Escape from the Zhao Clan
Zhao Lie's screams, like the roar of a beast torn apart, echoed and lingered in the air above the Council Hall hall square. The sound was filled with the excruciating pain of his severed hand—blood gushed from the wound like a fountain, staining half of his dark brocade robe crimson, even soaking the Hetian jade Hotan Jade Pendant hanging at his waist, its once warm color dulled and losing its former luster; it concealed the resentment of losing a son—remembering Zhao Feng's destruction by the remnants of the Evil Sword Immortal, his body utterly No Existence, each roar laced with blood, his teeth grinding together, blood seeping from his gums; it was also imbued with the despair of the collapsing formation, sending chills down the spines of the surviving members of the Zhao Clan, their hands gripping their spears... His hand clenched involuntarily, his knuckles turning white, the wood grain on the spear shaft clearly visible. The bloodied severed hand landed heavily on the bluestone slab, his knuckles still tightly curled, his nails digging deep into the patterns of the Bronze Token, as if trying to squeeze this symbol of the Zhao Clan's power into his very bones. The Golden Runes on the token's surface, having lost their lifeblood, faded rapidly like the receding tide, leaving only a dark piece of metal, stained with dark red blood, gleaming coldly in the sunlight, like a piece of abandoned Scrap Iron. It intertwined with the winding bloodstains on the ground, creating a jarring scene, even staining the Green Moss in the corner of the square a dark red, emitting a faint fishy smell.
The eight Clan Elder stood frozen in place, their faces paler than the frost of winter, even the white hair at their temples trembled slightly, and the wrinkles at the corners of their eyes seemed etched with shock. They stared at the broken Black Iron Flagpole —its surface as smooth as a mirror, still bearing the traces of a blue sword, the spiritual light flickering faintly at the break, as if mocking the fragility of this thousand-year-old formation; they stared at the dissipating Golden Dragon Phantom in the air— Golden Light Spots falling like shattered stars, turning into blue smoke upon hitting the ground, leaving not even a trace of spiritual energy, as if the protective divine Divine Beast that had shaken the formation for centuries and could withstand thousands of armies had never appeared; then they stared at the groaning disciples on the ground—some clutching their bleeding shoulders, blood seeping from between their fingers, spreading large patches of dark red on their clothes; others had broken spear shafts, the broken ends still bearing the eerie green traces of "Corrosive Heart Poison," their black tight-fitting clothes and blue robes stained with blood. Soaked in filth, his once straight back was now hunched over, his former majesty No Existence, and he didn't even have the strength to lift his head. His hand holding the cane trembled uncontrollably, the cracks on the jade tip spreading down the shaft, tiny stone fragments stuck in the cracks, the cracks on the Jade Hairpin reflecting the sunlight, refracting tiny Light Spots, all silently telling their disbelief: that was the Zhao Clan's "Dragon Locking Array," passed down for thousands of years, nourished by the Essence Blood of hundreds of generations of clansmen, the foundation protecting the clan, capable of withstanding the full force of a high-level immortal cultivator's attack, the array's core was inlaid with three Spirit Crystals that had absorbed a thousand years of Spiritual Qi, ordinary attacks couldn't even break through the array membrane; plus the trump card, the "Clan Suppressing Grand Array"—a trump card that could only be activated by the clan leader's bloodline, capable of summoning Golden Dragon Phantom phantom, which had withstood the siege of the Demonic Cult Sect a hundred years ago, yet it couldn't even last half an hour under Ren Xiaoyao's sword alone.
"Quickly! Send a message to the clan's elders!" The First Elder suddenly snapped out of his shock, his hoarse roar shattering the deathly silence of the square. His voice, noticeably strained, was like a bronze bell polished by sandpaper. His jade cane slammed heavily on the ground, cracks spreading along its shaft. Shards landed on the bluestone slabs with a crisp sound, particularly jarring in the quiet square, startling the sparrows perched on the eaves. The birds fluttered their wings, leaving behind a flurry of cries. "Request three Human Immortal Realm cultivators to come to our aid immediately! We cannot let Ren Xiaoyao escape!" Before his words even finished, his sleeve flicked, and a palm-sized bronze talisman shot out from within. The talisman's edges were engraved with intricate patterns... The dragon pattern, each scale clearly visible, had a dark red crystal embedded in its center—a communication core refined from the Essence Blood essence of cultivators. As it suddenly exploded in the air, a crimson plume of fire shot three zhang high, the flames carrying dense spiritual energy. Like burning clouds, it pierced through the ancestral land's clouds, condensing into a ferocious "enemy" character in the sky— the Zhao Clan's highest-level distress signal. It hadn't been used since the three elders joined forces to repel the Demonic Cult sect's invasion a century ago. Now, against the backdrop of the azure sky, it resembled a blood-red brand, exceptionally glaring, clearly visible even from villages several miles away. The villagers, looking up, were filled with fear and quickly shut their doors and windows.
