Yun Qingrao was born with the essence of the Dragon race, and if she could integrate the true blood of the Ying Dragon deep within the mausoleum to achieve a bloodline transformation, she would surely break through the cultivation shackles. This realization secretly heightened Qing Feng's vigilance.
Seven days ago? Yun Qingrao's eyelashes trembled slightly. This timeframe coincided with her entry into the Mystic Realm. Could she have triggered the restriction, causing the other party to fall into danger?
“This should be Ao Pan Dragon Emperor’s eternal resting place.” She suppressed the turmoil in her heart, her fingertips tracing the stone wall carved with coiling dragon patterns. “Dragon race Mystic Realms have always been filled with trials of life and death. It’s truly not easy for you to have survived until now.”
The light and shadow cast by the gilded dome flowed around her robes, making her icy silk skirt appear like swimming silver scales.
Qing Feng took the opportunity to show weakness: “May I ask, Immortal Maiden, do you have a way to escape? My meager cultivation certainly dare not contend with you.”
As he spoke, he quietly circulated the hidden Nascent Soul true essence within his body, yet his face showed the panic a Foundation Establishment cultivator should have.
“The Yin-Yang array pivot has already reversed.” Yun Qingrao looked at the circulating star map on the dome. “Now, the only way is to pass through the Nine Luminaries Profound Palace to complete the Yin-Yang rotation.”
She lightly flicked her wide sleeves, setting up a protective spiritual light around them.
Seeing Qing Feng still hesitating, the Ice Soul Sword drew a half-moon of clear light in the air: “Keep up.”
This reaction actually surprised Qing Feng. He had already prepared to be abandoned, after all, in the eyes of ordinary cultivators, a Foundation Establishment cultivator was no different from a burden.
His gaze swept over the tips of the woman’s ears, which were almost transparent from the moonlight, and he suddenly understood that this sword cultivator, who was as cold as frost and snow, actually harbored a compassionate Dao Heart deep within her bones.
As they passed through the corridor adorned with murals of the Eight Heavenly Dragons, Qing Feng finally saw the full scope of this Dragon race forbidden ground. The dome was not inlaid with ordinary luminous pearls, but rather entire pieces of spiritual marrow carved into sun and moon twin wheels, and every piece of dark jade paving the ground was engraved with ancient inscriptions.
Even the twelve coiling dragon pillars supporting the grand hall were forged from stellar meteorite iron.
“No wonder it’s said that the Dragon race is the oldest symbol of wealth in the cultivation world,” he murmured, looking at the surging clouds and golden waves in the murals.
Ahead, Yun Qingrao’s sword suddenly emitted a clear, crisp clang. Both of them stopped simultaneously as the profound iron giant gate at the Yin-Yang convergence slowly opened, and an ancient dragon roar came from behind the gate.
It was hard to distinguish day from night in the tomb, and Qing Feng roughly estimated that three days had passed.
As he followed Yun Qingrao and stopped before a stone door covered in runes, the female cultivator suddenly halted: “The restriction ahead has mutated, step back three paces.”
Qing Feng obediently stepped back half a pace. In these three days, they had rarely spoken. Whenever a mechanism was triggered, the female cultivator would always protect him within a barrier using her spiritual power.
The profound iron gate suddenly glowed faintly after Yun Qingrao formed a hand seal, and as space twisted, they were drawn into an illusion. A dark sky hung low, and a silver-disk-like full moon dyed the bamboo forest a frosty color, with the gentle sound of tides ebbing and flowing in the distance.
Qing Feng found the fine sand beneath his feet cool; they were actually standing on an isolated island surrounded by an ocean.
“A formation that shifts stars and displaces constellations,” Yun Qingrao’s sword tassel moved without wind, and spiritual energy flowed around her body.
Suddenly, a melodious song pierced through the sound of the waves: “My noble lord in green, my heart yearns for you…” Every syllable seemed to draw the moonlight, and the tides rose and fell with the melody.
Qing Feng noticed golden gauze shimmering among the reefs, and Yun Qingrao had already stepped on the waves, following the sound.
On the reef-lined shore bathed in moonlight, a barefoot woman danced to the rhythm.
The silver bells in her hair and jade bracelets on her wrists chimed in harmony, her golden silk gauze dress reflected the moonlight, and the silver lotus patterns embroidered on her skirt unfolded as she spun.
Yun Qingrao's fingertips plucked the zither strings, harmonizing with the song, and the tide actually condensed into crystalline steps amidst the zither's melody.
