The sun hung high in the sky, pouring its light and heat upon the world without partiality. Neither old nor young, neither noble nor lowly were spared. Such great love was like indifference.
A fawn waded across a stream as a bird darted through the forest.
First, a dark red point of light appeared on the horizon. In the blink of an eye, it drew near.
A tail of flame stretched into a blazing line, as though a god had wielded a brush to cleave the sky.
Across thousands of miles of the Zhuang Kingdom's mountains and rivers, this fire line swept — until a beam of black light shot skyward, blocking its path.
A cruel connection established itself between heaven and earth. Primordial energy surged. From east, south, west, and north, killing formations erupted simultaneously!
The northeastern corner of the Zhuang Kingdom's sky was swallowed by dark clouds.
A clear day suddenly turned dim.
A muffled grunt echoed through the air: "Nine Sha Profound Yin!"
The point of light tangled with the sha-clouds for only a moment before plunging from the sky.
It fell faster and faster, growing larger and larger, until at last...
It screamed like a falling star!
...
The outskirts beyond Fenglin City rarely saw human traffic. There stood only a small Daoist temple, long since ruined and abandoned.
*Boom!*
The fire-point struck the earth, carving out a massive crater — but some force contained the blast, preventing the shockwave from spreading. When the rolling dust settled, a man in a flame-colored robe was revealed.
He had sword-like brows sweeping into his temples, a striking and handsome figure. His crimson robe bore intricate, archaic patterns — truly extraordinary. Only his disheveled hair and torn garments hinted at his predicament.
"To think that I, Zuo Guanglie, would die in such a backwater..." The flame-robed man's gaze swept the surroundings. With an inexplicable melancholy, he asked, "What is this place called?"
Between the sky darkening in broad daylight and the falling star, the beggar children sheltering in the ruined temple were already terrified out of their wits, kowtowing frantically before the temple gate. When one heard the question, he stammered: "I-Immortal Lord, this is the outskirts of Fenglin City. This temple... w-we don't even know its name."
Zuo Guanglie's fingers twitched, ready to erase these beggars from existence.
This was an age of great contention, where nations waged endless war. But in recent years, no battle had matched the ferocity of the great clash between Qin and Chu. Both sides had deployed nearly a hundred thousand cultivators. At the center of the battlefield, the river valley plain was stripped bare — the ground itself had sunk for a hundred li.
As a core figure on the losing side — especially one who had single-handedly pierced through Hangu Pass and nearly reversed the outcome — being hunted to the ends of the earth was only to be expected.
But these beggars were also beggars of the Zhuang Kingdom. That Zhuang had dared to secretly aid tyrannical Qin, allowing them to set an ambush within its borders... these people all deserved to die.
Yet Zuo Guanglie extinguished the sparks flickering at his fingertips.
"Zuo Guanglie, is this the measure of your character? Venting your rage on wretches whom no one in the world cares about?"
He murmured to himself, then sighed. "Go. All of you."
He turned away, hands behind his back, and fixed his gaze on the ink-black sky. His enemies were there — the powerful cultivators lurking in the shadows, closing in like wolves. Those were the people Zuo Guanglie wanted to kill!
The beggars fled as though pardoned. Only the one who had spoken hesitated, glancing back at the temple interior. His companion yanked him roughly: "Do you want to die?"
They ran as fast as they could — perhaps never in their lives had they run so desperately for their own sake.
Zuo Guanglie didn't shift his gaze, but his brow furrowed slightly. "You're not going to take your companion?"
Within the range of his spiritual perception, no secret could hide.
The temple's wooden idol was long gone — perhaps burned as firewood by the beggars. But beneath the offering table lay a beggar child, his life-force faint, motionless. He was clearly counting his days until death — this was why the other beggar had hesitated.
Leaving behind a burden while fleeing was only human nature. But Zuo Guanglie could not ignore it.
Those who walked off the battlefield knew best the meaning of comrades. Zuo Guanglie knew his body was nearly spent, but he would never forget what had carried him this far.
The beggars dared not refuse the mysterious immortal's command. They came scrambling back.
They ran with all their might, gasping for breath.
But in the eyes of those who observed this place from afar, they were no more resilient than ants, no faster than snails.
