Once Again...

This substance was essentially solidified spiritual energy of heaven and earth, capable of replenishing a sorcerer's true power. The profound crystal He Lingchuan produced was of fine quality; as the sorcerer focused his qi, the spiritual energy within the crystal transformed into true power, pouring ceaselessly into his dantian. Feeling like a refilled reservoir, he hurriedly nodded. Just then, the backboard of a carriage was smashed to pieces. Lu Yao slammed into it with force, sending the planks flying and clearing his line of sight in an instant. From his vantage point, everything happening on the slope was in plain view. Were these miserable dogs still digging pitfalls for him? Lu Yao roared with fury, his eyes fixing on He Lingchuan, who was barking orders. *That little mongrel—playing an endless obstacle course with him? Did he really think Lu Yao was a man of mild temper?* Bolstered by the profound crystal, the rate at which the road froze grew significantly faster. In the blink of an eye, the first layer was laid down. It looked exceptionally smooth. Still uneasy, however, He Lingchuan told the sorcerer to reinforce it again. And reinforce it again. Thus, two more layers were spread in succession. Beneath the morning light, the ice-covered road gleamed with a brilliant white radiance. By the time this was done, the sorcerer was pale and swaying on his feet. Though the profound crystal supplied energy, a person's mental strength was finite; casting spells at such high intensity was a first for him, and in just a few dozen breaths he was utterly drained. Feeling hollowed out and mind-numbed, he wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for three days and three nights. He Lingchuan held out a hand to him. "Where's what's left of the profound crystal? Give it back." The crystal returned to him had shrunk by two whole sizes. Maotao hoisted the sorcerer onto horseback, ready to slip away with the rest of the group. No one noticed that behind the final line of carriages, Lu Yao suddenly halted and waved to a subordinate. "Bring me a bow!" A man beside him immediately presented a bow. Lu Yao summoned an archer and pointed at He Lingchuan. "Shoot the He kid dead! You know which one—the exceptionally cocky-looking brat!" The archer dared not hesitate. He notched an arrow and aimed up the slope at He Lingchuan. The bow was bolder and heavier than ordinary bows, its contours resembling spread bat wings. The curve of the bow tips was especially dramatic, while the bat's "head" sat right upon the riser—where the grip and arrow rest were. As the archer aimed, he suddenly found He Lingchuan's figure blurred into a haze, leaving him unable to lock on accurately. It was like trying to discern what lay beneath the wildly rippling surface of a lake. Origin power! The bow he held was a genuine magical artifact, but the origin power cloaking his opponent interfered with its effects, preventing it from exerting its full potential. Their side suffered from being mere outlaws of the rivers and lakes, with no origin power to bolster them. The archer tried twice and failed to pinpoint his target both times, cold sweat instantly beading across his forehead. Lu Yao glared at him from the side and barked, "What are you hesitating for?" The boy was pulling further and further away. With no way out either way, the archer gritted his teeth and shouted, "I offer three years of my lifespan!" No sooner had the words left his mouth than a sharp hook jutted from the riser—impossible to tell whether claw or fang—and pierced his palm with lightning speed. Yet the archer felt nothing. The strike did not shake the steadiness of his hands; instead, his spirits rallied, and his vision turned razor-sharp. The bystanders also saw a phantom ghostly eye manifest directly in front of the riser—deep crimson, round with vertical slit pupils, traced with distinct blood vessels. The pupil rolled left and right, then suddenly opened wide like a cat's eye in the dark, dilating to its limit. Looking through the spectral eye, the archer instantly saw He Lingchuan's back with complete clarity! With its power fully unleashed, the troublesome haze and play of light vanished. In the archer's sight remained only a simple, solitary quarry. *Now!* Aiming for the small of He Lingchuan's back, he released. With a sharp whistle, the feathered shaft shot from the bowstring. The entire window lasted barely two breaths before He Lingchuan's silhouette blurred once more as the origin power reasserted itself. The bow's special property was precisely to help its wielder seize the fleeting gap in origin power fluctuations to deliver a lethal blow. With the arrow loosed, the archer gasped violently for air as if he had run forty li without stopping. His former composure was gone, his face pale and his lips cyanotic. He was originally a sallow, lean, tall man of about forty. To the onlookers, the change in him was visible to the naked eye: The crow's feet at the corners of his eyes deepened, his eyes grew muddier, his chin sharper, his frame even more gaunt. All in all, the archer seemed to have aged three to five years in just a few breaths. Such was the price of using the bow. Unwilling to bear it himself, Lu Yao had made another pay it. The ghostly eye vanished from before the bow. Lu Yao snatched the weapon from the archer and handed it back to a henchman to stow away. "Smash through these damn carts!" *** Just past the bend ahead would be safety, temporarily taking them out of reach of the bandits' ranged attacks. He Lingchuan was about to spur his horse faster when the broken saber at his waist suddenly vibrated. At the same moment, a chill creeping up his back made his heart contract violently. His sixth sense shrieked in warning: *Something hair-raising is hurtling from behind, and it's fast!* Without time to think or look back, He Lingchuan whipped out his shield and hurled it behind him. It was as though a firm, steady voice prompted him in his mind: *Jump!* For reasons he could not fathom, He Lingchuan obeyed without hesitation. With a dull thud, the light shield—crafted from century-old mountain vines soaked in tung oil and shaped through nine cycles of steaming and sun-drying—shattered into pieces upon impact. That shield possessed both hardness and resilience; leave it undefended to be hacked with blades and axes, and it would still take an eternity to cleave apart, let alone blow apart in one strike. Yet against this strike, it could not withstand a single clash. After obliterating the shield, the projectile slowed only slightly before hurtling forward again. Just as He Lingchuan jumped from his mount, he hit the ground in a roll, nearly thrown flat on his face by momentum. Fortunately, this body was remarkably agile; taking several quick steps forward, clumsy and staggering though they were, he managed to forcefully brake his momentum atop a large boulder beside the cliff's edge. Ahead of him lay a bottomless abyss. A close call indeed. As for why he hadn't jumped to the other side—that would have been suicidal. On the other side were the churning hooves of several comrades' mounts; jumping there would likely have gotten him trampled into a cripple. Just as He Lingchuan was secretly congratulating himself on his choice, his footing vanished beneath him— *Motherfucker.* The boulder beneath his feet had given way. Standing here year in and year out, weathering wind and sun, it had long become brittle and hollow. How could it bear the forceful impact of a robust young man? Right then, it split cleanly into four or five chunks, plunging into the wicked abyss along with the culprit who had caused it all! He Lingchuan unleashed a torrent of curses. Why was it falling off a cliff again?! Could death show a little creativity for once?! Was the only difference between him and his original self that one was already dead from falling off a cliff, while the other was on his way down?! Yet even as he plummeted in free fall, spewing profanities, he caught sight of a white blur streaking over his horse's back, erupting into a cloud of bloody mist at the beast's neck!