The other seven elders, as if waking from a dream, hurriedly pulled out communication artifacts from their robes. These were seven palm-sized jade talismans with dragon patterns. The jade was smooth and lustrous like solidified cream, warm to the touch, as if one could feel spiritual energy flowing within it. The golden dragons carved on them had clearly defined scales and claws, and tiny rubies were embedded in their eyes, reflecting a dazzling light in the sunlight, lifelike as if they were about to take flight at any moment. The instant spiritual energy was injected, the jade talismans emitted a sharp buzzing sound, the sound piercing the eardrums, making everyone... Dizzy and disoriented, waves of pale golden spiritual energy pierced through the void like swift arrows, tearing through the spiritual energy layer of the ancestral land and heading straight for the forbidden area behind the mountain—a place shrouded in mist, with spiritual veins deeply embedded in the earth, perpetually shrouded by a pale purple barrier. Complex runes flowed across the barrier, making it the secret realm where the three elders cultivated in seclusion. Ordinary disciples weren't even qualified to approach it; if they mistakenly entered, they would be severely injured by the barrier's spiritual energy. Seeing this, the remaining Zhao family disciples on the plaza gripped their spears... Their hands finally stopped trembling, and a glimmer of hope rekindled in their eyes. Even their groans weakened. From childhood, they had heard from the elders of their clan that the three Immortal Realm cultivators were the Zhao family's true trump card. They usually hid deep within the spiritual veins of the back mountains. A hundred years ago, the three of them had single-handedly fought against five high-level Immortal cultivators from a major sect—Mo Chenzi, who controlled fire, could ignite earth fire that could burn the heavens. The flames were golden, their temperature high enough to melt even black iron; wherever they passed, vegetation turned to ash, and even stones could be scorched. Magma; Lingxuzi, who controls water, can summon rivers to overflow, the water freezing into ice that can freeze a cultivator's spiritual energy and meridians, rendering them immobile. He once froze an entire river into an ice bridge; the Poison Fairy, who refines poisons, can cover a hundred miles with poisonous gas. The gas is pale purple, and contact with it corrodes the meridians, making it difficult to neutralize even the most top-grade antidotes. Those poisoned often die in agony. The three's supernatural abilities are renowned throughout the cultivation world, the foundation upon which the Zhao family has stood for a century, unchallenged and unprovoked.
Ren Xiaoyao stood in the center of the square, the bloodstains on his white robes striking like red plum blossoms in the snow—blood splattered from his earlier fight with the Zhao Clan family disciples. Embers of black mist clung to his fabric, remnants of Evil Qi from his battle with the Evil Sword Immortal. The black fragments carried a faint fishy odor, rustling in the mountain wind as they fell, swirling in the air before dissipating into wisps of smoke upon touching the ground, leaving no trace, as if the evil aura had never existed. He looked towards the back of the Zhao Family Ancestral Land, where the clouds had begun to distort, as if stirred by an invisible hand, forming swirling vortexes. A faint spatial fluctuation rippled in the air—the aura of the Human Immortal Realm cultivator was approaching at an incredible speed, its vastness like mountains and seas, carrying an overwhelming pressure that even... The surrounding Spiritual Qi became stagnant, as if gripped by a giant hand, making it difficult to even breathe. The disciples in the square couldn't help but bend over, their chests feeling as if a huge rock was pressing down on them. He frowned slightly, not out of fear, but because he didn't want to get entangled here. The Evil Sword Immortal had been eliminated, but his remnants and Evil Qi had not yet been eradicated. The grudges with the Zhao Clan were merely minor details. If he were to fight three Immortal cultivators at the Human Immortal Realm head-on, it would not only delay the important matter of eliminating the remaining Evil Qi of the Evil Sword Immortal Immortal's lair, the "Myriad Evil Cave"—it was said that the cave also contained Evil Artifact forged by the Evil Sword Immortal. That Evil Artifact could absorb the Evil Qi of heaven and earth, and once it was unearthed, it would turn the Fang Yuan area into a living hell, with unimaginable consequences. It might also affect the villages at the foot of the mountain—those people were powerless, and if they were caught in the aftershocks of the battle, it would be a catastrophic disaster. This was not what he wanted.
