Surviving In A Martial Arts World To Become A Saint

Chen Qing stored the spirit liquid in jade bottles, his eyes showing no ripples.

He always conducted himself steadily, deeply aware that hidden dragons and crouching tigers lurked within this Taiyi Spirit Ruins.

The first tier—those few people: Jiang Tuo, Nan Zhuoran, Lin Haiqing, Wang Jing, Xin Nichang—every one was a monster with more than ten True Origin refinements, one foot already on the Grandmaster threshold.

Even the second tier old hands, having steeped at the peak of nine refinements for years with seasoned experience, their strength might not be inferior to ten refinements, possibly even stronger. After all, some old fellows who failed attempting to break through to Grandmaster actually had even more refined True Origin condensation.

"Shouldn't linger."

Chen Qing's figure flashed and disappeared into the depths of the dense forest.

He concealed his aura. After seven refinements, the liquid True Origin within his body slowly circulated. Each step he took was light as a feather, leaving no trace on snow.

The further toward the central area he advanced, the denser the surrounding heaven and earth essence became.

The milky white spiritual mist permeating the air had nearly condensed to substance. Between breaths, cool and pure essence autonomously surged into his meridians, his cultivation growing slowly at all times.