Chapter 614: Zhang Yaqian Confesses Her Love, Zhang Zhiyun Comes Out of Confinement!
"Celestial Master! I, Zhang Zhiyun, have finally broken through to the Celestial Master realm. Shen Anyu, the grudge of my severed arm, the hatred of my stolen wife, I will surely repay them!"
Inside the submerged grotto, a monstrous pressure erupted from Zhang Zhiyun, saturating the very air with dread. The ground around him was a tapestry of absolute destruction, scarred and savaged as if an army of malevolent spirits and bloodthirsty asuras had been unleashed. Deep, fathomless sword gouges crisscrossed the stone floor, each one pulsing with a glacial aura that seemed to leech the warmth from one's very soul. The air itself was thin and sharp, tasting of ozone and cold, wet stone. This was no longer a simple cave; it had become a tomb, a proof of the birth of a monster.
At this moment, Zhang Zhiyun's face was a grim, cold mask of fury. A thin, jagged line of blood stained his brow, a stark crimson against his pallid skin, like a crack in a marble statue. His eyes, once clear and righteous, were now tinged with a predatory, demonic light, swimming with an unsettling crimson that promised violence. The transformation was not merely spiritual, but physical. The righteous golden light of the Tianshi Sect's orthodox arts had been utterly devoured and replaced by a swirling, violet-black miasma that clung to his form like a death shroud.
After just a few short days of fanatical, single-minded cultivation of the Yin Corpse Devil Swordplay, Zhang Zhiyun, who had been teetering on the precipice as a Half-Step Celestial Master, had finally shattered his bottleneck. With a roar that shook the very foundations of the underwater cavern, he had violently dragged himself across that final threshold, achieving the coveted Celestial Master realm.
The Yin Corpse Devil Swordplay was an infamous heterodox method, a forbidden art renowned for its terrifyingly rapid path to power. It was a devil's bargain, trading one's humanity and emotional stability for an astonishing surge in strength. It devoured life force, fed on resentment, and turned the practitioner into a vessel for slaughter.
In the hands of Zhang Zhiyun—a Child of Destiny blessed with immense Luck and a talent that was already considered exceptional—the demonic art flourished beyond its theoretical limits. His progress wasn't just rapid; it was an explosive, uncontrolled ascension. The corrupting energies found fertile ground in his heart, a heart already poisoned by hatred and humiliation.
If the Master of Myriad Dharma Sect, that seasoned and wily veteran Celestial Master, were to stand before Zhang Zhiyun now, the fight would be over before it began. A single, contemptuous slash, infused with the bone-chilling power of the Yin Corpse Devil Swordplay, would be enough to extinguish the old man's life and soul. There would be no struggle, only an execution.
Zhang Zhiyun's gaze drifted down, landing on the empty space where his right arm should have been. The fabric of his sleeve fluttered mockingly in the stale cavern air. It was a permanent, physical reminder of his disgrace—the price he paid after his failed assassination attempt on Shen Anyu using a ferocious ghost. He could still feel the phantom sensation of Bai Bing's blade, impossibly sharp and cold, as it sheared through flesh and bone. He remembered how Shen Anyu had watched, his expression one of casual, almost bored, superiority. The memory was a festering wound in his soul.
A thick, venomous resentment, as tangible as black bile, surged up from the depths of his being. Hatred, pure and undiluted, consumed him. He, Zhang Zhiyun! The former Young Sect Leader of the illustrious Tianshi Sect! A prodigy of a generation, a genius rarely witnessed in a thousand years! He who was once the epitome of youthful vigor and righteous pride was now this… a one-armed monster hiding in a dark, wet hole, clinging to a demonic art for a chance at revenge. He was a pathetic, mutilated wretch.
But what carved a deeper, more agonizing wound into his heart was the loss of Ji Xiaolin. His fiancée. The woman he had fallen for at first sight, her image seared into his mind. And Shen Anyu had taken her. He had stolen her, defiled his dream, and trampled upon his dignity. The thought of them together, of her smiling for that man, was a torture that dwarfed the physical pain of his severed limb a thousand times over.
This was a humiliation that could only be washed away with blood.
"Shen Anyu," he seethed, the name a curse on his lips. "The grudge of my severed arm… the hatred of my stolen wife… I, Zhang Zhiyun, will make you repay it all, a hundredfold!" His voice was no longer human; it was a low, guttural rasp that echoed off the damp stone walls.
