Chapter Thirteen: Preparations Before the Journey

In the span of three days, Mo Bufan poured all his energy into preparing for this challenge. It was his first time venturing into an unfamiliar and dangerous place, one filled with countless opportunities. Aside from some apprehension, excitement and curiosity surged within him.

Yet, the deeper he delved into the mysteries of Dragonfall Abyss, the more he realized that only his own strength could see him through this ordeal—there was no other way. Legend held that Dragonfall Abyss was the place where the Ancestor of the Dragon Clan fell. At the moment of the Supreme Dragon Emperor’s demise, he used all his power to seal this land in order to secure victory in battle, making it so that only cultivators at the Nascent Void stage could exist within. Any spiritual tools or treasures beyond that level would be suppressed.

Even immortals of the Celestial rank could not break this suppression if they entered. But that was far from the greatest danger.

As a fragment of the Immortal Realm and the final battleground between immortals and demons, though the demonic creatures had been eradicated, the demonic miasma still lingered. If such miasma entered a cultivator’s body, it could easily destabilize their mind, incite murderous intent, and drive them into madness. Without the proper method of guidance, one would perish from exhaustion.

Of course, after tens of thousands of years, the miasma had mostly dissipated. Only in a few places where powerful demon cultivators had fallen did it remain a threat. Still, should Mo Bufan be “fortunate” enough to encounter an outbreak, the consequences would be impossible to predict.

This most severe yet uncommon threat was not something Mo Bufan dared to take lightly. He went straight to Song Yuchen to obtain a formation to ward off demonic miasma, and also procured a Qiankun Disk for concealment. Feeling uneasy still, he asked Gai Nie for two immortal pills, and Gai Nie simply handed him a small bottle, leaving Mo Bufan beside himself with excitement.

Yet, for this trial that his strict master had so carefully selected for him, these preparations were far from enough. He needed proper spiritual tools.

Apart from the nameless longsword given to him by Ge Qingyang, Mo Bufan had no other spiritual tools to use. He began to regret not having crafted any when he reached this stage of cultivation.

For cultivators, spiritual tools were a matter of life and death—not only could good tools assist in attack, but some, like puppet talismans, could even save one’s life. He secretly vowed that upon his return, he would begin learning the art of crafting tools.

Since he had none now, he had to find a way to acquire some.

Among the fifteen peak masters of Tianmu Mountain, Wen Xuan, the master of Little Bamboo Peak, was head of the Sect’s Tool Refining Pavilion and certainly had no shortage of treasures. Yet, Mo Bufan was not well acquainted with Elder Wen Xuan—he had only met him once, at his wedding. At this point, he wouldn’t even recognize Wen Xuan’s face. Even so, necessity drove him to seek him out.

As for medicinal pills, Mo Bufan lacked nothing. The immortal pills Gai Nie had given him were more than enough to heal his injuries. Any higher-grade pills would be wasted on him, as his body could not absorb their effects.

With this in mind, he wasted no time. Mounting his white crane, he flew directly to Little Bamboo Peak to find Wen Xuan.

The crane sped swiftly, and in the blink of an eye he had crossed several peaks and landed atop Little Bamboo Peak, where Wen Xuan resided. To his surprise, the summit was covered in buildings that looked like half-round boiler rooms—a sight reminiscent of his previous life. There were at least a dozen of these, both large and small, occupying the entire mountaintop.

Mo Bufan was wondering where Wen Xuan might be when he caught sight of a towering boiler house, five or six fathoms high, belching white smoke and faintly glowing with firelight—clearly, someone was refining tools inside.

Delighted, he stepped forward, but suddenly a blinding flash of fire erupted before him. A terrifying boom followed, and the massive boiler house, standing four or five fathoms tall, exploded with a deafening roar. A sweeping wave of spiritual energy surged toward him.

Though he was dozens of meters away, Mo Bufan could not evade the blast and was sent flying, crashing heavily to the ground. Spiritual energy and blood churned violently within him—he almost spat out a mouthful of blood. He quickly swallowed several pills to suppress his injuries.

“An explosion!” At that moment, shrill cries rang out from the other boiler houses. Soon, a dozen or so figures emerged, disheveled and wretched, from the ruins.

Unfortunate were the nearby boiler houses, which had been overturned in the blast. The disciples who escaped were covered in soot and looked thoroughly miserable.

“Master, help!” someone cried, just as a glow of light flashed and a middle-aged man in white robes appeared before them. He glanced around and instantly began to curse, “You idiots! What kind of immortal tool were you refining? Are you trying to demolish my whole domain?”

He hurled curses as he strode into the flames, and soon emerged carrying a charred object.

Before Mo Bufan could react, the man shouted again, “Gai Nie, get out here and save my disciple!”

Then, several figures followed him toward Gai Nie’s peak, leaving behind only a few blue-robed disciples amid the wreckage—and a bewildered Mo Bufan.

“Well, if it isn’t our son-in-law! What brings you to Little Bamboo Peak today?” asked one of the blue-robed disciples, his face blackened with soot but his white teeth gleaming as he greeted Mo Bufan.

