Yang Jueding could see that Li Yang was reaching his limit. Judging by the time, the messenger disciple he sent should have already reached the sect.
Without delay, he turned sharply and charged toward Li Yang. Guang Lantian and Zhang Songjing—both wounded yet still fierce—rushed at him again, making murderous intent flash in Yang Jueding's eyes.
"You're really courting death!"
He unleashed his full strength. The Nine Heavens Divine Palm erupted with explosive force, his vital energy surging like a raging flood. With a single strike, he sent Guang Lantian and Zhang Songjing flying, both spitting blood as they crashed heavily into the snow.
Using his intricate footwork, Yang Jueding dashed forward, grabbing Li Yang by the back of his collar. Lifting him as though he weighed nothing, he sprinted toward the direction of Qingxiao Sect. His free hand struck out repeatedly, blasting away anyone who dared block his path.
Guang Lantian lay sprawled in the snow, blood spilling from his lips again. He turned his head, his gaze filled with disbelief and fear.
"This bastard…"
He couldn't comprehend Yang Jueding's terrifying power. Just a few years ago, when Yang Jueding visited the Seven Peaks Alliance, his strength had been nothing remarkable. Yet now, he could crush him with a single palm.
Could the divine art of legend truly be this powerful?
Yang Jueding carried Li Yang and fought his way out of the encirclement. The three sects' experts immediately gave chase, and even the spectators who had been standing aside finally joined in the pursuit after a moment of hesitation.
After the fierce battle, Yang Jueding's vital energy was nearly exhausted. That single strike against Guang Lantian and Zhang Songjing had drained the last of his strength. Without it, he could never have seriously injured both men.
But now, the masters of Qing Sect, Iron Peak, Seven Peaks Alliance, and other factions were closing in again. Dozens of first-rate experts surrounded him, launching attacks from all directions.
Yang Jueding ducked under a savage sweeping kick, then leapt into the air to evade a horizontal slash from a broadsword. As he passed overhead, he thrust his palm forward and struck the swordsman's chest, sending him skidding backward, coughing blood and falling to his knees.
Yet even as he fought, Li Yang—being dragged along—felt no relief. Instead, shame burned in his chest, his entire body tensed with humiliation.
Suddenly, thud!
Yang Jueding grunted in pain as a heavy kick struck his back. The force sent him stumbling forward, losing balance and rolling across the snow. Li Yang was flung aside, tumbling through the air and hitting the ground hard.
Yang Jueding rolled several times before planting one palm in the snow, spinning to his feet in a defensive stance.
The one who had attacked him stepped forward—it was none other than Qing Sect's Branch Master, Duan Tu.
Though short and stocky, Duan Tu's presence was ferocious, his aura like a killing god standing upon the snow. His body radiated murderous intent thick enough to chill the air.
Years ago, Yang Jueding had fought Duan Tu and suffered losses. Seeing him now blocking his way, his eyes narrowed dangerously, a deadly gleam flashing within.
Duan Tu lunged again, and with him came more than ten elite masters from the major sects. If this had been one-on-one, Yang Jueding could have slain them all easily. But now, with his vital energy spent and his strength fading, he was forced into pure defense.
Li Yang's vision slowly cleared. Before him, a blade gleamed—its cold edge inches from his face. He looked up to see a scarred middle-aged man in a tattered black robe and straw hat.
Their eyes met, and Li Yang froze.
Those eyes—cold, merciless, utterly devoid of life—belonged to a man who had killed countless times. They reflected neither hate nor pity, only the emptiness left after too much bloodshed.
"You…" Li Yang began instinctively, but the scarred man turned his head sharply toward something behind him. Li Yang followed his gaze—and his eyes widened in shock.
Charging through the chaos on horseback was Zhao Linglong.
Someone tried to stop her, but she broke through effortlessly, a surge of powerful vital energy knocking her attackers aside like scattered snow.
Duan Tu spun around and lunged to intercept her, intending to drag her down as he had Li Yang. But before he could close in, a blast of overwhelming force struck him head-on. Blood burst from his mouth as he was thrown backward through the air.
