Mount Tangdao.
In the sky, the formation flickered, and scattered flames blanketed the ground. On the distant horizon, white qi cascaded like a waterfall. Masters draped in kasayas wielded great warhammers, slamming them relentlessly against the grand formation.
"Rumble!"
The sound crashed like thunder, immediately wrenching cries of agony from lower-cultivation disciples on either side. Soon, true fire surged forth to dispel the radiance-like dharmic power. A woman holding a bright lamp descended astride flames, her face slightly pale.
Li Minggong tilted her head up slightly. Before long, she caught sight of the colossal golden forms looming faintly in the clouds—like eerie, dread-inducing golden colossi suspended in midair, striking fear into all who beheld them.
The spells cast by these Lianmin were intercepted one by one by the formations on the distant peaks. They had already pressed deep into the lines, yet seemed wary of something and did not descend in person, granting the defenders a brief respite.
She did not know how the fighting was faring in the north, but Buddhist cultivators were pouring in without end from Mount Xiaoshi, which boded ill. Looking across the ranks, morale within the formation was thoroughly depressed. The various sects' cultivators fared somewhat better, but while those from local clans and regions spoke little, their ranks were visibly unraveling.
She had rushed here to reinforce this position. Most of these people did not hail from her lake; only a fraction had fallen under Qingchi's rule. Even so, they knew her standing was illustrious. They shrank back in fear, and beneath their silence simmered unspoken grievances.
*Cultivators south of the river... do not truly care whether Jiangbei is lost or not... Driven here by the Taiyang orthodox lineage, they have no heart to fight at all... What is more, after so many years of war between north and south, everyone's vitality has long been drained...*
Such matters were not hers to decide. Two black-robed cultivators rode the wind toward her and said in hushed tones:
"Fellow Daoist, please make your preparations early. If this formation cannot hold, we will escort you and fall back into the mountains first."
As a leading figure of a Violet Palace immortal clan, Xiukui Abbey naturally could not allow Li Minggong to fall into danger or be harmed by Buddhist cultivators, and had dispatched people to wait upon her well in advance.
The moment these two appeared, the already disorganized cultivators within the formation instantly turned all their attention upon them. None of them were fools—if Li Minggong and her cohort fled, would that not leave them behind to die?
Li Minggong gave a faint shake of her head and lowered her gaze. Below, the gathered cultivators seemed unchanged on the surface, yet every now and then, one or two would covertly raise a brow, casting a cold, furtive glance before dropping their heads again like lightning.
Li Minggong reflected inwardly:
*Looking back thirty to fifty years, my ancestors were once among this very crowd. Who knows which family received that same cold glance in those former years?*
She raised her hand to dispel the incoming radiance from above and asked:
"The pressure here is not overwhelming. The Lianmin have not personally struck yet; if more hands were sent, it could still be held."
Even as Li Minggong calmed the crowd, she inquired in secret:
*I wonder how things are on the mountain? Have the Masters returned?*
The two exchanged a glance and likewise replied via secret technique:
*We know not. We only heard from fellow disciples attending Master Quan... that the Master's complexion looked quite grim.*
Li Minggong sighed softly. Even as they spoke, another beam of golden light plunged from the heavens, shaking the grand formation. Up above, an aged rogue cultivator at the Embryonic Breathing realm ran dry of dharmic power and plummeted, tottering; it was only thanks to Li Minggong gently catching him and cradling him in true fire that he did not crash.
Once steady, the old rogue cultivator hurriedly voiced his gratitude from within the flames. His left hand cradled a battered, golden magical artifact, while his right hand, missing an index finger, rubbed against his chest as he called out:
"Many thanks, My Lady..."
Having guarded this place for some time, this was the first word of thanks Li Minggong had received. She shook her head in silence. Taking the opportunity, the old rogue cultivator wept:
"After so many clashes, all of this humble one's disciples have perished. Had My Lady not saved me, falling from this mountain... I could well have plunged to my death. It is only... I know not how long we must endure this torment."
At these words, everyone below pricked up their ears. Li Minggong could only say:
"Tangdao is the gateway to the south... How long this torment lasts will depend on the north."
