Chapter 19

"Isn't that the young sect master of the Wan Zhou Sword Sect?"

Wen Qingyin lifted the corners of his eyes, glanced askance at the cold-faced Pei Junheng, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Pei Junheng ignored Wen Qingyin's words; with a flick of his hand, a solidified poison pill appeared between his two fingers that had previously held nothing.

Upon noticing the poison pill that had suddenly appeared in Pei Junheng's hand, Wen Qingyin's expression froze.

How did Pei Junheng discover his poison! Moreover, he used his cultivation to transform the colorless, formless poison into a solid pill and pinched it in his hand.

Pei Junheng, however, paid no attention to Wen Qingyin's current thoughts; instead, he stared into Wen Qingyin's eyes and, as if provoking him, crushed the poison pill.

After not seeing each other for years, Pei Junheng's cultivation had improved greatly; he even seemed impervious to all poisons.

This realization made Wen Qingyin grit his teeth involuntarily.

It looks like today's match won't be simple.

"Oh dear, the little tricks of poison cultivators don't work anymore~"

Qiu Sanchi covered his mouth and spoke loudly; as soon as he said that, a barrage of gazes like arrows shot toward him.

Seated in the spectator stands were two clearly distinguished groups, white and green; everyone else had already finished their matches and were waiting here for the final champion showdown.

It could be seen that the final champion would either be from the Cloud Immortal Sect or the Wan Zhou Sword Sect.

The disciples of the Huafu Zhongque and Qianji Qige who had withdrawn from the finals sat far away, continuing to pull out melon seeds to watch the excitement; the sound of cracking seeds rose and fell, even becoming background noise.

"The duel has only just begun—what are you feeling pleased about!"

Zi Shu Zhi couldn't stand the smug looks of the sword cultivators; he rolled up his sleeves in anger and pointed at Qiu Sanchi, his words prompting the behind him cultivators of medicine to echo in agreement.

Just wait; their young sect master will definitely beat Pei Junheng until he's fleeing in disarray.

As the two sides seemed about to start arguing again, a sudden exclamation came from the spectator stands: "Look at that!"

The medicine and sword cultivators who were about to clash all turned their gazes to the platform; upon seeing the scene there, they all froze in unison.

The azure jade platform where Wen Qingyin and Pei Junheng had been visible was suddenly swept up by an unexpected whirlwind; the two disappeared from sight, and those below could only see the fierce whirlwind swirling.

When did the whirlwind arrive? The people are gone!

Someone wanted to go up on stage or call for a pause, but the immortal elder stopped them.

"The duel is still ongoing," the immortal elder said.

With people swept up in the whirlwind, what kind of duel is this?

Although everyone was doubtful, since the immortal elder said the duel continued, they could only sit anxiously in the spectator seats and wait.

Those below saw the whirlwind as violent and fierce, but the two wrapped within it felt only a warm spring breeze.

After the whirlwind swept through, what appeared before Wen Qingyin and Pei Junheng was the apricot forest of Longji Mountain.

Pink blossoms covered the mountain, petals drifting down as if real or illusory, just as Longji Mountain had been in years past.

Traces of spellcraft lingered on Wen Qingyin's fingertips; the wind lifted his hair, and amidst the falling petals he raised his gaze to the other person he had drawn into the whirlwind.

The medicine cultivators of the Cloud Immortal Sect could not possibly study only medicine; they were never incapable fools who only knew how to concoct pills. To implant medicinal seeds onto a target, they also needed to learn illusionary arts or other auxiliary techniques.

And what Wen Qingyin is using now is precisely the illusionary technique he has cultivated.

Whether because his memories are too profound, Wen Qingyin has never before constructed an illusion as clear as this one; everything around is so lifelike that, as the scene formed, even Wen Qingyin himself felt a momentary dazedness.

He even seemed to smell the apricot blossoms on the tip of his nose.

Likewise, Pei Junheng hadn't expected Wen Qingyin's illusion to be of Longji Mountain, but his eyes flickered once before returning to their usual cold detachment.

Pei Junheng didn't even draw his sword; the petals drifting before him were already severed by his invisible sword qi.

The shattered petals lay scattered on the ground, slowly dissipating.

Hidden within them were all of Wen Qingyin's poisons!

Wen Qingyin's pupils contracted slightly, and his teeth unconsciously bit his own lip.

I never expected that the Longji Mountain illusion would have any effect at all on Pei Junheng.

Using Longji Mountain as the setting for his illusion, Wen Qingyin cannot claim he harbored no personal motive.

He had originally thought Pei Junheng would at least waver for a moment.

Now it seems that only he himself still dwells on the past grievances.

It was Wen Qingyin who, after the sudden disappearance of Longji Mountain's spirit vein, stubbornly went to confront Pei Junheng; it was Wen Qingyin who, wounded by Pei Junheng's sword qi, returned in defeat to the Cloud Immortal Sect.