Mo Bufan quickly composed himself and replied, “I… I was hoping to borrow a weapon… but it seems you’re all a bit busy today?”

“Busy? Not at all!” The disciple looked confused, then glanced at the chaotic summit and seemed to understand. “Oh, you mean this? Explosions are a daily occurrence in tool refining... Whatever you need, come with me.”

He gestured for Mo Bufan to follow.

Mo Bufan scratched his head, muttering to himself, “Are all the tool refiners here lunatics?” Nevertheless, he followed the disciple.

“Shouldn’t we let Senior Wen Xuan know?” Mo Bufan asked, a bit worried.

“No need. The old man doesn’t bother with such matters. Take whatever you like.” The disciple pushed open the largest boiler house, six or seven fathoms across. “Everything is inside, choose as you wish. I’ll go put out the fires.”

Without another word, the disciple left, never even stating his name. Mo Bufan watched the busy disciples, all rushing to extinguish flames and rebuild, and could only smile wryly.

He entered the room to find shelves neatly lined with various spiritual tools. There were not only swords, spears, and halberds, but also talismans, bowls, silk sashes, and all manner of strange items.

Clearly, these were the works of the tool-refining eccentrics. Each item was of no low grade—the worst among them being of mid-grade quality.

From his years of study, Mo Bufan understood that, aside from grade, the most important thing about a spiritual tool was whether it suited the cultivator. Generally speaking, only tools crafted by the cultivators themselves would perfectly match their own meridians and cultivation, compensating for their weaknesses.

However, there were also tools suitable for any cultivator. While these might not feel as natural, they could still unleash considerable power—especially talismans, which largely fell into this category.

Most of the items crafted in this tool workshop were of the universally applicable variety, often given as rewards to disciples who rendered significant service or achieved outstanding cultivation. If a disciple’s contribution was great enough, the workshop would even craft a custom tool for them.

Mo Bufan had long intended to make his own spiritual tools, but his cultivation had been too low. Now, he selected mostly offensive talismans, as well as some bowls and flags for trapping enemies.

He was not greedy, taking only a modest selection and none of the top-tier items, knowing that such treasures would be of little use in Dragonfall Abyss.

As he chose, Mo Bufan resolved that during this training, if there was any opportunity, he would seek out tool-refining materials. Upon his return, he would begin learning the craft. Spiritual tools were simply too vital for cultivators.

With his selections made, he left to find the blue-robed disciples still busily working, paying him no heed. Mo Bufan coughed and called out, “Thank you all. I’ll be taking these spiritual tools now.”

The disciples turned, respectfully saluted him, their sooty faces splitting into grins that revealed only white teeth and the whites of their eyes. After exchanging greetings, they went back to their work.

With an awkward bow, Mo Bufan mounted his white crane and headed for Celestial Maiden Peak.

For the next two days, he spent all his time in the Scripture Pavilion, poring over every record concerning Dragonfall Abyss. He memorized the terrain, dangerous regions, and potential demonic beasts he might face.

One’s first trial—if not met with ample preparation—was truly daunting.

Two days later, Mo Bufan went to Celestial Fool Peak to bid farewell to his master, then had Wu Yong accompany him to the designated gathering place for the outer sect trial.

Arriving at the outer gate of Tianmu Mountain, Mo Bufan was struck by the scale of the Sky Profound Sect. The outskirts of all eighteen main peaks were crowded with dwellings, and outer sect disciples in robes of various colors bustled to and fro.

Following Wu Yong to a three-story Hall of Affairs, he saw more than a dozen groups of disciples, all preparing for tasks or trials. Above the huge counter hung bamboo slips inscribed with all manner of missions and training assignments.

Undertaking a mission required no payment from disciples—only their effort, for which they would receive the listed reward. Typically, inner sect disciples posted the missions and provided the rewards, along with a fee to the sect. These tasks were generally not too dangerous.

The sect itself also issued tasks in response to emergencies, such as exorcising demons or monsters—these offered higher rewards, but were also more perilous.

Trials, on the other hand, were arranged by the sect. Some, like the one at Dragonfall Abyss, required a fee. Inner sect disciples would escort participants to the trial site, and serving as an escort was itself a task for them, with its own reward. Such trials were relatively safe, as the terrain and threats were well known.

Wu Yong delivered Mo Bufan to the hall and explained the workings of missions and trials, which Mo Bufan found fascinating. He had read about such things in xianxia novels, but experiencing it firsthand was something else entirely.

Having finished his explanation, Wu Yong returned to Celestial Maiden Peak.

Mo Bufan waited quietly on a stone bench outside the hall. Wu Yong had told him that the leader of the training group would call for them soon, so he was in no rush.

After about an hour, a disciple in blue robes appeared at the entrance, holding a bamboo slip, and announced, “Outer sect disciples heading to Dragonfall Abyss for training, gather here.”

Hearing this, Mo Bufan immediately stood and made his way toward the disciple.