"Ha ha, Junior Brother Zhang!"
Suddenly, a heavy hand clapped down on Zhang Fan's shoulder.
Zhang Fan's entire attention was fixed on Tian Ling'er as she gradually walked away, completely oblivious to what was happening beside him. He was so startled that he leapt sideways, and when he spun around to look, it turned out to be Zeng Shushu, whom he had only just met that very morning.
Zeng Shushu wore a broad smile, her expression easy and unhurried. She looked Zhang Fan up and down, then shifted her gaze to the monkey, Ash, at his side.
Seeing that utterly insufferable fellow come running over again, Grey Eyes looked thoroughly fed up. It bared its teeth with a grimace, then turned and leaped onto Dahuang's back. A slap on the dog's head, and Dahuang threw a glare at Zhang Fan and Zeng Shushu, barked twice, then took off at a run.
Zhang Fan furrowed his brow and called out, "Hui, come back—no wandering off."
"Don't worry, the Three-Eyed Spirit Monkey is sharp as a tack — it won't go running off."
Zhang Fan shrugged, turned around, and was just about to speak to Zeng Shushu when something stirred in his heart. He glanced over, and sure enough, the direction Da Huang was sprinting—with Hui on its back—was straight toward the kitchen. His heart gave a lurch, and he cried out involuntarily, "Monkey, you're at it again—"
?"
Zhang Fan let out a dry cough and forced a laugh: "...matter. Right, Senior Brother Zeng, weren't you supposed to be participating in the competition? How do you have time to come looking for me?"
I've already finished my bout, and with nothing else to do, I spotted you here and came over to say hello."
Zhang Fan was taken aback. "You've already finished the match? What was the outcome?"
Zeng Shushu snapped her fan shut with a crisp swish, rubbed it smugly against the dark smudge on her head, and thought to herself: *Won one without even trying, hehe.*
Zhang Fan looked at him — utterly nonchalant, not at all like someone who had just come through a fierce battle — and asked sincerely, "Senior Brother Zeng, could it be that your cultivation is exceedingly high?"
"Ah, Junior Brother Zhang, what are you saying — my meager cultivation could hardly pass muster at an event like this. If my father weren't always pushing me to cultivate, I'd be too lazy to bother with the immortal path at all. Spending my days tending flowers, feeding birds, and reading books — now *that* would be a carefree life!" He paused, then laid a hand on Zhang Fan's shoulder and guided him forward, lowering his voice: "Though I have to say — I never expected that at this Seven Peaks Martial Competition, there would actually be someone even worse than me."
Zhang Fan gave a bitter laugh. "You're still a long way off!"
Zeng Shu: "So what if there are many? No matter how greedy I am, I wouldn't dare dream of winning to the very end. But I am quite interested in that three-eyed spirit ape of yours—heh heh, Junior Brother Zhang, why don't you hand it over to me—"
Zhang Fan saw the crafty merchant look on his face and immediately said, "Senior Brother Zeng, don't you dare get any ideas about my ash!"
"I'll trade you something for it. You don't know this, but I keep all sorts of fun and peculiar creatures up on Fenghui Peak — three-legged rabbits, black-and-white peacocks, turtles without shells, and snakes with wings."
Zhang Fan couldn't help but say: "Are there really that many strange things?"
"Of course — I went through no small amount of trouble collecting these treasures, and took plenty of beatings and scoldings from my father over it. But I just happen to fancy this three-eyed spirit monkey of yours. What do you say — tell me what you like and I'll bring it to trade?"
Zhang Fan shook his head. "No. I keep Hui simply because we have an affinity with each other. Besides, what you'd give me would just be things like black-and-white rabbits and shell-less peacocks."
Three-legged rabbit, black-and-white peacock — and the one without a shell is a tortoise!"
Zhang Fan stuck out his tongue. "Never mind, I'm not interested in any of that — let's just leave it."