Truly... too slow!
*Swish! Swish! Swish!*
Dense, piercing screeches suddenly closed from the horizon.
Countless semi-transparent water arrows flew like a swarm of locusts, converged by some force and rained down upon Zuo Guanglie.
Water-element primordial energy surged madly through heaven and earth.
The semi-transparent arrow-rain formed a colossal funnel, obscuring half the sky!
This was the Qin military's signature large-scale destructive Dao technique — Myriad Streams Arrow Rain.
"They're here!"
Zuo Guanglie looked up at the sky. The fierce wind whipped his flame robe and long hair. He raised his right hand high, the wide sleeve falling back to reveal an arm carved like jade.
Pale — yet powerful.
A red orb of light was born in his palm. In the next instant, it blazed forth. Intense radiance flooded in every direction.
It was as though Zuo Guanglie had raised a sun in his single hand!
This was his original Dao technique — the one that had made him famous at the Yellow River Gathering when he was merely fifteen.
Solar Burst!
Countless semi-transparent water arrows refracted the descending light into a kaleidoscope of colors — and in the next instant, all were dyed red.
A red of unparalleled fury, of unparalleled blaze!
With Zuo Guanglie's right hand as its center, the sky for a hundred zhang in every direction was engulfed in red. The Myriad Streams Arrow Rain was swept clean.
This tableau was so magnificent that almost no one noticed the scattered ink-marks at its edges.
Before the Solar Burst could fully expand, countless arrows had already escaped and rained down. The running beggars fell one after another. Their bodies were riddled with penetrating holes.
They didn't even have the chance to scream before they died in an instant.
Life was so fragile.
"Indiscriminate slaughter — is that your Dao?" Zuo Guanglie's lips curled in mockery. It was unclear to whom he spoke, but his star-bright eyes gradually filled with a cold, biting fury.
"Whoever dares hold back when killing Zuo Guanglie is a thoroughgoing fool." With a voice like ice, a line of cultivators in black uniform robes drifted to the ground, sealing off all four directions.
Their leader had a gaunt face and pale skin. His black robe bore frost patterns at the hem.
He had narrow eyes, and they were fixed intently on Zuo Guanglie. "Mere ants — and you deigned to notice them?"
Even as he spoke, the black-robed cultivators behind him already formed hand seals. Their movements were eerily synchronized, as though cast from the same mold.
Eighteen semi-transparent water snakes materialized in an instant, shrieking through the air as they lunged at Zuo Guanglie.
From appearance to attack — not a single breath was wasted.
The Binding of the Kan Snake, a low-tier Dao technique, became extraordinarily lethal under their masterful control.
Zuo Guanglie's expression didn't change. He pulled both hands apart, and a blade of flame took shape in his grip.
"Gongyang Bai."
He casually wielded the flame blade, pivoted through the air several times, and sliced all the approaching water snakes in two.
A Dao technique of this level — he no longer needed hand seals at all.
"Since you've gone to the trouble of deploying the Nine Sha Profound Yin Formation, why waste both our lives with such tedious tricks?"
"Please do not mistake my... respect!" Gongyang Bai spread his clasped hands and thrust them upward. "Rise!"
The severed bodies of the water snakes did not dissipate. Instead, they leapt up — tails growing heads, split heads growing tails.
One became two, two became four... Under the influence of the Nine Sha Profound Yin Formation, the snakes grew fiercer.
This was an entirely new variation of the Binding of the Kan Snake — never before seen. It had breathed new life into the technique, expanding its applications vastly. It was surely the fruit of the Qin military's painstaking research.
Its name was Chaos Serpent Den.
*Hiss... hiss... hiss...*
The sound was maddening.
Countless vicious water snakes surrounded Zuo Guanglie. As far as the eye could see, he was trapped in an endless serpent pit!
He seemed to be in a desperate position.
But his voice still rang out — clear, unwavering.
"Ying Wu was willing to deploy even the Nine Sha Profound Yin Formation. I ought to die. But this ruined temple doesn't even have a name... How is this nameless place worthy of burying me, Zuo Guanglie!?"
Flames erupted from his body.
Blazing, clawing, spreading.
This fire ignited on contact, spreading from point to line in an instant.
