Li Xuanxuan looked at Li Ximing, then turned his gaze toward Li Xizhi. Taking in the expressions of both brothers, he reached into his sleeve and produced two jade boxes.
"These are the severed Tongzang Sword and the Six Thunders Xuan Punishment Token."
The Tongzang Sword had been Yu Mujian’s artifact, and its quality was by no means low. Unfortunately, the artifact-refining methods of Shakya cultivators simply could not compare to those of the immortal and demonic paths; its underlying material was superb, but the methods used to temper and consecrate it were far from adept.
Now that this blade had been cleaved by the Qingchi Sword, Li Xuanxuan set it upon his palm. The lustrous yellow cross-section was smooth, though there was no telling whether Lianmin had left behind any hidden contingencies. As for the Six Thunders Xuan Punishment Token, it was another matter entirely. Although worlds apart from the Six Vibrations Xuan Thunder Token, it was nonetheless the pinnacle of artifact craftsmanship, by no means an ordinary object.
Li Qinghong opened the jade box to reveal six palm-sized, silver-white tokens gleaming within. Their seal scripts lit up one by one, giving off a fine, muted rumble.
She picked up one and weighed it in her hand. Silver-white lightning arced into her palm, prompting an involuntary murmur of admiration. "What a fine treasure!"
Sensing its resonance, she stroked the seal script as it hovered and orbited her wrist like a streak of light. Closing her eyes, she said softly, "A pity... it is Xuan Thunder."
The Dao Foundation Li Qinghong cultivated was the Xuanlei Pool, adapted from Winter Thunder Sound. Though bearing the name 'Xuanlei,' it actually belonged to Xiao Thunder, making it an imperfect match for Xuan Thunder.
Yet it remained a lightning artifact after all. This lack of harmony was merely a slight friction in circulating her mana. Li Qinghong toyed with it for a moment before stowing it away, murmuring, "The artifact is top-tier, but I have never wielded this kind of immortal token before; I still need to study it thoroughly."
"Since it originally came from the Donghuo Grotto-Heaven, it should return to your hands."
Having put away the tokens, she unfastened the Mystic Pattern Bottle from her waist. The vessel glowed a rich purple, etched all over with violet lightning patterns, its radiant aura spilling across the table. Li Qinghong said softly, "This artifact originally came from the Donghuo Grotto-Heaven; when paired with different Dao Foundations, it yields different effects. It had quite a peculiar effect in Brother Jiao's hands, yet in mine, it has served merely to breathe thunder and store spiritual lightning."
She lifted the bottle, held one hand flat, and tilted it to pour out wisps of familiar lightning. Bound by her control, the arcs descended into her palm one by one, flashing brightly—some ferocious, some agile, each distinct in temperament.
Li Qinghong drew several small golden bottles from her storage bag, storing the spiritual lightning within them one by one. Only after collecting several golden bottles did she pass the emptied vessel to Li Xizhi.
Li Xizhi examined it. The Mystic Pattern Bottle was barely three fingers wide in his palm—compact, endearing, its markings exquisitely fine and shimmering with violet light. He raised his hand, intending to decline and hand it back to Li Qinghong.
Yet Li Qinghong kept her hand over his, firmly pressing the vessel into his grip. The pressure forced his words of refusal back down his throat, leaving him able to utter only a quiet, "Thank you, Aunt!"
"It was meant for you in the first place."
Li Xuanxuan had been perched on the edge of his seat for a long time, yearning to speak. Seeing his grandson break the ice, the old man rose from his chair and rasped, "Qinghong, regarding the matter of Yanshan Pass..."
Li Xizhi was thoroughly distracted. Hastily curling his fingers around the bottle, he looked toward Li Qinghong with restless anxiety. "Aunt, Xiang'er is still in the north!"
Within the Li family today, the only one capable of crossing the river and returning in one piece was Li Qinghong. She nodded gently and said in a warm voice, "I understand. I will head north at once."
"No time to lose. Ximing, accompany me north first. Xizhi, rest and tend to your wounds alongside Li Quantao, and follow us in a few days. Go back to Qingdu and prepare!"
Li Ximing rose, and aunt and nephew took to the wind together. Li Xizhi saw them out into the courtyard, calling after them, "Aunt, be careful..."
Hands clasped uneasily behind his back, he paced two circuits around the old residence before returning to his seat.
Li Xuanxuan was sorting through the various spiritual items, his aged face drooping with an unreadable expression. He lifted his eyes, saw Li Xizhi's somber countenance, and said hoarsely, "Ximing has been in seclusion for years and has only seen Yuexiang a handful of times; how much affection could he harbor for her? Do not overthink it. He may seem somewhat detached, but he would never go that far."