Zeng Shushu's eyes darted about once more. She pulled Zhang Fan to a secluded corner, glanced around in all directions, and with a conspiratorial look on her face, leaned in to whisper, "Junior Brother Zhang, let me show you something good — see if you like it." With that, she reached into her robe and produced a thick book with a blue cover, pressing it into Zhang Fan's hands.
Zhang Fan took it and looked it over, only to find that the book bore no title whatsoever, and its cover was worn and aged, suggesting it had existed for quite some time. He then glanced at Zeng Shushu's demeanor — outwardly composed, as though nothing were amiss, yet her bright, nimble eyes darted constantly around their surroundings with unmistakable wariness. Her face, ordinarily delicate and refined, now carried a faint air of strangeness, even furtiveness. Clearly, this book either contained supreme cultivation techniques or was a rare and singular copy found nowhere else in the world.
Zhang Fan shook his head. "Senior Brother, I cannot accept such a precious book. My aptitude is far too poor — even if I took it, it would be of no use. Nor do I wish to trade ash for it. Please, put it away."
"Don't just skip it—take a look first, come on."
Zhang Fan found his expression odd and couldn't help feeling a flicker of curiosity about the book. He flipped it open — and froze. In an instant, his face flushed crimson. The thick volume contained not only a great deal of text but also numerous illustrations, every one of them depicting **men and women entwined in passionate embrace. It was nothing less than a volume of erotic art. It was the first time in Zhang Fan's life he had laid eyes on anything of the sort, and the brushwork inside was exquisite, the figures rendered with breathtaking liveliness. His heart gave a sudden lurch, and before he could stop himself he blurted out, "Senior Brother Zeng — how did you come to have something like this?"
Shushu gave a start, hastily snatched the book and tucked it against her chest, then cautiously glanced around at the fellow sect disciples walking to and fro nearby, before shooting Zhang Fan a glare. "So loud."
Zhang Fan came to his senses, yet remained shaken, and murmured, "Senior Brother Zeng, how could you have a book like this?"
So what if you did? Let me tell you, this is a remarkable book—and from what I hear, it may even be a one-of-a-kind copy! I have no idea how much effort it took me to get my hands on it. I guarantee that once you've read it, you'll reign supreme among the flowers, winning the hearts of every woman in the world. What do you say—trade it for your grey
Zhang Fan immediately shook his head. "No."
"This won't do, that won't do either — so why don't you just tell me what you want?"
Zhang Fan answered honestly, "I don't want anything."
"Why is this guy such a block of wood?"
Zhang Fan gave a soft chuckle and paid it no mind, yet his gaze drifted involuntarily into the distance, where amid the faint wisps of drifting clouds, a beautiful silhouette flickered in and out of sight.
Zeng Shushu abandoned all hope, put the book away, and with a sharp swish snapped her fan open once more, giving it two idle waves. Then, from somewhere in the distance, bells and chimes rang out in unison—it seemed another match was about to begin.
Zeng Shushu glanced over in that direction, then broke into a sudden smile and pulled Zhang Fan along. "Let me take you to meet the most popular figure in Qingyun Sect at this Grand Trial."
Zhang Fan was taken aback. "Who is it?" he asked in surprise. He paused, his expression suddenly darkening. "Isn't that Senior Brother Qi Hao from Dragon Peak?"
"Oh," Zeng Shushu exclaimed, regarding Zhang Fan with an expression of genuine surprise. Still, she shook her head and said, "Senior Brother Qi's cultivation is of course greatly renowned — but haven't you heard? The one drawing the most attention this time is actually someone else entirely."
Zhang Fan thought it over for a long while, but finally said, "Who is it?"
Zeng Shushu seemed to have forgotten the argument of a moment ago entirely. Wreathed in smiles, she leaned in with an air of mystery and said, "Just come with me and you'll find out!" With that, she grabbed Zhang Fan's arm and pulled him forward. Zhang Fan had no say in the matter, yet he couldn't help feeling a flicker of curiosity about this so-called mysterious figure—and so he followed along.