After the lingering notes faded into the sea breeze, Yun Qingrao gently stroked the trembling zither strings: “This song can actually stir the rhythm of heaven and earth. May I ask for your esteemed title, Senior?” When the dancer turned her head, the floral ornament on her forehead shimmered, but her gaze passed over the female cultivator and landed on Qing Feng.
Qing Feng suddenly noticed a pearl array, like a star map, appearing on the beach where the tide had receded.
“You are not him.”
The plain-clothed singer lightly parted her crimson lips, and her ethereal words caused Yun Qingrao’s fingertips to tremble slightly. As she gazed at the hazy silhouette dancing under the moon, the five-stringed guqin in her zither case suddenly emitted a faint glow.
“May I ask, Immortal Lady, where is the way out of this formation?” Yun Qingrao stepped through the scattered bamboo shadows, her green jade hairpin clinking crisply in the night wind.
Responding to her was still the lingering song: “My noble lord in green, my heart yearns for you.”
After seven unanswered questions, Yun Qingrao’s wide sleeves swirled as she casually plucked the Shang string.
The sound waves pierced the air like frosty blades, but the singer transformed into myriad fireflies, only to reform three zhang away as before.
The guqin abruptly stopped. She observed closely, and the illusory figure’s toes touched the ground without stirring any dust.
“If it’s an illusion, how can it speak?” Yun Qingrao’s usually clear and cold eyes rippled, and with her ten fingers moving in rapid succession, “Guangling San” resounded clearly.
The zither music, imbued with the refined energy of a thousand-year-old wutong wood, swept the scattered bamboo leaves into a verdant vortex.
Qing Feng at this moment was bending down to pick up a handful of ochre sand, and a three-inch spiritual flame suddenly shot up from his fingertips.
He looked up at the sky: “Xiangfei bamboo shadows form the Big Dipper, the Cangming tide sounds respond to midnight. This formation is quite unique.”
Suddenly, a tearing sound like silk rent came from behind him. It turned out to be Yun Qingrao’s zither string cutting the singer’s water sleeve, and that half-piece of plain silk, upon falling to the ground, transformed into a tender mottled bamboo shoot.
“Even if I do not go.” The ethereal song suddenly quickened. Qing Feng’s fingertips brushed over the tear stains on the bamboo joint, and he suddenly felt a slight warmth in his palm.
Looking up, the moon disk had climbed to the tips of the Xiang bamboo, and the entire bamboo forest was rustling and swaying with a strange rhythm.
In the illusion shrouded by night, Qing Feng stared at the faintly visible runes in the void for a long time, yet for a moment, he couldn't comprehend their profound mystery.
He simply sat cross-legged in meditation, allowing the ethereal immortal music in his ears to guide his consciousness deep into his Sea of Consciousness, gradually entering a state of self-forgetfulness amidst the interwoven rhythm of reality and illusion.
In this realm, day and night were indistinguishable, with only a solitary moon hanging in the sky. Yun Qingrao’s ten fingers flew across the strings, playing over a hundred melodies, and her usually clear and cold face showed a rare trace of impatience.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Yun Qingrao in green robes sleeping soundly with her head resting on a bamboo root. A hint of disdain flashed in her eyes, and she simply left the person where he was, transforming into a streak of light and soaring towards the sky to investigate.
However, each time she was about to touch the boundary of the illusion, space-time would flow Weird like a vortex, forcibly sending her back to the starting point.
The eight directions shifted like living entities, and no matter how she deduced, she could not find a flaw.
In the end, she could only turn back and sit cross-legged to meditate, maintaining a distance of three zhang from the sleeping Qing Feng.
Although she disdained this lazy fellow disciple, she ultimately couldn't bear to see his soul scatter.
Such a scene passed for over half a month in a flash. Whenever the mysterious woman came singing, Yun Qingrao would counter with her zither music, while Qing Feng remained in a semi-conscious state.
The three seemingly unrelated parties actually wove a delicate balance in the void.
On this day, Yun Qingrao in green robes suddenly stretched and rose, lightly touching the trembling zither strings beside her.
“Immortal Maiden’s zither music seems a bit anxious?”
Yun Qingrao paid no heed, but saw the seven-stringed guqin emit wave-like spiritual patterns, forcibly suppressing the almost broken zither notes back to a clear and crisp sound.
“As the Dao Sect senior once said so well during a lecture at the Sword Pavilion: ‘If the heart is clear as ice, even if the sky falls, one will not be startled.’ In an illusion, being impetuous is the most taboo.”
Qing Feng casually plucked a bamboo leaf to play with, but his gaze was directed at a certain spot in the void, “However, this place is also interesting. No matter how I meditate, my cultivation hasn’t increased by a single jot.”