Ning Qi had been in Cangzhou when he sensed the explosive fluctuations of the Qi-Origin Sword Seed. He rushed over with all his might, pushing his speed to the limit, fearing something unbearable might happen.
His heart burned with anxiety. Had he been on Zhenwu Mountain, he would have arrived long ago. But being in Cangzhou meant the distance was far greater.
Fortunately.
He made it in time.
Seeing Jiang Baishan and Lin Ruhua battered but alive, Ning Qi finally exhaled in relief.
In a flash, Ning Qi appeared before them. His Qi Force transformed into gentle vitality, remotely channeling into their bodies. Jiang Baishan and Lin Ruhua, who had been on the brink of collapse, suddenly revived as if bathed in heavenly dew, immediately pulled back from death's door.
With Ning Qi's Myriad Forms Qi Force, its healing effects surpassed even those specialized in recovery arts.
Jiang Baishan and Lin Ruhua stood dumbfounded, as if trapped in a dream.
"Xiao Jiu... Is it really you?" Jiang Baishan murmured. In his moment of despair, another junior brother had arrived—one he could never have anticipated. He clearly sensed the fluctuations when Ning Qi treaded the air earlier. This was unmistakably the Heaven-Man Realm!
But Ning Qi was a Heaven-Man Realm expert?
He could hardly believe it. Qin Yun's breakthrough to the Heaven-Man Realm had already shocked them, but Ning Qi was only eleven years old!
Ning Qi spoke softly, "Fifth Senior Brother, it's me. Don't speak for now. Let me heal you both, then tell me what happened. Fifth Sister-in-Law's unborn child's vitality is weak—we must stabilize it first."
Killing intent flickered in his eyes. Their bodies were riddled with wounds; had he been any later, they might have worked themselves to death. Sensing the faint life within Lin Ruhua's womb filled him with joy, but it only sharpened his murderous intent.
To drive his fifth senior brother to such a state—if he didn't avenge this, heaven itself would condemn him.
But now—
Jiang Baishan finally snapped out of his daze as Ning Qi's Qi Force surged into him, allowing him to catch his breath. His eyes flew open, reddening instantly. He gripped Ning Qi's hands, his voice hoarse:
"Xiao Jiu, go help Eighth Brother! Hurry!"
"No, forget about us! Go back and fetch Elder Heavenly Sword!"
Ning Qi's heart lurched. Though he didn't know what had happened or why his long-absent eighth senior brother was involved, Jiang Baishan's desperate screams told him the enemy was extraordinary.
A quick deduction revealed the situation, and tension coiled within him.
Without hesitation, Ning Qi waved his hand, wrapping them in vast heavenly power.
"Fifth Senior Brother, point the way. We'll talk as we go!"
His cultivation was monstrous. Carrying them at breakneck speed while channeling healing Qi Force posed no obstacle. Every second counted in this emergency.
Jiang Baishan burned with urgency, but before he could speak, they were already soaring into the sky.
"The Yanshan Mountains! Head to the Yanshan Mountains! Eighth Brother is fighting Ghostmask, the Demonic Sect's vice-leader! He's incredibly strong—likely on par with Wenxin Sword!" he rattled off. Since Ning Qi had decided to act, there was no time for hesitation.
Ning Qi relaxed slightly.
If the enemy was only Wenxin Sword's equal, then this would be simple.
Now, he just had to hope Qin Yun could hold on a little longer.
Jiang Baishan steadied his breathing and recounted recent events. As the tale unfolded, Ning Qi's expression grew icy. He snorted coldly:
"The Demonic Sect has a death wish!"
At full throttle, even while carrying two people, his speed dwarfed that of ordinary Heaven-Man Realm experts.
Jiang Baishan and Lin Ruhua noticed the detail, realizing Ning Qi's strength far exceeded their imagination. They recalled the terrifying sword qi within the two jade pendants—previously assumed to be gifts from Elder Heavenly Sword.
Now, they doubted that assumption.
A staggering possibility took root—had those been Ning Qi's own? Were circumstances different, they would have demanded answers immediately.
But this was good news.
It meant Qin Yun could be saved!
Color gradually returned to Jiang Baishan's pallid face. He inhaled deeply, eyes shadowed with worry. He could only pray Qin Yun endured. If Qin Yun died saving them, the guilt would haunt him forever.
"Eighth Brother, you must live!" Jiang Baishan's gaze hardened with resolve.
Ning Qi's eyes also turned frosty.
