Chapter 157

Qing Zhouxue shifted slightly, lamplight dancing in her eyes like a blazing flame. She peered into the shadows moving within the crevice, her grip tightening around Yun Shuchen's wrist. Her heart pounded faster, her whole body strung taut as a bowstring pulled to its limit.

A needle-thin glint of silver flashed across her pupils. Her expression sharpened, then her eyes flew wide in astonishment.

The Qingshuang Sword?

The silver blade hovered for a moment, then streaked straight toward her, its crisp ring echoing through the cavernous stone chamber. She snatched it from the air and pointed it at the crevice. A shadow slipped inside, and Qing Zhouxue held her breath until it steadied—then let out a soft sigh of relief.

The shadow staggered, regained its footing, and called out, "Qing Zhouxue? Master Yun? Are you in there?"

Qing Zhouxue started to step forward, but Yun Shuchen caught her arm and whispered, "Wait."

By the candlelight, the figure in bright robes was unmistakably Ruan Mingzhu. She peered around, muttering, "Odd—the sword definitely came this way." Then she withdrew into the gap. "Elders, seniors, there's a lamp in here, but no one's about."

Elder Zhong's and Elder Yue's voices drifted in, along with the sounds of disciples scouring the area. Yue Changge squeezed in as well, her gaze sweeping the empty chamber—no trace of anyone.

The two elders were still puzzling over it when more voices sounded from outside. Their expressions cooled, as if they'd expected this. They turned to see chaos beyond—a tide of disciples from various immortal sects flooding in.

The man at their head wore a Daoist robe and carried a horsetail whisk, strolling calmly in the rear. His companions naturally cleared a path for him. Elder Zhong's face darkened at the sight. Yue Changge let out a cold laugh, eyebrows raised, muttering under her breath about bad luck.

The man was none other than Guan Weiqing, current Sect Leader of the Liuyun Sect. He narrowed his eyes, surveyed the Sword Tomb, then offered a faint smile, fixing his gaze on the two elders. "Daoist friends, I didn't expect to find you here."

"The Taichu Sect is a prestigious orthodox school, yet it harbors Demonic Race traitors. When the world hears of this, won't it be a laughingstock?" His tone was indifferent. "Best to hand them over now."

Zhong Yinshi replied, "Twisting right and wrong, turning truth upside down—truly your sect's way."

Guan Weiqing raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Yue Changge spat. "Qing Zhouxue is a disciple of the Taichu Sect and champion of the Immortal Ascension Assembly—upstanding and true. She was taken right under your nose on Liuyun Sect territory, and you have no explanation?"

Guan Weiqing's expression grew somber. "That child was indeed promising. But she let herself be led astray by that sorceress's lies. This time..."

A person beside him added, "Daoist friends, calm yourselves. Our sect has thoroughly investigated. Qing Zhouxue was captured by the Demonic Race while out on a journey."

Yue Changge sneered. "Watch your tongue. What sorceress? Yun Shuchen cultivates a righteous immortal path!" She pressed on, "And since when has your vaunted number-one sect become so feeble? A few children couldn't be protected—the Demonic Race just waltzed in and snatched someone? Days later, still no word. Tsk, tsk. I never knew the Demonic Race was that formidable. If they're so powerful, why haven't they already razed your sect to the ground?"

Suppressed laughter rippled through the crowd. Guan Weiqing's face soured. He flicked his whisk and cut to the point: "Capturing Demonic Race traitors brooks no delay. Spare me the nonsense. Does Taichu Sect intend to shield those two?"

Ruan Mingzhu grew furious. "You're a sect leader—can't you understand plain speech—"

Elder Zhong patted his disciple's head, silencing her. "Yun Shuchen and Qing Zhouxue are not with the Taichu Sect."

Qing Zhouxue clutched the Qingshuang Sword tightly. At Guan Weiqing's words "that sorceress," her face turned icy. And when she remembered how he had treated her—the flaying, the thunder, the fire—still vivid, murderous intent surged through even her composed heart.

She started to move, only to find herself bound by vines, tightened so gradually she hadn't noticed. She froze, turning to look at Yun Shuchen. But her master simply walked past her.

