Face, neck, chest, crotch—in his explosion of sanguine rage, Xinzi left no part of Xia Hu unmolested. His fists crashed without mercy, brutalizing the swordmaster with the weight of 1,000 sledgehammers. Xia Hu’s consciousness faded; his brain stopped registering the pain—a vain attempt to protect itself, perhaps. But Xue Yuanshao, who from the comfort of Xia Hu’s soul witnessed this beatdown with front-row seats, raged to no end.
‘Damn, I underestimated him. Although I could see that this clerical son of a bitch showed little to no scruple with heretical methods, I still didn’t expect that he’d go as far as to cultivate Evil Qi and pervert his soul.’
In Xue Yuanshao’s eyes, the Evil Qi Xinzi cultivated for and through the Reincarnation of Mahasura had reached a staggering quantity—single-handedly pushing the monk’s battle-prowess to the absurd levels that enabled him to pummel a generational swordsman such as Xia Hu like an impotent wretch.
Evil pervaded the mortal world, but in mortals’ eyes, was nothing more than a concept used to distinguish good from bad, and hopefully keep men in line—the masses, at the very least. Few realized that Evil was to Demons what Faith was to the Divines: the foundation of their endless growth. Heaven and Hell were pyramid schemes, with the ruling Gods and Devils recruiting servants that gathered faith or evil qi—in their names—throughout various worlds. The servants then recruited more servants to repeat the process, and the chain went on.
Demons, especially, excelled at managing this pyramidal system—making rogue cultivators that amassed vast quantities of Evil Qi without a demonic master to report to, few and far between. Xinzi clearly belonged to that category—making Xue Yuanshao wonder how and why a Night Spirit would pervert his divineline to embark on the ruinous demon road.
A double hammer punch slammed into Xia Hu’s stomach, sending the swordsman to crater the ground below. Xia Hu’s consciousness abandoned him, but even as he spurted blood, Xinzi stomped his neck, choking him without mercy.
‘Old man, I…can’t hold on. Plan…you better give me…a plan.’ Relying on his last bits of brainpower, Xia Hu sought Xue Yuanshao’s assistance. Alas, the wily ancient defiled his hopes with brutal honesty.
‘Truth be told, with his current level of Evil Qi and various abilities, under the Golden Core stage, he doesn’t have much to fear. Had you gone through at least two years of Green Degradation, you might have been able to compete with him. But with merely one month, you stand no chance—in a head-on clash, at least.’ Here, Xue Yuanshao shut his eyes, releasing his own Soul Force to support Xia Hu’s consciousness. The swordsman’s eyes regained some light, but that alone still left him defenseless before Xinzi’s crushing might.
‘Thankfully, the situation isn’t entirely hopeless. Our initial plan hasn’t failed, we just need to adjust it. Muster 500% of your willpower, channel all your energies into your Spiritual Sense and let the Winds of Degradations guide your steps. Hold on for one minute, and I can secure your victory,’ Xue Yuanshao said and returned to silence.
There was one thing that Xia Hu didn’t doubt; Xue Yuanshao’s fortunes had long become indissociable from his. Should he perish here, Xue Yuanshao wouldn’t survive him. The old man had everything to gain and nothing to lose from supporting Xia Hu, and wouldn’t mislead him at this critical juncture. Confident in this assessment, Xia Hu deferred to Xue Yuanshao’s plan.
Green winds, the Winds of Degradation, picked up—gathering around the swordsman even as Xinzi’s foot choked the breath out of him. Uplifted by Xue Yuanshao’s Soul Force, Xia Hu gritted his teeth. The full depth of his willpower erupted—his spiritual faculties reached their peak, and he snapped out of his torpor. A cool breeze rustled Xinzi’s clothes, and Xia Hu vanished from underneath his heels—reappearing several steps ahead.
With his haggard face lowered, and his disheveled hair hanging loose, Xia Hu stumbled on his steps, struggling to regain balance. Xinzi wouldn’t give him the chance. One kick flew at Xia Hu’s right knee, aiming to shatter it completely. The green winds blew by, and before Xinzi’s kick could connect fully, Xia Hu had again vanished—this time landing at the monk’s left.