"Want reinforcements?" Ren Xiaoyao's voice was as cold as ice, devoid of any warmth. His gaze swept over the panicked Zhao Clan family members, his eyes holding no killing intent, only a faint detachment, as if everything before him was irrelevant, not even Zhao Lie's screams reaching his ears. "I'll spare your lives for now. If you dare cause trouble again, next time it won't be as simple as just breaking a hand." The moment his words fell, he lightly touched the bluestone slab with his toes, his figure suddenly leaping into the air, his movements as light as a feather, without stirring up a speck of dust. His white robes unfurled in the air, like a white lotus lifted by the wind, pure and flawless. As the hem of his robes swept across the ground, it carried a few blades of grass severed by Sword Qi —the blades still clung to a faint blue spiritual light, swirling in the air before slowly drifting down. When they touched the spear shafts of the Zhao Clan family members, the eerie green poisonous light at the spear tips dimmed slightly, and even the black mist on the shafts dissipated somewhat, as if purified by the spiritual light.
Seeing this, Zhao Lie's eyes instantly became bloodshot, spreading like a spiderweb across the whites of his eyes, even turning his eyeballs reddish-purple, making him look exceptionally ferocious. He endured the excruciating pain of his severed hand, his left hand tightly clutching the wound, blood dripping from between his fingers, making a clear "drip-drip" sound on the bluestone slabs in the silent square, yet he still roared and lunged forward, even though each step aggravated his wound, causing him to tremble with pain, cold sweat soaking the fabric of his back: "Stop!" "Him! Don't let him get away! If he escapes, our Zhao Clan family will be utterly disgraced! We'll never be able to hold our heads high in the Cultivation Realm again!" The surviving members of the Zhao Clan were awakened by this roar. They all raised their spears, frantically channeling their spiritual energy into the shafts—the shafts, made of thousand-year-old Ebony Wood, gleamed with a deep luster, spiritual energy flowing between the grains, as if black mist were circulating within them, emitting a faint fishy odor—the poisonous gas of "Corrosive Heart Poison"; the eerie green light of "Corrosive Heart Poison" at the spearhead suddenly blazed brightly. The poisonous light was interspersed with tiny black lines, traces of the fusion of the Southern Xinjiang Miasma and hundreds of venomous insects. Just looking at it made one feel a tightness in the chest, dizziness, and even making breathing cautious. Dozens of Poisonous Ray, like snakes flicking their tongues, shot towards Ren Xiaoyao in the air with a piercing whistling sound. Wherever the Poisonous Ray passed, the air seemed to be corroded, leaving faint black trails. Even the Green Moss on the square was withered by the aura of the Poisonous Ray. The eight Clan Elder also exhausted their remaining spiritual power, condensing colorful chains at their fingertips—red, yellow, blue, green, cyan, blue, and purple. The seven-colored chains gleamed with an eerie light, each link engraved with tiny runes. The surface of the chains was also covered with fine poisonous barbs, which shimmered with black light. Once they touched the flesh, they could instantly seep into the meridians, corroding spiritual power, making it impossible for cultivators to even circulate their energy. They could only watch helplessly as the poison spread throughout their bodies, eventually dying in agony.
Ren Xiaoyao flicked his wrist, and the Carefree Sword drew a cyan arc in the air. The sword arc radiated a soft yet highly penetrating spiritual light, like a rising crescent moon, glowing faintly in the sunlight. Within the halo, the Mountain and River Phantoms were faintly visible—a sign of the fusion of Carefree Sword Intent and the Heaven and Earth Spiritual Qi, carrying the boundless power of nature, seemingly capable of encompassing mountains, rivers, lakes, and seas. A series of hissing sounds rang out as the Poisonous Ray was struck by the sword arc, instantly turning into wisps of cyan smoke. A pungent, putrid stench filled the air—the aura of the "Corrosive Heart Poison" being purified by the spiritual light. Those who smelled it couldn't help but frown. Some disciples even vomited on the spot, their faces turning deathly pale; at the broken ends of the colorful chains, the poison was enveloped in spiritual light, quickly turning into black mist and dissipating without leaving a trace, as if it had never existed. Taking advantage of the momentum, he leaped forward, increasing his speed by another third, leaving a faint blue afterimage in the air—the afterimage lingered in the air for a moment before slowly dissipating, like a shooting star rushing towards the ancestral gate. Even the wind couldn't keep up with his pace; the air currents stirred up by his robes even blew the fallen leaves at the edge of the square, causing them to swirl and fly far away, landing on the grass outside the wall.
