Chapter 62: Rescue

The strange ability Jing Ziwang had faced reappeared—Pei Ye’s body dissolved into flowing flesh and slipped free of the blade.

As soon as the sword left his body, Pei Ye realized the shadow in the sky no longer receded.

‘This sword can sever the spirit?’

And in reality, a full, violent counterattack arrived.

Frost coated the hem of Ming Qitian’s robe, while You fire rose directly from her hair; Pei Ye’s hand transformed into a sharp claw, lunging for her heart.

Simultaneously, a majestic golden gaze pinned her eyes—the supreme consciousness that had obscured Pei Ye and controlled Zhu Gaoyang descended upon her heart-lake through the power of [Chunshou].

But this time, the once-unfailingly effective spirit control achieved nothing; Ming Qitian remained utterly unaffected.

She glanced at the golden eyes with cool detachment, not retreating but advancing—suddenly appearing within Pei Ye’s spirit realm, standing gracefully on the lake’s surface, gazing upward at the slowly closing shadow above.

The frost and flying fire had only minor effect, leaving slight tears on her robe and hairtips; but before greater harm could be done, Ming Qitian lightly stepped, and she was already behind Pei Ye.

She raised her hand for a second strike.

Just as brilliant, yet clearly not drawn from the same sword scripture as the first.

Designed to counter his flesh-as-flowing-water ability, this strike was a thousand, ten thousand blades, coming from all directions.

Pei Ye’s body did not turn; his forward-reaching claw did not retract—it dissolved outright, instead surging rapidly from his shoulders toward his back.

This ambush clearly exceeded Ming Qitian’s expectations; she sidestepped, and Pei Ye immediately lunged forward with his whole body.

He crashed into the sword qi encircling him, dozens of wounds splitting open, then instantly sealing; his bloodstained golden eyes remained cold, determined to close in and fight hand-to-hand with Ming Qitian.

Thousands of remaining sword qi loomed behind him, but Ming Qitian gently released the hand seal gripping her left hand, choosing not to unleash them to Jiaosha .

At the same time, she tilted her body to evade the assault, and a wondrously graceful blade of light flowed from her right arm, piercing Pei Ye’s abdomen once more.

Watching Ming Qitian wield the sword must be a supreme aesthetic pleasure, but Pei Ye had no attention for the external battle—his spirit realm was raging with waves.

Pei Ye did not know from where Ming Qitian derived this ability to enter the spirit; there was no pact, no parasitism, no bridge from [Chunshou]—yet she had simply stepped in.

But this was ultimately good, for the shadow in the sky now had an opponent.

Sword qi cut through the heavens, erasing the shadow in streaks; the once-impenetrable veil grew ragged.

The shadow’s retaliation was equally terrifying—black, frost-like substances streaked across the sky, occasionally engulfing Ming Qitian; yet each time Pei Ye’s heart clenched, she broke free again.

Countless dangers and complex struggles occurred within, but Pei Ye understood nothing—he saw only sword qi like snow and shadow like dark clouds, crisscrossing in the sky.

Amid them, that tiny white robe moved like a graceful crane, darting back and forth, each pass erasing a larger or smaller swath of shadow from the sky.

Pei Ye clung to the window, watching the battle with agonized focus, his gaze fixed like a prisoner awaiting parole.

He had never imagined Ming Qitian could gain the upper hand—even if only slightly, it was the first time he’d seen any force capable of resisting this fragment of divine will.

Hope rose—he now understood why Zhu Gaoyang had been so agitated—Ming Qitian, she truly was a celestial.

Compared to the struggle in the spirit realm, the danger of the external battle was easier to discern.

When Pei Ye looked up, a streak of blood marred Ming Qitian’s white robe.

Her lips were pressed thin, her bright eyes flickering rapidly—clearly, this duel demanded not a single misstep from her.

Pei Ye’s gaze lingered on her face for a moment, then swept the surroundings—and his heart lurched.

Where had the dense forest gone?

Only then did he see the ground littered with sliced wood, charred charcoal, and frost-covered shattered stones.

After confirming that all manner of strange arts proved useless against her, both sides had now entered close-quarters combat.