Barely able to form a smile, Xia Hu leaned against Xinzi’s shoulder, raising his wobbling hand for a pointless tap. “One point,” he said—referring to a common cat-and-mouse game played by Dongli children. Xinzi was in no mood for games. A pink haze flashed in his eyes. The Evil Qi morphed into tendrils of darkness that, as if animated with a will of their own—skewered Xia Hu’s vital organs—almost. Again Xia Hu vanished, reappeared before Xinzi and tapped his temples.
“Two Points.” Like a disarticulated puppet, Xia Hu swayed alongside the Winds of Degradation, enabling them to carry and shelter him even as his body failed to keep up. Yet, Xinzi could see that the mystical winds aside, other forces powered Xia Hu’s effortless glide.
Confused, Xinzi tilted his head and his brows arched up. The monk couldn’t understand Xia Hu’s erratic actions—but recognized the momentum his foe built second by second.
In fact, Xia Hu himself couldn’t put his feelings into words—but in that instant when victory or defeat had escaped his control, the swordsman felt an odd blend of liberation and vulnerability take over his mind—forcing him to seek and hold on to the most innocent aspects of his past.
All negativity flew out of Xia Hu’s soul, and he became one with the winds. Better, he could feel the world unite with the winds, unite with his soul, and let him foresee Xinzi’s moves before the monk even conceived them. Thus, Xia Hu entered a mysterious state, and the very weaves of fate took shape before him.
Xinzi wasn’t privy to the changes taking place in Xia Hu’s soul. But like any other scion of superior lineages, he could feel the enrapturing rhythm flowing out of Xia Hu. That rhythm, a mystical and intoxicating beat, sped up Xinzi’s heart rate—his eyes narrowed into a frown.
‘You triggered the Celestial Rhythm? Hahahaha! You kids never stop surprising me. Good. Very good! I have not taught you in vain!’ Xue Yuanshao’s elated voice boomed throughout Xia Hu’s soul. But deep in a trance-like state, the fem swordsman barely heard him.
A primordial phenomenon that predated the cultivation world, the Celestial Rhythm mainly existed beside ancient objects, enabling those that cultivated in its midst to enhance their enlightenment speed—granted, of course, that they could feel the rhythm.
But when a cultivator’s focus, will and spiritual faculties peaked, there was one chance, an infinitely small chance, that they’d trigger their own Celestial Rhythm—enabling them to push their spiritual faculties to extreme levels and even glimpse at fate itself. In that state, not only would the cultivator’s enlightenment speed skyrocket, but their all-around battle-prowess would experience a massive—albeit temporary, leap.
‘Now…of all times?’ For the second time since the battle started, Xinzi felt annoyed. It was almost as if Heaven teamed up with Xia Hu to screw him over—enabling the fem swordsman to bullshit his way out of certain defeat. How else could one explain this untimely breakthrough?
The monk snapped his fingers. Tongues of icy-blue flames gushed forth, expanding and twisting to form a dome of coiling flames that trapped both Xia Hu and Xinzi.
Combining scalding heat with a noxious atmosphere, the Frigid Flames reduced Xia Hu’s momentum and restrained his range. At the end of the day, no matter how fast and flexible the Winds of Degradation made Xia Hu, they didn’t grant him teleportation skills.
Unless he could break down or ram through Xinzi’s Frigid Flames, he couldn’t escape. And with the Evil Qi powering the fiery dome, Xue Yuanshao knew that his disciple couldn’t force his way out. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. ’13 seconds.’
Xia Hu didn’t mind the restrictions, abandoned himself to the winds, to the rhythm, and stretched his arms out. The provocation didn’t go unanswered. Xinzi tapped his storage ring, summoning 12 talismans that fluttered by his side. The monk snapped his fingers. White bolts of lightning flew out, aiming to smoke Xia Hu where he stood.
Moving with an ethereal grace that, in other circumstances, would have left Xinzi speechless, Xia Hu danced past the lightning bolts, bridging the gap between Xinzi and him. The monk rushed him with furious blows, but hit thin air with every strike. Xia Hu’s confidence peaked, and Xue Yuanshao’s voice thundered.
“Now!” A formless wave of soul force erupted from Xia Hu’s forehead, becoming thin needles that bolted towards Xinzi’s soul. Without hesitation, Xia Hu gave up control of his body to Xue Yuanshao, who summoned a long sword and appeared behind Xinzi!