Zeng Shushu led Zhang Fan straight toward the largest of the eight tournament stages. Zhang Fan followed close behind, and as his gaze swept across the scene, he saw that beneath that stage, disciples of the Qingyun Sect had gathered into a surging sea of people, packed so tightly that not even water could pass through. By appearances there were no fewer than four or five hundred of them. Zhang Fan ran a quick mental count and estimated that more than half of all the Qingyun Sect members present on the square had converged at this single stage—young male disciples above all others.
As the two of them drew closer, the clamor grew ever louder—all around them, Qingyun disciples were chatting amongst themselves in animated excitement.
Bamboo Peak has always been renowned for its beauties — and I hear that this generation's Xueqi is acclaimed as the most outstanding beauty in five hundred years!
"As if I needed you to tell me that — the day I saw her in Yuqing Hall, she was truly a peerless beauty — ow! Who just hit me on the head — huh, Martial Uncle?"
A white-bearded old man beside him fumed: "You little wretch! You are a cultivator—your heart should be still as standing water. How can you still be so besotted with a pretty face? If you were sent up onto that stage, you'd do nothing but stare at her and lose before you even threw a single blow!"
"Yes."
"I told Senior Brother long ago — beautiful women are the root of calamity. Our Qingyun Sect should never have taken in female disciples."
"Ahem, ahem — Senior Uncle, you are indeed brilliantly wise and divinely mighty in every regard. That said... might you perhaps be speaking just a touch too loudly?"
"What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?" The white-bearded old man huffed and glared, his voice rising even louder than before.
"No, no," the young disciples quickly crowded around him, all smiles, and lowered their voices: "Martial Uncle, Master Shuiyue is sitting right inside."
Lowering his voice, the old man said, "If not for the sake of our being fellow sect members, I would have already—"
All the disciples agreed in unison, praising the elder in chorus for his profound cultivation and magnanimous spirit — too broad-minded to quibble with those younger than himself. Zeng Shushu and Zhang Fan exchanged a glance; Zeng Shushu gave a shrug, and Zhang Fan murmured to him, "Is your person a senior sister from Bamboo Peak?"
Zeng Shushu gave a nod and glanced toward the stage. "It hasn't started yet — you'll understand her reputation once it does. But there really are far too many people in here."
As they spoke, the two of them circled back and forth, yet remained stuck at the outer edge of the crowd. The inner area had long since been packed solid by layer upon layer of Qingyu Sect disciples—not even a needle could be pushed through. Zhang Fan grew more and more curious. It seemed this mysterious figure was truly of tremendous renown, to have drawn so many Qingyu Sect disciples to gather here.
"Oh no, all the good spots are gone. If I'd known, I should have come to queue here last night."
Zhang Fan was startled and had yet to find his words when, all of a sudden, Zeng Shushu's eyes lit up. Spotting dozens of Fenghui Peak disciples standing ahead, she said not another word, grabbed Zhang Fan by the arm, and charged straight toward them. The disciples of the Fenghui Peak lineage, upon seeing it was Zeng Shushu, broke into smiles one after another. A tall, burly man among them laughed and said, "Heh, running a little late, aren't you."
Zeng Shushu paid him no mind, grabbed Zhang Fan, and pressed forward through the crowd. The disciples of Fenghui Peak were clearly fond of Zeng Shushu — one by one they stepped aside, and Zhang Fan benefited from her standing, slipping through alongside her. Before long, the two had pushed their way into the inner circle, where the sightlines were indeed excellent. Closest to the fighting stage sat seven or eight figures: True Person Daoxuan, the sect master of Qingyun Sect; Cangsong Daoist, seat-holder of Dragon Peak; and Master Shuiyue of Bamboo Peak — all were present. The rest, at a glance, were mostly well-known elders from the various branches. Behind them stood a dense crowd of Qingyun disciples. Most eye-catching of all were the many female disciples of Bamboo Peak, gathered in a cluster behind Master Shuiyue — among them was Wenmin, whom Zhang Fan recognized. But the one standing closest to Master Shuiyue was the blue-robed beauty he had seen drawing lots in Yuqing Hall the day before. She remained as cold and aloof as ever, her beauty pristine and striking, drawing countless gazes from all around.
