Chapter Ninety-Two: Turmoil Rises Again

Liu Yanzhen’s sudden betrayal on the battlefield truly caught Master Miaoyi off guard! Having forcibly taken a palm strike from Qi Fei and escaped from the Marquis’s mansion, Master Miaoyi had expected Chu Qingyun to intervene—after all, the Xuan Zhen Temple and the young marquis had crossed paths before. Yet, Liu Yanzhen’s unexpected move had upended all her calculations!

Chu Yanran, herself a grandmaster of martial arts, naturally had a group of followers—her marquis and disciples. A quick assessment made her understand Liu Yanzhen’s intent. The so-called “experts” who had followed Master Miaoyi were a motley crew at best, and under the overwhelming force of Qi Fei, every one of those disciples and so-called experts showed evident fear. Some of Master Miaoyi’s disciples fled, others scattered, and only a handful who were personally close to her dared step forward. Thus, in the wilderness, Miaoyi’s side seemed woefully outnumbered.

Chu Qingyun and his entourage, following behind Qi Fei and the dueling pair, appeared almost leisurely, as if the slaughter before them had nothing to do with them.

In a brief moment of distraction, Qi Fei unleashed the third form of the “Heaven-Slaying Sword Canon,” and the Cold Soul Blade in his hand began to hum. Wisps of visible cold air traced from his fingers, flowing from his chest down to the icy tip of the blade. The Spirit-communing Jade within his body responded faintly.

With a sudden flash of cold light, Qi Fei gripped the Cold Soul Blade, channeled all his true essence, and wielded the blade as a sword, slashing fiercely at the cornered Master Miaoyi!

“No—no! Impossible! His true essence was clearly depleted—how could he suddenly…” Before she could finish her sentence, Master Miaoyi was engulfed in a flood of silver light, and a flash of blood was visible within. “Ah!” Master Miaoyi’s left hand had been severed by Qi Fei!

By now, Qi Fei’s mind was consumed by the intent to kill; he wished only to annihilate every last one of these treacherous priests from Xuan Zhen Temple. He showed no restraint, especially since the young marquis and his companions behind him made no move to stop him. Qi Fei’s mind was set—today, Master Miaoyi would die with no grave to contain her.

Daoist Qingxu, seeing Qi Fei’s ferocity, realized there would be no peaceful end to this day. Gripping his long sword, he formed a sword seal, preparing to rescue Master Miaoyi. But how could Qi Fei, now brimming with true essence, fear any of the Xuan Zhen Temple’s mystical arts?

With a single Cold Soul Blade, he would cut down all under heaven! In the blink of an eye, the battlefield had shifted—from the marquis’s estate to the wilds of the forest, a journey that seemed to take no more than the time to drink a cup of tea. Of all the mystics in Xuan Zhen Temple, only Master Miaoyi and the head priest were truly formidable, but even if the head priest were resurrected now, he likely could not stop this god of slaughter descending from the heavens.

Master Miaoyi, gritting her teeth against the pain, used her arts to staunch the bleeding; half her hand was gone. The watching disciples of Xuan Zhen Temple could no longer stand idle!

At that moment, Daoist Qingxu weighed his options: should he intervene to save Master Miaoyi, or focus on his other mission? If he failed in the larger scheme, he himself would not escape punishment. But upon closer inspection of Qi Fei’s face, he realized the youth before him was the very man wanted by the Yin-Yang Sect just days before! Only now did he recognize him.

Months earlier, the only son of the Yin-Yang Sect’s leader and two formidable innate masters had been slain on Mount Danxia by a young master of Pure Yang. The incident was the talk of the martial world. People had heard of those who could surpass their level to kill, but never such a feat against two at once—such courage and audacity were rare. For a moment, some looked at Qi Fei with feverish admiration and awe.

Seeing that Master Miaoyi could no longer defend herself, Qi Fei turned, intending to report to Chu Qingyun. He had just taken a few steps when he felt a surge of fierce spiritual energy from behind, each wave laced with unmistakable murderous intent, locking onto him. Suddenly, several Daoist figures materialized before Qi Fei, exuding powerful true essence.

The disciples left on the wasteland, seeing what was about to happen, quickly darted aside, clearing a wide space for Qi Fei and the four fierce-looking opponents.

Those standing before Qi Fei were all at the late stage of Pure Yang cultivation—one bore a long scar (Daoist Qingxu), another appeared delicate and frail, a third was broad-faced and fleshy, and the last was a pale-faced scholar. A strange combination, yet no one dared underestimate them; such late-stage Pure Yang cultivators were among the elite of Mount Danxia. Qi Fei’s expression turned cold; they all glared at him with murderous intent, two already wielding their weapons.

