The Jianghu's Time-Honored Routine: Falling Off a Cliff

The terrain here was like a maze—sheer cliffs, deep ravines, karst caves, and swamps crisscrossed one another. The poisonous miasma was so thick that one could barely see beyond fifty feet, and perception was severely disrupted.

Even more troublesome were the swarms of venomous insects.

Though they posed no threat to a Title Douluo, their sheer numbers were enough to obstruct vision, drain Soul Power, and fray one's nerves.

Yet Zhou Qiubai moved through this place like a fish in water.

Although the poisonous miasma obscured his sight, it could not stop sound from carrying.

He could clearly "hear" the changes in the terrain and "hear" Tang Hao's footsteps.

The Floating Cloud Nine Palace Steps displayed astonishing adaptability amid this tangled terrain.

The more closely Tang Hao pursued him, the more shocked he became.

This youth's control over his surroundings was simply beyond comprehension.

Those seemingly hopeless stretches of terrain became escape routes beneath his feet.

Those lethal poisonous mists instead became his cover, allowing him to pass through the toxic fog like a ghost.

"Can't drag this out any longer." A ruthless glint flashed through Tang Hao's eyes.

His fifth Soul Ring lit up abruptly with black light.

The power of a ten-thousand-year soul skill surged forth like a tsunami. The surrounding poisonous miasma was instantly scattered, while the venomous insects turned into ashes in droves.

Tang Hao's body suddenly swelled, and his speed increased by thirty percent.

This time, he was truly prepared to kill.

Zhou Qiubai felt the world-destroying pressure behind him, and his heart nearly leaped from his chest.

He could not escape.

The absolute strength of a Title Douluo left him nowhere to run.

But at that moment...

A crazed gleam flashed through Zhou Qiubai's eyes.

He stopped running and actually turned to face Tang Hao.

His white robes fluttered as he raised his longsword high, its tip aimed straight ahead.

At that moment, all the Soul Power in his body poured into the blade like a raging flood.

Then he struck.

It was neither one of the Qiuming Eighteen Styles nor any known sword technique.

It was "intent."

A Sword Intent of lonely vastness and desolate autumn leaves burst forth with all his strength.

The Sword Intent surged like a tide. It did not merely attack the flesh, but struck directly at the depths of the soul.

Tang Hao abruptly froze.

Not because he had been blocked, but because he had been "startled."

For that instant, he seemed to stand in a late-autumn wilderness, with fallen leaves whirling through the air and a silence so deep it made the heart tremble.

An inexplicable sorrow welled up within him—the grief of Ah Yin's sacrifice, the humiliation of being expelled by his sect, the helplessness and hardship of a half-life spent adrift.

It lasted only an instant, but for Tang Hao, that instant was enough.

Taking advantage of Tang Hao's momentary lapse, Zhou Qiubai shot toward the right like an arrow loosed from its bow.

There lay a bottomless cliff, with poisonous miasma below so dense it had nearly solidified.

"Trying to jump off a cliff?" Tang Hao sneered and struck out with his palm without mercy.

The force of his palm roared like an enraged dragon, bearing straight down on Zhou Qiubai's back.

Yet Zhou Qiubai neither dodged nor evaded, taking the blow head-on.

"Pfft!" Blood sprayed wildly from his mouth, and it felt as though his internal organs had been shaken out of place.

Yet borrowing the force of that palm strike, his speed surged once more, and he plunged like a meteor into the abyss of churning poisonous miasma.

Tang Hao rushed to the cliff's edge and stared unblinkingly at the rolling poisonous miasma below, his brows tightly furrowed.

He could sense that Zhou Qiubai was still alive.

But the miasma below was far too dense, and the terrain was so complex that it inspired dread. If he rashly pursued him, even a Title Douluo could fall into danger.

More importantly...

Tang Hao lowered his head and looked at his palm.

There was a faint sword mark on it.

It had not been cut by a sword, but by Sword Intent.

That strike just now—the Sword Intent the youth had erupted with in that desperate situation—had actually injured him, a Title Douluo?

Though it was merely a superficial wound and he had failed to defend at full strength due to a momentary lapse.

It was still enough to give him pause.

"Such talent, such temperament..." Tang Hao muttered, cold light flickering in his eyes. "If he cannot be used by the Clear Sky Sect, he will surely become a great threat in the future."

The killing intent in his heart grew even stronger, but in the face of that dense poisonous miasma, he ultimately chose not to pursue.

It was not because he was afraid, but because he felt there was no need.

He had used seventy percent of his strength in that palm strike.

A level-27 Soul Grandmaster taking a Title Douluo's seventy-percent strike head-on would be crippled even if he did not die.

Coupled with falling into such a perilous place, his chances of survival were infinitesimal.

Even he would face a near-certain death if he jumped from here without using Soul Power.

"What a pity."

Tang Hao shook his head and turned to leave.

There was faint regret in his voice, but even more relief that the trouble had been resolved.

Death made things clean and simple instead.

He gave the bottomless abyss of poisonous miasma one final look, then turned and vanished into the dense forest from which he had come.

Wind rose atop the cliff, gently dispersing some of the scent of blood.

Darkness was the only thing he remembered as he fell.

The wind shrieked past his ears, while poisonous miasma enveloped everything around him.

Zhou Qiubai could feel himself falling endlessly. His internal organs felt as if they were being kneaded into pulp, the pain almost unbearable.

Tang Hao's palm force rampaged through his body. At least three ribs were broken, his left shoulder blade had shattered, and everything below his right knee had gone completely numb.

For an ordinary person, it would already be time to prepare the funeral feast.

Blood trailed behind him in a scarlet streak, only to be swiftly swallowed by the poisonous miasma.

He did not know how long he had been falling.

Perhaps only an instant, perhaps an entire lifetime.

When Zhou Qiubai finally crashed heavily onto wet, soft earth, he no longer even had the strength to cry out in pain.

His consciousness struggled at the edge of darkness, like a drowning man grasping at his last straw.

"Can't pass out."

If he passed out, he would truly die.

When Zhou Qiubai regained consciousness, the first thing he felt was the agonizing pain radiating from every limb and bone, pain that nearly crushed his soul.

But he was still alive.

That realization made him tug at the corner of his mouth, wanting to smile, only to cough up a mouthful of blood.

He lay on cold, damp earth, surrounded by poisonous miasma thick enough to suffocate him.

Purple-black mist rolled before his eyes, obscuring the sky and the cliff above.

Only through thinner patches of mist could he vaguely make out a sliver of grayish white.

Even in this near-death state, the perception carved into his bones continued to gather information about his surroundings.

"What a... sorry state."

Zhou Qiubai muttered to himself, his voice hoarse like a broken bellows.

He tried moving his fingers.

Piercing pain shot from his left shoulder.

Yet he still struggled, inch by inch, using his still-functional right hand to prop himself up.

His movements were despairingly slow, every tiny shift draining all his strength.

Sweat mixed with blood slid down from his forehead and dripped onto the rocks with a faint tap.

After half an incense stick's time, he finally managed to sit against the rock wall.

His breathing rasped like a broken bellows, especially piercing amid the deathly silent poisonous miasma.

Zhou Qiubai closed his eyes and examined his condition internally.

It seemed even worse than he had expected.