Deep beneath the sea, in the depths of the world of demonic cultivators, lay a secluded valley, cut off from the rest of the world. There were no raging waves within it, only a pool of clear, emerald water. Beside the pool stood a simple bamboo house and courtyard. The walls, roof, door, and windows were all made of bamboo. Even the stone table and stools in the courtyard were plain and unadorned. At a glance, everything was simple, even somewhat crude.
Yet strangely, beyond the bamboo house lay the surging torrents of the deep sea. Massive waves pounded the valley cliffs with deafening roars, while turbid seawater churned wildly at the valley entrance, carrying shattered rocks as if it would swallow the tiny courtyard whole. But inside the house, all was so quiet that one could hear the sound of tea dripping. A gentle breeze slipped through the window, carrying a faint bamboo fragrance, utterly unlike the fury outside—as though the two were separate worlds.
Clearly, an exquisite barrier had been laid around the bamboo house, shutting out all the clamor and violence of the outside world and leaving only peace within.
A bamboo table stood in the middle of the house. A pot of spiritual tea sat warming on it, its fragrant steam rising in wisps and lingering in the air. A middle-aged man sat at the table, dressed in a plain robe. His features were refined, and his brows held the calm of one who had seen through the ways of the world. Only deep in his eyes lingered a trace of hardship, almost impossible to detect. He held a bamboo teacup between his fingers and took a small sip. As the soothing tea passed his lips, he slowly closed his eyes, and his divine sense quietly