The sects and clans were able to rely on their heritage and legacies; a martial artist that tried to fumble his way through would not find it possible to think of these things. Muyi lamented, “How laughable! To think that I reached pulse condensation at thirty six years of age and then reached houtian at fifty years of age, and afterwards I spent sixty years exhausting all my efforts to step into the xiantian realm! And I had been wrong the entire time! I had started down the wrong path all this time! I have wasted sixty years! Lamentable! Truly lamentable!”
Muyi face was excited and yet his emotions were complex. Lin Ming stood at the side and watched, his heart sighing. This old man did not inherit the legacies and yet had wanted to step into the xiantian boundary; this was naturally hopeless. One needed the legacy and understandings of a sect to accomplish this, but which sect would not stubbornly control their secrets from spreading?
Not only that, but from houtian to xiantian one needed to return their soul to a state of being in a womb. This required the most precious and rare of medicines. These medicines methods of production and rare materials were tightly controlled by the sects. Not to mention the common people, but even the royal family could not purchase it!