"See her? That's the one." Zeng Shushu nudged Zhang Fan with her elbow, directing his gaze toward the woman in blue. Zhang Fan looked her over for a few seconds, then said in a low voice, "She's your top pick?"
"Not necessarily. I heard Lu Xueqi hasn't been in the sect for very long, and her cultivation level is hard to gauge — but everyone agrees, when it comes to beauty, she is absolutely unmatched!"
Zhang Fan furrowed his brow. "Senior Brother, the way you're drooling looks absolutely revolting!"
Zeng Shushu: "Ahem, ahem—do I? Heh heh, you must be seeing things. Oh right, have a look around at our fellow sect disciples?"
Zhang Fan swept his gaze across the crowd. Among the younger generation of Qingyun disciples gathered nearby, most of the young men's eyes were fixed on the beauties of Zhufeng Peak—particularly the blue-robed young woman Xueqi, who drew the most attention of all. Yet those young women seemed long accustomed to such scrutiny. Each carried herself with effortless composure; Xueqi in particular wore an utterly expressionless face, cool as frost, apparently oblivious to the male fellow disciples at her back.
Zeng Shushu swallowed nervously and whispered to Zhang Fan, "Come to think of it, it's no wonder. Our Qingyu Sect has been recruiting young disciples en masse in recent years—just look around, there are at least three or four hundred people our age alone. Heh, with cultivation as shallow as ours, of course we're easily tempted."
Zhang Fan cast a sidelong glance at him. The once delicate and refined features of Zeng Shushu's face now seemed somehow off. Thinking back to the book from just a moment ago, Zhang Fan felt as though the word
"Junior Brother, why do you keep looking at me instead of them? I brought you here because we clicked — I consider you a friend. By the way, which one of them do you think has the best figure?"
Zhang Fan immediately turned his head away, mentally tacking one more word onto the assessment he'd already formed of Zeng Shushu—
At that moment, the clamor that had filled the hall suddenly fell silent. Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Xue Qi stepped forward and bowed to Master Shuiyue, who sat in the chair. Master Shuiyue gave a faint nod.
Lu Xueqi responded with a soft sound, smoothed her robes, and lightly closed her right hand into a hand seal. Her pair of bright, luminous eyes swept toward the stage above. At that very moment, the faint wisps of cloud qi drifting beneath the white jade slab at her feet suddenly began to spiral inward from all directions, converging with swift urgency. In an instant, a billowing mass of white cloud coalesced beneath her feet—and then, like an immortal descending from the heavens, Lu Xueqi rose slowly amid the drifting white mist, ascending into mid-air and floating gracefully up onto the stage.
A mountain wind swept through, and the pristine white clouds drifted and swirled like the softest, most exquisite silk. Xueqi's robes billowed around her; her skin was as fair as snow, her beauty cold and otherworldly beyond all compare. She resembled a celestial maiden descended from the Nine Heavens into the mortal realm — one who stirred tender affection in the heart, yet commanded, unbidden, a measure of reverence.
Moments later, thunderous applause erupted from the audience—a roar like mountains crumbling and seas surging. The sheer force of the sound caught Zhang Fan completely off guard; his ears began to ring at once, and his heart gave a violent lurch. He had never imagined that Xueqi could command such adoration. Yet, thinking on it, even when he himself raised his eyes toward that beautiful figure suspended in the air above, his heart still stirred and his thoughts still wandered, impossible to rein in. Truly, it was beyond imagining that a person of such beauty could exist in this world.
