Li Yixian watched the Daoist approach Qi WuHuo. He opened his mouth, wanting to urge Qi WuHuo not to do this, but found himself utterly unable to speak. In fact, he could barely move his hands and feet. While he was still struggling, the Daoist had already drawn near Qi WuHuo and raised a hand, summoning black winds that seemed to carry the shrill cries of tormented spirits.
The black wind turned into chains and bound Qi WuHuo hand and foot!
The Daoist's finger was just about to touch Qi WuHuo's brow.
At that moment, Qi WuHuo suddenly drove his knee upward. The zither shot into the air and smashed toward the Daoist. The man started in surprise. Qi WuHuo had already broken free of the black wind around him. Using the motion of thrusting up the zither to rise, he lunged straight into the old Daoist's arms. A flash of cold light, and the dagger he carried had plunged into the old Daoist's heart.
Clean and decisive, without the slightest hesitation!
Quick as a hare bursting from its burrow, quick as a falcon swooping down—no one had time to react.
The Daoist's eyes widened as the black wind around him dispersed.
Qi WuHuo's Primordial Spirit was exceptionally powerful, and he cultivated a majestic, upright Dao. He could vaguely see that the black wind around the Daoist was actually controlled by his Primordial Spirit, formed by blending his own primordial qi with another kind of heaven and earth Primordial Qi. Only then did Qi WuHuo begin to understand why the old man with the same surname as the Dao Ancestor had said that one had to be Complete Three Talents to cultivate.
And what it would be like to cultivate magic power without first reaching that state.
In the eyes of Qi WuHuo, who had inherited the old man's teachings, that magic power was no more substantial than a castle in the air.
With the strength of Qi WuHuo's Primordial Spirit, he could break through such crude spells outright.
The dagger pierced the Daoist's heart. Qi WuHuo leaned his weight into it, then gave his wrist a slight twist. The Daoist's face turned ghastly, and a sudden gale sprang up.
The Daoist, stabbed through the heart by Qi WuHuo, dissolved into the wind.
A yellow talisman was threaded onto the dagger.
Written on it in cinnabar were the words: [Edict of the Underworld Bureau of Fengdu: Spell of Substitution for Death and Return of the Soul]
Rustle!
The talisman pierced by the dagger burst into flame without a breeze. In an instant, it had burned away without leaving even a trace of ash. The next moment, the gale gathered again, and the Daoist who had been stabbed through the heart reappeared fifteen meters away. His face was deathly pale as he clutched his chest and sat there panting, staring at Qi WuHuo in disbelief. "Y-you... How could you break free of my spell..."
Qi WuHuo didn't answer. He spun around and retreated swiftly.
The hem of his blue robe fluttered up, then fell.
He reached out with his right hand and snatched up a bow that one of the students had used to demonstrate the Six Arts of the Gentleman.
He took a step back, nocked an arrow, and drew the bow without hesitation.
He didn't answer.
I draw my bow until it's round as the full moon!
The bowstring shuddered violently.
Twang!!!
An arrow shot straight toward the Daoist's brow!
Other people might have had their senses clouded by the Daoist's trickery, but not him!
"You!!!"
The Daoist's expression changed abruptly.
He cast a Wind-Driving spell and swept a long way aside. Seeing the youth continue to fire arrows in rapid succession, each strike ruthless and direct, he looked nothing like a country boy, but rather like a veteran who had once commanded a war—cold and brutal. His Primordial Spirit was powerful, and his many spells couldn't deceive him. In the end, the Daoist could no longer worry about his current condition. He slapped his forehead, and a streak of light flew from between his brows, transforming into a Black Iron Sword Box that radiated blue light. With a ringing chorus, streams of light shot out, Sword Qi surging as it tore every arrow to pieces.
Qi WuHuo paused.
He stared ahead. Sword Qi gathered like a storm, tearing open the earth itself. The Daoist stood in its midst like an immortal god, surrounded by the roiling Sword Qi. It surged and shifted with a mournful howl. The entire courtyard grew oppressively stifling, making it hard to breathe.
Qi WuHuo watched the storm of energy before him.
His Primordial Spirit was strong enough to see the flow of primordial qi, but he still couldn't command his own qi freely. He had no way to break through that gathered current of energy. The arrows couldn't even come within three feet of the Daoist. The arrows he loosed at high speed simply froze in midair, trembling with a buzzing sound, then bent outward from the middle and shattered all at once.
Qi WuHuo released his grip on the bow.
"So this is... a divine power."
The Daoist's hair had come loose, and a greenish aura appeared on his face.
"I underestimated you!"
"Such a vicious little brat, especially at your age!"
"I hadn't wanted to use a magic treasure, but today I'll butcher you, you heretical cultivator, and take your soul. I can refine it into several more years of my life!"
Everyone looked frightened and terrified, even Li Puyü. Qi WuHuo had fired arrow after arrow and displayed remarkable skill, but against such immortal arts, he was still far outmatched. He had no chance of winning. The storm around them seemed to swell larger by the moment.
Qi WuHuo lowered the bow and borrowed a sword from a Li family student who stood frozen with fear nearby.
Just then, perhaps stirred by the howling wind, he saw a wooden token bobbing beneath the Daoist's robe. A talismanic character on it writhed like a dancing thunder serpent. Qi WuHuo's eyes suddenly narrowed. He had seen that character before—
Five years ago.
During that nightmare of a calamity that had ravaged the world.