"Grandfather..."
Li Xizhi sighed softly, his lips trembling slightly as grief finally showed through. "I didn't want Aunt to take the risk either... I understand Ximing's reasoning, and I know Yuexiang is most likely doomed. But what if there is still a slim thread of hope?"
***
Demonic smoke rolled thick across the earth, throwing up scattered sparks of baleful light. In the gloom of the ruined fortress, shattered white stones lay strewn in every direction. The blood had long dried, leaving only fragments of bone scattered across the rubble.
The ruins were utterly deserted. From the fissures in the rock, flecks of black light drifted forth, coalescing into a black serpent that slithered through the desolate debris.
Li Wushao's dark serpentine eyes fixed upon the demonic smoke as his body wound its way forward. It had been several months since he fled Chenshui Mausoleum, and this was his first time showing himself at Yanshan Pass.
When the battle between north and south turned the world upside down, Li Wushao had watched the clear waters of Chenshui Mausoleum churn as immortal radiance plummeted from the sky. Decisively reverting to his true form, he shrank his body, dove into the depths below, and fled south without once looking back.
He had originally been a hook snake of the Eastern Sea. If nothing else, surviving in those perilous waters for so long meant he possessed a knack for staying alive. Moving through his natural element, he had swiftly shaken off his pursuers and pressed south uninterrupted.
*Damn it all...*
*Only because I was born in the Eastern Sea, reeking of monster qi and unpracticed in orthodox sect arts, was I able to blend into the demonic smoke without drawing attention. Had I been like those other sect mounts, draped in clear light, I would have been slaughtered long ago!*
Yet Li Wushao had never imagined that Yanshan Pass would also fall. The entire path southward had been choked with demonic smoke. Fleeing blindly, he had been attacked three separate times, nearly leaving his old life behind.
Cursing at everything he saw, he grumbled his way into the interior of the pass. His voice grew fainter and fainter until the old snake lapsed into silence.
Li Wushao also noticed the crystalline radiance falling in the north, finding nothing strange in it, and merely cursed in his heart. He had seen far too much of this in the Eastern Sea: whenever a dragon prince from some water palace wished to harvest immortal bases for alchemy or artifact crafting, the beasts of the Eastern Sea lined up to offer their lives. What need was there for such convoluted turmoil, waging grand wars and stirring up bitter disputes?
*Mortals are obsessed with their precious face. If you want to kill, just kill; why stir up feuds and drag out endless battles only to die in the end? Blind, senseless agitation, all for the sake of hypocritical pretense.*
Even so, Li Wushao could not help envying the decorum of mainland cultivators. When a Purple Palace cultivator slew a Foundation Establishment cultivator, they still bothered with excuses, and wanton slaughter was far less common; life here was infinitely more comfortable.
Lowering his head, he wove through the ruins for a time, soon arriving at the post he had once guarded. Rooting through the rubble, he unearthed a long halberd.
The weapon was simple in craft, remarkably light, and still bore characters carved into it:
*Mount Qingdu Li Family, Mount Lijing Chen Clan, Chen Mufeng.*
Li Wushao had known this middle-aged man; back when the snake had first been captured and brought to the Li family, Chen Mufeng had still been a youth, and Li Wushao had interacted with him.
That man had once excavated the ore veins beneath Lake Wangyue alongside him—a cheerful bald fellow with a great appetite, prone to slacking off, yet remarkably swift on his feet.
Now, the acquaintance was reduced to a corpse, scattered in broken pieces across the dirt. Despite the freezing cold, the remains were rotted beyond recognition. For the first time, Li Wushao found himself furrowing his brows over a few Qi Refinement mortals.
Scowling, the demon snake hoisted several large boulders aside and indeed found half of the man's head. Digging through the soil, he retrieved the other half, already decaying. He wiped the dirt away, pieced them together, and stowed them into his storage bag.
"Mortals have their custom of burying the dead. I'll take him back to Chen Donghe for a proper burial."
Padding barefoot across the rubble, he spotted familiar faces from time to time, though none were intact—here a recognizable nose, there half a rotting ear lying in the dirt.
He blinked, searched two more rounds, and uncovered several more bodies of Li family members. Fortunately, none were people he knew, but he gathered them into his pouch all the same, spitting curses under his breath.
"Dammit, died right where they stood!"
"Those disciples from Moon Lake Peak or whatever demonic sect... seeing how things turned out, they probably fled, or maybe didn't even have time to run."
He cast his gaze around. Stationed upon the pass had also been a burly fellow wielding a golden hammer, likely named Li Wen, who was likewise nowhere to be found. He might have been reduced to ashes, his warhammer scavenged by another.
