Dawn did not arrive as scheduled.
Heavy, leaden clouds hung low over the desolate wilderness, appearing so massive and weighted that they seemed on the verge of crushing the very earth beneath them. The twenty miles after leaving the bloody gorge of Soul-Shatter Ridge consisted of a vast, silent labyrinth of stone. The ancient official road wound through a forest of towering, wind-eroded monoliths—jagged spires of grey rock that jutted out of the dark soil like the ribs of long-dead titan beasts.
Gu Yao led the procession of three thousand mortals through this stone maze, every single step a grueling, agonizing effort.
His condition was deteriorating with terrifying speed. Although the second Immortal-Locking Nail—the Ju-Que Nail—had only been forcibly pulled out of his spine by a third of its length, the erupting divine power was overdrawing his near-exhausted lifespan at a ruinous rate. As he trudged forward, his long hair, which had been merely grizzled with grey back in the Qingzhou smithy, was turning a stark, snowy white at a visible pace. His rock-like muscles, once bulging with raw vitality, showed subtle signs of a morbid, hollow atrophy, the skin taking on the dull sheen of old parchment.
Yet, he remained at the very front of the line, his hand locked around the handle of Severed Head.
"A-Yao, rest... please. Your breath... it carries blood."
Shen Yi walked closely behind his left shoulder, her thin hand clutching a wooden staff she had picked up from the roadside. The tip of the staff had already been worn down by an inch against the sharp stones. Her eyes were fixed on the back of his neck, where the dark-red scar-mounds were pulsing with an unhealthy, feverish heat.
Gu Yao shook his head, refusing to slow his pace. He did not turn around, his bloodshot gaze fixed firmly on a steep, narrow mountain pass visible through the fog ahead.
"We cannot rest, Yi-er," Gu Yao rasped, his voice sounding like dry straw being crushed under a heavy stone. "That pass ahead is called the Watershed. It is the geographic boundary dividing the northern wastes from the edge of the Middle Three Provinces. If the Sect's main force intercepts us before we cross that ridge, these three thousand people... not a single one will live to see tomorrow."
Shen Yi bit her lower lip, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her staff tighter, but she did not argue further. She knew he was telling the truth. Behind them, the line of three thousand refugees moved in absolute silence. They no longer wept; they no longer complained of the hunger gnawing at their bellies. The sight of Gu Yao’s hair turning white before their eyes had struck a profound, solemn chord in their souls.
Just as the head of the procession reached the base of the steep incline leading toward the pass, a sound cut through the heavy downpour.
DANG—!
It was a chime—clear, melodious, and impossibly loud. The sound pierced through the heavy layers of rain and fog, rippling across the entire stone forest with a cold, vibrating resonance that made the very air shudder.
Gu Yao’s boots came to a sudden, dead halt in the mud.
That was the Cloud-Soothed Bell. It was a sacred artifact kept in the highest pavilion of the Sect, sounded only when the Cloud-Soothed Sect encountered a formidable enemy, or when a Great Power descended to enforce the Will of Heaven.
Before the echoes of the bell could fade, twelve massive, blinding streaks of silver light cut through the black clouds above the ridge. They moved with mechanical, terrifying precision, descending from the sky to hover thirty feet above the ground. Twelve late-stage Foundation Establishment cultivators, with two among them radiating the terrifying, dense aura of a half-step Golden Core, stood atop silver flying swords.
They formed a tight, circular formation in the narrow pass, their sword-light weaving together to create an impenetrable cage of brilliant, pale-blue light that completely blocked the only exit out of the valley.
Stolen novel; please report.
"Gu Yao, you have overstepped."
A voice of extreme, clinical coldness descended from the clouds above the formation. It was not the enraged, panicked voice of Elder Mo Xiu. This voice was deeper, older, and carried an absolute, high-handed authority that viewed all living things beneath it as mere numbers on an accounting sheet.
The clouds parted slightly, and a middle-aged man dressed in vibrant, flowing purple robes slowly descended, hovering at the center of the silver cage. Hanging from his belt was an ornate golden medallion engraved with the character for Law.
It was Lei Zhen, the First Seat of the Disciplinary Hall of the Cloud-Soothed Sect.