“So, you are the one who killed the Yin-Yang Sect leader’s son a few days ago?” Daoist Qingxu asked, his tone icy and sinister. The sect leader had ordered all experts in Yongzhou to memorize Qi Fei’s likeness—should they encounter him, he was to be slain without mercy.

Chu Qingyun’s party was far behind and did not hear the exchange between Daoist Qingxu and Qi Fei. Had they heard, they would have been utterly astonished—who would have thought Daoist Qingxu of Xuan Zhen Temple had such deep ties with the Yin-Yang Sect?

“It is I. Are you telling me the remnants of Xuan Zhen Temple are in league with the Yin-Yang Sect now?” Qi Fei sneered, hands on his hips. Outwardly nonchalant, inwardly on high alert. He could barely hold his own against two late-stage Pure Yang disciples; now, with several more appearing from nowhere, his situation was dire. Had Daoist Qingxu somehow sent a signal? The Yin-Yang Sect was not to be trifled with—Zhuo Jin’er’s mastery of Daoist arts was formidable, so the sect’s power must be immense.

His killing of the Yin-Yang Sect leader’s son and his party was largely due to carelessness and Zhuo Jin’er’s provocation; had those men not antagonized him for no reason, Qi Fei would not have made enemies. Part of it was also because he had tricked them. Now, however, things were different: so many late-stage Pure Yang cultivators, and they had come prepared—no matter how strong he was, he could not win.

“Well answered. Today, I’ll kill you for the sect master!” Daoist Qingxu shouted, and the others instantly unleashed their Daoist artifacts, attacking Qi Fei. Their aim was to kill him in one blow and report back to their leader, who was in seclusion; otherwise, he would have come himself to slay this youth. Several swords and a blade closed in, cutting off all of Qi Fei’s escape. Qi Fei snorted—though they had planned well and blocked his retreat, he had his own path. In terms of swordplay, few could match the Heaven-Slaying Sword Canon! As expected, Qi Fei’s moves grew more ethereal and fierce, dodging their coordinated assault with ease. The group was shocked, then each withdrew his artifact. The scholar vanished into the earth, while Daoist Qingxu charged at Qi Fei, slashing at his head in close combat.

Meanwhile, the delicate-looking man stood aside, chanting, and waves of eerie energy radiated from him. The fleshy-faced man switched to wielding two massive polearms, each a lower-grade Daoist artifact.

Together with their Daoist garb, they looked somewhat absurd but carried an air of reclusive mastery. Facing Daoist Qingxu’s strike, Qi Fei dared not be careless and quickly drew the Cold Soul Blade. At its appearance, a magnificent, awe-inspiring aura spread forth.

A magic treasure? The group was stunned, then their faces lit up with greed. So this was how he’d slain Gao Qi and his companion—he relied on the power of a magic treasure! Daoist Qingxu was thrilled. For any disciple, owning a magic treasure was a dream—now it was within reach!

Excited, Daoist Qingxu attacked Qi Fei with abandon. He knew he couldn’t match the magic blade directly, so he unleashed sword energy instead. The Cold Soul Blade would shatter any weapon it touched, but sword energy, being condensed true essence, was another matter. Facing a net of sword energy, Qi Fei felt a headache brewing.

Suddenly, the scholar wielding two heavy polearms charged forward, roaring as he swung a hammer at Qi Fei’s head. Qi Fei was startled and retreated swiftly—the blow, though simple, contained terrifying power, enough to shatter a mountain.

Before he could retreat fully, he sensed danger behind him—Daoist Qingxu’s sword energy, blade glowing cold, was slicing toward his back. Qi Fei gritted his teeth and darted left, where, luckily, no one stood. Yet almost immediately he felt something was wrong—he seemed mired in quicksand, each step requiring a hundred times more effort than usual.

Cold sweat poured from Qi Fei’s brow. With pursuers before and behind, and his movements constrained, he was in grave danger. He noticed the delicate man chanting, sending strange energy into the ground around him. So it was that bastard! Qi Fei was furious—he despised this especially frail-looking man, for he himself was already delicate enough and would not tolerate anyone frailer. More importantly, the man had now bound his movements!

Suddenly, the scholar’s polearms and Daoist Qingxu’s sword energy were upon him—if he couldn’t dodge, he’d be gravely wounded if not dead! With a sigh, Qi Fei’s figure vanished; their attacks struck only empty air.

What happened? The group was dumbfounded—he’d been right before them, and now he was gone. The sect master had mentioned this man possessed the ability to vanish, eluding even his own senses. Had he fled?