The old man broke into fresh tears:
"My disciples used to praise it so... saying that after Qingchi's change of governance, the commanderies were far better off, tributes were light, there was no need to trek to Yishan City, and the sordid affairs of the past had dwindled... But now it seems tributes were too light, leaving the Masters impoverished! Back then, whenever they marched north, it was to seize spoils... In former years... in former years, even if one person from every household was drafted to the Southern Border, it never brought our lineages to the brink of extinction..."
Silence fell all around. The turn of events today was not the doing of any single family or clan; had the Chi family still governed Qingchi, things would be no better now. Yet when rulers perish, their policies fade, and the changes these mortals felt were tangible and real. How could Li Minggong ever explain it away? She could only restrain the black-robed cultivator beside her, whose expression had soured slightly, and shake her head.
"Today cannot be compared to the past..."
Just as she was about to speak, a figure rushed toward them, halting before her. With a grave countenance, he said in a deep voice:
"I am Lin Ya. Master Zhaojing summons you, Fellow Daoist. Please return to the mountain without delay; you may leave this place in my hands!"
Li Minggong brightened with relief and nodded, taking off on her flames. She swiftly passed through several checkpoints and reached the core formation. All around, figures hurried about in grim silence. Passing through a hall, she saw Li Ximing seated upright at the head.
"Greetings, Master!"
She could not discern Li Ximing's condition, yet their clan's Master was never a stiff, solemn man; he had always been warm and approachable toward his juniors. Now, however, no trace of a smile touched his face. He asked only in a heavy voice:
"What are the losses?"
Li Minggong immediately replied in a lowered voice:
"According to the reports this junior has received... Jiangxia's side remains relatively safe. However, there was an assault from Mount Xiaoshi, and among the fallen formations, two belonged to our house. One was guarded by An Xuanxin of the An family, and the other by Fei Qingyi... It is said both formations were shattered. I know not if Fei Qingyi managed to save himself or rescue any disciples... Cheng?, Chengpan, both were stationed there... Fortunately, their jade talismans remain intact..."
In truth, with a host of Lianmin Violet Palace masters gathered there, jade talismans served as little more than psychological comfort. Li Ximing's expression remained composed as he said:
"Fei Qingyi threw his lot in with the demons and was slain by Zhouwei. There is no need to consider him further."
The weight of these words was immense. Li Minggong froze at first, then exclaimed in startled joy:
"Minghuang, he—"
Li Ximing merely waved his hand. With a complicated expression, he answered:
"Wait for me outside the hall."
Li Minggong withdrew at once. Only then did Li Ximing's gaze reveal the turbulence surging within.
And for good reason: upon arriving here, he had not seen a single person from the Taiyang lineage, and the inner sanctum of the Dark Billows Surging into the Sea Spirit Formation atop Mount Tangdao had already been sealed shut!
How could this be taken lightly?!
This was an exceedingly dire omen. What manner of catastrophe warranted such a measure? Li Ximing's first reaction had been to specifically send for Li Minggong... After all, with the northern battle shrouded in uncertainty, anything could happen next!
*How could it come to this...*
He had sat for merely a few breaths when crisp footsteps sounded outside. A sword-bearing man strode in from beyond. His complexion was slightly pale, yet it could not conceal his dashing air as a swordsman.
"Fellow Daoist Zhaojing!"
This was none other than Master Zhusheng of the State of Shahuang, who cultivated Yuzhen. Gesturing for Li Ximing to enter the inner formation with him, his expression turned complex. He swept his gaze over Li Ximing, discerning that the latter was in no great shape either, and whispered:
"During the clash at Luoxia, Hengzhu made their move, and the imperial preceptor of the State of Zhao, Wei Xuanyin, marched south as well... Fortunately, Fellow Daoist Xiao intervened, but in the end, Changxiao arrived too... They battled for quite some time. In the end, Wei Xuanyin proved too formidable... Kuiqi..."
He fell silent for a moment before continuing in a hushed transmission:
*We retreated from the north, fighting as we withdrew. From Luoxia to Tangdao in less than half a cup of tea's time, he spat blood three times... That blood... was completely white, turning into shrews. It was a ghastly sight...*
*Kuiqi?*
A chill gripped Li Ximing's heart. Before he could ask further, they arrived before a grand hall shrouded in dark light. No sooner had they stepped through the pale black halo than black smoke came rolling down like a torrent, cascading step by step down the stairs. Above, crows and magpies circled in the sky, perching on eaves and shrieking hoarsely.