He had never blamed Qin Yun. That past incident was a momentary lapse—Qin Yun had never harmed the Zhenwu Sect. Ning Qi still remembered how Qin Yun had treated him with utmost kindness when he first arrived at Zhenwu Mountain.
In truth, both he and Luo Wentian had guessed the identity of the messenger during the sect's entrance exam long ago but kept silent.
Now that Qin Yun was in peril, Ning Qi's urgency matched Jiang Baishan's.
At maximum speed, Ning Qi tore through the sky, leaving a visible trail.
...
Yanshan Mountains.
The earth-shaking battle raged on. Waves of heavenly power clashed violently, pulverizing stone. Even hidden beast kings wisely kept their distance—this human conflict was best avoided.
Ghostmask's furious voice rang out:
"Qin Yun, do you truly seek death?"
Never had he imagined Qin Yun could stall him this long. The humiliation burned. Behind his bronze ghost mask, his eyes blazed with fury. Gone was his earlier ease—his sleeve hung torn, and fresh scratches marred his mask.
Rage and shock warred within him.
Rage, that Qin Yun had become a genuine threat.
Shock, that Qin Yun's mastery of the Secret Art of Grieving White Hair surpassed his own.
Yet—
Qin Yun's state was far worse.
His once-handsome face now bore deep wrinkles, his hair snow-white, his body withered as if a breeze might extinguish his flickering life. He coughed blood, his voice ragged:
"Death holds no fear. I seek only peace of mind."
A smile touched his eyes—five years of pent-up gloom dissolved in this moment.
He didn't know how much longer he could last. Sheer willpower sustained him. Every second he endured meant his fifth senior brother's escape grew more likely.
"Again!" Qin Yun roared, mustering his last demonic energy to attack once more.
Though aged, his spirit remained unbroken, his resolve absolute.
Ghostmask cursed inwardly—the man was insane.
He refused to waste lifespan on such trivial battles. Though Heaven-Man Realm experts lived eight hundred years, frequent use of the Secret Art would deplete his longevity. He only needed to wait for Qin Yun to burn out—yet Qin Yun's tenacity surprised him.
Time crawled.
The battle's ferocity gradually waned.
Even vast lifespans have limits.
The dark demonic energy around Qin Yun thinned, his power fading rapidly.
Ghostmask, ever perceptive, seized the opportunity with a cold laugh. He struck ruthlessly, his fist imprint descending like a meteor.
"Boom!"
The violent impact sent Qin Yun flying, blood spraying. His body split open in places, white bone protruding gruesomely.
He fought back desperately.
But each exchange left him worse off. With his power diminished, he stood no chance against Ghostmask. His flesh failed, crumbling under the strain.
Qin Yun's eyes dimmed.
He knew—the end had come.
In that instant—
Memories flashed before him: fragments of life on Zhenwu Mountain, the faces of his fellow disciples and master. He seemed to see Daoist Longshan smiling at him.
"Master... This unfilial disciple has failed you."
Grief overwhelmed him; aged tears streamed down.
Another image surfaced—a peerlessly beautiful yet aloof face. He sighed inwardly. Perhaps only in another life... His sole comfort was having bid her farewell before coming here.
"Only now you regret? Too late!" Ghostmask's voice dripped venom.
Qin Yun slowly closed his eyes.
Agony wracked his body. With his lifespan exhausted, even without Ghostmask's intervention, the secret art's backlash would kill him.
"Thud!"
His aged body hit the ground like a ragged sack.
Before he could twitch—
Ghostmask's boot crushed his chest, grinding down until flesh split and bones snapped.
"Fool who overestimates himself!"
Ghostmask glared at Qin Yun's mangled form, his voice icy.
Qin Yun merely coughed blood, smiling bitterly without a word. His eyelids drooped as his vitality vanished at terrifying speed—then stillness.
Ghostmask's anger gradually cooled.
He considered pulverizing Qin Yun's corpse but relented. He recalled their first meeting—how he'd recognized Qin Yun's demonic potential and recruited him into the Demonic Sect.
Qin Yun had indeed proven himself, rising through the ranks to become a trusted subordinate, even surviving the Blood Demon Pool against all odds.
For a time—
He had genuinely valued Qin Yun, even considered grooming him as a Saint Candidate. Beyond Qin Yun's usefulness, he admired the man's ruthlessness. There was another reason, never voiced—Qin Yun bore a faint resemblance to his long-deceased son.
"Pity you betrayed me," Ghostmask said coldly. "Had you been smarter, this wouldn't be your end."