The crowd heard a graceful, silvery laugh. Amid the layered shadows, a woman's skirt trailed out first, and she stepped unhurriedly into the light—her full figure emerging from the darkness in a stunning reveal.

Elder Yue and Elder Zhong were startled at first, then their faces lit with relief, quickly tinged with worry.

Yun Shuchen looked at Guan Weiqing, hands behind her back, a slight smile on her lips. "So this is the Liuyun Sect's leader? Another unfamiliar face."

Indeed, the Liuyun Sect's leader held a title but little real authority, replaced generation after generation at the Old Ancestor's whim. When Taishang Wangqing had been present, the entire sect had its backbone; all major matters were deferred to her. Only after she entered secluded cultivation did people gradually remember the sect even had a leader.

Guan Weiqing was the twenty-third. He'd assumed the position only a few years prior, with little prestige to his name. But he had long chafed at being overshadowed by that woman in everything—even though she hadn't emerged from seclusion in years. Her shadow lingered perpetually. He knew the reason: pure power. The might of one on the verge of ascension was enough to make the entire Liuyun Sect bow to her, not to a puppet like himself.

He saw one final chance: obtain the Sword Soul and forge an immortal body beyond death, and perhaps he could catch up to her. And Qing Zhouxue was the key. He had to have the Sword Soul.

Yun Shuchen seemed to have pierced right through his thoughts. Her words, deliberate or not, struck home.

Guan Weiqing's face turned black. He issued the order: "Seize her!"

His disciples surged forward. Yun Shuchen thought to herself—surely the old man knew these followers couldn't possibly touch her. Perhaps he was baiting her, hoping she'd slaughter them, cementing her reputation as a sorceress. The Liuyun Sect wasn't alone; cultivators from other sects trailed behind. Any disturbance here would alert the world, drawing them in.

As for herself, she feared nothing. Worst case, she'd retreat to the Demon Realm.

Several men advanced. She stayed still until they closed within three zhang. Then she flicked her fingers, and slender streams of water pierced through their dantians. Blood mist burst forth, staining the stone steps deep crimson.

This ignited righteous fury across the allied sects. But Guan Weiqing was momentarily taken aback—he hadn't expected her to fall into the trap so readily.

Her gaze, cold with a hint of killing intent, fixed on him—as if she were staring at a dead man. Guan Weiqing's fingers tightened. No... impossible. She still had a disciple; she wouldn't risk mutual destruction here, in front of everyone. Neither side would win.

"Even if I were tied hand and foot and tried to prove my innocence," Yun Shuchen said calmly, "you'd still drag up the Xu family case, wouldn't you, Guan Weiqing? One should always leave a little leeway. When you press so relentlessly, how can you expect me to spare you any escape?"

Before she'd even finished, another wave rushed forward. Zhong Yinshi intercepted a blade for her. "Junior sister, don't be rash!" But Yun Shuchen suddenly sent a palm strike at him, throwing him back. Caught off guard, Elder Zhong coughed up blood. She raised her hand again, as if warning Yue Changge to stay back—Yue Changge had indeed been about to help.

Meeting the two elders' incredulous gazes, Yun Shuchen said coldly, "Spare me your hypocritical concern. Get lost!"

Yue Changge froze. "What are you talking about? The Taichu Sect—"

"Taichu Sect?" Yun Shuchen laughed. "A pack of fools. I was originally a member of the Demonic Race. Since Starfire is within easy reach, there's no need for me to keep up the act with you."

Yue Changge tried to speak further, but Zhong Yinshi shook his head and held her back.

Qing Zhouxue was bound tightly, unable to break free at first. Yet every word Yun Shuchen said sank into her ears. Her heart scorched as if over a fire, the vines pressing deep red lines into her skin. How could her master reveal her identity at a time like this? Wasn't she isolating herself, leaving herself with no ally?

Qing Zhouxue's grip loosened. The Qingshuang Sword's cold gleam hacked at the vines—a heavy slash that cut halfway through. A little more force. On the next strike, a vine snapped cleanly. She half-wriggled free, struggling as best she could. Just then, the colossal sword behind her trembled.

