The razor-sharp claw split the void, rending toward Liu Meng's delicate face.
The young girl's lips curved in cruel delight, as though she already beheld the scene of her rival writhing, begging for mercy beneath her hand.
Yet in the very next heartbeat, her smile froze—shattered like brittle glass.
A hand, pale and slender, seemed soft as silk, yet moved swifter than lightning. Without force, without flourish, it intercepted her wrist with the inevitability of destiny.
Crack!
The sound rang sharp and clear.
Liu Meng's grip clamped down, precise and unyielding, like iron shackles cast by heaven itself.
The girl's pupils dilated. From those gentle fingers surged a torrent of overwhelming might. No matter how she struggled—no matter how frantically she drew upon her nascent spiritual power—her body remained utterly immovable, a moth caught in a storm.
"This… impossible!" she screamed, her voice laced with terror. "I—I've already condensed spiritual power! How can you withstand me!?"
To her, even a single wisp of spiritual essence was enough to place her above mere mortals. Yet this woman before her… crushed that pride with nothing but a touch.
"Foolish child."
From the side, the white-masked handmaiden let out a derisive laugh, her words dripping with scorn. "Did you truly believe you alone had stepped upon the path of cultivation? That you alone had touched upon spiritual power?"
The girl's mind reeled. Could it be… Liu Meng had condensed her power long before she did? And worse—did she command even more?
"No… I cannot lose!" Desperation twisted into madness. With a scream that split the chamber, she drew back her other fist, pouring all she had into a reckless blow toward Liu Meng's face.
Liu Meng's expression never wavered. To her, it was but the thrash of a drowning insect.
She did not even release her hold. Her free hand drifted forward like a falling petal.
Boom!
Her palm landed upon the girl's slender neck with featherlight grace. Yet the force behind it was undeniable—her foe's momentum died at once. Her eyes rolled back, body collapsing bonelessly to the ground, cast into oblivion.
"Dispose of her."
The black-masked senior's voice was cold as winter frost.
The other attendants moved without hesitation, dragging the unconscious body away like carrion into the devouring dark.
Silence fell, leaving only Liu Meng and the masked senior.
The woman's gaze upon Liu Meng now carried no veil, only the glimmer of genuine admiration.
"Good," she intoned. "Temperament, cunning, and talent—you possess them all. And yet… I can feel it. You have not reached your limit."
With a sudden strike of her foot, she sent another corpse—the one brimming with lingering yang, Liu Er's husk—skidding before Liu Meng.
"This one is yours as well. Show me how many threads of spiritual power you can weave."
The so-called "gift" sent a ripple through Liu Meng's heart, but she bowed in silence. Without protest, she knelt once more, pressing her palm to cold flesh, summoning the sutra.
With the perfected Mystic Female Sutra resonating within her, and the pure yang surging like a blazing river, the act of refinement was no longer a struggle. It was destiny.
The fourth thread.The fifth.The sixth… the seventh… the eighth!
Each strand coalesced within her dantian, gleaming like silken rivers of light. Her body transformed—senses sharpening, strength multiplying—until she could hear the breath of unseen watchers beyond stone walls, until her fist could shatter earth and stone as though they were paper.
At last, the river of yang within her ran dry. She opened her eyes.
Within her core, eight strands of spiritual power flowed—gleaming serpents of qi, radiating waves that made the void itself tremble.
The senior pressed her finger to Liu Meng's wrist, probing with solemn focus.
"Eight threads…" Her voice wavered, touched by awe. "Only two vessels… and you have wrought eight strands. Such talent… in all my years, I have never witnessed its like."
Liu Meng bowed, her voice calm as still water. "Senior Sister overpraises me. But… why bestow such fortune upon me?"
No kindness was without purpose. Not in the devouring sect of the Mystic Female.
The woman's silence lingered like the edge of a blade. Finally, she spoke, voice low as the turning of fate.
"Because soon… I shall leave this place."
"Leave?" Liu Meng's heart trembled with unease.
"When one weaves ten strands, one may shatter the barrier and step into the First Level of Qi Refinement," the senior explained. "Then, handmaidens become disciples. And disciples… are cast into the outer world, to claim caves of their own, to harvest resources for our mistress."
Her gaze darkened. "But the outer world… is no sanctuary. Out there, of every ten new disciples, fewer than three survive their first year."
Her eyes gleamed, sharp as a blade. "I already hold nine threads. The final step lies before me. But I have waited… waited for someone worthy."
That gaze burned into Liu Meng.
"And you… your talent surpasses all I have ever seen. In little time, you too shall break through. That is why—I would form an alliance with you."
"An… alliance?"
Liu Meng's eyes narrowed, weighing every word.
"Yes," the woman declared firmly. "Alone, death is certain. But two united—back to back, blade with blade—our chances soar. You are not one who will remain beneath others. With your strength, your cunning… you could stand as my equal."
Liu Meng was silent, the balance of gains and perils turning in her mind.
As if sensing her doubt, the senior drew forth a token, obsidian black, carved with the sigil of a crescent moon.
"A Transmission Moon Token. Within a hundred li, it binds our voices."
Liu Meng accepted it, its chill seeping into her palm.
"My name is Qin Shuang," the woman revealed at last. "I shall await you beyond these walls. Do not make me wait long."
In that instant, her body convulsed—an aura vast and tyrannical erupted outward, shaking heaven and earth.
The air thickened. Moted lights of spiritual qi, scattered like stars, surged toward her in a roaring vortex, as though answering their master's summons.
The tenth thread of power blazed into being within her core!
Qin Shuang sank cross-legged, guiding the flood of qi as her body shed the shell of mortality, forging the first step of transcendence.
And then—
A voice descended.
Languid yet sovereign, casual yet absolute, it pressed into the minds of all who heard.
The voice of Su Meier herself.
"All handmaidens… assemble in the great hall. At once."