Cultivating for a hundred lifetimes to ascension Chapter 1493 - 808: Ninth Life Begins, Three Extremes Zhao Family

Unknown to anyone how much time had passed, Zhao Sheng stirred from the enveloping blackness. Hardly had he started reflecting when a searing ache ripped through his frame, yanking him from disorientation as a torrent of memory fragments inexplicably rushed into his thoughts.

He remembered!

In this lifetime, he bore the name Zhao Ergou, originating from a remote countryside farm where his household scraped by in utter poverty. By age ten, his Spirit Root was uncovered, prompting the Main Family to seize him for trading... Enduring a trek spanning thousands of miles, he was finally traded to a cultivation clan: the Three Extremes Zhao Family.

Right from his arrival, Zhao Ergou savored meat to his fill for the initial time, endured a thrashing that nearly ended him for the first occasion, and witnessed a cultivator soaring via Sword Control.

With these recollections surfacing, Zhao Sheng propped himself upright, scanned his surroundings, and noted the chamber spanned eight or nine zhang, featuring verdant brick walls, cypress rafters, and basic decor. Twenty bunks lined up in twin rows, neatly organized.

His spot hugged the deepest corner, forever deprived of sunlight, perpetually chilly and moist, reflecting his lowly rank among the room's dwellers.

Huh?

As his eyes roamed, Zhao Sheng's gaze sharpened abruptly, detecting an oddity since his sight "unwittingly" pierced the barrier and revealed the view beyond—a chamber nearly mirroring this one, housing twenty bunks inside.

Divine Sense?!

In this existence, true cultivation remained untouched, yet Divine Sense had already formed within him.

Zhao Sheng's pulse raced with elation, though he soon composed himself. Having cycled through reincarnations repeatedly, his Divine Soul had silently ballooned manifold, so innate Divine Sense came as no shock.

A sharp creak echoed as the entrance swung ajar, admitting seven or eight youths in succession.

The forefront youth bulked out with fat and muscle, sporting a leopardish head and bulging eyes, exuding a savage vibe.

Spotting Zhao Sheng alert, the savage youth marched forward boldly, bellowing, "Little Dog, you giving in now?"

Little Dog?

Is that aimed at me?

Zhao Sheng froze momentarily, and visions darted through his head; he recalled how, in the prior life, this very figure orchestrated a pummeling that knocked him out cold.

The cause behind the assault proved straightforward: a bid to assert dominance, with his frail physique marking him as the ideal mark.

A notion sparked, and Zhao Sheng motioned the savage youth closer with a gesture, uttering, "Come on, get over here!"

This sight enraged the savage youth, who hiked up his sleeves, lunged toward the bunk, and swung a fist toward Zhao Sheng's visage.

Ah!

In the instant that followed, the savage youth unleashed a piercing wail, his form went limp, and he dropped to his knees beside the bed, his torso slumping against its rim.

Zhao Sheng extended a hand to tap the youth's cheek, grinning at him while inquiring, "What's your name?"

Terror gripped the savage youth, an irritating tingle and paralysis overtaking him, his limbs jerking without control. Panic-stricken, he blurted out swiftly, "My name is Chen Polu."

No sooner had he spoken than he queried in dread, "What sort of Evil Skill was that you employed? How come I can't budge?"

Zhao Sheng offered no reply, instead lifting his eyes to the remaining youths, his stare profound and detached.

The youths recoiled in fright, each stepping backward, heads lowered to evade his look.

"What are your names?"

"Zhou Wuluan"

"Zheng Lie"

"Zhao Gaiguan"

...

The youths, hearts pounding with alarm, recited their names in turn.

Zhao Sheng, face stern, gave a faint nod and declared, "Starting today, I'm in charge here. Any in favor? Any against?"

Silence blanketed the chamber, the youths traded uneasy looks, then collectively fixed their sights on the savage youth, Chen Polu.

Noticing this, Zhao Sheng's attention settled on Chen Polu.

The savage youth locked eyes with him and quaked instantly, nodding frantically while yelling, "No objections from me. Brother Zhao takes the lead in Geng Ninth Room from this point."

Upon saying that, he pressed the rest urgently, "Hurry and greet the boss!"

Witnessing this, the youths rushed to chorus their boss salutes boisterously.

Zhao Sheng dipped his head approvingly, stretched out his right arm, and jabbed the Tan Zhong acupoint on the savage youth's torso, freeing the sealed point.

The savage youth, Chen Polu, sensed relief wash over him, the prickling and deadening fading away, his limbs restoring feeling, filling his chest with awe and glee.

He sprang to his feet promptly, bowed low with a sycophantic grin toward the boss, all while prodding the others to surrender their stashed items as tribute to the leader.

Before long, the remaining youths trickled back into the room, and Zhao Sheng quashed any resistance with a casual show of power.

...

Come morning, the Grand Sun ascended, ushering purple qi from the eastern horizon.

Within the expansive compound of green bricks rose a White Stone Plaza, spanning close to ten acres, vast enough for ten thousand souls.

As rays breached the barriers and bathed the plaza, squads of youths entered, orienting toward the dawn light and forming ranks by their assigned spots.

Soon enough, the plaza brimmed with figures, tallying over a thousand in rough estimate.

At that juncture, a massive verdant toad, bovine in scale, vaulted across the barrier, thudding down before the assembly, bearing a rotund elder perched cross-legged atop it, shirtless and pot-bellied.

The rotund elder's countenance gleamed slick with grease, his gut protruding prominently, resembling a dame heavy with ten moons' burden.

Yet this obese elder, the moment he materialized, quelled the plaza to utter quiet, instilling chills in countless frames, blanching many a face.

The rotund elder's clouded gaze raked across the throng, prompting all to incline heads in grave deference, forging a heavy tension.

"Today we recite the scriptures once more, hold your ground. The opening verse of the Jieye Moke Scripture: All beings in the ten directions, with deepest devotion and bliss, aspire to rebirth in my realm, even through Ten Thoughts; should they fail to be reborn, I vow not to achieve Zheng Jue..."

Initially, the recitation rang grave and grand, slowly shifting to a shrill, ambiguous timbre, akin to insects tunneling into ears, ultimately burrowing into craniums, gnawing at spirits.

Those youths of frail resolve buckled earliest, successively hemorrhaging from orifices, crumpling to the ground and seizing up before blacking out.