My Two-sided Cultivation: Starting From Collecting Experiences

In their final moments, they spat out curses, envisioning the inevitable downfall of the sect master even if he managed to conquer the world. But, unbeknownst to them, their deaths were just another cog in the grand scheme of the Sacred Heart Sect’s master.

Meanwhile, at the fringes of the three sects, lay the desolate Mount Wusi, a place echoing the whispers of a once vibrant ancient city.

The top of the mountain hosted a grand altar, home to a statue possessing a mysterious allure, yet devoid of any worship or attention. Overgrown weeds and wild creatures took residence, indicating the long absence of human presence.

Emerging from this desolation were three men, their faces devoid of color, looking as if they bore the weight of the world on their shoulders. Each step seemed a Herculean task, their energy sapped and bodies bearing the marks of time and hardship.

Two of them had white hair, while the other’s head was bare, his scalp narrating tales of the many years he had seen. These figures would have brought both shock and relief to the high ranks of the three sects, for these were the sect masters, recently defeated by Bai Wuya.

“I didn’t expect that Bai Wuya would be a step ahead of us and break through that hazy barrier.” The middle-aged man in a Confucian robe had a weary voice, and his originally elegant beard had been cut into pieces.

“This old Daoist has said that the little brats of the Qingzhou Alliance must never give up. Even if it’s a trap set by the six royal clans, we still have to try.”

“That kid is very likely the only possibility for us to become emperors.” Anger surged within the sect master, his fury palpable despite his weakened state. Blood trickled from his nose, a testament to his internal turmoil, yet he seemed blissfully unaware of its presence, too consumed by the gravity of their task and the roads that lay ahead.

The frail monk spoke in a gentle yet serious tone, “Amitabha. As soon as we exit the boundaries of the three provinces, we’ll be without protection. When the six royal clans muster their forces and encircle us beyond the provinces, we’ll be defenseless.

“The three sects will face annihilation. The human race will be relegated to mere sustenance for the six royal clans, with no room for survival. The Sacred Heart Sect’s fate in the West Cauldron State serves as a grim example.” A heavy silence descended upon them.

Eventually, it was the aged Daoist who disrupted the quiet. “Possessing the

luck of the three states could grant one the power of an emperor. But sadly, we lack the aptitude to ascend to that realm, confined to a state of near-progress, a state that I fear cannot be sustained.’

The trio was well-acquainted with the hardships, but the stringent prerequisites left them feeling helpless.

“This altar is the ultimate method bestowed upon us by our forebears,” the old Daoist remarked with a self-mocking smile as he gazed at the structure before them. Despite nearly ten thousand years of steadfast efforts, the three sects seemed to have attained nothing.

“What went wrong?”

With a reverent utterance of “Amitabha”, the elderly scholar weighed in with a sigh, “Maybe our downfall was our excessive caution, losing out on numerous golden opportunities. Yet, bearing the weight of countless lives, a single misstep could spell the end.”

The three of them sighed. Despite their sorrow, they recognized the magnitude of their duty.

“I pray our belated bravery brings some peace to our ancestors watching over us,” murmured the old Daoist.

The scholar continued, his face carved with lines of seriousness, “We must be cautious, for our frail bodies may not bear the forthcoming force. We must time our strikes wisely. Furthermore, once the providence of the three states is depleted, humanity might need another ten thousand years to rise again.”

“Don’t worry.”

Suddenly, the trio exuded a spirited energy that belied their years. Twilight’s white strands had darkened, and their once wavering spirits now held a firm resolve. Their newfound vigor surged like a dragon erupting from the depths, reaching toward the heavens.

“Who should I kill first?” The scholarly old man transformed, his eyes now radiated a fierce determination, abandoning any traces of his previously gentle demeanor.

“Our enemies, different from our kind, are bound to be our downfall. How can we let go of a grudge that spans ten thousand years?” The old Daoist proclaimed, his disdain evident as he obliterated the surrounding foliage with a snort.

“Yes!” agreed the scholar. As his agreement echoed, a wind surged from the altar, lifting him skywards. Illumination emerged from the altar, cocooning him in a beam of light that pierced the heavens.

Almost at the same time, a distant horizon bore witness to an imposing presence, one that surged toward the trio with a force that seemed heavenly. The whole vicinity resonated with the roar of a tiger, a sound that reverberated across three states.

From the heavens descended Bai Wuya, a figure resembling a celestial lord, at the border where the three sects met.

Many lifted their heads, staring at the undeniable presence in the sky, their faces losing color at the magnificent yet terrifying sight..