At the Xiji Ruins.
Above, the sky was a brilliant blue, and pure white clouds piled up in mountain-like heaps, layer upon layer.
A bird cried out as it flew past. The gale ruffled its feathers, frost encrusted its wings, and beneath them, the wasteland stretching for thousands of miles now shone with brilliant light.
Countless golden stamens and white petals linked together in chains, fluttering like endless prayer streamers as they shrouded the entire battlefield.
Beneath them, smoke and dust billowed. Two figures, one dark and one colorful, darted and wheeled about. Cold light flashed like a fleeting flower, blooming and fading in an instant.
A massive, ornate konghou stood motionless. Its colorful tassels shimmered, its jade ornaments gleamed, and its twenty-five strings played on their own, though no one touched them, filling the wilderness with clear, ringing music.
Cen Fangwo wore her hair in a high bun and was dressed in a colorful gown. Her gorgeous clothes fit her delicate figure perfectly. Light and graceful, she moved like a young deer in the woods or a butterfly among flowers, leaping and dancing with nimble, elusive steps. The flexible sword in her hand alternately straightened and curved, drooped and rose. As its blade flickered in and out, it was like a venomous snake darting from its den—cunning, unpredictable, and relentlessly attacking.
Pei Ling retreated again and again, each step stamping deep footprints into the muddy ground. Blood spattered around him. His black robe was already in tatters, riddled with cracks of every size, each one revealing torn and mangled flesh beneath. As blood streamed from his wounds, his strength, energy, and vitality steadily ebbed away.
The stone he had picked up earlier was already gone. Empty-handed, with nothing but his mortal body, he had almost no ability to fight