“Watch your words.” Qing Feng flicked his finger, shattering the falling withered leaves. “If Master’s Dao foundation hadn’t been damaged by the demonic tide back then, he would have been contending for the Spirit Transformation Realm in the North Sea battlefield by now.”
The battle situation changed abruptly. Qin Heng formed a sword with his fingers, and the sky full of frost flowers condensed into a long cry of a Azure Luan.
The Ink Jade Kirin suddenly stood on its hind legs: “Kid, you’re sharp when criticizing elders, but you’ve been stuck in the Golden Core Realm for eighty years.”
“Want to eat Kirin palm hotpot tonight?” Qing Feng smiled and pulled out the Scarlet Flame Cauldron. “I hear divine beast flesh is the most nourishing for a Golden Core.”
A dark phantom suddenly shot onto the viewing platform. The Ink Jade Kirin clung to Qin Yue’s skirt, trembling. The young sword attendant suppressed a smile and offered a spirit fruit, while Ma Bingyun’s exasperated roar came from afar.
Qing Feng brushed the dust from his robes, cold stars flickering in his eyes. These pedantic elders were like bone-marrow parasites, openly manipulating hierarchy while secretly eroding the Sect’s luck. Perhaps the Cold Pond in the back mountain should have a few more nameless corpses?
…
Dong QiSheng awoke in the warm spring water, the scent of rouge wafting through the misty air. Snowy lotus-like arms wrapped around his neck, Lin Qian’s eyes flowed like spring water overflowing a dam: “Senior Brother has been in seclusion for a hundred years, do you still remember the essence of the Joyful Union Art?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. The congealed fat he touched was even hotter than in his memory. This absolutely shouldn’t be a heart demon illusion—could that blood-colored jade slip really open the Desire Heaven Mystic Realm?
By the steaming bath, Lin Qian’s slender waist softened and she fell into Dong QiSheng’s embrace, her earlobes turning rosy. This action made the young man’s pupils constrict, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the pool wall: “This must be an illusion. If it were real, how could Senior Sister Qin Yue not be here?”
Qing Feng leaned in the shadow of the corridor pillar, faint blue spiritual energy flowing at his fingertips. The Foundation Establishment eighth-layer cultivator was like a puppet on strings under his dream-weaving spell. The surging sensuality in the pool now was merely a carefully choreographed puppet show.
“What is Qing Feng?!” Dong QiSheng’s sudden roar rippled the water. The young man, sated, caressed the phantom in his arms. “Master Ancestor should have finished off that good-for-nothing when his Dantian shattered.”
The manipulator in the shadows’ gaze suddenly turned cold. The strange barrier outside Master’s cave three days ago was indeed related to this lineage of people. He divided his attention, making the phantom coo: “But didn’t Chief reject it?”
“Chief?” Dong QiSheng sneered, pinching the phantom’s chin. “How did the Azure Clarity Sword Master die back then? My Master Ancestor is best at removing obstacles.” He suddenly fell silent, and spiderweb-like red marks appeared on his neck.
Qing Feng clenched his palm abruptly.
Silence spell? It seemed some kind of seal had been planted in Dong QiSheng’s Sea of Consciousness. He quickly formed a hand seal to dispel the dream, but before the phantom vanished, he caught a fleeting dark pattern on the back of Lin Qian’s neck—that was a puppet mark unique to the Southern Border Witch Tribe.
The night wind swept up his dark robes, revealing seven floating ice needles on his wrist.
He had thought it was infighting among fellow disciples, but it turned out to involve the Witch Tribe’s secret arts.
Qing Feng looked towards the main peak. Master’s words before going into seclusion, “Trust no one,” suddenly took on a new meaning.
In the secret chamber of Hidden Moon Peak, Dong QiSheng toyed with a jade cup and sneered: “Qin Heng is difficult to deal with because of his body-protecting magic treasure, but isn’t that Qing Feng still at our mercy?”
“Could it be that we must…” Lin Qian feigned alarm, covering her red lips.
“Taking his life now would be too conspicuous.” Dong QiSheng’s fingertips ignited with a faint blue nether flame. “But if something goes wrong during cultivation, that’s how Master Ancestor dealt with Daoist Qingwei in the Grand Void Mystic Realm back then.”
Candlelight cast a sinister shadow on his face. “When the trial spot is vacant, besides my Dong family’s direct lineage, who else is worthy of replacing it?”