Upon seeing this, the two immortal cultivators guarding the gate paled instantly—they had personally witnessed Ren Xiaoyao's power in breaking the formation; the image of his sword shattering the golden dragon and severing the flagpole was still vivid in their minds. Seeing him heading straight for the gate, they dared not be negligent. Simultaneously, they raised their hands, their spiritual energy surging into the stone lions before the gate. The Central Plains the lions' eye sockets instantly lit up, flowing like living creatures, like small blue snakes swimming within their eye sockets, emanating a chilling aura. Two dark blue beams of light shot from the lions' eyes, as thick as buckets, radiating icy spiritual energy fluctuations and tearing through the Sky-Rending Strike, aimed directly at Ren Xiaoyao's back. This was the last line of defense in the Zhao Family Ancestral Land, a rune technique nurtured with a hundred years of spiritual energy. Ordinary immortal cultivators would be injured upon contact, and even high-level cultivators would temporarily avoid its edge, daring not to meet it head-on. Ren Xiaoyao, however, neither dodged nor evaded. His Carefree Sword Intent surged suddenly, a thin shield of pale blue light forming around him. Faint cloud patterns, the traces of condensed Heaven and Earth Spiritual Qi, flowed like water, capable of dissolving most attacks. The beam of light struck the shield, producing a hissing sound, and blue light spots splattered down like shattered Ice Crystals, instantly dissipating into spiritual energy without leaving a trace. He didn't stop, passing straight through the gate. When the light from the shield brushed against the door panel, it even caused the golden dragon carved on the panel to tremble slightly—several scales inlaid with crimson gold fell off, clattering to the ground with a crisp sound. This contrasted with the rubies on the door panel, shattering luxury into a pile of pieces, making the Zhao Clan's current sorry state even more glaring. Even the gatekeeper's face turned pale, and his hand holding the magic weapon began to tremble.
At this moment, the spiritual energy fluctuations from the direction of the back mountain became increasingly clear. Three powerful auras pressed down on the plaza like dark clouds, even blocking out some of the sunlight. The world instantly darkened, as if a harbinger of an approaching storm. The Spiritual Qi in the air became even more stagnant, and one could even see the trajectory of Spiritual Qi flow—a sign that the Heaven and Earth Spiritual Qi would fluctuate when a high-level cultivator approached. Even the bluestone slabs on the plaza began to tremble slightly, and dust fell from the cracks. An old man in a gray robe stepped through the air, his hair and beard completely white, tied up with an ordinary wooden hairpin. The hairpin glowed faintly with spiritual light, clearly a magical artifact that could nourish spiritual energy and stabilize one's cultivation if worn for many years. In his hand, he held an ancient whisk, its filaments pale gold, each strand seemingly containing the Heaven and Earth Spiritual Qi. With a slight shake, it stirred up Array Spirit spiritual wind, which swept across the ground, swirling a few fallen leaves in the air. The spiritual energy that touched his body instantly turned to ashes, leaving not a trace, as if burned by an invisible flame. It was Mo Chenzi, one of the three Human Immortal Realm cultivators of the Zhao Clan, renowned in the Cultivation Realm for his fire-controlling Divine Ability. A hundred years ago, he had set Earth Fire to the Demonic Cult Sect's camp, leaving nothing but barren land within ten miles, the soil charred black. From then on, the name "Mo Chenzi" became the Demonic Cult's nightmare, making him famous overnight, and no one dared to provoke him lightly. His gaze swept across the mess in the square: broken flagpoles, scattered spears, bloodstains everywhere, and Zhao Lie clutching his severed hand and screaming in agony. His face instantly darkened, his spiritual energy tightened abruptly, the air seemed to freeze, and his voice carried the unique pressure of the Human Immortal Realm cultivator—a pressure like a mountain pressing down, causing the surrounding disciples to lower their heads, even their breathing becoming cautious, afraid of angering this hot-tempered elder. "Where is he?"
"He ran east!" Zhao Lie clutched his bleeding wound, blood dripping from between his fingers, forming a winding stream of blood on the ground. The stream flowed along the cracks in the bluestone slabs, leaving dark red trails like tiny blood snakes crawling across the earth. His voice was hoarse, as if sanded, each word filled with deep-seated hatred. Pointing in the direction Ren Xiaoyao had left, his eyes were bloodshot, almost dripping with blood. "Lord, you must kill him! He killed my son Zhao Feng, leaving no trace of his No Existence! Today he destroyed my great formation and severed my arm. This hatred is irreconcilable! If we don't kill him, my Zhao Clan will never be able to hold our heads high in the Cultivation Realm again, and our century-old foundation will be destroyed in his hands!"