"I won't just kill you! The Yanxia's Shen Clan, your entire lineage, and every single person connected to you… they must all die! I will tear down everything you have built and salt the earth where it stood!"
Zhang Zhiyun's expression twisted, his rage momentarily giving way to a complex, tormented look as he thought of her.
Ji Xiaolin… what was he to do with her?
'If Ji Xiaolin can realize her mistakes, if she comes to me, begging for forgiveness… she can still be spared,' a small, desperate part of him thought. The ghost of the man he once was clung to that sliver of hope.
But the demonic energy roaring through his veins offered a different, more absolute solution. 'If she remains stubborn… if she dares to choose him over me… then she will be killed too!'
His eyes flared, turning a solid, bloodshot crimson. The demonic intent within him deepened, its icy tendrils wrapping tighter around his soul. The Yin Corpse Devil Swordplay didn't just grant power; it amplified every negative emotion, turning grievance into obsession, and anger into homicidal rage. Under normal circumstances, the old Zhang Zhiyun would never have harbored a genuine killing intent towards Ji Xiaolin, even if she had betrayed him and broken their engagement. He would have been heartbroken, but not murderous.
This was the price. The terrible, insidious cost of his soaring strength.
Demonic Paths were a shortcut, a seductively easy route to power, but the toll was always a flawed, twisted character, a soul fractured beyond repair.
Yet, even in his rage, a sliver of his former self, a shred of ingrained rationality, fought for purchase. He forced himself to turn away from the pulsating, grotesque mass on the far stone wall—the Yin Corpse Devil Sword Embryo. He dared not look at it for too long, lest its siren call overwhelm him entirely.
'The Yin Corpse Devil Swordplay can be cultivated,' he reasoned, his breathing ragged. 'But the Sword Embryo… it cannot be refined. It is too insane, too utterly evil!'
To forge the Embryo into the true Yin Corpse Devil Sword, the ritual demanded a blood sacrifice of one's closest and dearest. The grimoire was brutally specific: the heart's blood of those one loved the most, offered willingly or taken by force. This was a line Zhang Zhiyun, even in his current state, could not bring himself to cross.
His closest kin… the elders of the Tianshi Sect who had raised him, his Senior and Junior Brothers who had looked up to him… his sister, Zhang Yaqian, separated from him for so many years… and Ji Xiaolin, the woman he had loved at first sight. The thought of plunging a blade into any of them, of using their lifeblood to temper a weapon, was a horror that even his corrupted mind recoiled from.
'There's no need,' he told himself, his voice gaining strength. 'There's no need to refine the sword. With the power I now wield from the swordplay alone, I can crush that woman in white. I can slaughter Shen Anyu!'
Zhang Zhiyun's expression hardened into one of defiant, unassailable arrogance. When he was a Half-Step Celestial Master, he could hold his own against an ordinary Celestial Master, but he knew he stood no chance against a veteran powerhouse like the Master of Myriad Dharma Sect.
Now? After cultivating the Yin Corpse Devil Swordplay and smashing through his limits into the Celestial Master realm, his power had not just doubled or tripled. It had magnified by a factor of more than ten. The sheer destructive force coursing through his meridians was terrifying.
If the Master of Myriad Dharma Sect were still alive, Zhang Zhiyun could now obliterate him with a single, dismissive sword strike. With his current strength, he was confident he could even face the legendary Zhang Tianen and fight him to a standstill. As for Bai Bing, the woman who took his arm? Her formidable strength no longer registered as a significant threat in his mind. She was merely an obstacle to be shattered on his path to revenge.
And Shen Anyu, that arrogant First Young Master of Yanxia's Shen Clan… his death was an absolute certainty.
"It's time," he whispered, the sound slithering through the darkness. "Time to leave seclusion. I will kill Shen Anyu, annihilate the Shen Clan, and purge the last remnants of the Wan Fa Sect from this world."
He drew a final, cold conclusion. "If Ji Xiaolin comes to her senses, she can be forgiven, and our engagement can continue. If she remains stubborn, then I will kill her right alongside Zhang Tianen."
'Whoever blocks my path,' Zhang Zhiyun thought, his mind a frozen lake of murderous intent, 'will be killed!' He was utterly unconcerned with the consequences, with the mountains of corpses and seas of blood he was about to create. He would unleash a monstrous, bloody tide upon the world, and he would revel in it.
After solidifying his plans for vengeance, the blood-red hue in Zhang Zhiyun's eyes gradually receded, leaving behind a clear, cold light. Then, unexpectedly, that coldness was tinged with a flicker of softness.