Xue Yuanshao didn’t hope to break through Xinzi’s soul seals. As long as he could destabilize the monk long enough for an open strike, victory would be theirs—or so he thought, at least.
The soul needles struck their target, and for the imperceptible split of a second, Xinzi’s eyes glazed over. That second was all it took for Xia Hu to appear behind Xinzi and aim his sword at his heart.
“Xinzi, I…won!” Xia Hu said and rammed his sword into Xinzi’s heart. In that instant, the rage and indignation that previously marked Xinzi’s face gave way for a wicked grin. Xia Hu’s sword tore through Xinzi’s monastic robes, but instead of poking at the monk’s dark flesh, it slammed into a silky smooth structure with such tensile strength that the sword shattered upon impact.
Demonic red threads poured out of Xinzi’s flesh, tying up Xia Hu’s arms and legs in adamantine silk. Akin to a spider latching on its prey, Xinzi spun at Xia Hu and placed his hands on his foe’s trembling shoulders.
“No, you just lost splendidly,” Xinzi said. Pink mist—the same mist that enthralled all other disciples—flowed out of his eyes, mouth and pores, seeping Xia Hu’s body and soul. Instantly, the fem swordsman felt his momentum wane, the Celestial Rhythm dissipate, and his mind growing still. His heart-shaped lips curled into a hazy smile, and he fell on his knees—helpless and vanquished.
‘Impossible! Impossible!’ Xue Yuanshao screamed within Xia Hu’s soul. But this time around, nothing could save the fem swordsman from the monk’s demonic clutches. Still, Xue Yuanshao himself wouldn’t have time to rage for much longer. Using the soul needles as a connecting point, Xinzi forced Soul Melding and appeared in Xia Hu’s soul world—right before a wrinkled old man who wore the golden dragon robe meant only for the Great Desolation World’s four emperors.
‘You’re still wearing the imperial garb? Sorry, Xue Yuanshao, the Northern Emperors are now surnamed Yelu. You no longer have the qualifications to don this robe,’ Xinzi said and stepped forward, forcing the ancient expert to recoil from the mere pressure of his soul.
‘You…knew?’ Facing Xinzi’s soul from such proximity, Xue Yuanshao realized how far ahead of himself he’d gotten. Rage and bitterness welled up his soul, but aware of his current weaknesses, the ancient sought no confrontation—backpedaling instead.
‘Naturally. With all the hints you offered so candidly. I would be no better than a blind and deaf mule if I couldn’t figure this one out. I don’t know how you escaped the Taiyang clan, or what you had in store for Xia Hu, and frankly I do not care. From now on, his soul is mine to do with as I see fit. As for you…’
Xinzi’s grin broadened. Jet-black mist filled his eyes, and his true form emerged from his back, rising into the air and plunging Xia Hu’s soul world into complete darkness. In that darkness, only Xinzi’s Divine Spark remained, burning Xue Yuanshao’s eyes with its searing light. The ancient expert didn’t register the pain, instead focusing on the information that the spark’s brightness revealed.
‘Chained yet so bright…too bright. Not a God-Child candidate. Not a God-Child…you are a—’ Though at his best, his cultivation level fell short to Tusha’s peak, through millennia of constant research, Xue Yuanshao learned a lot more about Divine Spirits than Tusha ever did and could see the nuances in Xinzi’s chained spark. But as he reached the only viable conclusion, Xinzi shut him down—and his words trailed off.
‘My identity is of no use to you, because after milking you of all your worth, I will slowly but surely erase you from the face of this world.’ Xinzi pledged. Jet-black soul chains flew out of his Divine Spark, aiming to pierce through and enslave Xue Yuanshao.
‘Enough.’ A calm yet irresistible voice pealed throughout Xia Hu’s Soul World. One hand rose from the endless darkness, shattering Xinzi’s soul chains before they could ruin the last Xue Emperor. A tanned, herculean monk appeared beside Xinzi’s Divine Spark—suppressing its offensive with a single tap.
Undisturbed by its blinding light, the monk peered into the spark, and Xinzi’s eyes widened in disbelief.
‘Master?’