As Li Ximing emerged, flocks of black crows circled downward, weeping and wailing as tears rained from them, only to be vaporized by the radiance of Mingyang radiating from his person, unable to draw near.
Reaching the gloomy hall, they found Tinglan standing guard before the entrance with tears in her eyes. Seeing them, she offered a slight bow and lifted her sleeves.
Purple qi erupted, shooting straight into the heavens. It ripped through the battered hall and pulverized stone and brick, ripping the roof off the grand hall in an instant and scattering debris everywhere. The crows scattered in panic, leaving a scene of devastation.
"What is this?!"
Li Ximing was taken aback. Tinglan shook her head and said in a hoarse voice:
"You are an imperial descendant. Entering an enclosed chamber where Mingyang holds a guest or weakened position while yin qi is imprisoned greatly favors Jueyin... You should not have come at all. But now... there is no need to care about such things. We have torn the roof away to dispel the feeling of imprisonment, if only to grant him some ease."
"How could it come to this!"
Li Ximing had considered that the Taiyang lineage might suffer casualties, but he had never imagined the dying one would be Kuiqi. His heart grew exceedingly heavy. Tinglan shook her head and said with bitter resentment:
"Circumstances shifted; who could have foreseen it? That talisman should never have yielded such an outcome. The other side had seen through our trump cards long ago, harmonizing their divine abilities and modifying their arts... If I may speak bluntly..."
Hearing this, Li Ximing knew matters looked dire. Fortunately, she broke off before finishing. He held his tongue and steeled himself to follow her inside, immediately greeted by fitful coughing and ragged, heavy breathing:
"Hoo..."
The sound of breathing seemed like gasping pants, or like some wounded raptor—a crow, an owlet, a falcon—crying out fiercely, yet producing no great volume. If anything, it sounded like laughter.
Now that the hall stood open, a fierce wind swept through, swirling a sea of dark debris—black feathers of every size tumbling across each other in the wind, burying the ground past the ankles. Reaching the dais, he saw a black-robed man collapsed before the steps. A talisman was affixed to his chest. His half-lidded eyes were pale gray as he lay staring at the sky, coughing incessantly.
It was indeed Kuiqi.
Master Houfu kept his eyes tightly shut, uttering not a word as he stood to the side like a specter. Li Ximing stole only a glance, not daring to look too closely, and whispered:
"I practice Mingyang, after all; perhaps I might be of some help."
The man above showed no reaction, coughing without pause. Tinglan sat quietly below the steps and said:
"We have considered it. Between Jueyin and Mingyang, one must always overpower the other. Wei Xuanyin is a Great Master; your intervention would only worsen matters."
As the two spoke, Kuiqi slowly turned his head. This Master, once ever proud and haughty, now had his cheek pressed against the freezing stone steps, stripped of all dignity. He rasped:
"Li Ximing..."
"Senior..."
Kuiqi fell silent for a breath, panting as he asked:
"Your family and... and..."
At that point, he suddenly convulsed, his lips parting wide and his eyes glazing over. Between his teeth, Li Ximing caught sight of a crimson tip of flesh slowly poking out.
The grotesque thing vanished in a flash, swiftly swallowed back down by Kuiqi. Forcing a smile, he said:
"Fellow Daoist held off Helian Wujiang and suffered heavy losses. We are deeply grateful. It is only that the precious disc carries great symbolic weight and cannot be lightly bestowed. As for that wisp of essence, I shall have Houfu retrieve it and give..."
Li Ximing could only say:
"Senior, please rest and recuperate in peace..."
Kuiqi shook his head. He surprisingly refrained from mentioning anything extraneous, speaking in a grave, heavy voice:
"Zhugong may have done many wrongs and had her share of shameful deeds... but at Mount Xiaoshi, she did her utmost. Should the Kong clan seek restoration, regarding their mountain sect... I hope Fellow Daoist can lend your aid."
Li Ximing naturally understood his meaning.
Though the Kong clan had fallen, Kong Tingyun remained unaccounted for, secluded somewhere in closed cultivation. She was someone exceptionally close to the Li family—a dear friend of Li Yuanjiao in those former days!