Mo Chenzi snorted coldly, his voice filled with disdain and anger, as if he considered it a great humiliation for the Zhao Clan to be forced into such a predicament by a young man. With a flick of his whisk, golden threads drew an arc in the air, interspersed with faint Mars, which burned small scorch marks on the ground, wisps of smoke rising and a burnt smell filling the air. His figure transformed into a streak of light, even faster than Ren Xiaoyao had been—as the streak of light swept across the square, it stirred up a gust of wind, causing the robes of the surrounding disciples to flutter wildly, some even staggering backward and nearly falling to the ground. In an instant, it swept past the ancestral gate, heading east, even the birds in the sky... Startled by the gust of air, they scattered and fled, not daring to approach. However, when he chased after him to Qingfeng Valley outside the ancestral land, he only saw a faint trace of sword intent remaining in the air. That sword intent carried the all-encompassing power of the Heaven and Earth Spiritual Qi, like a thin veil, completely concealing Ren Xiaoyao's aura. Even the fluctuations of spiritual energy became weak and hard to detect, as if no one had ever passed by. Only a gentle breeze blew through the valley, rustling the trees on both sides. A few leaves severed by the Sword Qi were swept up, still bearing a faint blue spiritual light. They slowly fell to the ground, and the moment they touched the ground, the spiritual light dissipated, and the leaves turned into dust, merging with the soil in the valley, leaving no trace.
Mo Chenzi stood atop a cloud, his brow furrowed, his face so dark it seemed to drip water. His spiritual energy surged violently with rage, even churning the surrounding clouds. He formed hand seals, and Golden Runes condensed in the air, sparkling with tiny Mars. The runes were incredibly hot, scorching the surrounding air and causing even the distant vegetation to wither slightly—this was his "Sky Burning Tracking Technique," activated with his fire-controlling Divine Ability power. It was his trump card, a tracking technique crafted with immense cultivation. Normally, even a high-level immortal cultivator could be locked onto by the runes if they left even a trace of their aura, unable to escape. But the moment the runes touched that wisp of sword intent, they melted away like snow meeting the blazing sun, leaving not a single clue. It was as if the sword intent itself was of the same origin as heaven and earth, impossible to track. "What a ' Carefree Sword Intent '," he muttered to himself, a flicker of fear in his eyes, his tone filled with resentment and anger. "To actually borrow..." "The Heaven and Earth Spiritual Qi concealed his tracks; this cultivation level is even more formidable than the rumors suggest." He gazed at the continuous mountain range to the east—shrouded in mist and abundant with Spiritual Qi, with towering peaks and crisscrossing valleys, an excellent hiding place. Even if he wanted to search, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack, impossible to find the direction. With a cold snort, he gritted his teeth and said, "I'll spare you for now, but next time we meet, I'll make sure you perish here, so you know the power of my Zhao Clan's ancestral spirit, and you'll pay the price for what you've done today!" With that, he could only turn and return to the Zhao Family Ancestral Land. The spiritual energy around him trembled slightly with anger, and the golden whisk strands were restless due to their master's emotions. Only a gentle breeze remained in the valley, carrying a few withered leaves, swirling in the empty valley before gradually dissipating into the depths of the mountains and forests, leaving not even a trace of spiritual energy fluctuation.
Ren Xiaoyao, Wangyun Peak, seemed to sense the dissipation of the distant aura. The last trace of aloofness in his eyes faded, replaced by determination. He raised his hand to straighten his wind-blown robes, his fingertips touching the warm cloud patterns on his sword sheath. His gaze returned to the west—where the horizon was faintly shrouded in a layer of dark mist, a sign of the leakage of Evil Qi from the "Myriad Evil Cave."
Without the slightest hesitation, he tapped his toes against the blue stone once more, a streak of blue light piercing through the clouds, even faster than before. This time, his direction was unwavering; every streak of light extended towards the distant place where the evil energy was most concentrated. The spirit birds along the way were startled by this pure sword intent, flapping their wings and following him as if guiding his path; the spirit herbs in the mountains sensed the fluctuations in Spiritual Qi, their leaves swaying gently, as if silently bidding him farewell.
Sunlight pierced through the clouds, illuminating his swift figure. His white robes flickered in and out of view, like a streak of azure lightning traversing the heavens and earth. The grudges of the Zhao Clan and the threat from Mo Chenzi were left behind. At this moment, he had only one thought in his mind—to reach the Myriad Evil Cave before the Evil Crystal shattered, to cleanse all the Evil Qi, and to protect the peace of the millions of people below the mountain.