The old snake pressed forward to the collapsed center of the grand formation, his spiritual sense sweeping through the debris. Overturning a few slabs of rock, he suddenly caught sight of a broken sword.
Barely a foot of steel remained of the blade. A wooden talisman hung from the pommel, swaying gently—a palm long and two fingers wide, stained dark with dried blood, bearing several small, graceful characters:
*Awaiting you for long.*
A demonic wind rolled through. The old snake stared at the wooden talisman, then at the charred stone and dark bloodstains. He watched for two breaths, looked back to the talisman, and let out the choked, raspy hiss unique to serpents.
More than twenty years had slipped by in a blur.
Back when she was a little girl, she had loved wearing white skirts, and back then she had instructed Li Wushao, "I am usually on the mountain. Uncle Wushao needn't stand vigil every moment. Crossing over from the lake won't keep Xiang'er waiting long."
Li Yuexiang had been such a little girl then, sensible and obedient from childhood. The children raised by Xiao Guiluan were each gentler and more well-mann manners than the last. Back then, Li Wushao had watched over her on Li Yuanjiao's behalf.
That little child had died right here.
Having already taken human form, his eyelids twitched. He searched two more rounds, and finding no trace of An Zheyan's corpse, he let out a quiet sigh of relief.
As Li Wushao moved across the ruins, a streak of black light suddenly plummeted from the heavens, landing before him to reveal a man robed in black, staring at him with suspicion.
"Which division are you from, Daoist friend? Why do you linger here?"
Caught red-handed, Li Wushao showed no panic. Raising his serpentine head, he looked the man squarely in the eye, listening impassively to the cold interrogation.
Sensing the man's thick demonic aura, Li Wushao recognized him at once as a northern rogue cultivator. Flicking his tongue, he answered, "I am a Dharma Protector under Master Shuiling of the State of Yan! And which division do you hail from, Daoist friend, to stick your nose so far into others' affairs?!"
The demonic cultivator hesitated. Although the main Shakya forces now comprised the Kongyou, Cibei, and Shanle Aspects, cultivators from nearly every northern path had arrived in greater or lesser numbers. Who knew which one this Shuiling might be? Yet, seeing how brazenly the demon snake spoke, he said coldly, "I have never heard of any Master Shuiling!"
Li Wushao sneered. Recalling the *Zun Xiu Fu Zhe Yan* that Shuiling had taught him back then, he began babbling the incantation aloud. The abstruse, eerie chant echoed through the air, perfectly matching his previous claim and immediately causing the demonic cultivator to startle.
Though speaking with utter conviction, the snake demon felt thoroughly annoyed, cursing inwardly: *Curse it all, borrowing that bald donkey's name again! For months now, I've basically served as his mount! What a disgrace!*
Li Wushao spat another curse, lashed his tail against the ground, and pointed straight at the man. "Blind dog! My master is a venerable figure whom even Master Yuxin of the Minor Desire Aspect begged bitterly just to debate dharma with! A petty demonic scoundrel like you dares bark before an elder?!"
Yuxin had indeed been the Minor Desire Aspect master who attacked Yanshan Pass the first time, only to be repelled by Li Xizhi and the others. Strictly speaking, the connection held water. With the black snake rearing his head, his haughty demeanor proved truly intimidating.
Hearing him invoke Yuxin, the demonic cultivator was largely swayed. Yet having been cursed out without cause, he remained resentful and harbored a lingering sliver of doubt. "Daoist friend, if you truly serve as a Dharma Protector under such an esteemed figure, you must be well-versed in many scriptures!"
"Ha! You brought this upon yourself!"
That demon snake's mouth was simply too foul!
With Li Wushao radiating monster qi and prowling the ruined city, the man could not discern his true origins. How could he guess that a remnant from the defeat at Chenshui Mausoleum would still be wandering demonic territory to this day?
"Plague-ridden stupid snake!"
Shakya scriptures were bizarre and treacherous; the demonic cultivator had no desire to be converted halfway through. Spitting a hasty curse to salvage his dignity, he scrambled onto the wind and plunged headlong into the black mist.
"Something went wrong at Chenshui Mausoleum, so most of the demonic cultivators stationed there pulled out, and that master went back with them. Otherwise, this fellow wouldn't have been so easy to dupe."
Li Wushao spat toward the man's retreating back and burrowed back into the ruins. That man was most likely a Foundation Establishment cultivator guarding this sector; after this disturbance, no obstacles remained.
Heading back the way he came, he uncovered several more corpses along the path, quietly stowing them away as he muttered darkly to himself...
Chapter 587