Chapter 190: Poison Strikes

After repeated attempts, the Badong cultivator grew increasingly agitated, strange images constantly flashing through his mind—images that could not be described, only imagined, all of them leaving him restless and his blood boiling.

He forcibly resisted this agitation, his flute fingering becoming distorted, the flute's tone warping unpredictably, causing the giant serpent within the array to grow frenzied, slamming against the white wall, coiling around the stone pavilion, crashing wildly in all directions.

After being repeatedly harassed and dragged down by the Tiger-Headed Jiao, the Badong cultivator could never focus on breaking the array; the longer he endured within it, the more Mílí Incense Liu Liu Xiaolou released, his eyes redder, his breath heavier, the images in his mind more bizarre—whether real or illusion, everything before his eyes grew hazy and dreamlike.

Could this illusion array truly be so ruthless?

The Tiger-Headed Jiao charged in again, roaring, flailing its arms, wreaking havoc within the array, even shattering the serpent-den pavilion.

As the serpent-den collapsed, countless snakes writhed out, revealing the ruined nest behind it—inside, several serpent eggs were found. The Badong cultivator was instantly seized by a burning, unbearable sensation; he pointed his hand seal at the eggs, his true qi surging wildly, causing the eggs to detonate and blast the entire courtyard into the sky.

The scene before him shifted again—he was back beside Zhuoshui River, for the Badong cultivator's full-power explosion had finally shattered Liu Liu Xiaolou's Lin Yuan Xuan Stone Array; the array disc whined as it flew back into his sleeve.

When an array is shattered mid-battle, the damage far exceeds mere depletion of true qi—especially from the final blow of the Badong cultivator detonating the serpent eggs. Liu Liu Xiaolou immediately spat a jet of blood; his Foot Hand Jueyin Meridian took the brunt, its acupoints shattered and torn apart on the spot.

The Badong cultivator fared no better—trapped within the array for three incense sticks, he had inhaled countless Mílí Incense and endured countless bizarre illusions. Though he broke free, his spirit was in extreme disarray, still agitated, restless, his mind as unruly as a monkey, his bloodshot eyes seeing everything as blurred and hazy.

Beyond his mental state, his true qi was blocked—the Xuan Zhen Rope had sealed over a hundred acupoints, trapping fire within with no outlet, forcing a brutal internal injury—a swollen mound rose beneath his groin, as if ready to pierce the heavens!

In this state, his agitation reached its peak—he wanted only to eliminate the enemy before him, take the Su man back, then find a place to vent this fire in full.

Seeing Liu Liu Xiaolou collapsed and wounded, the Badong cultivator forcibly suppressed his nearly frenzied mind, adjusted his flute control, and directed the now-unruly serpent phantom to coil around Liu Liu Xiaolou—he must eliminate him completely, no matter what.

The Tiger-Headed Jiao charged again, desperately blocking before Liu Liu Xiaolou—this was the final moment; no more reserves could be held back. He flung a talisman from his sleeve; it burst into flame, fire wrapping his arms like two searing iron rods, faintly glowing with purple radiance.

The Jiao family's secret survival technique: Talisman Fire Purple Wings Art!

This talisman was difficult to forge—one required three years to complete. It infused the arms with flame and purple radiance, capable of burning meridians from afar. With this talisman's enhancement, his body cultivation power increased by three to five tenths, allowing him to challenge higher-level cultivators. It was created three hundred years ago by an ancestor of the Jiao family who entered the inner sect of Qingyu Sect, laying the foundation for the Jiao family's status as a cultivation clan.

As soon as the Talisman Fire Purple Wings appeared, it caught the Badong cultivator off guard—several of his meridians were instantly burned, the pain so intense his soul nearly fled his body.

This bastard was ruthless—he did not retreat but pressed forward. The serpent phantom wrapped around the Tiger-Headed Jiao, enduring the talisman fire, and for the first time since the battle began, he blew a flute note against his lips.

Broken Note! The sound was heard, yet no true tone could be discerned.

The serpent phantom exploded with the note; the Tiger-Headed Jiao was blasted backward into swirling black smoke.