Lei Zhen looked down at the three thousand tattered refugees and the blood-stained blacksmith standing at their head. His gaze held no anger, no hatred, and no surprise—only the cold, distant scrutiny of a judge assessing a broken tool.
"You were meant to rot in the mud of Qingzhou," Lei Zhen said calmly, his hands folded neatly behind his back. "You were given the mercy of exile, yet you insisted on dragging these three thousand pieces of slag along a path to death. You have disrupted the spirit-balance of the northern region, Gu Yao. Your existence has become an inefficiency."
Lei Zhen waved his right hand dismissively, as if brushing away a fly.
BOOM!
A thick bolt of vibrant purple lightning erupted from his fingertips, tearing through the rain and striking a thousand-pound granite monolith standing ten paces in front of Gu Yao. In a fraction of a second, without even the sound of an explosion, the massive rock was vaporized into a cloud of fine, grey dust that was instantly washed away by the rain.
The three thousand mortals behind Gu Yao fell into a deathly, paralyzing silence once more. The sheer, overwhelming class-based suppression emanating from a high-ranking Immortal cultivator struck their very souls. Their knees grew weak, the instinctual fear of three thousand years of enslavement washing over them, and hundreds of refugees couldn't help but collapse onto the wet stone, trembling in terror.
Gu Yao stood alone against the pressure, leaning heavily on the handle of Severed Head.
A harsh, hissing sound of overloaded physical pressure emanated from his spine as his body fought against the weight of the Elder's aura. Slowly, painfully, he forced his slouched back to straighten.
"Lay down that broken piece of iron," Lei Zhen continued, his voice echoing over the quiet valley. "Sever your own meridians, and I may grant these mortals the mercy of a quick, painless death. Otherwise, I shall extract their living souls one by one, and hang them upon the peak of Cloud-Soothed Mountain to endure three hundred years of lightning torture."
Gu Yao lifted his head. His snowy-white hair was pushed back by the wind, revealing a face lined with deep exhaustion, yet his lips were hooked into a wild, arrogant smirk.
He spat out a mouthful of dark, bloody phlegm onto the rocks before looking Lei Zhen straight in the eye.
"First Seat Lei," Gu Yao rasped, his voice rising in volume until it rivaled the thunder above. "Fifty years ago, when you were still a low-level disciple fanning the charcoal fires in the third alchemy room on the outer peak... I saw you."
Lei Zhen’s eyes narrowed slightly, the smooth expression on his face flickering for a microsecond.
"Back then, you stood by the door, bowing so low your nose touched the floor when I walked past," Gu Yao continued, taking a heavy step forward, his boots crushing the stone dust beneath him. "Tell me, Lei Zhen... what did you call me back then? What was the name you used when you begged me for a single pointer on your sword stance?"
He paused, a dark, mocking glint flashing in his grey eyes.
"You called me... Senior Brother."
Lei Zhen’s expression turned instantly dark, the veins on his forehead throbbing violently. The calm, divine facade he maintained cracked, revealing a raw, ugly fury beneath.
"Shut your mouth!" Lei Zhen shrieked, his purple robes billowing as his spiritual aura erupted. "You are nothing more than a nailed-down cripple! A traitor discarded by the heavens! How dare you speak of the past to me?!"
"A cripple?"
Gu Yao took another sudden, violent step forward. As his foot struck the ground, the shattered, six-hundred-pound head of Severed Head let out a low, vibrating hum that shook the air within fifty feet, vibrating the falling rain into a temporary vacuum field.
"I may be broken," Gu Yao roared, his voice shaking the very walls of the stone forest. "I may be dying! But this spine of mine can still carry the lives of these three thousand people! You want their souls to feed your furnace? First, ask this old set of bones if it’s willing to break!"
CRACK—!
Deep within his spinal column, the partially extracted Ju-Que Nail was forced outward by another fraction of an inch under the sheer, uncontrollable eruption of his battle-intent!
A gale of dark-red, crimson blood-qi swept out from Gu Yao's body like a hurricane, turning the falling rain into white steam. In this desperate, hopeless situation, at the edge of the northern wastes, he once again straightened his back completely, standing tall against the purple lightning above the clouds.