Fire-element Dao technique — Wildfire Conflagration.
At seventeen, he had used this technique to immolate thousands of Yin demons, terrifying the borderlands!
The entire Chaos Serpent Den went up in flames. Countless water snakes writhed and shrieked as they evaporated into steam.
Zuo Guanglie soared skyward from the mass of snake corpses, his long hair streaming, his aura explosive.
Just then, an eagle's cry pierced the air!
A massive black eagle dove from above. Facing Zuo Guanglie, it beat its wings sharply.
Hundreds of iron feathers hurtled down, each trailing a different blade of sword-light — some ferocious, some treacherous.
The blade-light fell like a sudden downpour, driving Zuo Guanglie back into the serpent pit.
Mechanical Beast — Blade-Feather Eagle.
On the eagle's back stood a barefoot man, face masked, a copper chest slung behind him. He was silent — but his words were already spoken in the blade-light.
With the Nine Sha Profound Yin Formation's support, the myriad snakes grew frenziedly, endlessly regenerating. Wildfire Conflagration lacked endurance and was slowly being overwhelmed.
Defense could not hold forever. Water snakes repeatedly tore wounds into Zuo Guanglie's body, drawing blood. He only grunted, swinging the flame blade with one hand to deflect those aimed at vital points.
Ten thousand snakes devouring the body, Profound Yin flaying the soul.
The bulging veins on his forehead betrayed his agony — but his gaze remained steady. His other hand still formed seals.
He had not given up for a single moment!
Gongyang Bai glanced at the man on the eagle's back, then hesitated no more. He interlaced his fingers, raised them before his chest, his hair stirring without wind. "Surrender now, and you can still have your body sent home intact! Because... even I cannot control the next technique!!"
The temperature plummeted. A trace of white frost formed on his brow. The entire Chaos Serpent Den froze, encased in a layer of solid ice.
This was extreme yin cold — indestructible profound ice.
And this technique was the secret bloodline art of the Qin Kingdom's Gongyang family, untransmittable to outsiders — Profound Ice Dungeon.
Those who entered this dungeon: one breath, and frost formed on their exhalation. Two breaths, and their blood froze. Three breaths, and their body stiffened in death.
Water snakes froze into ice snakes. Zuo Guanglie, too, was covered in white frost.
Gongyang Bai watched in silence. One more breath, and the blood would freeze.
But!
Everyone present suddenly heard the sound of a river surging — a torrential roar like crashing waves. That was Zuo Guanglie's blood, racing through his veins!
"Boil! Blood! Burn! Soul!"
His robe burned. His hair burned. His brow, his eyes, his flesh — all burned. His soul... burned!
Body and mind, life and spirit — everything was burning.
Ice turned to water, water to steam. Both the Chaos Serpent Den and the Profound Ice Dungeon collapsed in an instant. Through the white mist, Zuo Guanglie had become a man of fire.
He looked down at his blazing hands and murmured: "Worthy of a royal dynasty's forbidden art. In this power... I seem to glimpse... the true essence of fire."
Then he snapped his gaze to the Blade-Feather Eagle in the sky. "Not a bad toy."
Before the words faded, he was already airborne.
The barefoot masked man tapped his toe and threw himself backward, abandoning the precious Blade-Feather Eagle to be consumed by the inferno!
"To protect your life — that's not enough, Mo Jingyu!" Zuo Guanglie's hands formed seals at blinding speed, the technique already complete.
Flame-flowers bloomed from nothingness, yet multiplied endlessly. The entire sky was claimed by fire — sky, earth, everything in the battlefield blazed.
Even the sha-clouds gathered by the Nine Sha Profound Yin Formation seemed to become fuel for the flames!
Flame-Flower City Burner!
This technique was perhaps Zuo Guanglie's most brilliant creation. At nineteen, he had used it to shatter a city in a single battle!
The flowers of flame — ultimate beauty, and ultimate power.
The masked man called Mo Jingyu spread both arms wide in mid-fall, ten fingers splayed. From each finger trailed semi-transparent threads that connected to the copper chest behind him — and he yanked them out!
Puppet Crows!