This was the Badong cultivator's strategy of killing three thousand at the cost of eight hundred—this serpent phantom, once self-detonated, would require two to three years to fully restore.

At that moment, the Badong cultivator's Foot Hand Shaoyang Meridian went numb, paralyzing half his body. He knew poison well—he immediately realized someone had planted a hidden, potent poison Gu within his meridians, now triggered by his injuries.

Dammit, I've been ambushed—who poisoned me?

He strained to recall—scenes from the past few days flashed through his mind, freezing on a pair of hands—hands that had gripped his own…

"I'll fuck your turtle son…" he cursed, then felt something strange below.

He looked down, staring dumbfounded at his groin—Liu Liu Xiaolou, mouth full of blood, had somehow crawled beneath him, weakly gripping an ordinary longsword, its tip flickering with a faint sword aura.

The aura was thin, only three inches long, limp and drooping…

It drooped over his erect member, like a willow branch swaying in the wind, curling gently around it.

A nameless terror surged from his core; cold sweat broke out across his body. Everything around him seemed to slow to a crawl. He struggled to open his mouth, wanting to speak—but not a word came out. He tried to pull away, but his body was frozen, immobile.

"I'll fuck your turtle son…"

In the blink of an eye, Liu Liu Xiaolou spat blood as he yanked outward—the soft sword aura twisted like a grass stem, then pulled away a piece of flesh and blood.

This was precisely the Badong cultivator's weak point—the seal of his serpent Gu. Liu Liu Xiaolou severed it with one sword strike. No blood flowed—only a jet of black smoke erupted, both a deadly poison and the true qi he had cultivated for years.

Liu Liu Xiaolou had lost the strength to hold his breath; he could only let the thin wisps of poison smoke drift into his ears, nose, and throat, spreading through his meridians, then slipping into unconsciousness.

When the black smoke ceased, the Badong cultivator collapsed to the ground. The Xuan Zhen Rope instantly flew back to Liu Liu Xiaolou's wrist, re-forming into a green vein.

The riverside fell silent. Four figures lay scattered across the ground, exposed to the cold wind. Far away on Donglin Mountain, light and shadow still raged, thunder rolling incessantly—the purple-gold dragon strained to coil around the mountaintop, chasing and tearing at several divine serpents.

At one moment, the purple-gold dragon bit down on the head of one divine serpent, severing it instantly—but at the same time, another divine serpent clamped its jaws onto the dragon's claw; a horrific roar shook heaven and earth.

The sound spread, jolting the unconscious Tiger-Headed Jiao. Due to his body cultivation, his body was the most resilient—he awoke first, every inch of his flesh a wound.

He ignored his injuries, struggling to rise, limping over to Liu Liu Xiaolou, grabbing his leg regardless of whether he was alive or dead, dragging him away—staggering, stumbling with every step.

As he passed the Badong cultivator's body, Liu Liu Xiaolou suddenly coughed, faintly regaining consciousness, and with great effort reached out to clutch the corpse, refusing to let go.

The Tiger-Headed Jiao halted, turning back to Liu Liu Xiaolou: "Liu Xiaolou…"

Liu Liu Xiaolou could not explain—he could only fumble over the Badong cultivator's corpse, searching, pulling out a satchel, then pointing to the fallen bone flute.

The Tiger-Headed Jiao sighed, leaned over, picked up the items, and placed them in Liu Liu Xiaolou's hands. Liu Liu Xiaolou gripped the flute tightly, then pointed again toward Su Jing.

The Tiger-Headed Jiao remembered—he went over, grabbed Su Jing's leg, returned, grabbed Liu Liu Xiaolou's leg, and dragged both away.

Against the biting wind, the Tiger-Headed Jiao trudged eastward, step deep, step shallow, reaching a forest several miles away at dawn. He spotted a dilapidated mud hut, his strength spent—he dragged Liu Liu Xiaolou and Su Jing inside and collapsed.

After catching his breath, he heard both Su Jing and Liu Liu Xiaolou breathing in tremors. He gathered scattered sticks and kindling, lighting a fire inside the hut.

With fire came warmth. Su Jing woke first, then Liu Liu Xiaolou. Neither had strength to speak; they huddled by the flames, fighting desperately against the poison qi in their meridians.