Chapter 241: Fire and Snow (Part One)

When Zhang Zhang Junxue stepped onto the arena, the man who had arrived earlier stood across from her, leaning on his sword, waiting.

A vast, empty, white surface; across from her, that black cloak.

In an instant, Zhang Zhang Junxue entered another state.

On her way over, the woman had been gloomy from arguing with Seeing Pei Ye, but as soon as she stood on this arena, facing the calm, waiting man, something fiercer, sharper, erupted from deep within—burning away all other emotions.

That pitch-black cloak felt like midnight smothering her mouth and nose; that crimson longsword was thick as blood.

The moment she stood before this man, the woman knew she would never regret her decision.

This was what she had to do: blood for blood, pain for pain—pour the fire forged from the knife inside her heart straight onto this man's face!

No preparation, no preamble; faintly, as if a cauldron rang, but Zhang Zhang Junxue could no longer hear it.

The flame, stifled and smoldering for decades inside a dark little box, had its lid suddenly torn open—wind swept in, and the fire surged violently upward. The woman charged like a tiger, her heavy blade carving a visible crescent through the air!

Her first strike was the full-power Zhang family Waist-Cutting Blade; the wind ahead of the blade severed the man's forehead hair before the blade even reached him.

She had drawn nearly half the arena's air into her motion—in all previous matches on this stage, no one had ever displayed such power!

Shang Haitong raised an eyebrow at this sudden assault, drew his sword from its scabbard, crossed it horizontally before him like a great iron chain across a river, and then came the thunderous crash of impact.

The tall woman, the heavy broadsword—when she charged at you with icy fury, it felt like an old man facing a galloping horse.

Before this terrifying force, the man's crossed sword stood as if cast into the air itself—all that immense power halted abruptly before it, not a single inch breached.

Yet after that sudden pause, Shang Haitong stepped back one pace, the transmitted force kicking up dust beneath his feet.

Zhang Zhang Junxue glared downward, her blade heavy, cold, sharp—after nine months, she felt this inner-outward exhilaration for the first time.

Her full force had not broken Shang Haitong's defense, for his resistance had also intensified—so the woman used the rebounding force, reversed her arm strength, and prepared to circle back and stack the first wave.

But Shang Haitong lifted his head and gave her a look of satisfaction; suddenly, he sidestepped, relaxed his sword, and precisely channeled the immense force into the ground.

Zhang Zhang Junxue's blade met sudden emptiness—her momentum shattered mid-strike, the torrential power gushing violently downward, the 【Stacked Waves】 abruptly cut off.

Compared to Shen Yao's painstaking search for gaps between two strikes, Shang Haitong's handling was effortless—he had discerned the precise instant of force generation with unimaginable accuracy, then guided the sword's burden away with flawless control, leaking not a single ounce.

It was unexpected—but to Zhang Zhang Junxue, this unexpectedness was familiar.

Generating and absorbing force, initiating and changing techniques—her movements precisely perceived by his sword, then subtly manipulated—this was the peculiar constraint of facing a peak Dullness cultivator.

Though the boy had always tried to dissuade her, when she demanded sparring training, he had endured more diligently than ever before, teaching her in meticulous detail everything the "peak Dullness" could and could not do, what it excelled at and what it lacked.

Zhang Zhang Junxue was already accustomed to this constraint; she yanked her arm, and the howling blade instantly halted—as if a runaway horse had been caught by a giant in three strides, reins pulled, rearing up before an elder, unable to advance an inch more.

Then came something even more astonishing: the woman pulled her arm back, the long blade reversed, and suddenly—wind and thunder erupted again—she had stacked the first wave even with an empty slash!

The howling sound swelled another layer.

Power—absolute, pure power—was always the simplest, most straightforward, and most effective offensive method; even at the Heavenly Tower realm, it remained a decisive factor in victory or defeat.

And the woman, who had mastered this element, possessed the ability to wrest victory from anyone's hands—among the one hundred twenty-eight, only she could strike such a blade!

The one who met this blade was Shang Haitong's sword.

The exact same sword strike as the one he had faced against Ying Cai.

The man's goal had never been merely to defeat an opponent; in this martial contest, his true enemy was only this Yousheng sword—the one that had entwined him for over a decade, forged him, and lifted him up.

Thus, there were no contemptuous feints or probes—he struck at once with this terrifying technique that engulfed the entire arena.

To decide victory or defeat in a single stroke.

As the sword thrust out, the woman with wind and thunder in her hands instantly saw her vision turn gray.

The sword blade piercing her vision brought, in an instant, another world. The great cocoon woven across the arena solidified from illusion—or she herself was pulled into the void—either way, the faint, elusive chill around her suddenly sharpened; the sky became a black curtain, the crowd a backdrop, the cheers nourishment—all belonged to the same world, and she, the sole outsider.

Everything pressed in upon her; everything was stripped away.

Zhang Zhang Junxue felt a momentary suffocation, as if even the air no longer belonged to her.

In that instant, she deeply understood why Ying Cai had stiffened and collapsed before this sword—her own mind was already turning black.