His fingers danced like a weaver's. Countless puppet crows poured from the chest, throwing themselves at the flame-flowers. Each crow extinguished one bloom — but the flowers seemed inexhaustible, while the crows grew fewer and fewer.
Gongyang Bai ignored the backlash from his shattered Profound Ice Dungeon. He channeled his bloodline power, pressed a finger to his chin, and suddenly opened his mouth! A torrent of white mist gushed forth — wherever it touched, flame-flowers were extinguished.
Bloodline Secret Art — Breath of Frost!
The black-robed cultivators he had brought also formed seals without hesitation.
The water vapor born from the clash of flame and frost gathered rapidly overhead, white mist forming clouds. The clouds darkened, multiplied, layered.
Then came a deluge — piercing raindrops that screamed through the air.
Gathering, Cloud-Building, Yin-Cloud Layering — three techniques chained into a high-tier water-element Dao art: Rainstorm Chain!
"Is this all you've got?!" Zuo Guanglie, wreathed entirely in flame, roared: "How is this enough to kill me?!"
His aura exploded upward, his pressure cascading like a mountain collapse.
Amidst the sea of fire, he lifted his head and howled at the sky: "Power of Ultimate Flame, sear the heavens, boil the seas! Zhurong True Ancestor — enter my body!"
Deep within him, a fire-seed — different from all the rest, gentle and sluggish — suddenly swelled.
That single point of expansion was enough: the puppet crows in the sky self-immolated! The dark clouds scattered!
Every cultivator besieging Zuo Guanglie spat blood.
Even Gongyang Bai's face went pale. "How is that possible! Where did he get a Zhurong Seed? How can he possibly channel the Zhurong True Body?"
"This is Zuo Guanglie..." Mo Jingyu severed his connection to the puppet crows in time. Mechanical iron wings spread from his back as he hovered beside Gongyang Bai, his voice heavy with dread. "The man who nearly pierced Hangu Pass single-handedly!"
In the grip of that vast, infinitely swelling fire-power, Zuo Guanglie roared: "Who among you is worthy of killing me?!"
"Come! Mo Jingyu!"
"Gongyang Bai!"
He swept his hand — a fire dragon tore through the air, forcing Gongyang Bai and Mo Jingyu to retreat desperately.
"What great houses! What noble families! What geniuses! Before me, you still dare to boast?! You weaklings, cowards, incompetents!"
He seemed driven mad by the Zhurong Seed, losing all reason.
"The shame of my house, the hatred of my nation — not all the rivers and seas could wash clean!"
He laughed, laughed until tears came — but the tears evaporated in an instant.
"Here is my noble head — who can sever it?!"
"He who kills my body is none but myself! He who burns my soul is none but Zhurong!"
Behind him, a majestic apparition flickered — a divine figure wielding a fire dragon. The pressure was suffocating.
"Who can kill me?!"
Mo Jingyu reached behind to open the copper chest — his last resort. But his hand trembled uncontrollably. He had no strength left to lift the lid.
In his spiritual perception, there was no wilderness, no ruined temple, not a single person. Only fire — only boundless waves of flame. The soaring heat warped space itself and nearly incinerated his thoughts.
He might hold on a moment longer, or he might die in the next breath. His life was no longer his own.
Before such power, how was he any different from the beggars who had died?
...
From the western horizon, a cold gleam came.
Gongyang Bai caught only a glimpse in his peripheral vision — and felt as though his eyes had been cut! Before he could process it, the gleam was already at Zuo Guanglie's side — a single pass, and gone!
Zuo Guanglie's roar ceased.
"Noisy."
A young man in white appeared suddenly.
He had a face of ultimate coldness, standing sideways, as though forever keeping his distance from the world.
He slowly sheathed his sword, his voice flat, without the slightest ripple.
Zuo Guanglie's head fell. It rolled twice on the ground — but because of the Boil-Blood Burn-Soul technique, not a drop of blood spurted.
Only then did the ear-splitting screech thunder through the air!
That was the sound of the white-clad man's sword — one strike from the west, tearing through the sky!
...
Gongyang Bai and Mo Jingyu exchanged a glance. In each other's eyes, they saw absolute terror.
"Li Yi, I am under orders from Prince Ying Wu—"
But Gongyang Bai shut his mouth before he could finish. He snatched up Zuo Guanglie's head and fled.
