Chapter 145

Longing was like a tiny hole that had suddenly been gnawed through her heart, slowly stretching the days and months.

The year stretched on. Qing Zhouxue threw herself into cultivation during the dark days, willing the golden leaves on the mountain slopes to fall faster.

Gold spread across the mortal realm.

A cold wind blew, and winter came again.

The Immortal Ascension Assembly was to begin the next day, and the weather outside was strangely cold. Within the Liuyun Sect, however, spring reigned eternal, vibrant yet lifeless.

Qing Zhouxue clutched the letter that had been delivered to her, reading every line.

【Qingqing,

All has been well lately; no need to worry. The snow on Heyi Peak this year is especially heavy—if left unattended, even the pavilion might be buried. During my time away, A Jin has done several days of hard labor.

Unless something unexpected happens, this should be my last letter to you this year. In a few days, you'll be home.

Just thinking of that lightens my hand as I write.

I can't see your expression now, nor know if you're nervous, but you've worked hard for so long that you can't do badly. Take it easy.

One more thing: my distant relatives have recently been causing trouble, and I may need to travel again, quite urgently.

If I can return before your contest ends, that would be ideal. I'll try to come back early; perhaps I'll still make it for your birthday.

】

No signature, no date.

It must have been written in haste, with many crossed-out words.

Qing Zhouxue rolled up the paper, a faint pang of disappointment striking her. But then she thought again: the contest would be a hard-fought battle—she could guarantee no deaths, but the sight would inevitably be bloody... If she had a choice, she would rather Yun Shuchen didn't see her bruised and bleeding, not even for an instant.

Her master would remember it for a very long time.

She wrote a reply, handed it to the little silver sparrow, and watched it flutter up and vanish into the sunlit sky.

Qing Zhouxue stood at the edge of the floating stone for a long time, taking in the frost and snow that carpeted the ground below.

The second day passed uneventfully, and the largest arena in the Liuyun Sect was opened. Splendor was not lacking—silk banners rose, waving gently in the breeze.

When Qing Zhouxue and her fellow disciples arrived, an enormous sea of people had already gathered. Even though Liuyun Sect's grounds were spacious and flat, they felt cramped; some disciples hovered in the air on flying swords, trying to secure a good vantage point.

The elders from every sect who attended did not jostle in the crowd. They were likely gathered in the main hall, where a projection device akin to the Reflection Water Mirror displayed the proceedings.

The format remained the traditional drawing of lots, then competing in order.

Each person could bring only their destiny-bound weapon; spirit familiars were forbidden. Additionally, pills refined within Liuyun Sect's territory that year could also be brought, after reporting and inspection.

Ji Linjiang flew high above; she was hosting and supervising this assembly. She briefed the rules in a few words, then, without further ado, declared the start.

For the sake of Senior Sister Bai's usual virtue, all the lots were entrusted to her healing hands.

It was plain to see her hands trembled slightly—after all, good luck could mean a bye.

But this draw was neither very good nor very bad.

Bai Su cast her gaze toward the Lingxu Sect and nodded politely at them; among them were some familiar faces, perhaps remembered from the battle against the Demonic Race.

Lingxu Sect was far weaker than Taichu. The first match was relatively easy. The moment Qing Zhouxue crossed swords with the opposing sword cultivator, she could feel a clear gap in cultivation.

It ended when Lin Xunzhen unleashed a water-element spell, bundling them together and tossing them out of the ring.

The second draw was against the Wuyan Sect.

Qing Zhouxue seemed to remember only useless details... like the fact that their sovereign had married eight wives at once, a feat of great love.

The Wuyan Sect disciples wore Daoist robes, looking stern and upright. Their school's Eight Trigrams Sword Formation was quite famous—it required multiple sword cultivators with differing Spirit Root affinities, quite different from Yun Shuchen's style, though the underlying principle shared some origin.

Best not to let them complete the formation.

Ruan Mingzhu frowned, made an immediate decision, and swept her blade out. The phoenix fire clinging to it surged forward several zhang, catching the Daoist robes ablaze.

Generally, to avoid accidents as much as possible, their clothes were made from fire-resistant fabric, but that flame was phoenix fire that water could hardly put out; it lit the enemies easily and could not be shaken off.

Those sword cultivators were resolute; seeing this, they paid no mind to themselves, perhaps forming the formation as soon as possible was the only way out. Flames spread across one side of the formation, swallowing some of them into the blaze.

Yet different-colored spiritual lights flickered beneath their feet, and despite the scorching pain, they remained utterly undisturbed.

A shadow flashed before them.

Seeing the formation about to complete, Qing Zhouxue soared up, taking advantage of her agility, and thrust her sword at one of them. That person gritted his teeth and bore the strike, unmoving, and the next instant, the formation was complete.

Qing Zhouxue yanked her sword out quickly; the backlash was tremendous, like a boulder pressing on her chest. She tasted copper in her throat and swallowed the mouthful of blood.

Outside the ring, people were already marveling at the Wuyan Sect disciples' resilience, as steadfast as a mountain.

Their endurance was astonishing.