Everywhere, it was them.

Fish cannot glide on land; humans cannot survive underground. Amid the crushing pressure that made her heart and lungs cease beating, Zhang Zhang Junxue gritted her teeth and forced out a blade—no retreat, no hesitation—still slashing downward at the man before her!

This time, Shang Haitong merely raised his arm and easily blocked the blow with his blade.

Though this was twice the power of the first strike after the stacked waves, the man did not retreat a single step, nor did he deflect the force again—he merely turned his blade and deflected the woman's sword.

As if it were a child's toy.

Zhang Zhang Junxue immediately understood why—everything was pulling at her, while the entire world simultaneously bore weight for the man before her.

She had observed this mystery before, and heard of the "Intent Sword" from Li Li Piaoqing—but only now, facing it directly, did she truly feel the terrifying pressure.

Countless cool, crisp threads began to coil around her, growing into her skin; if this were underground, she felt herself sinking deeper and deeper.

Her body was invaded, the influence growing heavier—until finally, she would become entirely part of them. Then there would be no talk of Qi or strength, for neither offense nor defense nor victory or defeat would matter—she would fall like a withered log, as Ying Cai had.

The thought flashed through her mind, yet on her body, Zhang Zhang Junxue seemed not to have seen the result of the previous strike—without hesitation, she reversed her blade again, adding another layer to the second wave.

Once her blade escaped the man's influence and returned to her control, its power surged back instantly, becoming a runaway horse again. Zhang Zhang Junxue felt tearing pain in her arm's tendons and bones; gritting her teeth, she completed this second wave.

Because the boy had told her: "Intent" could never truly affect reality.

It merely drew you into itself, influencing your body by overlaying your emotional layer. If you truly felt its influence, it was not due to any external force—it was merely yourself influencing yourself.

"Intent" realm, "Intent" realm—once you break out with intent, the so-called "Intent Sword" is reduced to nothing but its "Dullness" component.

Yet even though this understanding was crystal clear in her mind, what she saw, heard, felt, and sensed before her remained utterly real—how easy was it to break free?

Her vision darkened, her chest and lungs suffocated, her heart grew weak under pressure, while countless unfathomable things coiled and eroded her body—Zhang Zhang Junxue gritted her teeth and roared, sending the second layer of stacked waves surging again toward the man before her.

The most direct way: break the realm with force.

As the realm pressed upon the mind, the sword recipient's emotional layer would rise in rebellion and explosion—it resided within emotion, burst forth with the sword technique, then slammed violently against the "Intent" realm.

Just as Ying Cai's final move, 【One Shoulder Across】, so too was the woman's stacked waves intended for this purpose.

The outcome depended on the recipient's emotional, mental, and intentional resilience; the sword wielder's mastery of the intent; and the inherent quality of the intent sword itself.

The woman had no confidence in comparing these three factors—her only visible truth was that this second attempt had failed again.

Facing the howling blade, Shang Haitong raised his sword again—but this time, he didn't even block; he let the blade glide along the sword's edge, then struck sharply at its middle and rear section. Zhang Zhang Junxue felt as if struck by a mountain—her wrist jolted violently, the heavy blade nearly slipping from her grasp.

Since she began training with the blade, she had rarely felt this sensation!

The second layer of stacked waves had become lighter in his hands—not even a toy anymore, merely a withered branch falling from a tree.

Zhang Zhang Junxue knew this was the result of deeper influence.

Ying Cai had only managed one strike; now, the woman had already unleashed her second. She did not know if she could strike again—what she now felt was no longer suffocation or stabbing pain, but a faint coolness, and a quiet pulse.

Though she used her own emotion and intent to clash with the sword wielder's enveloping intent, this comparison was never fair.

An intent sword—even a simple, weak one—contained an intent refined and infused into the blade, uniquely pure: like the realm of Lan Youming, or the dread of lost feathers—realms ordinary emotions could never reach. The sword wielder, dwelling within the sword, held dominance over the weak, the master over the guest. To break through all this with mere anger and determination—if it were easy, intent swords would never hold their current status.

In fact, even among Grand Masters, breaking through with one's own heart alone was uncommon; only another intent sword could truly oppose an intent sword.

But Zhang Zhang Junxue knew nothing of intent—she came from a remote prefecture, a remote county—and now, she had only this anger as her weapon.

Cold body, stifled heart, no true impact felt on her blade—Zhang Zhang Junxue once again restrained the full power of the second wave solely through bodily control, tendons and bones grinding like millstones; gritting her teeth against the pain, she added the third layer of stacked waves!

This was the "fourth strike" Seeing Pei Ye had never witnessed during their night of sparring.

At that time, Seeing Pei Ye's 【Leaf-Eating】 had shattered before the second layer of stacked waves; when the woman told him there was another strike, Seeing Pei Ye had been deeply astonished.

Now, before her eyes, it was indeed a vast storm of wind and thunder!

The woman was now at Fifth Life—her three stacked waves were absolutely powerful enough to make Sixth Life succumb.