Li Yang stared, stunned beyond words, doubting his own eyes.
As Zhao Linglong burst into the battlefield, the masters besieging Yang Jueding hesitated. They tightened their formation, wary eyes shifting toward her.
Zhao Linglong reined in her horse, stopping before Yang Jueding and Li Yang. The steed reared, hooves pawing the air, releasing a piercing neigh. She sat tall upon the saddle, blue robes fluttering wildly, radiating an aura of authority utterly unlike her usual gentle self.
Her gaze was as cold as the scarred man's, her presence equally suffocating.
As the horse's hooves slammed back into the snow, she fixed her sharp eyes on the scarred man. "Blood Severing Saber, Dian Ming," she said clearly. "You've been gone from the martial world for over ten years. Why interfere in Guzhou's affairs now?"
Her voice was soft but carried a deadly edge, carrying far through the wind. Even Yang Jueding and the others heard her words.
"Blood Severing Saber Dian Ming… the number one martial master of Weizhou ten years ago…"
A martial artist from Iron Peak muttered in disbelief, his face pale with unease.
The warriors of the Seven Peaks Alliance and Qing Sect exchanged uncertain glances. None of them had invited anyone from Weizhou. Their confusion only deepened as they realized—none of them knew this man.
Dian Ming stood silently, gripping his curved saber in one hand. The Blood Severing Saber was shaped like a willow leaf, with crimson grooves etched along both edges of the blade. Snowflakes that landed upon it sizzled instantly into thin trails of steam.
His face was weathered and scarred—the jagged mark on his right cheek stretched nearly ten centimeters long, hideous and twisted. Flecks of gray streaked his beard, giving him the air of an old wolf in his final years—one still dangerous enough to kill.
"With that level of cultivation at your age, no one could achieve it without help," Dian Ming said coldly. "What's your surname, girl?"
The factions arriving behind him slowed to a halt, watching the confrontation from afar. Even the dullest among them could see this man was no ordinary fighter.
Zhao Linglong didn't dismount. Looking down on him from horseback, she replied simply, "Zhao."
A flash of killing intent gleamed in Dian Ming's eyes. He sneered. "So that's it. You must be the current inheritor of the Mystic Yin Art. You carry at least 200 years of cultivation on your body. Seems that old monster finally kicked the bucket."
Two hundred years of cultivation!
Not only were the martial experts around them shocked—Li Yang himself was utterly stunned. He had never imagined his cousin was this powerful.
No wonder his father had insisted that Zhao Linglong accompany him. It wasn't to let her gain experience under his protection—it was for her to protect him.
Looking back, every time they had escaped danger on this journey, he had been puzzled by their luck. Now, he finally realized—the one saving him all along had been right at his side.
Zhao Linglong didn't spare a glance at the battered Li Yang lying in the snow. Her eyes stayed fixed coldly on Dian Ming. "Are you after the divine art of the Martial Myth as well?"
Dian Ming grinned, his expression twisted. "That divine art far surpasses your Mystic Yin Art."
With no warning, he swung his saber. The strike was as fast as lightning—so fast that even Li Yang, who prided himself on his speed, couldn't follow the motion.
Zhao Linglong reacted instantly. Like a phantom, she leapt over her horse's head and landed before it. Her palm swept outward, unleashing a surge of vital energy that formed a visible barrier of force around her and the steed.
Boom!
Dian Ming's saber cleaved through the air—three arcs of blade energy burst forth, crashing against Zhao Linglong's barrier and then slicing wildly beyond. The violent blade qi ripped through the snowfield, tearing apart four martial artists who failed to dodge in time. Their bodies exploded into fragments, painting the snow red. The rest of the crowd stumbled back in horror.
Zhao Linglong cast a brief glance behind her, then surged forward again to meet Dian Ming head-on.
The two figures collided in a storm of motion. Their movements were so fast that even Yang Jueding, famed for his speed, could hardly follow them. To the onlookers, it was as though they had vanished into shadows—only flashes of steel and bursts of vital energy revealed where they clashed.