During that great disaster wrought by the Demon Kingdom, when a million common folk had perished.
The Daoist, who had finally caught his breath, cast a spell. "Raging winds, rise!"
The gale swelled.
He slapped the sword box, about to unleash a storm of Sword Qi on the wind, a divine power that could reap heads like stalks of wheat. He pointed one hand toward the sky and formed a sword sign with the other, directing it at the youth whose calm expression still stoked his rage. He had intended to speak the spell all in one breath, but this brat was far too strange.
He wasn't a True Person yet.
Better to play it safe.
So he began Stepping on the Big Dipper, chanting the divine incantation:
"Primordial Beginning, secure and pacify; proclaim to all spirits. True officials of the peaks and rivers, divine spirits of the mountains."
"The Most High has issued his command: search out and seize the wicked spirits!"
"Haste, as decreed by the law!"
This was a true-transmission incantation, a summons addressed to the local earth deities and mountain gods in all ten directions, borrowing their power to destroy demons and vanquish evil.
It also forged a bond with them, the foundation for performing rites within the earthly realm.
It was the fundamental divine incantation.
A great formation had already begun to take shape beneath his feet.
The storm suddenly surged, as though dark clouds were pressing down on the city, threatening to crush it.
Even the Daoist himself was astonished.
When had he acquired such a mighty divine power?
Ha, perhaps that little thief has goaded me into it. Anger is the fire of the heart; the heart is one's nature. My magic power must be stronger for it.
He didn't think it through any further. Pointing at Qi WuHuo, he was almost carried away by his own confidence as he shouted:
"Kill!!!"
The low howl of the wind grew more and more ferocious. Gust after gust seemed to spring forth at the Daoist's command. Wind swept the clouds, and the clouds collided, building a force almost like thunder. The entire Li family compound, even the town below the mountain, seemed to be shrouded in an unimaginable storm, a tempest like a natural disaster. The trees thrashed and roared.
In that instant, the wind turned fierce and violent. The next moment, it abruptly gathered and crashed down.
Its rumbling roar seemed to exceed the storm's very limit.
Like spears, like hammers—slashing and smashing!
The Daoist was caught completely off guard.
The boundless, terrifying storm swept him up, bound him, then slammed him down with brutal force!
The wind howled harder.
The bells beneath the eaves rang without pause.
The tremendous pressure of the wind left the Daoist's face blank. The blood in his five viscera and six bowels surged backward, and he opened his mouth and spat out a mouthful of vital blood.
"H-how can this be..."
The Li family members, who had thought they were doomed, were stunned by the sudden turn of events.
The Daoist had been smashed so hard that his five viscera and six bowels churned, leaving him unable to move. On the jade tablet that had fallen from him, he saw a name light up, then burn fiercely. His expression slowly froze.
This was a priceless treasure, inscribed with the many mountain gods and earth deities once encountered by the founder of his lineage.
The sect's practitioners could use it to perform earth-spirit incantations and send their voices in all directions, summoning the aid of earth deities. Without it, they had neither a bond nor the lingering grace of their founder. Mountain gods and earth deities lived freely in their own domains, and were not even subject to the Celestial Emperor's rule. Who would come out of their way to help? Even with an ancestral bond, it was only the connection of a single meeting. Their favor was limited; asking them to intervene even once would use up some of that goodwill.
Yet now, the golden light was burning so fiercely...
The Daoist struggled, unable to move.
Boom!!!
The gale gathered, and the wind pinning down the Daoist vaguely formed an enormous tiger's paw, still radiating storm winds. The gale spread behind it, tearing apart streams of light as it went. The Li family members turned pale. Through the wind blotting out the sky, they thought they could make out a black tiger ten zhang tall, its eyes like the sun and moon, cold light shining from the dark, oppressive mist.
Li Puyü's face was deathly pale.
The others' legs went weak. Some collapsed beside the tables; others sat on the ground.
Only the blue-robed youth stood there, his hem stirring in the wind as he met the gaze of the terrifying tiger's true form.
The tiger lowered its eyes.
The youth raised his head.
For a moment, silence reigned in every direction. No one dared make a sound.
The Daoist's blood-choked whisper rang like thunder.
"The foremost of the sixteen mountain gods of the Lianhe Mountain Range..."
"Lord of Lianhe Mountain, forgive me! Forgive me..."
Li Puyü and Li YueLin stood rigid, unable to make sense of what was happening. But Li Yixian, who had once traveled beyond these parts, understood the meaning of those words. His face turned ashen.
A mass of people collapsed with a rustle, overcome by fear and awe as they bowed to the Mountain God.
Footsteps sounded.
The storm parted before the tiger's phantom. A man eight feet tall strode out, a wine jug in one hand and a long spear held at an angle in the other.
He wore a bright yellow robe, his long hair falling in strands of black and white. His expression was impassive, his brows sharp. He strode forward, while the tiger's phantom behind him remained, gazing down as it paced after him. Real and unreal, its presence seemed to reach into the distant past. Just as everyone was nearly suffocating, Li Puyü noticed that Qi WuHuo hadn't bowed. Anxious, he reached out and tugged at Qi WuHuo's hem, even as he himself bowed.
Amid the oppressive silence, the spirit suddenly smiled and lifted the wine jug in his hand.
He teased the blue-robed youth:
"Last night, we agreed you'd come find me for a drink today."
"You were late."
"So I had to come find you myself."
His tone was easygoing.
Everyone's thoughts froze in that instant.
Before you continue