Because the white-clad man had already turned his gaze toward him.
His hair, his brow, his eyes — even the corner of his lips — were as sharp as a sword. Yet his gaze was mild, almost tepid.
But within that tepidity lay a shuddering indifference.
Whether a genius from an ancient sage hall's bloodline, or a scion of a world-renowned noble house.
No one dared ask why. No one dared say another word.
Only figures fleeing in panic.
...
Zuo Guanglie was dead, but the Zhurong Fire Seed within him did not dissipate. It continued to swell slowly.
This power was far beyond what the depleted Zuo Guanglie could control. He was merely a catalyst — a medium — using his genius and resolve to let a sliver of the Zhurong True Body's might vent into the world for a fleeting moment.
The white-clad man produced a black token and regarded it calmly.
The token was silent for a long time before a domineering voice spoke: "Settled."
The moment the words faded, the extraordinary token shattered — as though unable to bear that voice — crumbling into countless black fragments that slipped through Li Yi's fingers.
Only after all the cultivators had gone, and the token had crumbled, did Li Yi tilt his head slightly toward the swelling Zhurong Fire Seed.
He extended a pale, slender hand, fingers cupped.
Only now, when no one could possibly notice, did a trace of childlike innocence break through his habitual tepidity and coldness.
He whispered: "Bang!"
His fingers opened — precisely as the Zhurong Seed detonated.
An invisible force contained the explosion, preventing it from spreading, reducing Zuo Guanglie's corpse to countless fragments of flesh.
Crimson flame-flowers bloomed in that tiny space — ultimate splendor in an instant, boundless beauty contained in one place.
This ultimate beauty was for his eyes alone.
The corner of Li Yi's lips twitched upward — but only for an instant.
The fireworks were spent.
He did not glance at what remained of Zuo Guanglie's corpse. Without the slightest lingering, he rose on sword-light and vanished.
...
From beginning to end, no one in that battle cast a single glance at the ruined temple.
To powerful cultivators, the weak Zhuang Kingdom was beneath notice. Within Zhuang's three thousand li of territory, Fenglin City was but dust. And even within Fenglin City, this ruined temple on the outskirts had long been forgotten.
But the ruined temple was not empty.
A dying beggar child lay within — one who had already prepared for death and was merely waiting.
He had prepared to die, and was indeed waiting — but he had not died. And from start to finish, he had "heard" the entire magnificent battle.
When the fighting ended and silence returned.
He was still alive.
Perhaps he was lucky — but the word "lucky" sat ill upon him. His ragged clothes, his gaunt, sickly face, his breath that barely clung to life — all proclaimed the definition of misfortune.
But he was alive.
He thought for a moment, then struggled to roll out from under the offering table.
He gritted his teeth, summoned every ounce of strength, and swayed to his feet.
He stood.
From the offering table to the temple door: one hundred and thirty-seven steps.
From the temple door to Zuo Guanglie's remains: three hundred and twenty-four steps.
The beggar counted each step, telling himself over and over: almost there.
Almost there.
Every muscle in his body protested, trembled.
No one knew where he found the strength to keep moving.
His astonishing perseverance had no audience.
Now he stood before Zuo Guanglie's remains. The journey was at its end — if that pile of shredded flesh could still be called a corpse.
He lowered himself slowly, slowly. Squatting was too taxing, so he simply sat.
He was truly, terribly ill. Through the grime obscuring his face, a sickly white was still visible.
His hand trembled too.
Trembling, he sifted through the shredded flesh. Searched.
Flesh, flesh, bone fragments, broken metal, flesh, finger bones, an unrecognizable half-piece of wooden apparatus...
A bottle!
Pushing aside a mass of unidentifiable remains, he found it — a jade bottle, broken in half!
The neck was entirely gone. Only half the belly remained.
The beggar suppressed his ragged breathing and brought the bottle before his eyes.
He carefully pulled away a piece of flesh plugging the opening and peered inside.
He saw a single pill — dark, round, and smooth — resting at the bottom. His breath stopped.
He recognized it. It was what he had dreamed of day and night — what he had once obtained and then lost.
A Meridian-Opening Pill!