Smoke rolled through the valley like a living thing. Spiritual light flickered and died in the air, and the last remnants of Sword Qi and spellforce rasped against one another like beasts drawing their final breaths.
Behind a massive boulder, Chang Le pressed himself flat, scarcely daring to breathe.
The Star Moon Sword Sect had not managed a miracle.
Against Qingyun Sect's home-ground advantage—and the merciless assault of a gray-robed Mid–Golden Core elder—they had shattered like waves striking stone. They fought fiercely, but one by one they fell. The final Star Moon elder, eyes bloodshot with despair, attempted to self-detonate his Golden Core.
The gray-robed elder's blade pierced his dantian before the explosion could bloom.
The flash of spiritual light died with a pathetic sputter. Blood and viscera splattered across the valley floor.
Chen Feng leaned heavily on his sword, chest heaving. Deep wounds exposed bone along his ribs, yet he grinned savagely.
The remaining Qingyun disciples were scarcely better—faces pale, robes torn, spiritual power nearly exhausted. Only the gray-robed elder still stood straight. Though his complexion had dimmed and his aura wavered faintly, the oppressive might of Mid–Golden Core cultivation remained mountainous.
His gaze swept the battlefield.
No survivors.
At last, it settled on the enormous rock.
"Cough… cough…" Chen Feng spat out bloody foam and pointed. "Elder, that brat's still hiding. Must've wet himself."
Laughter—thin and cruel—rippled through the remaining disciples.
To them, Chang Le was no longer a person. He was a secret. A resource. A living treasure trove waiting to be dissected.
The elder stepped forward.
The ground trembled.
Invisible pressure rolled outward like a tidal wave.
"Ant," he said coldly, "come out on your own… or I grind you and that stone into dust together."
Behind the rock, Chang Le's blood ran cold.
So this was it.
He had escaped nothing. He had simply crawled deeper into the tiger's den.
The thought of having his soul refined—of being torn apart piece by piece—made his stomach churn. He clenched his teeth. If he had to die, he would at least choose how.
He was still weighing which death might look the least humiliating—
When a sharp sword-whistle tore across the sky.
It was clear. Cold. Decisive.
An ice-blue streak shot from the horizon, faster than before—brighter, sharper, utterly resolute.
It fell like a star.
Its target: the gray-robed elder.
"How dare you!"
The elder reacted instantly, fury twisting his features. His blade slashed upward, gray Sword Qi surging to meet the descending strike.
—BOOM—
Spiritual force erupted outward in a violent shockwave, shaving earth and stone from the valley floor. Chen Feng and the others staggered back, stunned.
When the light dimmed, a white-robed figure stood between the elder and the rock.
Ye Yuetang.
Blood flecked her sleeves—hers or someone else's, impossible to tell. Her breathing was uneven. Her hair slightly disordered.
But her sword did not tremble.
Her eyes burned with killing intent colder than winter.
She had returned.
Chang Le stared.
The fear in his chest vanished in an instant, replaced by something fierce and incandescent. She came back. She actually came back.
"For a mere medicine boy?" The gray-robed elder's voice darkened. "Ye Yuetang, you would betray the sect?"
Ye Yuetang did not look at him.
"His pills," she said evenly. "They're useful. They can't fall into your hands."
The words sounded almost rehearsed.
Almost defensive.
She refused to acknowledge the image that had haunted her as she fled—the thought of this fool being soul-scoured alive.
Chang Le heard none of that.
In his eyes, she was radiant.
He leaned halfway out from behind the rock and shouted, voice cracking with emotion:
"Yuetang! I knew you cared!"
Silence.
Even the elder blinked.
"If we survive today," Chang Le declared passionately, "I'll refine pills for you forever! I'll cook for you, fight for you, follow you to the Nine Heavens—"
Ye Yuetang's sword hand twitched.
This idiot.
The gray-robed elder's expression twisted into pure humiliation.
"Enough!" he roared. "Kill them!"
His sword fell.
Gray Sword Qi descended like a collapsing mountain.
Ye Yuetang's aura flared. Frost-blue light surged, forming a crystalline barrier before her.
The impact rang like steel striking steel.
Cracks spidered across the frost wall. Blood trickled from her lips.
Chen Feng and the others seized the opportunity. Spells and blades rained down from the sides, forcing her into a desperate defense.
She could not win like this.
With a thunderous crack, the frost barrier shattered.
Ye Yuetang was hurled backward, blood spraying midair. She struck the ground and struggled to rise.
"Yuetang!"
Chang Le's vision went red.
All thoughts of romance evaporated.
If he did nothing, she would die.
Fine.
If he was going to die anyway—
He burst from behind the rock.
He ran.
He planted himself in front of her, arms spread, facing the approaching elder.
"Your opponent is me," he declared, voice shaking only slightly. "Bullying a woman—how impressive."
The elder stared at him as though witnessing something obscene.
"A mortal dares—"
"Chang Le!" Ye Yuetang shouted weakly. "Move!"
He glanced back at her.
For once, the mischief was gone from his eyes.
"When you left," he said softly, "my heart turned to ash. When you came back… it lit again."
He bent and scooped up a fallen flying sword.
It was chipped. Ordinary. Nothing special.
He gripped it anyway.
"Watch closely."
He swung.
No flourish.
No technique.
Just a horizontal slash.
[Effect Activated — Halve Target's Vitality]
Spiritual Qi roared into motion.
Sword energy howled across the valley like a storm. Rock split. Trees snapped. The sky itself seemed torn open.
The elder threw up barrier after barrier—
They shattered like glass.
Blood exploded from his mouth as he was blasted into the cliffside. His robes were shredded. Bone gleamed beneath deep gashes.
He had been reduced to the brink.
Shock froze the valley.
A mortal… had crippled a Mid–Golden Core cultivator?
Chang Le staggered.
The backlash arrived.
Pain ripped through his body like hooks tearing flesh from bone. He coughed blood, knees buckling.
But he did not fall.
He raised the sword again.
"Stop him!" Chen Feng screamed.
Too late.
The second strike was faster.
Cleaner.
It pierced straight through the elder's chest.
The gray-robed elder's eyes bulged.
He tried to speak.
No words came.
He fell.
Dead.
The backlash hit harder this time.
Chang Le felt his meridians rupture. His organs twist into ruin. Darkness crept inward.
Then—
[Title Activated: Five-Second True Man]
Time slowed.
For five seconds, he would not fall.
He moved.
Three Qingyun disciples died before they understood what was happening.
Heads rolled.
Ye Yuetang reacted instantly, unleashing the last of her strength. Ice-blue sword blossoms swept the battlefield clean.
Silence fell.
Five seconds ended.
The world tilted.
Chang Le collapsed.
Ye Yuetang caught him.
He felt so light in her arms.
"Am I… a true man now?" he whispered.
"Yes."
"I won't fail you."
"Yes."
He managed the faintest smile.
"You seek immortal ascension…" His voice thinned to a breath. "My sword… will cleave the heavens for you."
His head went limp.
Unconscious.
Ye Yuetang held him, fingers trembling as she felt for a pulse.
Still there.
Barely.
Tears slid down her face before she realized they were falling.
She wiped the blood from his cheek.
At sunrise, she lifted him onto her back and rose into the sky without looking back.
For reasons she refused to examine, he felt heavier than any mountain.
"Don't die," she whispered.
Far away, in darkness, Chang Le dreamed of a single sword splitting the heavens wide open.