From beginning to end, it was only Wen Qingyin.

Without the undefeated apricot blossoms, Longji Mountain has only green branches; not a trace of pink can be seen anymore.

"Pei Junheng, did the Wan Zhou Sword Sect they spoke of steal the spirit vein?" Wen Qingyin caught up to Pei Junheng's stride and questioned his back.

He did not believe Pei Junheng was the sort of sword cultivator the Cloud Immortal Sect described.

Longji Mountain's spirit vein vanished overnight; clearly someone had stolen it.

Faced with Wen Qingyin's questioning, Pei Junheng didn't even turn around.

He raised his hand; in it was that ancient divine sword, its sword aura intimidating.

With a flip of his hand, the sword's edge came at him coldly.

It was, in fact, a threat telling him not to approach.

The oncoming sword aura seemed to wash over Wen Qingyin, turning his face pale, yet he still refused to believe it; all he wanted was a word from Pei Junheng.

"Pei Junheng, if you don't explain yourself clearly, we're done forever!"

But all his threatening words paled before the sword's edge.

Pei Junheng paid no heed to Wen Qingyin's words, not even turning his head to look at him.

Wen Qingyin, unable to contain his anger, grabbed the medicinal pills he had on hand and hurled them at Pei Junheng.

Heedless of consequences, he launched into a fight with Pei Junheng.

He could no longer recall how long that fight had lasted.

All he remembered was that he had been no match for Pei Junheng at the time; the reputation of the world's foremost immortal talent was well deserved, and he had to exert great effort just to barely knock Pei Junheng's sword to the ground.

Pei Junheng's sword fell to the ground with a clear ring, its fiery tassel like the last splash of color on Longji Mountain.

He was unwilling to lose so easily to Pei Junheng; Wen Qingyin bit his lip, reaching out defiantly to snatch the tassel from the Changhong Sword, but the sword qi grazed him, drawing blood.

"Pei Junheng."

Wen Qingyin watched Pei Junheng pick up the sword from the ground; the next second the blade pointed at him, the swordlight blazing enough to almost bring tears to his eyes.

The pain in his palm made Wen Qingyin's vision darken, yet he stubbornly kept his eyes wide open, refusing to show any fear.

"Do you really intend to hurt me?"

That clear swordlight flashed, and Wen Qingyin finally saw Pei Junheng's eyes.

Those eyes held an unfamiliar chill, even colder than the blade pointing at him, making Wen Qingyin feel cold.

"Take care of yourself." Pei Junheng sheathed his sword, not even glancing at the tassel Wen Qingyin clutched, and turned to stride into the endless apricot forest.

"Pei Junheng!"

His eyes fixed on Pei Junheng's back, Wen Qingyin ignored the pain threatening to tear his right palm apart.

His left hand lifted the lustrous jade ring, the very one they had both grabbed together at his first-birthday ceremony.

"From now on, you and I will be like this ring—"

A clear crack of jade rang out, yet Pei Junheng's steps paused only slightly as he walked away without looking back.

The shattered jade covering the ground was like Wen Qingyin's tears, but once broken, the jade could never be restored.

"Boom—"

Apricot trees were felled by Pei Junheng's sword qi, blossoms and branches crashing down together, raising a pink wave of apricot.

The fallen apricot trees were actually those few □□ belonging to Wen Qingyin.

After three years apart, Pei Junheng's cultivation—had it really reached such a level?

Seemingly unwilling to waste more time on this fight, Pei Junheng raised his wrist, and in an instant his long sword was drawn, blazing like daylight.

The sun hanging over Longji Mountain trembled in that light, and the illusion almost collapsed for a moment.

Pei Junheng didn't even draw the Changhong Sword, just an ordinary long sword.

He pointed the sword tip at himself, the hilt facing Wen Qingyin.

His gaze was as sharp as ever.

Wen Qingyin clenched his hand, feeling as if the scar in his right palm were burning with pain.

He knew that once Pei Junheng picked up his sword, the duel would be over.

Although medicine cultivators can create illusions and administer poison unseen, if the poisoning fails they cannot defend against a sword cultivator's speed and skill—especially since there were no plants on Qingyun Terrace for him to manipulate.

His pride, his poison, had no effect on Pei Junheng—so what could he use to win this battle?

The surrounding apricot blossoms swayed like rippling water, as if about to collapse at any moment.

It seemed defeat was certain, yet Wen Qingyin was unwilling to accept it.

He was unwilling to accept why Pei Junheng always acted this way.

Wen Qingyin raised his hand; the tassel on his right wrist twitched with his motion, and for a moment he could even smell the apricot blossoms crushed into the earth and the scent of blood.

Pei Junheng was always aloof and detached, silent and icy, as if nothing could cause even a ripple in his eyes, firm as swords.

Just as he had said on Longji Mountain that they would never meet again, just as he had declared their friendship over, he remained unmoved.