But power meant nothing now; what truly mattered was that the woman had been continuously accumulating her emotions layer by layer through the blade's momentum.

To strike, one must pour one's whole heart and emotion—when the blade's power gathers, so does emotion; when the blade's momentum explodes, emotion bursts forth.

At the moment she unleashed the third stacked wave, the fire within Zhang Zhang Junxue's heart swelled violently, drowning her, dispelling the coldness in her body, burning through a patch of sky!

The flame erupted fiercely, blazing brilliantly against the silent darkness—as if it would immediately illuminate everything.

But in the next instant, it lost its resolve to shatter all, lost its direction, unsure where to go.

The countless threads sensed the sudden surge of resistance; the entire realm's power pressed down in an instant—enveloping, penetrating, eroding, stripping. In an instant, Zhang Zhang Junxue lost all sense of self; the flame lost its roots.

A rootless flame faded swiftly in the wind.

All that came before was merely her subconscious resistance; only when this brilliant flame rose did she truly earn the right to become a resilient grass upon this land—the countless ghostly spirits, spreading underground, now fixed their fierce gaze upon its fragile, extending roots.

Daring to resist, to tear, to steal nourishment—"I am, all is mine"—how could you, another, exist?

Thus, everything was instantly wrapped and sealed off. She had stepped beyond the path Ying Cai could not walk—and now faced what he had never encountered: the true might of the intent sword.

Zhang Zhang Junxue lost her blade, lost her fierce strength; she heard nothing, saw nothing, even the suffocation began to vanish.

Only that fierce flame, rising upward, still burned fiercely—in the cold darkness, clinging to the woman's resilient spirit, fed by violent emotion, blazing without end.

The woman had silently endured nine months under crushing isolation, severed ties with kin and friends, clung stubbornly to her view, and argued relentlessly with Seeing Pei Ye—the friend she saw as her guiding light—over abandoning all obstacles to return to darkness, all to hold fast to this resilient flame.

How could it be easily smothered?

Even now, though the blade was gone, this flame still burned fiercely deep within—she only needed a support.

A place to draw strength from.

A heart-truth untouched by this profound intent, so this flame could cling to it and unleash its true power.

Zhang Zhang Junxue searched desperately within the deepest recesses of her emotion and intent, but darkness was gradually covering everything, swallowing all—leaving few things for her to choose from.

Kinship and affection? No—that was the softest, easiest to devour. Hatred and resolve? No—that was the flame itself. The aspiration of the blade path? Also no—this must not come from within herself!

It must stand firm within this realm, untouched by even a single thread of those countless coils—no matter how they eroded her spirit and flesh, it must remain unmoved!

Then, a cool white point appeared in her vision.

That night's moonlight like flowing jade, the sword like flowing water—so icy, so pure, so ethereal. Without a single thought, when she came to herself, her hand had already reached out and grasped it.

Then, a brilliant radiance exploded within her spirit, unfolding a realm of ice and crystal. This was memory, and also imprint—white feathers drifting through a clear sky, untouched by the Lan Youming threads.

Thus, Zhang Zhang Junxue's deepest intent hid within this realm—and upon it stood the blazing flame—suddenly surging skyward!

In the suffocating silence of darkness, a torrent of heat and blinding light violently shattered all—hundreds of sensations returned instantly. Zhang Zhang Junxue saw herself flying through the air, her blade, now stacked with the third wave, crushing down upon the man before her!

Fresh air rushed into her nostrils—or rather, it had always been there; she had merely regained awareness of it—and now, the crispness of autumn wind, the warmth of the high sun, the cheers of countless people—all the veils were torn away.

The profound intent still surrounded her—but it was no longer the faint, detached observer's sensation from before battle. Zhang Zhang Junxue clearly felt it still enveloping her, those countless threads still coldly and ferociously surging toward her—but they could no longer bury her.

She stood there, upright and unyielding, becoming a stone it could not crush no matter how hard it tried.

At this moment.

Shang Qijiao Shang Huaitong was raising his arm to slash at the woman—this was clearly her final strike; a light cut with his sword could disarm her and secure victory.

At the very moment the woman's senses returned, he snapped his head up, his eyes bursting with intense light.

The woman's heavy blade came crashing down like a tidal wave; in an instant, he stepped back, crossed his sword horizontally, and surged qi from his dantian, channeling it through his arms into the blade. The next moment, an unstoppable force slammed into his sword—Shang Qijiao Shang Huaitong recoiled five steps in succession, dust exploding beneath each footfall; he shifted his stance three times before finally breaking free from the strike, his black-cloaked body twisting and leaping backward, landing four zhang away, where he finally steadied himself.

Shang Qijiao Shang Huaitong took a light breath, looked up at the woman before him, blazing like fire, and gripped his sword hilt again, the numbness still coursing through his arms.

In fact, this was not merely Shang Qijiao Shang Huaitong's shock—simultaneously, the entire arena erupted in cries—the aura had already spread throughout, countless souls intuiting its presence, each feeling its omnipresence and invincibility.

But now, for the first time, they felt it had been shattered by a resilient light.

(End of Chapter)