Lin Qian frowned and said, “Conflict just arose last night; if something happens to him…”
“Precisely, we want everyone to think we are the most suspicious.” Dong QiSheng suddenly burst into laughter. “Those elders who fancy themselves clever will instead think, isn’t it foolish to act immediately after forming an enmity? Hu Ji Peak was publicly humiliated by him, and the Law Enforcement Hall was held accountable because of the Bixi Squad. These are all ready-made scapegoats.”
He casually crushed the teacup, the porcelain shards turning to dust: “Remember, the truth is always hidden in the third lie.”
Outside the window, the ancient locust tree rustled. Lin Qian was about to speak when she suddenly saw three blood marks appear on the back of Dong QiSheng’s neck.
The originally charming concubines transformed into red-eyed, fanged Yakshas, and the Nine Nether Cold Qi instantly froze the entire tea table.
Inside the thatched hut on Chen Ming Peak, Qing Feng stretched lazily and pushed open the creaking wooden door.
Great Black, who was absorbing moonlight, choked in surprise: “What the hell? You’re actually awake at the Yin hour.”
“If I don’t wake up, I might sleep forever.” Qing Feng casually tossed a communication jade slip over. “Someone is preparing a big gift for me.”
The Black Dog looked at the demonic pattern on the jade slip, its fur bristling into a ball of thorns: “Who’s so reckless as to dare…”
“Go to Zhijian Peak and invite Aunt-Master Zisu.” Qing Feng slowly tied his robe. “Just say I want to learn that ‘Shattering Illusion’ technique, and remember to bring two jars of her favorite Zhuyeqing wine.”
Moonlight swept across the young man’s smiling eyes, illuminating the seven-colored flowing light on the wooden sword at his waist. Mountain wind swept up fallen petals everywhere, and the long sound of morning bells came from afar.
“Saving time is the best strategy.” Qing Feng lightly tapped the table with his fingertips, and ripples spread across the celadon teacup.
Although he was fully confident in deflecting Elder Ma’s overt and covert attacks, defense was ultimately inferior.
He recalled the perilous illusionary killing array from the night before; had he not cut off his spiritual connection in time, he would likely be a wanted criminal of the Law Enforcement Hall by now.
The wind chimes under the corridor suddenly rang. He looked at the profound iron token hanging from the beam, a protective decree personally bestowed by Dao Lord Zisu. Since he had already entered the sight of a Spirit Transformation Realm mighty figure, why fight alone? Let that old scoundrel taste the feeling of being crushed by overwhelming power.
“At the Sect conference in three days, Qin Heng must cripple his own cultivation.” Elder Ma crushed the sound transmission jade talisman, his sinister gaze sweeping over the kneeling disciple surnamed Lian. “As for that little brat Qing Feng…”
“Master, think twice.” Lian Buyao’s back was drenched in cold sweat. “That mountain-guarding spirit dog has already reached the Nascent Soul Realm…”
“Didn’t the Crimson Flood Dragon raised by Lu Mingyuan back then also reach half-step Spirit Transformation?” A withered hand suddenly gripped the disciple’s throat, his turbid pupils reflecting the other’s terrified face: “Remember, those who achieve great things must be ruthless. The thousand-year snow lotus QiSheng sent last month, wasn’t it exchanged for his Dao companion’s primordial yin?”
The setting sun gilded the profound iron heavy sword with golden light. Qing Feng moved like a wandering dragon. His sword momentum was suddenly like thunder tearing through the sky, then instantly transformed into a scorching sun overhead. The surging sword qi even caused the mountain peak clouds to churn into rings.
Dao Lord Zisu leaned against the bamboo couch and took a sip of coarse tea, a sharp glint appearing in her eyes. This young man had only observed the “Primordial Yang Sword Canon” for half a day, yet he had integrated the Great Sun Thunder Sound two forms perfectly.
She recalled the sight of those old fellows from the Dao Sect beating their chests and stamping their feet, and couldn’t help but lightly stroke her beard and smile: “Guide the Qi three inches along the Hand Jueyin meridian; the sword intent should be three parts stronger.”
Before her words fell, Qing Feng spun around and conjured nine sword flowers. The biting sword aura actually split the sword-testing stone three zhang away, sending sparks flying.
The ceramic cup in Dao Lord’s hand trembled slightly, and the bitter tea within rippled with a smile. This child’s comprehension was truly unparalleled in three hundred years!
As dusk settled, Dao Lord Zisu leaned against her green bamboo sword sheath, gazing at the last wisp of twilight in the sky as she continued to admonish:
“Dual cultivation of Dao and Sword values making progress day and night. Since you have cultivated diligently for eighteen years, why not include the hour of Zi in your practice? The Nine Luminaries Sword Form that this Lord created by observing the stars at night was precisely during such an hour…”