Then dense sword shadows burst forth from within the formation, blotting out the sky and pouring down like rain.

Ruan Mingzhu froze, instinctively retreating. Good thing she was quick; a lock of her hair was caught by the onslaught and instantly shredded into a thousand pieces.

She drew a sharp breath.

A curtain of water rose in front of them, quickly turned frost-white by mutual cooperation, spreading from bottom to top. A block of ice quickly anchored itself to the ground.

After two or three waves of sword rain, faint crackling sounded from the ice layer, but it only produced fine cracks, not a full break, thanks to the continual reinforcement from layers of water.

This was similar to the third trial they had faced before, when their fellow senior brothers, sword cultivators banded together, formed sword formations.

This time, they had experience.

But Taichu's tactics seemed somewhat different from Wuyan's.

Wuyan Sect demanded varied Spirit Roots from their sword cultivators, a true specialty in that regard.

Yet all formations under heaven... they differed in form, but there was always common ground. In a situation like this, they had to find the formation's eye as if taking a pulse, then break it.

Qing Zhouxue's wound healed quickly, with Bai Su's wood-element spell covering it, so it wasn't too conspicuous.

The last time, Lin Xunzhen had disrupted the enemy's formation by controlling water. This time was no different.

She tried to entangle the opponents with water currents, but before even advancing an inch, the dense sword shadows vaporized the water.

Their defense was too tight; better to attack head-on.

Ruan Mingzhu said, "How about I break out first... Lord Bai can heal me afterward."

"No."

Even with her healing factor, Qing Zhouxue couldn't guarantee she wouldn't be minced to chunks after flying through that sword rain, let alone Ruan Mingzhu.

"You can't go directly," Lin Xunzhen said quickly. She bit her lower lip, thought for a moment, then looked at the ice shield. "What if we wrap her up and send her over?"

That would take the two of them working together.

Lin Xunzhen quickly enclosed Ruan Mingzhu in a hollow sphere of water, and Qing Zhouxue, while supporting an ice shield, used the water to form a fairly thick ice shell.

If it were too thin, it would be shattered to pieces rolling through the sword rain. If too thick, getting Ruan Mingzhu out would be troublesome.

Where the balance lay, no one could say—they could only try their best.

The Wuyan Sect disciples, seeing that their opponents cowered behind a shield, had all their probing counterattacks suppressed by the airtight sword rain, and grew smug—this was their signature formation, wave after wave of swords. With only four people, they could keep it cycling endlessly, and the technique was never shared externally. They could drag the women until their spiritual energy ran dry.

Qing Zhouxue frowned, peering through the hazy ice to gauge the positions of those blurry figures.

Light passing through the ice might be refracted, so she had to account for that.

A loud boom echoed through the arena, and a dense mist of water vapor rose like rolling white smoke.

Out of that smoke hurtled an enormous ice ball.

The Wuyan Sect members hadn't reacted when the thick ice ball rolled toward them; the sword rain had been shaving its surface off all along, and by the time it reached them, a blurry figure was just visible inside.

Ruan Mingzhu kicked against the weakest spot and burst out of the shattered ice. After rolling so many times, she was still a bit dizzy.

But when she looked up, the opponents were even more caught off guard.

She swept low along the ground, her blade carrying scorching heat, aiming at one's knee—but her strike was blasted away by spiritual energy.

Yet that moment of distraction completely wrecked the formation's rhythm.

Ruan Mingzhu, still on the ground, looked up and saw all four long swords descending toward her head, chilling her spine for a moment.

She lay flat again to buy some space, spinning her saber in a full circle, clanging and clashing, blocking who knew how many.

If backup didn't come soon, she'd be a sieve. That thought crossed her mind as she dodged and glanced sideways; the sword rain had lost its momentum and slowed considerably.

Everything returned to the domain they had faced before.

With the agile infiltration of water currents, then a fierce freeze, a massive ice net enveloped everyone, freezing even their swords solid. Chains of ice extended from the net's ends, landing right in Ruan Mingzhu's hands.

Qing Zhouxue let out a sigh of relief.

That technique wasn't improvised on a whim—once, sailing the Eastern Sea with her master on a boat, in a moment of inspiration, she had caught a few mermaids.

This casting method reduced energy loss, and though it had holes everywhere, it was quite sturdy.

Ruan Mingzhu finally got to her feet, seized the opportunity, grabbed the ice chains, and gave a hard yank, flinging the opponents out of the ring.

The second match, while arduous, ended in a beautiful victory.

By midday, Taichu's bouts were done.

They descended from the ring, a bit worn out, and rested by its edge, swallowing a few pills to restore their energy.

Gu Ruoshui and others hadn't finished yet, so during the break, it was a chance to watch the next match.

To get the best seats, they had to push closer to the ring.

Qing Zhouxue forced herself through the crowd despite her discomfort, each breath feeling strained.

Under the warm sunlight, Gu Ruoshui stood alone among three spellcasters, her face expressionless, her sword still sheathed, seemingly not planning to spend much energy.

Now Master and Qingqing are both fighting—can rest and recuperate at the moment.