Chapter 35

Jing Ziwang looked up at Qiongqi; the punch had seemed to have almost no effect on it—at least, no visible damage appeared on its exterior.

Yet it took two slow steps in the sky, not rushing to strike back from its high vantage, merely locking its cold eyes onto Jing Ziwang.

Jing Ziwang frowned—what was it waiting for?

Jing Ziwang instinctively scanned the distance—could someone from the Zhu Shi Sect come to aid it?

But the next moment he understood what it was waiting for: not external aid, but poison from within his own body!

A corrosive sensation spread from the hand that had clashed with the tiger’s paw—two deep-blue scales had already sprouted.

Jing Ziwang’s heart tightened; he immediately summoned his abundant Qi to suppress it, but even his Qi was bait for the substance, rapidly being eroded.

Yet thanks to the depth of his Qi and his exquisite control, Jing Ziwang could at least isolate it from his flesh and blood, temporarily “feeding” it with Qi.

In this brief contact, Jing Ziwang already understood: to fully expel this substance that turned men into demons, he needed at least half an hour of meticulous separation—but the Qiongqi above clearly wouldn’t grant him that time.

And if he allowed this substance to remain parasitic within him, his strength would be swiftly drained until he could no longer resist.

Only by launching a direct offensive could he end this swiftly.

But the enemy strolled calmly in the sky, already in an invincible position.

The scene fell silent; Jing Ziwang stared upward, expressionless, lost in thought.

He had only half a minute.

Meanwhile, as Qiongqi soared into the sky, the directional pull within Pei Ye’s abdomen shifted—he finally confirmed the seed’s location: inside the tiger’s body.

He immediately called out to the little Chi within his abdomen; soon, its unmistakably calm voice replied: “What is it?”

“I found the seed,” Pei Ye said, gazing at the Qiongqi above; from this distance, the beast seemed to have lost some of its oppressive aura.

But the Black Chi said: “So it’s here.”

“What?”

“Go. Leave now,” the Black Chi said flatly. “Forget the seed. Your life matters more.”

“...Is Qiongqi really this powerful?” Pei Ye thought Jing Ziwang had held clear advantage in their last exchange—only the height prevented him from striking.

“This is the enemy I needed to form a pact with you to face,” the Black Chi said.

“What?!” Pei Ye suddenly looked down, as if trying to lock eyes with the Chi in his abdomen.

To him, the mystical divine Chi capable of entering dreams was a being far above Jing Ziwang—how could it be so unnerved by this Qiongqi?

“It grows at an unimaginable pace every day,” the Black Chi explained. “Either a stronger body, richer Qi, or one bizarre ability after another—this is not normal growth for a celestial hunter.”

“A few days ago, it suddenly gained the ability to manipulate its own flesh at will—it severed its own wings and turned them into another self, vanished somewhere. The body left here to fight me became much weaker, and with our pact formed, the balance shifted slightly in our favor.”

“Now it seems that duplicate went to hunt you,” the Black Chi said. “Leave quickly. That man has become its prey—he will die without doubt.”

Pei Ye hesitated: “If it’s only a pair of wings here, why not try to kill it—”

“Impossible,” the Black Chi cut in, voice calm and certain. “Believe me. Leave now.”

Pei Ye still hesitated—not because he coveted the dantian seed, but because he couldn’t abandon Jing Ziwang while the battle was still deadlocked; perhaps his small force could tip the outcome at a critical moment.

“Pei Ye,” the Black Chi’s tone suddenly turned cold.

“What?” Pei Ye blinked.

“We share the Pact of Shared Life and Death.”

“...”

Pei Ye understood the Black Chi’s meaning: their fates were bound. As he bore the risk of the Black Chi’s demise, the Black Chi bore the risk of his own death.

“Our bargain was ‘I help you, then you help me.’ I saved your life from the Xianjun’s spirit summoning. Now it’s time for me to collect my payment,” the Black Chi said coldly. “Your life no longer belongs only to you.”

Pei Ye stared silently at the ground, about to nod—when a sudden gust of wind tore through the air; the Qiongqi plunged straight down.

Jing Ziwang had simply sat cross-legged on the spot, gripping a strange red-glowing pearl, beginning to purge the corruption from his arm.

Pei Ye recognized this move—it mirrored his own tactic in the wine cellar, luring Wu Zaigu into drawing his blade before turning to strike. But what was Jing Ziwang’s true strike? Wu Zaigu had seen through his intent—would this Qiongqi fall for it?

“Go,” the Black Chi urged again from within.

Though the Qiongqi’s descent was fierce, just before impact it halted, holding back seven or eight tenths of its force—clearly testing, probing.

Jing Ziwang floated backward, arriving near Pei Ye.

Pei Ye then saw the scales on his hand—his heart sank.

Jing Ziwang’s expression didn’t change; he still held the pearl, as if he’d already anticipated Qiongqi wouldn’t risk itself, and hadn’t interrupted his purification.

Qiongqi licked its paw, its golden eyes flashing with malice—the wind surged violently.

Dozens of feet above, like unfurling a cloak, dark-blue frost nearly black intertwined with blinding white flame; Qiongqi became a cold moon embraced by the sun, lunging forward.

This time, it unleashed its full power without hesitation or warning.

This exceeded Jing Ziwang’s expectations—he held the red pearl, still planning two or three moves in his mind, unprepared for direct mortal combat.

But the arrow was already on the string—he had no choice. The might of Bi’an once again coalesced in his right arm—not with grand sound or light, but with silent pressure and invisible explosion; Jing Ziwang thrust his arm forward to meet Qiongqi.

Victory and defeat were decided instantly.

Like a cat seizing a doll, Jing Ziwang—unprepared, his Qi entangled—was bitten at the neck and shoulder; the sound of shattering bone was clear, blood erupted in a spray.

Jing Ziwang gritted his teeth, staring into the golden eyes mere inches away, and silently extended the pearl in his left hand.

In an instant, a vast red lotus bloomed across the village.

Countless razor-sharp silk ribbons sliced through and pierced the massive tiger body; for a moment, it seemed as if a rain of blood had fallen—the scene too bloody to behold.

The artifact [Red Silk], forged by the Dongting sorcerers of Long Jun, appeared gentle and harmless—but had always been a lethal weapon, never possessing healing or purification functions.

Jing Ziwang, through a simple deception, achieved his first effective strike.

At the same time, his right arm rapidly sprouted scales and bony spines—he removed all suppression—no, he had never been suppressing it; he had been guiding it!

He deliberately scattered the lethal substance throughout his entire arm, seeking only to trigger transformation the instant he removed restraint.

A common man could use such transformation to rival a Wu Xiu of the Second, Third, or even Fourth Life of the Pulse Tree—then what power could a Master unleash by feeding his entire Qi and all the flesh of his arm to it?