Chapter 152

When Qing Zhouxue regained consciousness, her hands and feet were bound with chains heavy as black iron.

She looked up and saw only darkness and emptiness around her, as if Pangu had yet to split heaven and earth.

Chaotic and vast.

"She's awake," a voice said.

"We can begin," another voice said calmly.

The presence of strangers made Qing Zhouxue's whole body tense. She instinctively tried to circulate her spiritual power but found the chains binding her strange—she couldn't use her cultivation, and her meridians were swollen and blocked.

That voice... it sounded familiar. But she couldn't see the speaker.

Qing Zhouxue couldn't recall who it was for a moment.

Suddenly, a flash of lightning appeared before her eyes. She let out a muffled groan, her whole body trembling. A bolt of lightning, drawn from some unknown direction, struck her directly.

The smell of burning flesh spread.

But her body quickly healed.

Then came a dozen more bolts, striking in rapid succession.

Qing Zhouxue endured the uncontrollable trembling from excruciating pain, trying to keep her breathing steady, and remained silent.

By the time the pain grew too much, her consciousness began to fade, but her body, tempered again and again by the lightning, continued to heal rapidly, as if she were an indestructible deity.

"So this is the Sword Soul's body."

"Resilient and powerful, truly stunning," the male voice murmured. "Pity we weren't faster than the Taichu Sect back then."

"Originally, we planned to deal with you after the banquet, but the Ancestor is going to come out of seclusion early, so we can't delay any longer."

The man's voice struck Qing Zhouxue like another bolt of lightning. She jolted and finally remembered—this voice sounded a lot like the Sect Leader of Liuyun Immortal Sect!

Qing Zhouxue struggled against the iron chains, making them clang loudly. Lightning flashed before her repeatedly. Though her body was weak, she didn't retreat but advanced instead, her spiritual power surging.

"...She can't be killed."

"Try another method."

They summoned karmic fire to burn her.

The searing flames engulfed her entire body in an instant, boiling her flesh and blood until soft. But as soon as the flames receded, the bloody wounds immediately scabbed over and within moments shed, leaving behind smooth, snow-white skin.

Her body neither decayed nor dissolved.

At a loss, they shattered her dantian inch by inch and dispersed her nascent soul, a pain that pierced deep into the spirit. Qing Zhouxue trembled all over, the iron chains straining taut and crashing with a loud bang, almost on the verge of breaking.

But soon, her dantian and nascent soul gathered again like water droplets.

Someone exclaimed in awe, "This is really..."

"As long as her mortal body doesn't die, the Sword Soul cannot change owners. What do we do?"

"What do we do?" Guan Zhangmen sneered and said in a low voice, "The Taichu Sect has the real Sword Soul, but what we have is just a fake. The Ancestor is about to come out of seclusion, and if she blames us, who of you can bear the responsibility!"

Sticky blood slowly dripped down the iron pillar.

After many attempts, Qing Zhouxue initially endured silently, but later the pain forced her to cry out, and then her consciousness gradually clouded amidst the agony. Her head drooped to one side, motionless, as if dead.

Torture.

Endless, inescapable torture.

The place was dark without a single ray of light, and all her sounds were swallowed.

For a moment, Qing Zhouxue was nearly driven mad, even wishing she could die senselessly as they desired, but her body kept healing itself—even when carved down to half-exposed bones, flesh and bone would regrow in a few breaths, like dead wood reviving.

As long as she lived, she would suffer. She could neither live nor die.

Her thoughts gradually became muddled, even the pain turning numb.

Time seemed stretched out endlessly.

Her will began to slacken, and the speed of her healing slowed. She drifted in and out of a hazy unconsciousness.

The group seemed to notice this and pressed their advantage.

The Qingshuang Sword, which had been seized and set aside, suddenly let out a mournful cry.

Hearing the call, Qing Zhouxue's fingers curled into a fist, then slowly opened one by one. She mumbled through her bloodied lips, "Sword..."

The spirit sword burst with light, but someone was quicker—a person stomped the Qingshuang Sword underfoot and suppressed it with their cultivation.

Vaguely, Qing Zhouxue heard many sword spirits speaking around her.

Her consciousness was fuzzy, and she couldn't make out what they said. The sword cries were short and piercing, as if in grief or anger. Occasionally, she caught fragmented words like "usurpation" and "heavenly punishment."

"Sword..."

She murmured, "Come..."

A sword cry rose higher and higher.

"Sword... come..."

A person holding an Immortal-Slaying Rope was strangling her neck when he heard the broken syllables mumbling from her lips, unclear, and found it strange. "Still able to speak?"

Qing Zhouxue's fingers opened completely.

"Sword, come... Sword, come, sword, come!"

Her body trembling, she called out with all her might.

Human hearts are cunning and malicious, impossible to predict.

But sword spirits are always loyal.

With the final "come" falling resolutely, the swords they wore on their bodies all showed anomalies—they uncontrollably unsheathed themselves from their masters and slashed in unison toward—

The chains on Qing Zhouxue's hands.

She quickly dropped from above and grabbed a sword on the way down, not bothering with the newly healed skin on her palm. Like a startled bird, she slashed at the approaching person, but he dodged easily.

White robes trailing the ground, the leader walked slowly toward her.

Qing Zhouxue couldn't move again. His cultivation level was far above hers, perhaps comparable to Yun Shuchen. She barely propped herself up, crawling on the ground, raised her eyes, and tightened her grip on the sword.

The chance of a one-strike kill was too slim.

The people around her seemed ready to set up a formation again, spiritual lights flickering around. Qing Zhouxue moved her wrist, and with all her remaining strength, she formed a sword seal. Multiple spirit swords flew up, their blade tips gleaming coldly, and against their nature, they all turned and stabbed toward their own masters!

