Seeing the Wei King’s Heir dare to accept the challenge, Cui Yu felt a surge of unexpected glee. Not only could he complete the task assigned to the Langya Cui clan, but he could also teach that damned Ji Yanqing a lesson.
For most, a beauty like Chu Yingao, radiant as a goddess, would be cherished like a treasure, worth sacrificing one’s life for.
Yet Ji Yanqing dared to haunt pleasure houses and, upon meeting her, tried to grasp her jade-like hand—delusional, brazen, enough to make one want to tear him apart.
“Cui Yu is a Radiant Sun cultivator, while you…” Chu Yingao began, then froze, her lips parting speechlessly. The wastrel Heir, whom she deemed talentless, now stood at Radiant Sun Realm with a stable foundation.
From third-layer Qi Condensation to Radiant Sun in just four months, while she took three years for the same journey. Had Ji Yanqing been possessed by some great power? Chu Yingao couldn’t fathom another explanation for such monstrous speed.
But his recent behavior screamed the same insufferable Ji Yanqing, not someone else.
Could he be a once-in-a-millennium genius?
She shook her head, dismissing the absurd notion. More likely, he’d taken dangerous forbidden drugs to force a breakthrough, a self-destructive act for any cultivator.
As she pondered informing the Wei King, Ji Yanqing followed Cui Yu to the Martial College’s arena.
On impulse, Chu Yingao’s delicate steps trailed him out of White Deer Hall. She couldn’t let him get beaten to death, could she?
Her phoenix eyes fixed on the white-robed youth, shrouded in layers of mystery.
…
Ji Yanqing, in a pristine white robe, wore a white jade crown and a dark purple gilded sachet at his waist, the cloth-wrapped ferocious sword Nightmare on his back. He looked every bit the dashing young noble.
On the arena’s other side, Cui Yu drew his sword, flashing elegant sword flourishes, his eyes on the white-skirted fairy in the stands, dismissing the unlearned wastrel before him.
Watching Cui Yu’s pointless theatrics, Ji Yanqing was baffled, unable to grasp his opponent’s intent.
In a moment’s pause, he considered his evening plans: get drunk at a tavern, study the third layer of Soul-Condensing Nether Art at his residence, or…
He’d skip Xiaoxiang Pavilion for now, letting the image of the white-robed youth linger in the Demon Sect saintess’s heart, setting the stage for another “chance” meeting—a classic play of hard-to-get.
If he recalled, Saintess Lingque also had the Cauldron of Ten Thousand Desires physique. If two such physiques explored yin-yang harmony…
Their cultivation speed would stun the world.
Suddenly, clang, clang—
The clear toll of a bronze gong rang through the arena, signaling the start.
“Langya Cui, Cui Yu, seeks your guidance,” Cui Yu said, bowing respectfully. Despite his loathing for the Heir, with Chu Yingao watching, he aimed to appear refined and gallant.
Ji Yanqing smiled kindly, nearly fainting Cui Yu with his words. “No need to introduce a no-name clan whose ancestral graves were dug clean, right?”
“You dare insult Langya Cui!” Cui Yu roared.
“Just stating facts. Where’s the insult? When your ancient clans call my Ji family thuggish riffraff, my father never protests. Why so touchy?” Ji Yanqing said coldly, gripping the cloth-wrapped Nightmare.
“Wei King’s Heir, Ji Yanqing, seeks your guidance!”
Furious, Cui Yu stomped, cracking the stone floor. His Earth-tier spirit sword gleamed, slicing a full arc of sword qi toward Ji Yanqing’s neck.
Chu Yingao’s heart trembled, her fair hands radiating chilling cold, ready to intervene. If the Heir died in Chang’an, the western border army would rebel, sparking a catastrophic massacre.
When the sword qi was three inches from his neck, Ji Yanqing spun, dodging with a grace that matched even Chu Yingao’s.
Moments later, he twisted his wrist, Nightmare swinging like a steel whip toward Cui Yu’s waist. Sensing the killing intent, Cui Yu parried, their Radiant Sun Realm energies clashing.
Sparks flew as the blades met.
Nightmare, unresonated with its wielder, still left a stark crack on Cui Yu’s thousand-gold sword with its sheer sharpness.
In its prime, the Soul-Devouring Demon Sect’s leader wielded this near-Source Dao-tier Nightmare, slaughtering a nation single-handedly, rivers of blood burying a small western kingdom in sand, a mere footnote in history.
Using it like this, Ji Yanqing was practically shaming it.
The terrifying impact forced Cui Yu back three steps, his scorn gone, replaced by a wary stance. Facing the unmoved Ji Yanqing, fear crept in.
That lord was right—Ji Yanqing wasn’t as simple as he seemed. His wastrel act was likely a facade.
But he wasn’t that clever either, falling for such an obvious probe. Avoiding the fight would’ve been wiser.
‘Hmph, just a foolish brute.’
Ji Yanqing activated Soul-Condensing Nether Art, resonating with Nightmare. The sword moved like wind, swift as lightning, slashing down on Cui Yu.
Thunderbolt Four Swords: Falling Thunder.
Simple chops and slashes, but unpredictable.
Cui Yu’s eyes froze. He didn’t see a white-robed youth but a three-headed, six-armed demon god, not a cloth-wrapped sword but a guillotine falling from the heavens.
The overwhelming pressure crushed any thought of resistance.
He stood frozen, awaiting death.
Nightmare’s resonance with Soul-Condensing Nether Art amplified its divine sense impact tenfold.
Before Ji Yanqing struck, Cui Yu was already defeated by fear.
The blade stopped an inch from his brow. To Ji Yanqing, Cui Yu was worth more alive. Leaping, his white robe billowing, he side-kicked Cui Yu’s cheek.
The crack of breaking bone rang out. By the time the crowd reacted, Cui Yu and his sword had tumbled off the arena.
In a blink, victory was decided!
Chu Yingao, watching the disheveled youth, was stunned. This outcome was unthinkable. Her phoenix eyes lingered on him, unable to look away.