A swirl of blood, flesh and wood debris scattered throughout the atmosphere as Zi Yao’s storm of sword force reduced Huo Jin into nothing. Even his Nascent Soul couldn’t escape. Clearly, while she benefitted from her blood poison incapacitating her foe, Zi Yao had been concealing her strength. Otherwise, Huo Jin’s exceedingly resilient body couldn’t have collapsed so easily.
‘We’ve been tricked.’ The Sacrificial Knives realized, and immediately attempted to contact their Nascent Soul superiors. Alas, blocked by formless barriers, their Spiritual Senses didn’t travel—another proof that from the start, they’d been playing in the palm of the White Immortal sect’s hands. More specifically, Zi Yao and Lord Hanxing’s.
Although they could rely on weaker versions, without a Nascent Soul superior to lead them, the Sacrificial Knives couldn’t execute the Muffled Scream of the Phantom God. And without an array of that caliber, they stood no chance against the likes of Zi Yao. Perhaps even with it, they couldn’t get out on top. Aware of their miscalculation, the Sacrificial Knives fled in various directions, hoping that at least one could contact the leaders to warn them of the White Immortal sect’s treachery—they didn’t get far.
Zi Yao had barely raised her right hand, that a colossal sword of golden flames pierced through the sky. A miniature array of flame swords coiled the gigantic blade—shattering a grim mass of darkness—and bringing alongside them the clean execution of Guang Fanghu’s assassins. Though they couldn’t sense the demise of their closest superiors, as Sacrificial Knives, the fleeing assassins knew what the darkness’ destruction represented: death to all of the formation’s members.
Despair caught them in flight, a rare sentiment for one trained from the cradle to suppress their emotions. Fortunately, the golden flame sword array wouldn’t let them flounder for long, and with irresistible momentum, dropped in a diagonal arc—sending a flurry of flaming sword force to tear through the fleeing Knives—and burn their remains into ashes.
As the ashes dispersed, a lanky middle-aged man—Guang Fanghu—appeared. His bloodshot eyes flashed with unprecedented fury. A fury aimed at one person only: Zi Yao.
“It was you!” The Yang Patriarch’s face twisted into a horrid grimace. And with a series of large strides, he crossed the distance separating him from his spouse—who faced him with the same callous indifference that ruined Huo Jin’s existence.
“The Withered Wood ecstasy is the yin-yang cultivation method you comprehended from the Nine Paths of Yin and Yang, but because you found it too repulsive, you refused to practice it. How did it fall into Huo Jin’s hands and lead to the establishment of that accursed Flower Plucking gang? You know the answer to that better than I do. Not only did you use it to fuel Huo Jin’s thirst for revenge, but you also used his atrocities as the perfect cover for the evils committed by all the abominations you’ve created!
That in itself is irrelevant. But it was also you who convinced me to delay the extermination of the Soaring Crane mountain till we could ensure the moral high ground. You, who prevented any probe of the Dark Moon cult’s forces. You…who handled the logistics of this year’s screening protocol, enabling squads of assassins to infiltrate our ranks! You…all you! Is this the moral high-ground you were referring to?” As the words slid off Guang Fanghu’s tongue, the aggressiveness in his tone went through the roof, and the pressure of his cultivation base erupted in full-force.
Coiling arcs of flaming swords shifted around the patriarch’s form, and though he only stood an inch away from his wife, a world seemed to divide them.
“Of all the days, of all the events, you chose this one! Zi Yao, you can carry out any plot you fancy that I don’t give a damn. But how dare you…how dare you execute a scheme that puts my daughter’s life at risk? If anything happens to my Ling’er, I will rip out your stone-cold heart and destroy you…in body and soul!” Guang Fanghu’s tone carried no jest. His warm breath brushed Zi Yao’s cheeks. But though she didn’t doubt the gravity of the words, the Yin Matriarch didn’t bat an eyelid. Better, she welcomed the aggressiveness with an unapologetic smile.
“Empty threats. You wouldn’t dare. Your love for Ling’er stems from your love for me. It might have transcended it, but the root is still there. Dong Wei, you didn’t choose me. I chose you. Not because you are surnamed Dong, but for I know…all I can expect from you. Potential, willpower, actions and reactions. All you are capable of is as clear to me as my reflection in the mirror. I know you like the back of my hand. This petty attempt to intimidate me is…pointless.” Using Guang Fanghu’s given name, Zi Yao said. Throughout the cultivation world, even in the Dong and Zi clans, there were only two people that still occasionally referred to him as such: Hanxing and Zi Yao. The two also happened to be the most frustrating individuals he ever had to deal with. Little did he know that Xinzi would later join that short list, making him regret the times when he only had to worry about these two.
“A’Wei. The thing I like most about you is the unrelenting Dao Heart that pushes to transcend yourself for those that matter most to you. For me you exceeded your Qi Refinement limits, for your father, you went a step further in Foundation Building and Pulse Condensation. For Ling’er you broke your Dao Fog and unlocked Dao Revelation potential. For all these, though you may not be the most gifted, you are the most suitable for me.
Knowing you, why would I put our child’s life on the line for a measly sect war. My Purple Veils have been watching out for Ling’er. If anything threatened her, they would have taken action.” The calm and confidence with which Zi Yao expressed herself made her words difficult to doubt. And as the co-master of the White Immortal sect, Guang Fanghu knew of the Zi clan’s secret force: the Purple Veil guard.
Unlike other Zi clansmen, the Purple Veils cultivated the techniques received by their ancestors from the Mourning Shadow hall, and acted as bodyguards and assassins for the Zi clan’s leader. Zi Fengxiu, Dong Ling’s dead maid, was one such guard. Aside from the contemporary masters of the Dong and Zi clans—who till now always became the co-masters of the White Immortal sect—no one was allowed to take notice of the Purple Veils’ existence.
Lord Hanxing had access to this info, for he was once the co-master of the White Immortal sect alongside Lady Ziyun who, at the time, controlled the Purple Veil guard. Guang Fanghu wanted to believe that Zi Yao didn’t deceive him. That from the start, she took Dong Ling’s safety into consideration. But no matter how hard he tried, the sect master couldn’t suppress the thought that there was no one Zi Yao wasn’t willing to sacrifice for the sake of her aspirations.
Was he right? Was he wrong?
Neither the deadpan eyes nor the inscrutable smiles gave any insight to what went on in the Yin Matriarch’s heart. In other circumstances, Guang Fanghu would have let his suspicions die. But for now, he’d remain on maximum alert.
“For your sake, I hope so,” Guang Fanghu said and glided past his wife. Little did he know that as he walked by, a flurry of conflicting emotions flashed in Zi Yao’s eyes. At that time, a great white sword descended from the sky, and in an eruption of mystical fog, Lord Hanxing appeared before the feuding couple.
“Ah, children, don’t lose your tempers. Our future successes will rely on your harmony. The time has come for our White Immortal sect to dispose of its last Dongli rival, and make a statement to the entirety of the Yanzhou Province.” Lord Hanxing’s wrinkled face beamed, his lips curled into a wicked grin, and he balled up his left fist.
“Today we show them…why we reign.”