Even the face of Master Shuiyue, seated below the stage, which had always remained coldly indifferent, now carried a faint smile.
After a moment, a young disciple appeared on the fighting stage — no one quite knew where he had come from. He had a square face and thick brows, and his looks were passable enough, though he seemed visibly agitated. The moment he stepped onto the stage, he turned to Lu Xueqi and declared: "Junior Sister Lu, I am Fang, a disciple of Dragon Peak. To have the honor of crossing pointers with Junior Sister today — truly, this is a blessing of three lifetimes!"
Boos erupted from below.
Lu Xueqi's expression was blank, her voice cold as she spoke from midair: "Greetings, Senior Brother Fang. I am Lu Xueqi, eighth-generation disciple of Bamboo Peak. I have come today to seek your instruction."
Standing below the stage, Zhang Fan watched Lu Xueqi hovering motionless in midair like a celestial maiden, and felt an inexplicable pang in his heart. Just moments ago, had not Senior Sister Ling'er stood just so in the air, her grace and bearing beyond compare? In a fleeting daze, Lu Xueqi's silhouette seemed to blur and merge with the image of Tian Ling'er.
At this moment, Fang Yuan on the stage was still rattling on without pause. By the look of him, he could have gone on like this forever—no contest required, until the end of time, and he would not have minded in the least. Fortunately, those who opposed him made up the majority in this world. Before he could get out two more sentences, countless voices rang out, including Zeng's, who stood at Zhang Fan's side: "Aren't you going to start already?"
"Pervert!"
"Always chirping away like women — and what's this about you and Bamboo Peak's senior sisters? No, no, I absolutely didn't mean anything by that."
*Clang!*
The final toll of the bell marking the decisive battle's end rang out at last. Lu Xueqi's expression turned cold as she looked straight toward Fang. Caught in the beam of those icy eyes, Fang felt a sudden chill sweep through his entire body. Though from where he stood, even Lu Xueqi's cold expression was devastating in its beauty—peerless and incomparable—he dared not continue laughing regardless. He quickly suppressed his smile, composed himself, and with his right hand forming a hand seal, summoned a silver-white immortal sword into the air.
Zhang Fan's brow furrowed involuntarily, his mind drifting back to Qi Hao's immortal sword, "Frost." Just then, he heard someone beside him — Zeng — remark: "With Qi Hao to look up to, everyone at Dragon Peak has taken a liking to cultivating that sort of immortal sword."
Zhang Fan's eyes flickered as he swept his gaze across the surroundings. All he could see was a surging mass of heads — yet no matter how hard he searched, he could find no trace of Qi Hao, let alone that one figure whom, in the deepest recesses of his heart, he wished most to see, yet at this moment, most dreaded to find.
Where had they gone? Zhang Fan lowered his head, a wave of sorrow washing over his heart.
Suddenly, Zeng Shushu grabbed his arm, her face lighting up with delight. "Fan, look quick—it's starting!"
Zhang Fan raised his eyes toward the stage, only to see that Fang had already summoned his immortal sword. A bone-chilling cold instantly swept across the platform—yet in Zhang Fan's eyes, he instinctively perceived that, compared to Qi Hao, who had once crossed swords with Tian Buyi, Fang was clearly still a cut short when it came to wielding ice immortal arts.
By contrast, Xueqi remained expressionless atop the ever-drifting clouds, watching Fang channel his energy to condense ice on the stage below and ahead of her, showing no intention of pressing an attack. On her back rested a celestial sword sheathed in blue. Unlike the immortal swords most cultivators trained with, this blade could not merge as one with its master—yet from Fang on the platform to every last disciple of the Qingyu Sect below, not a single soul dared to take it lightly.