"Little sister," he murmured, the name feeling foreign on his tongue. "Your Brother Zhiyun is coming to find you."
His little sister, Zhang Yaqian. She was the one pure, untouched memory deep within his heart. He remembered a chubby little girl, always trailing after him. Now that she was grown, she must have become a beauty, right? He wondered if she even remembered her Brother Zhiyun.
"Hiss!"
Just then, a searing pain lanced through Zhang Zhiyun's chest. He clutched it instinctively, sucking in a sharp, cold breath as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Cold sweat poured down his forehead, and a sudden, terrible premonition, a sense of impending doom connected to his very bloodline, seized his heart.
But the feeling vanished as quickly as it came. Zhang Zhiyun pinched his fingers, attempting a quick divination, but the threads of fate were murky and unreadable. He could grasp nothing.
Zhang Zhiyun's expression turned gloomy, his brief moment of sentimentality annihilated. With a cold and resolute face, he strode out of the underwater cave that housed the Yin Corpse Devil Sword Embryo.
"It doesn't matter who is scheming against me," he declared to the silent water. "I, Zhang Zhiyun, can kill them all!"
"The man I am now is incomparable to the man I was before. I am terrifyingly strong!"
Meanwhile, on the other side.
'Take Master Shen to find a woman for healing?'
'No… no, how can this be?'
Zhang Yaqian lightly bit her full, pinkish-white lips, her gaze fixed on Shen Anyu. His handsome face was flushed a feverish red, his brow slick with sweat. Waves of heat radiated from his body, turning the confined space of the luxury car into a sauna. He was clearly in immense pain. A strange, determined glint flashed in her eyes, and she suddenly spoke, her voice a soft, resolute whisper.
"Master Shen, I'll help you."
"You help me? Zhang Yaqian, how can this be? You are so pure and noble." Shen Anyu flatly refused, his voice strained.
With a decisive click, Zhang Yaqian unbuckled her seatbelt. In a single, fluid motion that spoke of surprising grace and resolve, she twisted her waist and straddled Shen Anyu's lap.
"Master Shen, why can't it be me? Do you want me to stand by and watch you with other women? I… I also like Master Shen very much," Zhang Yaqian confessed, her pretty face blushing a deep crimson. She quickly reached up, tying her long, dark hair into a simple knot at the nape of her neck. As she did, a startling, breathtaking charm flashed in her pure and starry eyes—the allure of an innocent girl taking a bold, decisive step into womanhood.
What else could Shen Anyu do? He was injured, his body wracked with a debilitating heat that left him barely able to move. He was utterly at her mercy, forced to be 'ridden' by Zhang Yaqian.
Just as Shen Anyu was filled with bitter tears and speechless with choked emotions.
"What? Zhao Tao was beaten to death by you?"
At the Yunhu Association headquarters, Zhou Yunhu, the notoriously brutal underground boss of Hangzhou, was drenched in a cold sweat. His face was pale as a sheet as he stared at the minor leader kneeling before him.
"Tiger Lord, I… I didn't know Zhao Tao had that kind of connection," the minor leader stammered, his entire body trembling on the floor.
"You… you… What can I even say about you? How in the hell am I going to explain this to the Young Sect Leader now!" Zhou Yunhu roared, his voice thick with exasperation and fear.
"Zhou Yunhu, what do you have to explain to me?" A voice, as cold and sharp as glacial ice, cut through the room. Zhang Zhiyun stepped into the Yunhu Association headquarters, his chilling eyes sweeping over Zhou Yunhu.
Under the shocked gazes of the many Yunhu Association subordinates, their feared boss, Zhou Yunhu, the man known as Tiger Lord, immediately dropped to his knees. His previous fury vanished, replaced by a fawning, ingratiating expression.
"Young Sect Leader! You've returned safely, that's wonderful! The Sect Leader and the others were so worried, they were even going to come down the mountain personally to find you!"
"Speak!" Zhang Zhiyun coldly uttered a single word. After experiencing the hatred of a stolen wife and the agony of a severed arm, and especially after embracing the heartless cruelty of the Yin Corpse Devil Swordplay, he had become utterly ruthless.
Zhou Yunhu was sweating profusely, the drops trickling down his temples as he said tremblingly:
"My subordinates were careless and beat Miss Zhang Yaqian's fiancé, Zhao Tao, to death!"
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