Chaos erupted.

But Guan Zhangmen didn't lose his composure. He smiled lightly, looking at her with a hint of relief. "Good thing it's not too late. A few more years, and perhaps no one could control you."

His sword remained in his hand, motionless. That sword stabbed into her dantian from behind again, the pain so intense it nearly made her soul tremble.

Qing Zhouxue clawed at the ground tightly, trying to break free of the blade, but any movement triggered searing pain, so she could only remain pinned to the ground.

Amidst the prolonged sharp pain, her consciousness returned to a haze. But just then, she smelled a trace of demonic aura at her lips.

A crack opened in the darkness, and a beam of heavenly light shot in.

Guan Zhangmen suddenly felt his chest tight. He turned around and saw uninvited guests.

A woman wearing a serpent-shaped mask, holding a curved blade, shot toward him like a swift arrow through the air. In that one exchange, Guan Zhangmen felt a thick, cold demonic aura.

The Demonic Race?

Why would the Demonic Race want a piece of this?

He was baffled for a moment, but the demon woman's cultivation was profound, and she knocked him back several steps.

More and more demons poured in, engaging in melee with the immortal sect cultivators to buy time.

In her haze, Qing Zhouxue felt the sword on her body pulled out swiftly, then someone helped her up, and she quickly fell into an embrace filled with a familiar scent.

"Hurry!"

Yu Li glanced at Yun Shuchen and continued to hold the line. Taking advantage of the demonic aura as cover, Yun Shuchen carried Qing Zhouxue and shot out through the crack.

This was the first time Qing Zhouxue had seen daylight in days. She felt a long-missed warmth.

But her body still trembled from the pain. Yun Shuchen held her too tightly, and she instinctively struggled in panic.

They tumbled heavily into a patch of drifting clouds. Fan Yin had just followed from behind when they heard the sect's bell ringing, high and urgent. Someone shouted behind, "The Demonic Race is attacking—"

The bell rang far and wide. Soon, the heads of nearby sects and the elders of Liuyun Immortal Sect would all gather here.

Fan Yin looked back and, sure enough, the sect cultivators were a dense mass, nearly surrounding the entire area, airtight.

Yun Shuchen looked up at the sky. Going up, they wouldn't escape.

Fan Yin said urgently, "They're coming. Aunt, we can't stay with you, or else we'll be caught red-handed!"

"You go first."

Below Liuyun Immortal Sect lay a range of mountains that was a void of spiritual power, because all the spiritual veins had been drawn up to floating stones by formations.

Once they entered that place, no one could easily find them.

If they brought Fan Yin, though she'd add a helping hand, the demonic aura might reveal their location, making it more costly than beneficial.

Within a few breaths, Yun Shuchen had made up her mind. She nodded and took one last look at the group.

Qing Zhouxue half-leaned against her, staring blankly as Fan Yin disappeared on the spot.

"Qing'er, close your eyes in a moment."

Qing Zhouxue looked up at her, not blinking.

Yun Shuchen could tell she was in a bad state, but there was no time to worry about that now. Her eyes stinging slightly, she steadied Qing Zhouxue and, with two fingers together, tried her best to fly with the wind a few steps away.

The pursuers were closing in behind. Yu Li seemed to have emerged from the rift, with Guan Zhangmen right after. But he didn't bother with the demons—he looked toward Qing Zhouxue, sneered coldly, and immediately shouted, "Capture these two traitors colluding with the Demonic Race first!"

The disciples were confused. Wasn't Qing Zhouxue the missing champion? When did she become a traitor to the Demonic Race?

But they had no time to think it over.

With one command from the Sect Leader, everyone found a new direction and rushed toward Yun Shuchen and Qing Zhouxue.

Like a swarm of crows blotting out the sun, they surrounded the sky, watertight.

They were chased to the edge of the floating stones, with no way forward.

Both had exhausted their spiritual power and couldn't fly on swords. It was a dead end.

Yun Shuchen stopped in her tracks. Steadying Qing Zhouxue, she held her hand tightly, turned around, and faced the advancing Liuyun Immortal Sect.

The sound of wind, of clamor.

The clashing of weapons.

All reached her ears.

At this moment, her heart was actually calm, because at least Qing Zhouxue was still by her side—her disciple hadn't been lost.

After being tense the whole way and nearly breaking down, the moment she saw Qing Zhouxue, her terror had settled. She had no other wishes.

Word had already been sent to the Taichu Sect. As for the rest, they'd leave it to fate.

There was no road ahead.

Qing Zhouxue looked numbly at the pursuers surging forward. She felt nothing, as if her soul had been drained from her body.

A hand appeared before her eyes, shielding everything from view.

Qing Zhouxue felt herself pulled, then slammed hard against someone, wind roaring past her ears as a sudden weightlessness hit.

Her eyes wide, she instinctively hugged the only support she had.

And at that very moment, cultivators from all directions dove sharply, shooting toward the center like arrows.

A few scattered flashes of blades and swords.

Slashed straight at them.

A flash of white steel flickered in Qing Zhouxue's eyes, and her pupils contracted.

Despite her muddled thoughts, she threw her arms around Yun Shuchen and instinctively spun them around.

She turned her back to the blades. With another muffled groan, a spray of blood scattered across the blue sky.

"Qing Zhouxue!"

Yun Shuchen, shocked and furious, struck out toward one person with a palm, the force rebounding to push them away as they plummeted rapidly into the bottomless abyss, without a trace of hesitation.

Guan Qingwei was only one step away from catching them.

He stood at the edge of the floating stone, his chest heaving.

His hand paused in midair, then fell reluctantly to his side, clenched within his sleeve.

"They can't get far without cultivation. Send people to chase them."