On the path of cultivation, sentient Artifacts can, after long years of their master's practice, merge wholly with the master's body and be summoned forth only when needed — a great convenience. Yet certain extraordinary Artifacts, whose own spiritual nature is too potent for the human body to bear, cannot achieve this union and must instead be carried on the master's person at all times. Such Artifacts, however, are almost invariably supreme treasures of the immortal world, possessed of tremendous power; the deeper the master's cultivation, the more fearsome the might they unleash. The Qingyun Sect's founding treasure — the ancient sword *Immortal Slayer* — belongs precisely to this kind.
At this moment, within a three-zhang radius of Fang Yuan on the arena, the entire surface had already formed a thin layer of ice. Those standing close — disciples below the stage such as Zhang Fan and Zeng Shushu — all felt a wave of cold air washing over them. Yet Lu Xueqi, still hovering motionless in mid-air, seemed utterly indifferent to it all, gazing down at Fang Yuan with cold, detached eyes.
Fang performed his solitary act before the eyes of all — his immortal sword weaving and dancing through the air. The hundreds of gazes from the audience below, caught in the corner of his eye, he could bear well enough. But Lu Xueqi's gaze seemed even colder than the chill his own immortal sword gave off, cutting straight to the marrow of his heart until he could barely find a place for his hands and feet.
A flicker of impatience stirred in Fang's heart. Without hesitation, she raised her right hand in a sword seal and pointed—the silver-white immortal sword shot upward toward Lu Xueqi. "Martial Sister Lu, watch out!"
A burst of laughter erupted from the crowd below the stage. The way Fang Yuan carried himself, it was as if he were terrified of hurting Xue Qi. The expression on the face of Daoist Cangsong, who sat among the audience, turned quite unpleasant, and he let out a heavy snort.
The snort carried a note of disdain. It reached the ears of the man standing beside him, who reacted at once: "Oh? Senior Brother Cangsong seems rather displeased."
Daoist Cangsong didn't even turn his head, remarking coolly, "Junior Sister Shuiyue, your disciples are indeed all extraordinarily beautiful."
Master Shuiyue's expression darkened. In the middle of a sparring competition, Daoist Cangsong had chosen not to praise the cultivation of her disciples but instead to remark on the beauty of the young women—a pointed slight if ever there was one. Being the woman she was, Master Shuiyue arched both brows and shot back at once: "I never knew that among the cultivator disciples of Qingyun Sect, there could be so many libertines and lechers."
Daoist Cangsong flew into a rage and was about to retort when True Person Daoxuan, seated between them, raised a hand with a smile: "Alright, alright—you're both centuries old. Aren't you afraid of losing face, bickering in front of so many disciples? Watch the match, watch the match."
Both of them let out a heavy harrumph and turned their heads away.
Fang's silver-white immortal sword had already shot straight toward the cloud of mist beneath Lu Xueqi's feet. Not a trace of expression crossed Lu Xueqi's cold and indifferent face; she made no visible movement, yet the cloud beneath her carried her body gliding backward. But Fang's immortal sword was faster still—in the blink of an eye it had closed the distance. Screams and sighs erupted at once from the crowd below the stage.
Just as the last instant slipped away, Lu Xueqi's hand swept back and the artifact sword behind her flew into her grasp. Her jade face was cold as frost; yet she made no move to draw the blade from its scabbard—she simply raised the blue sword before her as a block.
"Clang!"
The crisp echo reverberated far across the square, melodious and pleasing to the ear.
Fang's silver-white immortal sword recoiled as though struck by a tremendous force, rebounding back toward him. Both Fang on the stage and Daoist Cangsong below the platform changed countenance in an instant. Under the astonished gazes of the crowd, Lu Xueqi showed not the slightest hesitation—a faint flush of pink swept briefly across her snow-white face, and then with a flick of her right hand she cast the blue sword out, scabbard and all, while simultaneously curling and extending her five fingers into a tight hand seal. The blue immortal sword erupted with brilliant radiance in midair; blue light flooded the entire vast battle platform, immortal energy roiling in waves—clearly no ordinary artifact.
