Chapter 58

Like an owl snatching a mouse, the black-robed figure charged violently; Xing Zhi drew her green-blue short sword from her waist.

Having often partnered with Master Zhu, she had long forgotten how to draw it, until now she remembered that sorcerers were not merely tasked with safe scouting and spell-finding—they must always be ready for battle stained with blood.

But this blow, she could not possibly resist.

Xing Zhi gritted her teeth and swung her final sword; instinctive terror at death trembled within her heart.

A crisp cracking sound.

As if glass shattered on earth, jade struck thin ice—the blade’s tip struck her arm and suddenly shattered, white crystals scattering, glittering bright under the moon.

Then everything behind followed the same pattern.

She felt as if she had become unyielding metal; when they flew at her, it was like waves crashing against a cliff—from blade tip to hilt, then hand, arm, shoulder, and finally the entire body, as if carved from brittle crystal, shattering inch by inch against her.

Amidst the flying crystalline shards, the familiar white robe descended straight from the sky; behind it, beneath the crescent moon of Gao Lin, the noble and majestic beast-headed figure followed closely.

Frost and flying fire filled the space; the familiar sword traced a perfect arc, its edge touched and retracted instantly—the black-robed head fell to the ground.

She had never seen such an astonishing sword art, unlike Longjun’s Dongting; yet overwhelming joy now filled her mind, thought paused, and all her accumulated resentment was cast aside.

She was about to cry out in delight when the white-robed figure turned—and revealed a face so familiar it froze her in place.

A long, black-jade dragon body coiled around a tree and rested on stone, its tail sweeping up all the corpses; the dragon’s head hung low, lazy and serene, gazing down. Before it, Pei Ye sheathed his sword and frowned: “Brother Shang, Lady Xing, are you well?”

“Why are you wearing Master Zhu’s clothes? Where is he?” Xing Zhi stepped forward, gripping Pei Ye’s arm; he lowered his head, and her slender hand—tightened unconsciously until her knuckles turned white—trembled slightly.

“Master Zhu… he perished tragically. Lady Xing, please accept my condolences,” Pei Ye said softly.

The hand gripping his forearm instantly released; Xing Zhi’s eyes glazed, lips pale, her gaze drifted aimlessly before returning to Pei Ye’s face. She opened her mouth but could not speak.

Shang Lang caught her in time, turned his head, glanced at Pei Ye’s hands—frosted and blazing—and then at the sword, finally darting two quick glances at the black dragon: “Brother Pei, what… happened?”

This boy, once seen as a burden, had appeared in this manner just one day later—it truly overturned his understanding.

He even wanted to reach out and touch that face, to see if Master Zhu was playing another disguise trick.

But if it truly were Master Zhu, clearing these black-robed men would not have taken so “long.”

Pei Ye fell silent a moment, then pulled out a jade pendant and placed it in his hand: “We’ll talk later. This is Master Zhu’s relic—keep it safe. Change direction and leave. Someone is chasing me.”

Xing Zhi suddenly gripped his arm tightly: “Why did he die?”

Pei Ye replied briefly: “The Candle World Sect sought to hatch a terrifying dantian seed. I and Master Zhu smuggled it out. He died holding off the pursuers.”

“Is that thing now inside you?”

‘We can ride the black dragon and leave first, then talk,’ Pei Ye thought—but the idea vanished instantly.

“Inside my belly,” he answered.

“What are your plans now?”

“Either find the ‘Binglu’ to control it, or wait for Immortal Platform to handle it.”

“‘Binglu’?” Xing Zhi asked.

“Master Zhu told me about a technique—”

“I know,” Xing Zhi interrupted. “It won’t work. It cannot command a dantian seed.”

Pei Ye froze: “You know?”

“He… was biased—he got the information from Immortal Platform. I got mine from Longjun’s Dongting. Six hundred years ago, a senior of Longjun’s Dongting practiced ‘Binglu.’ Some fragments still remain,” Xing Zhi said flatly, her face pale.

“This extraordinary meridian isn’t a method to skillfully command a dantian seed—it’s a divine art that causes one to grow a dantian seed,” Xing Zhi said. “Anciently called ‘The Method of the Dantian Seed Immortal,’ though the meaning of ‘immortal’ remains unknown.”

“That senior also nicknamed it ‘The Cicada Scripture,’ because it takes over a decade to nurture the seed, culminating in a sudden, astonishing awakening—in short, it’s a miraculous art that grants rebirth to those who have lost their dantian seed through any means.”

Pei Ye listened, stunned.

“It suits you perfectly—but not now,” the woman finally concluded.

“So this thing can only be dealt with by Immortal Platform?”

Xing Zhi extended her hand toward his abdomen: “May I take a look?”

Pei Ye nodded.

Gentle qi seeped in—but the moment it touched the sprout, Xing Zhi recoiled as if shocked: “It… is alive?”

Pei Ye frowned: “Of course… it consumes corpses. Didn’t ‘Dragon’s Tongue’ do the same—”

“No!” Xing Zhi interrupted. “I mean… does it have its own consciousness?”

“Of course not—” Pei Ye fell silent, frozen in place.

There was no evidence it didn’t.

He had merely relied on conventional logic, assuming it was merely a “weapon” or “tool” painstakingly crafted by the Candle World Sect—though it bore some “living” traits, ultimately it still required human control; his inability to command it was simply because he hadn’t mastered the correct method.

After all, dantian seeds and meridian trees were just parts of the human body; even if strange, no one had ever heard of them developing sentience.

“I… don’t know.” This speculation sent a chill through Pei Ye. He was about to ask further when a sudden gale erupted in the woods.

Through the gale, a monstrous shadow burst through the trees; its enormous size moved with ghostly speed, arriving in an instant—yet the soldiers mere steps away remained oblivious.

Qiongqi. It had finally found them.

The black dragon reacted fastest, leaping upward; its long body swept past, meeting its ancient foe.

From Qiongqi, a wave of “solidification” spread; from the black dragon, blue flame blossoms bloomed like stars.

Frost and dragonfire—this was the battle they had waged countless times.

Now that Qiongqi had lost its seed, as the black dragon had said, it was no longer so terrifying.

Advantage showed at once: frost melted rapidly under intense heat; the long black-jade dragon’s body swirled with flame blossoms, roaring like wind as it slammed into Qiongqi’s body.

This time, it had lost its ability to melt flesh into liquid.

Trees shattered, rocks cracked, mysterious qi surged; with innate sorcery and sharp claws and fangs, the black dragon now completely dominated the demon.

But this was not the end—because Qiongqi had not come alone.

Two purple-robed figures appeared simultaneously, lunging at the black dragon entangled with Qiongqi.

Pei Ye’s hair stood on end—Zhu Gaoyang wasn’t supposed to have stopped them—how could they be here so fast?