The snow beneath their feet melted rapidly, steam rising as their power collided. From high above, the once-white field now appeared marred by dark patches of exposed soil spreading outward.
Guang Lantian staggered to his feet, his face pale as he watched the battle. Fear flickered in his eyes.
Could there really be people in this world this powerful?
Even the mysterious figure who had invaded the Seven Peaks Alliance that night couldn't compare to either of them.
Qing Sect's Deputy Leader Bai He shoved his way through the crowd like a ghost. His face was mangled, blood-soaked, yet his eyes were wide with terror. For once, he dared not rush forward.
"Senior Yang, please take my cousin back to the mountain."
Zhao Linglong's soft but commanding voice rang out clearly. Yang Jueding snapped back to awareness, immediately circling the battlefield to reach Li Yang. He lifted him up and sprinted toward Qingxiao Sect.
The masters from Qing Sect, Seven Peaks Alliance, and Iron Peak tried to give chase, but Zhao Linglong turned swiftly, thrusting out a single palm. The blast of palm force swept across the ground like a shockwave, cutting them off. None dared take another step.
Such terrifying power!
Dian Ming didn't pursue Li Yang. He focused solely on Zhao Linglong. Their battle was fierce and even—neither gaining the upper hand.
Yang Jueding carried Li Yang as he ran, panting heavily. "Martial Champion, your cousin is truly incredible. That Mystic Yin Art—what's its origin? To contain two hundred years of power within one body… I've never heard of such a thing."
Li Yang gave a bitter laugh. "I didn't know she was this strong either. As for the Mystic Yin Art, I've heard of it—it's the supreme art of the Li Yin Sect, one of the Three Founding Sects at the start of the dynasty. It's said to be over one thousand years old. The art allows one to pass their inner strength to another—but once it's passed, the user dies. I never thought anyone could pass down two hundred years of cultivation…"
Yang Jueding nodded as he ran, but his pace was slowing. Fatigue pressed down on him like lead.
After sprinting for several li, they finally saw figures ahead. Squinting through the snow, Yang Jueding recognized Zhang Yuchun leading a group of Qingxiao Sect disciples up the slope. Relief flashed across his face.
Having cultivated the Supreme Purity and Primordial Harmony Sutra, he understood how formidable the Nurturing Essence Realm truly was. Zhang Yuchun, already at the second layer, was a formidable fighter. If he was here, then Xu Ning likely wasn't far behind.
Seeing them, Zhang Yuchun immediately activated the Gale Technique, speeding forward to meet them. The disciples following him were those training on the mid-slope—he had rallied them along the way, while others were still hurrying behind.
He reached Yang Jueding's side, took Li Yang from him, and started retreating up the path. "What's the situation?" he asked quickly.
"Li Yang's cousin is holding them off," Yang Jueding replied, his voice rough with exhaustion. "But something's wrong. An old monster—once the top master of Weizhou—appeared on the battlefield."
Zhang Yuchun's brows furrowed deeply. Suddenly, his instincts screamed. He shoved both Yang Jueding and Li Yang aside just as a sharp whistling sliced through the air.
A throwing knife streaked past, flashing between him and Li Yang before darting straight toward the Qingxiao Sect disciples behind them.
A figure shot forward from among the disciples like a falling star. A sword shimmered in the air—a single slash split the knife cleanly in two. The one who landed gracefully in the snow was none other than Xu Ning.
With fluid motion, Xu Ning sheathed her sword, her movements carrying the same calm composure as Li Qingqiu himself.
Seeing her arrival, Yang Jueding finally relaxed completely. But when he turned his gaze forward, his face hardened again.
Through the swirling blizzard, seven silhouettes emerged—advancing slowly but steadily.
Yang Jueding's eyes narrowed. He didn't recognize any of them, yet his instincts screamed danger. Each one carried an aura not weaker than Dian Ming's.
Something was terribly wrong.
Even if Qing Sect had resources and influence, there was no way they could summon this many apex masters.
'Could there be an even greater power behind all this?'