flame and pressed forward.

The cave was shrouded in blackness, punctuated only by the sound of dripping water.

This meant there was airflow—Lin Hao’s spirits lifted. It seemed the tunnel must have an exit.

He continued onward, and before long, saw an opening ahead. Was this the way out?

Emerging from the tunnel, he found himself back at the starting point, once again standing before Nine Vein Peak.

Unconvinced, he tried the second tunnel. But at the end, it led back to the first tunnel’s exit.

Realizing he was trapped in a labyrinth where all passages looped back, Lin Hao was perplexed. Though he heard running water and felt air currents, suggesting an exit, he could not find the way out.

The winding passages and countless forks always brought him back to where he started. Frustration mounted—was escape even possible? Should he destroy the entire cave to find a way out?

Just then, a sudden roar startled him. In the silence of the cave, a beast’s howl—so close—echoed fiercely. It sounded like a spirit beast in agony.

Intrigued, Lin Hao crept toward the source, which seemed to emanate from the ninth tunnel. After circling the entrance, he confirmed the sound came from within.

He hesitated briefly, then resolutely entered.

At first, the passage was identical to the previous two, but as he proceeded, the anguished cries grew louder, the space widened, and light began to seep in.

Hope sparked in Lin Hao’s heart—was this at last the way out?

He quickened his pace, stepping quietly and suppressing his aura to avoid detection. Who knew what kind of beast might lie ahead? Such pained howls might mean two spirit beasts locked in mortal combat.

At the tunnel’s end, Lin Hao saw brilliant daylight. He had emerged before a stretch of mountains.

“Finally, I’m out!” he exclaimed.

Yet, as soon as he exited, the beast’s roars ceased. Lin Hao paused, listening intently.

Suddenly, another howl shattered the air, making him jump.

Quickly, he climbed into a tree, hiding and peering toward the source of the angry roars.

He saw a qilin thrashing about in agony, its body covered in bleeding wounds and its expression twisted with pain.

Scanning the area, Lin Hao detected no other spirit beasts or people. How, then, had the qilin been wounded so?

As he watched, the qilin rolled on the ground in torment. Once it moved aside, Lin Hao saw what had been hidden—a mangled beast carcass, torn apart and drenched in blood, so mutilated he could not tell what kind of spirit beast it had been, yet it had managed to injure the qilin so grievously.

This ruled out human involvement. Seeing the qilin’s suffering, Lin Hao’s heart softened.

Making sure there was no further danger, he leapt down from the tree and approached the qilin.

Though injured, the qilin’s vigilance and power remained formidable. The moment Lin Hao drew near, it sensed him, halting its struggles to glare at him in wary alarm.

Lin Hao quickly raised both hands to show they were empty and slowly approached, saying, “I have no intention of harming you. I can help clean your wounds.”

He did not know whether the qilin could understand his words, but he advanced cautiously.

The qilin seemed to understand, though its wariness did not abate. However, it did not prevent him from approaching.

Lin Hao thought he had reached some understanding with the beast, and smiled as he drew closer.

But just as he closed the distance to about five meters, the qilin erupted in fury and lunged at him with a roar.

Fortunately, Lin Hao reacted swiftly, spinning away to dodge the attack.

With a leap, he retreated more than ten meters and glanced back—where he had stood was now a gaping pit left by the qilin’s charge.

Surprise flashed in Lin Hao’s eyes. He had thought they’d reached an accord, but the qilin’s wariness was greater than he’d imagined.

Seeing the beast prepare to attack again, Lin Hao shouted, “I truly mean you no harm. Please believe me.”

But the qilin was beyond reason, furiously hurling itself at him, heedless of its own injuries and the blood streaming from its body, draining its strength.

Lin Hao did not draw his weapon nor unleash his strange fire; he simply continued to evade, all the while speaking soothingly to the enraged beast.

As the qilin realized it could not harm him, a desperate resolve filled its eyes. At last, as Lin Hao paused in a new position, the qilin roared and spat a blade of brilliant red toward him.

Lin Hao was deeply shocked—the flying blade seemed imbued with the destructive might of a great cultivator, so much so that his footing faltered.

With no choice, Lin Hao summoned his Fire Lotus to defend himself.