Seeing no breath left in Qin Yun, he finally lifted his boot.
For old times' sake, he would leave the body intact.
Emotions churned within Ghostmask before he exhaled, steadying himself.
A flick of his wrist—
Heavenly power scooped out a deep pit. Perhaps burying Qin Yun would spare him from beasts.
Qin Yun's body tumbled into the hole. Soon, a fresh grave emerged, protected by energy that deterred ordinary beasts.
Ghostmask stared at the mound, lost in thought.
Moments later—
He turned to leave.
Qin Yun's death changed nothing—Jiang Baishan and Lin Ruhua still needed capturing.
But as he stepped away—
His head jerked up instinctively.
A terrifying presence approached from the horizon—a young Daoist carrying two figures at impossible speed. Ghostmask's pupils constricted. He didn't recognize the youth, but the two trailing behind were unmistakably Jiang Baishan and Lin Ruhua.
"Calling for reinforcements?" Ghostmask chuckled darkly.
He'd planned to hunt them down, yet here they were, bringing some seemingly powerful young Daoist. No matter—this saved him the trouble.
Hearing Ghostmask's mocking laughter, Jiang Baishan's eyes nearly burst from their sockets. Spotting the fresh grave, he howled in anguish:
"Ghostmask! Where's my eighth junior brother? Where is he?"
Ghostmask smirked, tapping the grave with his boot.
"For old times' sake, I gave him a proper burial. Consider it my final kindness."
Jiang Baishan's vision swam. Rage and grief surged like tidal waves.
"You! You deserve death!"
His last sliver of hope shattered, leaving only hatred and sorrow.
Ning Qi's face remained expressionless, but sorrow weighed his heart.
"I'll grant you the same courtesy."
His quiet words carried immeasurable grief.
Ghostmask's pupils shrank to pinpricks. As the youth spoke, overwhelming heavenly power gathered, accompanied by a peerless sword intent. Instantly, the very air turned razor-sharp—every rock and blade of grass exuded lethal edge. Ghostmask's confidence evaporated, his body trembling uncontrollably.
His voice cracked with terror:
"You... You're Elder Heavenly Sword?!"
Ning Qi ignored him. With a wave, countless heavenly swords materialized. Jiang Baishan and Lin Ruhua gaped—the most impossible possibility had become reality.
Under the crushing sword pressure, Ghostmask's bronze mask shattered, revealing an unexpectedly handsome face bearing faint resemblance to Qin Yun.
Ghostmask bellowed.
His power skyrocketed as he activated the Secret Art of Grieving White Hair in this life-or-death crisis. Like Qin Yun before him, his features rapidly aged. Though he didn't burn all his remaining lifespan, he dared not hold back against such a foe. Only one thought remained—escape!
But—
Against current Ning Qi, resistance was futile.
With wrath fueling him—
Ning Qi's heavenly swords descended like divine judgment. Their oppressive might flattened the surroundings. Even augmented by the secret art, Ghostmask stood no chance—his dark fist imprints disintegrated before the swords.
"H-how...?" Ghostmask's eyes bulged in disbelief.
Only when a sword pierced his chest, sealing all his power, did clarity return. His gaze at Ning Qi brimmed with terror.
"How can a Heaven-Man Realm expert be this strong?" Ghostmask choked, suffocating under the pressure. A single clash had crippled him—Ning Qi could have killed him instantly.
Such power reminded him only of... the Martial Sage.
Blood gushed from his mouth; his soul quaked.
"Is this Elder Heavenly Sword's true form?" He stared at Ning Qi's impossibly youthful face and boundless vitality, reeling. He'd rather believe Ning Qi was some rejuvenated ancient monster than accept this was a genuine youth.
Then he heard Jiang Baishan's cry—"Ninth Junior Brother."
The revelation spun his world upside down.
Now—
The storm had passed.
Jiang Baishan and Lin Ruhua stood dumbstruck. They'd anticipated an earth-shaking battle, yet Ning Qi crushed the Demonic Sect's vice-leader—who'd seemed invincible—with laughable ease.
The scene's impact petrified them.
Ning Qi's gaze remained icy.
Mercy wasn't compassion—as a Demonic Sect leader, Ghostmask surely knew secrets that might lead to their Martial Sage's hidden grounds. He'd extract every drop of intel before delivering death.
But first—
He inhaled deeply, clinging to one last hope as he unearthed Qin Yun's grave.
Until he saw Qin Yun's corpse with his own eyes, he refused to believe.