Although Zhugong's present whereabouts were unknown, after two grueling battles, there was no telling how severe her injuries were. Even if she survived, she would hardly have much strength left. Taiyang's rewards were handsome, and perhaps she could recover swiftly, but if Kong Tingyun were to reappear one day, her ties with the Li clan could well spark upheaval!
In truth, Zhugong had a foul reputation and a tarnished history; if she were to gather her lineage now and flee back to the East Sea, no one could truly reproach her. Yet even on the brink of death, Kuiqi still clung to that shred of dignity on behalf of the Taiyang lineage, hoping that the worst-case scenario might remain within control...
*Yet even if Kong Tingyun truly breaks through, she will be nothing more than an early Violet Palace cultivator. Against Zhugong, who is backed by the entire Taiyang lineage... how could she be so reckless? Why must he even ask this...*
Li Ximing sighed internally, but answered aloud:
"Kong Tingyun is not an aggressive or overbearing person... Senior worries too much..."
Kuiqi parted his mouth once more:
"...From now on... the Li clan will face the north directly..."
Yet having spoken only this single sentence, that point of crimson pushed resolutely out from between his teeth again. The tip of flesh looked smooth and slimy, covered with faint white veins, continuously expanding and contracting. The black-robed man struggled to swallow it back down, pounding his chest, but finally turned onto his side and vomited toward the ground.
"Bleargh..."
He spewed blood across the floor.
Among the wide spray of crimson and black blood, an oval object tumbled out, bouncing resiliently twice across the floor before coming to rest at Tinglan's feet. Only then did Li Ximing see it clearly.
It was his heart.
The heart contracted and beat vigorously. White vessels dilated across its surface, and from within a thick blood vessel emerged a tiny, fuzzy white snout, which shrank back timidly like lightning.
Whether restrained by the hall's formations or suppressed by the talisman, though the spilled blood turned increasingly white, it did not manifest into anomalies. Kuiqi immediately snatched up the heart, coating his hands in blood. Grasping it with four fingers, he left a single finger dangling limply over it.
The dying man stirred weakly for a moment. He asked nothing more, exhaling quietly:
"Tangdao... is not to be defended. Fall back, then."
Li Ximing had waited so long, and at last he heard these words. He watched as that bloodstained hand gave a slight wave and slowly loosened. The heart slipped onto the floor, rolled over, and transformed into a pregnant white shrew clutching its swollen belly, struggling and squeaking plaintively:
"Squeak... squeak-squeak..."
Kuiqi looked up toward the heavens. In the distant sky, layer upon layer of black mist was rising, plunging the midday sky into sudden gloom. Tinglan and Li Ximing both looked up as well, staring northward with conflicted eyes.
As the black mist surged skyward, dragons resembling iridescent sunset clouds danced within the gloom. As though their mission was fulfilled, they let out roars that sounded both jubilant and mournful, plunging swiftly back toward the earth.
*Clang... clang... clang...*
At the same time, the Great Hekui Bronze Sword at Kuiqi's waist began trembling frantically, letting out wails of grief one after another. Violent gales raged over the mountain. From the corner of the black-robed man's eye, a tear suddenly spilled, and he cried out in anguish:
"Revered Master!"
As black mist billowed across the distant horizon, boundless black radiance erupted from the back of his head. Dark clouds and flocks of owls formed a tempest piercing the sky; giant ravens wailed with piercing, soul-shaking cries, sorrowful and shrill, while owlets darted everywhere amid jagged yin wraiths.
Amidst the billowing black light, the man began vomiting blood. Liver, spleen, lungs, and stomach fled one after another from his mouth. The talisman could no longer suppress his body; leaping from him, it transformed into a large-eyed owlet, its bright gaze fixed upon the sky.
The owlet cast only a single look before swiftly turning its head back. Cooing with cries that sounded both ecstatic and terrified, its beak struck with lightning speed and swallowed his eye.
In that split second, the dying man on the ground raised his head. His remaining eye bulged, bloodshot, burning with indignation and fury. His parted lips produced no sound, yet a wailing, tragic shriek issued from the owlet's beak, soaring into the heavens, wicked and insidious:
"The radiance of Taiyang shall return no more!"
The owlet beat its wings and took flight, circling in the air. The cry he had voiced with his last thread of life remained trapped within this small inner formation, echoing again and again, never to find release:
"The radiance of Taiyang shall return no more! Return no more!"
Chapter 910