"My master..."

"This is the Sword Tomb... the source of the Sword Soul..."

The whispers swelled around her, a million voices clamoring all at once, pounding painfully in her head.

But Yun Shuchen's stifled groan cut through, unmistakable.

A moment's distraction from her master, and the vines binding Qing Zhouxue slackened considerably. She wrenched free at last, stems snapping as she tumbled onto the vines, sticky sap splattering over her. She rolled several times, barely avoiding notice.

Qing Zhouxue climbed to her feet and peered out from half cover—just in time to see Guan Weiqing and her master locked in deadlock, neither yielding. Blood stained the corner of Yun Shuchen's lips; she was clearly on the losing end, for she faced not just one sect leader but countless attendants—the Liuyun Sect had come in force.

Qing Zhouxue's gaze shifted to Guan Weiqing. Her calves trembled. The familiar pain was etched into her very soul; every time she beheld that face, the wounds tore open anew, and she felt the agony to the marrow of her bones.

She drew a deep breath, suppressing the unease, and spoke to the wandering sword spirits around her. "Help me."

The sword spirits chattered on, darting about, curious, some trying to approach for a closer look.

Qing Zhouxue frowned. "Silence!"

The noise died instantly. The Qingshuang Sword slipped into her palm, answering the call.

On the other side, Yun Shuchen's lashes trembled faintly. Sweat beaded on her brow, but her mind stayed razor sharp, too taut to risk a blink. She was locked in spiritual combat with Guan Weiqing, their spiritual power cycling at its limit around them; no one else could come within an inch. Weaker cultivators had long since collapsed to their knees from the shockwaves.

Though the spiritual energy was dense enough to feel, their dantians drained steadily. A clash between Mahayana-stage cultivators was eerily still—to an outsider, it looked like two people standing apart, palms extended toward each other, utterly unremarkable. Only those at the center knew that every iota of spiritual power was painstakingly marshaled and furiously expended, each trying to overpower the other. Beneath still waters churned waves of immense magnitude.

But somehow, Yun Shuchen felt the air around her grow colder and colder. After several exchanges, a suffocating pressure closed in.

Suddenly, a wind rose, scattering countless pear blossoms like snow. A single point of cold touched her brow and lashes. Yun Shuchen's hair snapped taut behind her as a biting wind assailed her cheeks.

A fluttering white figure darted past her, one sword stroke slashing at Guan Weiqing's arm. Guan Weiqing withdrew his hand in time, sweeping his whisk toward the attacker—but hit empty air. In that single exchange, Yun Shuchen drove him back several steps.

In his moment of bewilderment, a gleam of delight flashed in his eyes—the Sword Soul had finally appeared!

Qing Zhouxue hovered in midair, the tips of her toes resting on a falling petal of spring snow. Her white robes had been torn into great panels that hung around her like drifting banners.

Yun Shuchen's heart went cold. Too late.

She could only watch as the Liuyun Sect disciples rose in vast waves, swarming around Qing Zhouxue. The girl stood trapped within the dense encirclement, no avenue of escape.

But then—the next instant—before anyone could react, a piercing cry split the air.

Then they witnessed a sight they would never forget.

A rain of blood accompanied by sword wind poured down—pattering, splattering, like rain on banana leaves, kicking up towering sprays of gore. A sky-covering red, like a bridal veil, crashed down over them, blinding their eyes, ears, mouths, and noses.

Ruan Mingzhu's stunned expression had not yet faded when a severed arm thudded against her.

It happened so fast—aside from the Liuyun Sect having first encircled Qing Zhouxue—no one had time to react before they looked up.

Qing Zhouxue stood there expressionless, drenched head to toe in vivid red. It was not her own blood but that of those who had surged forward moments before. Her tattered white robes had been completely dyed into great panels of red brocade, billowing out behind her like brilliant crimson cloaks.

On the ground... the ground was littered with mangled corpses, pieces so scattered that no one could tell one from another. The more than a hundred elite inner disciples who had served as attendants were annihilated in a single instant.

At that moment, the stone chamber fell into a strange, eerie silence.