Ming Qitian’s sword art was pure ‘technique approaching Dao,’ and the depth and breadth of her knowledge left Pei Ye awestruck; countless situations that made Pei Ye’s heart seize with ‘this is bad,’ she casually deflected with a single sword stroke.

She effortlessly fused wildly different sword arts, wielding them with complete ease—Pei Ye’s mind conjured a deduction so unbelievable he dared not believe it: only mastery of at least a thousand sword arts could allow such effortless, weightless mastery?

How could this be?

As Pei Ye marveled, Ming Qitian’s gaze locked onto Pei Ye’s body; the attack she had long held in her hand flashed forth like lightning, piercing through him. Though his flesh and bone immediately flowed apart, the shadow in his spirit realm was once again erased.

The combat style of this Candle-World Sect’s divine being, however, was infinitely close to primal instinct.

Perfect instinct.

It knew none of the refined techniques humans called ‘high art’—yet instinct alone allowed it to apply every force under its control with maximum efficiency.

It needed no strategy to break her moves or decipher her myriad sword techniques, for in its eyes, these techniques held no mystery whatsoever.

They were merely patterns of force, trajectories of motion, flows of true qi, pulses of mysterious energy—the heavens had long laid bare all secrets to it.

It now lay at a disadvantage because the power it had seized in this hour was still far less than Ming Qitian’s; had she arrived a few breaths later, after Qiongqi and the other purple-robed man had been consumed, the scene might have been entirely different.

Pei Ye watched for a while; though he could not comprehend such combat, he gradually noticed something strange: Ming Qitian seemed obsessively fixated on ‘stabbing the abdomen.’

Or rather, she abandoned all other offensive methods.

Countless openings Pei Ye could clearly see, she passed over without hesitation.

Why not stab its throat here? Why not shred its left arm with those sword qi? Wait—add a strike here and it could pierce straight through the heart!

Suddenly he noticed another anomaly.

Where had Qiongqi and the purple-robed man gone?

Unfortunately, his body’s vision was not his to control; he scanned the fleeting view… no, he didn’t need to—because the horned tiger head was already behind Ming Qitian.

This was the Xianjun’s counterattack.

Having been suppressed in both spirit and body, it would never allow itself to be slowly boiled alive.

With no chance to consume now, it commanded Qiongqi to devour the purple-robed man.

And Qiongqi, long possessed, had always been its second body.

The ‘relocation’ encountered no resistance.

Countless pale-blue light points burst from Pei Ye’s body, surging into the Qiongqi behind him.

Willpower, and all the power absorbed during this time, returned to the tiger’s form.

Now, its strength was sufficient.

And a shadow remained within Pei Ye’s body—waiting to restrain Ming Qitian from behind the moment she turned to face Qiongqi.

The instant Pei Ye felt his power draining, he understood the Xianjun’s intent.

He remained as sharp as ever, and his judgment of the situation as decisive as always.

—At this moment, the obvious choice was to turn back immediately and inflict maximum damage on Qiongqi before the ‘relocation’ completed.

But… Ming Qitian?

Pei Ye stared in shock as she calmly thrust her sword toward him, expression serene.

Again—the abdomen.

What foolish decision is this? The enemy is behind you! If you miss this chance, how will you kill it?!

One sword pierced his abdomen.

For the first time, Pei Ye regained his five senses—the cool, smooth blade, the breeze stirred by her robe, the calm face mere inches away.

And Qiongqi had already raised its claw behind her.

She would rather take that claw than delay stabbing him?

Pei Ye momentarily doubted whether his own limited perspective had misjudged the situation—was he, in fact, the Xianjun’s true killing move?

As his thoughts shifted, [Zhanxin Liuli] erupted.

The shadow in his spirit realm was swept clean; the sky returned to clarity, as if a great stone had been lifted from his chest—the tangible sensation of regaining control over his body made him unconsciously curl his fingers.

Then a spray of warm blood splashed across his face; the woman before him let out a soft groan, and his body suddenly grew light—he was lifted, soaring several zhang away from the battlefield.

Pei Ye stared blankly at the receding Qiongqi behind him: ‘Why… stop fighting?’

Ming Qitian turned her head; the fierce battle had loosened strands of her hair, which fell across her brow. She tilted her head slightly, her voice still as cool and clear as that night.

‘Didn’t you say in the sword talisman that you wanted me to save you?’