Fang dared not be careless. Watching the blazing blue radiance sweep across the ground toward him, he felt a jolt of alarm—and at the same time, a surge of fury that Lu Xueqi had not even drawn her immortal sword, treating him with such utter contempt. Yet his hands never faltered; he continued to drive his immortal sword, and in the span of a heartbeat three walls of ice coalesced before him, radiating threads of biting cold.
Suspended in mid-air, Xueqi's bright eyes gleamed like stars, her black robes billowing and dancing in the howling wind—her bearing incomparably graceful, enough to stir the soul. Her lips moved in what seemed a low, murmured incantation, her cold face utterly expressionless. As her gaze fixed upon the immortal sword hovering in the sky above, radiating ten thousand zhang of azure light, a thunderous crack rang out without warning—like the roar of a savage beast, shaking the air in all directions. In that instant the azure light blazed to its fullest, the sword seeming to burst free of all restraint like a maddened dragon surging up from the abyss; every wisp of cloud and mist within a radius of dozens of zhang was driven apart in mere moments, scattering without a trace.
Only to see, amid ten thousand rays of blue light — in that deepest place where the hue ran as blue as the very horizon — an immortal sword came streaking as if from the edge of the world, shooting forth with blinding speed straight toward Fang Yuan. Its momentum was fierce and overwhelming, without equal in that moment.
His expression grew grave, sweat streaming down his forehead — clearly shaken by the overwhelming might of Lu Xueqi's blue immortal sword. In a single instant, that immortal sword had already closed in right before him.
*Crack!*"
Before the stupefied gazes of several hundred Qingyun disciples, the three ice walls conjured by Fang Ningcheng crumbled like tofu — the blue immortal sword charging straight through them as if they weren't there at all, smashing them to splinters.
Fang was greatly alarmed. It was not beyond his power to condense more ice walls for defense, but by his original reckoning three walls should have been more than enough. He had not expected that this Number Six, Xueqi, would possess cultivation so profound—and that blue immortal sword was more formidable still than he had anticipated, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye.
At this life-and-death moment, he barely managed to steady his mind. His silver-white immortal sword flared with radiance, held before him as he raised a white light shield. A moment later, Lu Xueqi's blue immortal sword came crashing hard against that white light shield.
*Boom!*
A thunderous roar crashed in like a tempest of wild lightning, rumbling forward in waves. A massive, invisible shockwave erupted outward in all directions from the two immortal swords at its center. Every Qingyun disciple standing below the stage felt a great wind slam against them all at once, their bodies involuntarily stepping back a pace — and the entire ring of spectators encircling the arena expanded backward by one full circle at the same moment.
All present changed countenance, stunned by the devastating might of this immortal Artifact, the likes of which none had ever witnessed before.
When the momentary astonishment had passed, all eyes returned to the arena. At some point unnoticed, Lu Xueqi had descended onto the stage, the immortal sword together with its scabbard flying back into her hand. The blue light and white light slowly faded away, but everyone could see that Fang's complexion had turned the color of ash.
Only to see Fang slowly raise his head, pointing at Lu Xueqi, his voice inexplicably turning hoarse as he rasped: "You—"
The crowd stirred in shock and confusion, uncertain what had just occurred. Then it happened — the silver-white immortal sword that had been hovering motionless before Fang Yuan suddenly let out several muffled cracks along its blade. Beneath the gaze of countless eyes, a fissure split open across the steel and rapidly spread. A heartbeat later, the sword released one anguished cry — and shattered into two pieces, clattering down onto the platform.
On stage and below, all fell silent — every soul holding their breath.
What a long-cultivated immortal sword means to a cultivator — there is not a single soul above this sea of clouds who does not know.
…spat out a mouthful of blood. He pressed a hand to his chest, his face twisted in agony, and could hold on no longer — he crumpled to the ground and fell unconscious.