The battle between Ling Xiao and Jieyin reached a terrifying crescendo. The air hummed with a friction that made the sun and moon seem pale, as if the very laws of the universe were being overwritten by their clashing Qi.
True Solar Fire swallowed the firmament, drawing upon the core essence of the Sun to pour down a deluge of Golden Holy Fire. It wasn't just heat; it was a boundless sea of liquid gold that threatened to overturn the mountain itself.
"Senior Brother! I'm coming!"
Seeing Jieyin falter, Zhunti let out a shrill cry and moved to intervene. But two streaks of golden light intercepted him. Dijun and Taiyi didn't need to defeat him; they merely needed to be the cage. They circled him like twin suns, their flames weaving a net of time and heat.
"Insects!" Zhunti roared, his face contorted.
On the other side, Jieyin had reached his limit. The Sixteen-Foot Golden Body was no longer a radiant idol; it was a cracked porcelain mask. His face was a map of bruises—not merely skin-deep, but Dao injuries that hummed with Ling Xiao's aggressive intent.
"Fellow Daoist, stop!" Jieyin gasped, seizing a momentary lapse in the pressure. "Fighting solves nothing. We are seekers of the Dao. We should not be... so crude."
"Oh?"
Ling Xiao raised a hand. The Hongmeng Cauldron bobbed above his head, pulsing with a misty, primordial light that made his defense absolute. He looked down at the battered Sage-to-be with an indifferent gaze.
Jieyin forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. "We are all here for the gourds. How about this? I shall yield one gourd to you as an apology. The West only needs one." He turned and shouted toward the struggling Zhunti, "Junior Brother! Cease this rudeness!"
The sudden command left Zhunti dazed. In that split second of confusion, Dijun and Taiyi struck in perfect unison. Two sharp cracks echoed across the peak as they each delivered a stinging slap to Zhunti's face.
Zhunti's aura flared with a murderous, humiliated rage, but Jieyin's hand was already on his shoulder, pinning him down. "Relax, Brother. Calm your heart."
Ling Xiao chuckled, the sound cold. "Jieyin, these seven gourds are treasures of the East. They have nothing to do with your barren West. You won't get a gourd. You won't even get a withered leaf."
"Fellow Daoist! We are all children of the Great Earth," Jieyin's voice grew strained. "Why draw lines between East and West?"
"Hehe, I believe the Golden Crow is right," a new voice joined the fray. Daoist Hongyun stepped forward, his nine-layered cloud robes billowing. "Fellow Daoist Jieyin, perhaps it is best you return to the West to cultivate. Your presence here is... discordant."
Jieyin stared at Hongyun. Was this the same "good old man" who had yielded his seat in the Zixiao Palace?
"Fellow Daoists, return to the West," Nuwa added, her jade-like face a mask of serene finality.
Ling Xiao glanced at them, a flash of surprise in his eyes. He hadn't expected the "Good Old Man" or the future Mother of Humanity to stand with him so readily.
Realizing the situation was hopeless, Jieyin's mask of suffering finally dropped, replaced by a cold, hard pragmatism. He looked toward the Three Pure Ones, hoping for a shred of "orthodox" solidarity, but Tongtian merely smirked.
"Jieyin, Zhunti, don't be stubborn," Tongtian said. "Fate is a bridge you cannot cross today. These items have no destiny with you."
The Western Duo stood alone against the united front of the East. With a final, icy glare, Jieyin turned his back on the vine. As he walked away with Zhunti, he let out a sharp, bitter snort.
"Hmph! This item has no fate with my West!"
The Three Crows and The Three Pure Ones
The mountain air grew even thinner as the Westerners vanished. The silence was heavy—seven gourds, nine masters.
"We Three Brothers only want three gourds," Laozi spoke, his voice carrying the weight of a decree. "We are the Orthodox Lineage of Pangu. This is our right."
"Indeed," Yuanshi added, his chin tilted with aristocratic pride.
Ling Xiao laughed, a sound that carried the crackle of a forest fire. "What a coincidence! We Three Crows were born from Pangu's left eye. We too are the orthodox lineage. If you are the 'Pure' line, perhaps we are the 'Radiant' one."
The Three Pure Ones stiffened. Three Crows? The mockery was unmistakable.
"How about this," Ling Xiao continued, his voice dropping into a strategic calm. "We Three Crows will take only two gourds. Nuwa and Hongyun shall each take one. The remaining three belong to you. A fair division, wouldn't you say?"
The assembly was stunned. Hongyun stared at Ling Xiao, his heart racing with a strange, newfound respect. He was a lone cultivator; he had expected to be squeezed out by the factions.
"If there are no objections, we shall proceed," Yuanshi said quickly, eager to secure his three before Ling Xiao changed his mind. He reached toward the vine, his eyes fixed on the Black Gourd—the one wreathed in the most potent Chaos Qi.
Ling Xiao stepped into his path.
"Wait. We Three Crows made the concession. It stands to reason we choose first."
Yuanshi's expression darkened. "You've already taken a bargain, bird. Do not push your luck."
"Fellow Daoist Yuanshi," Hongyun said, moving to stand beside Ling Xiao. "The Three Crows have shown great magnanimity. Let them pick first."
Yuanshi's aura surged, his eyes flashing with a cold, haughty light. "Do you truly think," he hissed at Hongyun, "that your 'Three Crows' and one 'Good Old Man' are a match for the Sanqing?"