Qi Fei had not run away, but rather hidden inside the Spirit-communing Jade. The delicate man’s binding spell was formidable, but could not constrain his spirit, allowing him to evade the strike easily. But Qi Fei refused to hide forever. After a quarter hour, he reappeared outside the Spirit-communing Jade.

The group was searching in vain for any trace of him. The delicate man, seeing Qi Fei absent for so long, withdrew his binding spell—for it consumed immense energy. Suddenly, Qi Fei’s figure appeared, and instantly everyone readied themselves for attack. The delicate man resumed his binding, Daoist Qingxu slashed out with sword energy, and the scholar, without hesitation, hefted his heavy polearms and charged. Oddly, the other two seemed unaffected by the binding spell, moving freely. Sensing the restriction on himself, Qi Fei gave a bitter smile. His first task was to break the binding. But how? He had but a heartbeat; in another, their attacks would land!

He quietly opened his Genesis Golden Eyes, then closed them, and vanished again into the Spirit-communing Jade. Just before, he had glimpsed that, as the delicate man chanted, invisible, net-like energy wove itself around his prison, with intricate, ever-shifting patterns. The reason the other two were unaffected was that a thin layer of true essence shielded their bodies; the net of force rebounded harmlessly off them. Suddenly, Qi Fei realized something was wrong—there were two distinct energies at work, yet the delicate man was only one person. Where did the other strand come from? It was not from Daoist Qingxu or the scholar, nor did the vanished scholar seem the source, for that other force was clearly within his own vicinity.

Suddenly, Qi Fei realized: that energy was his own! During magical combat, every disciple leaks true essence. If one of the strands was his, everything made sense. After some thought, Qi Fei clapped his hands in excitement: “So that’s it, delicate one—you’re dead!” With that, he reappeared outside the Spirit-communing Jade.

The group, having failed repeatedly to strike Qi Fei, was seething. The moment he appeared, they unleashed all their strength. The delicate man, frustrated by Qi Fei slipping away time and again, bit his finger, formed a powerful seal, and chanted even louder. Qi Fei felt his shoulders grow heavier—the binding had strengthened.

Now, the others, seeing Qi Fei caught once more, abandoned all defense for all-out attack—this time, he must not escape!

Qi Fei feigned panic and terror, and the group, emboldened, pressed their assault. Daoist Qingxu was the fastest, reaching Qi Fei in a flash.

Daoist Qingxu fixed his greedy gaze on the Cold Soul Blade, already fantasizing about stealing it and going into seclusion, only to emerge again after attaining the next level. The sword’s energy was barely a meter from Qi Fei’s chest—he could feel the bone-chilling cold.

Suddenly, Qi Fei moved—faster than lightning, as though unbound. Daoist Qingxu was struck by a sudden sense of danger; he saw the Cold Soul Blade in Qi Fei’s hand gleam silver as it sliced toward him! Daoist Qingxu, caught completely off guard, was beheaded, his nascent soul shredded along with his head! The scholar, for all his clumsy appearance, reacted instantly; seeing Daoist Qingxu fall, he retreated without a thought. The delicate man stared at Qi Fei in shock, trembling, “Impossible! No one can break my binding spell!” His technique, learned from a secret manual found in a hidden cave, was nearly unbeatable among peers—even with only the first two levels, its power was formidable.

Qi Fei grinned with wicked satisfaction, giving the delicate man a contemptuous look. “Nothing’s impossible. Didn’t you see I’ve already broken free and destroyed your ghost of a friend?”

In truth, breaking the binding spell was not difficult for Qi Fei. He realized the net-like force could not bind his movements; with his cultivation, he could easily break free. But he hadn’t, because the net contained a restraining power—much like the expert from the Palace of Thunder had done before.

He found the web was formed by the delicate man’s energy spreading horizontally, while his own leaked vertically. The combination created the net, which in turn bore the restraining force—locking down everything within. Qi Fei didn’t know the source of this restraining power, but he knew how to break it: seal his own energy, or scatter it horizontally to counter the other’s. When the two forces clashed, the net would not form, and the restraining power would have no vehicle—thus, the binding spell became useless. As for why Daoist Qingxu and the scholar were unaffected, Qi Fei guessed they wore protective Daoist artifacts.

Secretly, Qi Fei was astonished; normally, only late-stage innate cultivators could touch upon restraining power, yet this delicate man could wield it while still at the Pure Yang stage—how could he not be shocked? The delicate man was even more flabbergasted; ever since acquiring that incomplete manual, his binding spell had brought him great fame and victory.