“Tsk tsk, it seems I’ve been too kind to you lot. Someone’s trying to play tricks.”

The guard spoke as he walked through the crowd amidst his companions’ laughter, stopping in front of a burly bald man.

He leisurely took out a brand-new collar artifact and placed it around the man’s neck, then forcibly pried open his mouth and shoved an elixir inside. After that, he grabbed the man by the back of his collar and dragged him to the side, tying him to the mast of the flying boat, with a dagger hanging beside him.

Under the effect of the elixir, the man’s wounds quickly healed, but each time they did, the dagger would automatically activate, slicing open a dozen new wounds, which would then heal again.

Under the scorching sun, the man sweated profusely, the sweat seeping into his wounds, causing unbearable pain. This cycle of healing and re-injury tormented the man to the point where he wished for death.

The other cultivator prisoners watched this scene with heavy hearts.

“You’ve seen his fate. I advise you all to behave, or there’s still room on this mast!” the guard threatened with a cold snort.

Everyone remained silent, and the mortal prisoners behind them lowered their heads, not daring to look.

Zuo Qinghui observed coldly, knowing that this was just a trap set by the guards to lure out any troublemakers and make an example of them.

The flying boat continued forward, flying over the desert. After some time, they saw thick black smoke in the distance, and the boat slowly descended to the ground.

The guards shouted, ordering the prisoners to stand up and disembark one by one.

At the same time, they untied the nearly unconscious bald man from the mast, fed him another unknown elixir, and called two prisoners to drag him away.

In front of them stood a bronze gate on a sand dune. As the guards approached, the gate rumbled open, and two Foundation Establishment cultivators in black robes emerged.

One of them, a middle-aged man with dark skin, glanced at the prisoners with collars and frowned, complaining to the one-horned man leading the group.

“Senior Brother Fang, there seem to be fewer cultivators this time. Elder Hai won’t be pleased.”

“There were some issues along the way. These will have to do,” the one-horned man replied irritably.

Zuo Qinghui, standing in the back, listened to their conversation, contemplating something.

The Yanlin Mine was a special spiritual mine, resembling fish scales and containing chaotic fire spiritual energy. It couldn’t be used to refine ordinary artifacts but was suitable for creating a special one-time-use artifact called the ‘Liaoyuan Fire.’

This artifact was similar to the Heart-Splitting Thunder but less powerful. Upon activation, it created a sea of fire equivalent to a strike from a Foundation Establishment cultivator. Since the refining method wasn’t a secret, many sects in the Central Plains kept some in reserve.

However, mining the Yanlin ore was extremely hazardous. Any mistake could cause an explosion, and the fire spiritual energy would harm the miners’ bodies. Mortals couldn’t endure it, so only cultivators could mine it.

The captured mortals were assigned to mine other ores.

Yuan Ming, through his incense-induced possession of Wu Lu, discovered that although Wu Lu was in a mine, he showed no signs of distress. It was unclear whether he was on a mission or truly trapped. However, Yuan Ming noticed that the mortals and cultivators trapped there lived in darkness, praying for escape.

For Yuan Ming, helping these people could earn their trust and provide a good source of willing energy, aiding his cultivation of the Death Moon method.

At the gate, the dark-skinned middle-aged man roughly counted the number of cultivators and mortals, then called a few Qi refining stage guards to take them inside. The one-horned man and his group stayed outside.

As they entered the passageway, many Returning to Origin Sect disciples with Qi refining cultivation patrolled the area. At the exit, several large green wolves, wearing special leather armor and iron neck guards, were tethered, making the place heavily guarded.

As the group approached, the wolves bared their teeth and growled, muscles tensed, ready to attack. The cultivator prisoners remained calm, but the mortals were terrified, some trembling.

After the guards calmed the wolves, they stopped their aggressive behavior.

Zuo Qinghui and the others followed the guards through the passageway, emerging into a vast underground cavern.

Near the passage were rows of stone houses, filled with black-robed cultivators. In the center stood a four-story building with an ancient design, its top floor an open pavilion offering a view of the entire cavern.

Zuo Qinghui sensed someone watching from the top floor, but when he looked up, he saw no one.

The guards didn’t linger, quickly leading the prisoners to a large open area on the other side of the cavern.

This was a massive mining site. Zuo Qinghui saw that the mine was shaped like a giant fan, sloping downward like a steep hill, crowded with over a thousand people. The conditions were worse than those in the Black Soil District, seemingly the prisoners’ quarters.

On the opposite stone wall, various mine entrances of different sizes looked like a giant beehive, with shirtless men swinging hammers to break rocks.

At the lowest exit, miserable-looking miners carried baskets of pale yellow ore out of the mines.

They dumped the ore onto waiting carts outside the entrance and immediately returned to the mines without rest.

Another group of emaciated miners pulled the loaded carts to stone houses on the other side of the open area.

One stone house had a tall black chimney connected to the cavern’s ceiling, likely a smelting area. The black smoke from the smelting was vented outside the cavern.

Throughout the mine, high platforms with two or three Returning to Origin Sect disciples guarded every corner, overseeing the entire area.

The guards’ thorny whips could tear clothes and flesh with a single strike, and any cries of pain would result in harsher punishment.

The guards were even stricter with the cultivator prisoners.

Groups of ten cultivators with collars worked together, eight wielding rake-like tools, and two carrying baskets of red ore resembling scales.

A grey-robed cultivator supervised each group, watching them closely to prevent any secret actions.

Led by the one-horned man, Zuo Qinghui and the other prisoners were separated and taken to a barracks, where a cultivator recorded their names and ordered them to line up.

The cultivator formed a hand seal and pointed at his forehead, causing a slit to open, revealing a vertical snake eye. A purple light shot from the eye, scanning Zuo Qinghui and the others.

The purple light soon disappeared, and the snake eye retracted. The cultivator turned to the guards.

“They’ve been checked. No storage artifacts on them. The mine is short on people, so don’t send this batch to Elder Hai. Let’s see… Zhu Si, Shen Mangxing, and Chen Shang all need people. Send a message to call them back to pick up these prisoners.”

Zhu Si, a sharp-faced female cultivator, immediately retorted.

The two seemed to be arguing over the stronger prisoners, while a simple-looking middle-aged man remained silent, watching their exchange.

In the end, Zhu Si and Chen Shang divided the stronger prisoners, leaving the weaker and older ones to Shen Mangxing.

Though Zuo Qinghui had changed his appearance, his old frame made him undesirable to Zhu Si and Chen Shang, so he was assigned to Shen Mangxing.

Zuo Qinghui and two other weak cultivators followed Shen Mangxing out of the barracks, where six more collar-wearing cultivators awaited.

They were a mix of men and women, all either old or frail, similar to Zuo Qinghui and his companions.