Pei Junheng moved his hand, and the sword hilt flew toward Wen Qingyin.

He no longer reached for the poison in his pouch; Wen Qingyin knew he could not successfully poison him now.

He reached out and drew the soft sword coiled at his waist.

As a medicine cultivator, Wen Qingyin ought not to wield a sword, and indeed he had not used one in years.

Unlike sword cultivators who must endure bitter training, medicine cultivators only need to nurture spiritual herbs and refine them in an alchemical furnace; Wen Qingyin, relying on his talent since childhood, had been willful and unruly.

He could easily concoct elixirs that others could not produce even after scouring ancient texts, so naturally he grew arrogant, thinking elixir crafting posed no difficulty, and thus conceived the idea of learning swordsmanship.

Pei Junheng saw Wen Qingyin draw his sword; his eyes flickered slightly, but his motion did not cease.

Because no one knew Wen Qingyin's swordsmanship level better than Pei Junheng.

Wen Qingyin's swordsmanship was personally taught by Pei Junheng, and even the sword he held was a gift from him.

But Wen Qingyin could not endure the hardship of sword training; his study was sporadic—three days of practice, two days of neglect—just enough to grasp the basics, after which he tossed the sword aside, clinging to Pei Junheng's embrace and refusing to practice further.

The Yingzhou Academy's sect grand competition follows the principle of 'stop at the point of contact,' allowing minor injuries but forbidding fatal ones.

Pei Junheng's speed was great; in the blink of an eye, the sword hilt was already about to land on Wen Qingyin's shoulder.

If Pei Junheng's wooden sword hilt struck Wen Qingyin's shoulder, the match would be over.

Wen Qingyin would lose once more to Pei Junheng's sword.

The sword hilt rushed forward on a gale, the sound of splitting wind ringing in his ears.

Wen Qingyin rolled to evade the hilt, his flexibility astonishing.

Yet he could not block the hilt striking again; instead he grabbed the blade with his palm, and in an instant his skin split and flesh tore, bright red blood gushing out, blurring the sword's bright-as-daylight shine.

Blood gathered drop by drop on the blade and fell, blooming into a flower of blood on the platform.

The sharp pain overwhelmed him like an unstoppable tide, making Wen Qingyin's vision repeatedly darken.

He was simply too afraid of pain.

Even a mere nick on the Xuanwu Tortoise's back could make him dizzy with pain, let alone the sword blade cutting flesh now.

Pei Junheng's motion suddenly halted, his formerly cold expression vanishing in an instant.

"Wen Qingyin, what are you doing!" he exclaimed, trying to pull his sword back from Wen Qingyin's grasp.

But Wen Qingyin's right hand gripped so tightly that drawing the sword back would mean the sharp blade would slice his flesh again.

Thus they remained locked in a stalemate.

Yet Wen Qingyin smiled at Pei Junheng before him and softly called, "Chang Ying older brother."

Pei Junheng hadn't seen Wen Qingyin smile like that in a long time; his pupils shrank slightly, and he was involuntarily drawn into memories.

Behind him, the apricot trees swayed; the apricot blossoms of Dragon Spine Mountain fell one by one in the wind, as if they were still back then.

The apricot blossoms on Dragon Spine Mountain from back then had not yet withered, and the Jade Double Ring had not been shattered.

Nothing had yet headed irrevocably toward ruin.

A sudden pain shot through his shoulder; the soft sword held in his pale, soft palm mercilessly pierced Pei Junheng's right shoulder.

Pei Junheng made no sound, his gaze still fixed on Wen Qingyin's hand, which continued to drip blood.

Wen Qingyin's flower-like smile froze; he hadn't expected his sword tip to actually strike Pei Junheng.

In their duel, Pei Junheng actually had no protection at all.

Did he think Wen Qingyin couldn't hurt him?

At the same time, Wen Qingyin could no longer sustain the illusion's power; the surrounding apricot blossoms gradually faded into unreality, and the typhoon enveloping them spun and slowly dissipated.

The disciples on the spectator seats, who had been bewildered by the typhoon for a long time, finally made out the scene on the platform.

Wen Qingyin gripped his sword and stabbed Pei Junheng's shoulder; his right hand dripped fresh blood, while the blade Pei Junheng held retained traces of blood. The usually spoiled Wen Qingyin showed no expression on his face, merely staring coldly at Pei Junheng.

This… who exactly won?

Obviously, both combatants on Azure Cloud Terrace were wounded, so the broadcasted celestial sound stuttered briefly before swiftly rendering a judgment:

"Cloud Immortal Sect, Wen Qingyin wins!"

As the celestial sound fell, the disciples on the spectator seats all heard the sound of flames igniting.

Following the sound, they saw an azure‑green plant totem ignite on the stone pillar, shimmering with light; an immortal crane circled the totem, stretching its neck to cry, and the clear cry heralded heaven and earth.

The champion of this sect grand tournament was none other than the Cloud Immortal Sect.