In this fortress-like town, the duel between two peerless experts amid the raging sandstorm was enough to shake half the settlement. It stirred the winds and clouds of heaven and earth, leaving the onlookers with faces full of horror.
The blinding sand obscured their vision, and no matter how sharp their eyes, the spectators could only make out two shadowy figures clashing dozens of times in succession. Each strike was executed at the utmost speed.
The players weren’t strong enough to join the fray, but they desperately wanted to help. However, the moment they stepped into the sandstorm, the gale tore at them, dealing constant damage that drained their health bars in a frenzy. They couldn’t even keep up by popping potions, so they retreated to the safety of the inn, watching the battle anxiously from there.
“What’s going on? Why does something always go wrong every time we stay at an inn in this game?”
“This sandstorm is totally an invisible wall! The devs don’t want players getting involved in the fight.”
“This has to be the Western Regions storyline kicking off. Starting with a life-or-death showdown—the devs are brutal to the protagonist.”
“According to what the Innkeeper’s Wife said, Zongzong’s overall strength isn’t a match for that grandmaster. There are probably two possible outcomes: either Zongzong gets captured alive, or they both end up gravely wounded. Either way, Zongzong’s gonna get hurt…”
“Holy crap, you strat group bigshots, don’t scare me like that!”
The players engaged in heated discussion. Meanwhile, the other onlookers in the town whispered among themselves. “One’s a half-step grandmaster, and the other isn’t…? That young man is actually facing off against a grandmaster. Isn’t that too reckless for someone his age?” It was a shame Ruan Xuezong couldn’t hear them. Otherwise, he would have mustered his internal energy to bellow, “If you’re not reckless, are you even young?”
Ruan Xuezong unleashed a palm strike that shattered the sky like thunder, tearing through the long expanse of air. Yet it was swiftly parried by a blade.
“Why bother? You can’t beat me,” Qi Hongxin said. His gaze was cold and profoundly deep, as if he couldn’t comprehend why Ruan Xuezong was struggling on in a futile death throes. In his eyes, Ruan Xuezong was nothing more than a fish on the chopping block, and the knife rested firmly in his own hand.
Ruan Xuezong’s mouth twitched. Once upon a time, those were words he had flung at others, and now they were thrown right back at him.
“How will I know without trying?”
He leaped into the air and unleashed a ferocious palm strike straight at Qi Hongxin’s chest. Ruan Xuezong poured every ounce of his strength into this attack, infusing it with overwhelming pressure, like a tidal wave blotting out the sky. Even diminished slightly by the sandstorm, it was still a sight to stun the world.
But Qi Hongxin was just as swift.
As the Demon Blade emerged, murderous intent bloomed abruptly, changing the expressions of everyone present. “That’s the Demonic Sects’ most fearsome blade—the Yin Cold Blade!”
Shadow-Chill Blade was an unremarkable-looking weapon at first glance. Its blade was pitch-black, with only the hilt in a dark crimson shade, as if it had been soaked in copious amounts of blood. Some said it had been dyed that way after immersion in the Demonic Sects’ blood pools; others claimed it was from the endless slaughter of its master, with victims’ blood trickling down the blade and gradually staining the hilt.
The blade emanated a chilling aura, spreading an ominous presence the moment it appeared. Its wielder’s eyes gleamed with piercing intensity, like stars in a frigid night, his thin lips pressed into a sharp line. Qi Hongxin said coldly, “You’re no match for me. Surrender without a fight.”
In his eyes, that palm strike from Ruan Xuezong was nothing but a signal of stubborn defiance, a desperate refusal to yield.
The fact was plain as day.
Qi Hongxin had been born to kill. Huo Chonglou’s assessment of him had been spot-on: he was the knife hidden in impenetrable shadows. From childhood, he had severed all emotions, training ceaselessly from dawn till dusk in the art of murder. Every technique and form had been refined thousands upon thousands of times to achieve his goals.
Ruan Xuezong’s hands could kill too, but he had grown up as the scion of a martial arts aristocratic family in Heart Washing Manor. He had practiced martial arts only to strengthen his body, far removed from true killing techniques.
Yet Ruan Xuezong showed no fear. He tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You think you can take me alive? That’s wishful thinking.” He couldn’t kill Qi Hongxin, nor did he want to—after all, in his previous life, Qi Hongxin had been the only one to gather his bones for burial. And given the man’s tragic background, Ruan Xuezong had no desire to fight him to the death.
Had he abandoned the more comfortable inn, where fighting would be to his advantage, simply because he feared they might demolish the entire place? Well, yes, that was part of it.
But Ruan Xuezong had another goal: he intended to harness the wind.
The tenth form of the Push Heart Palm was “Wind Spreads and Soars.” Unlike other flashy, world-shattering moves, this one relied on terrain and environment. And now, with the sky filled with sand and the Innkeeper’s Wife’s predicted fiercer sandstorm arriving, the howling gale provided perfect assistance from the heavens.
—like the great peng soaring on a single day’s wind, straight up ninety thousand miles.
Ruan Xuezong struck the ground with a palm. This seemingly ordinary yet ingeniously masterful strike produced a thunderous boom, kicking up vast clouds of sand and dust that blocked everyone’s line of sight. Qi Hongxin sensed the trick and cleaved through the debris to pursue, but he caught only a fleeting shadow.
Ruan Xuezong’s figure was as light and nimble as a swallow or sparrow. He kept slamming his palms into the ground one after another. His palm intent swept across in grand sweeps, devouring mountains and rivers. Borne by the wind, he soared upward with unrestrained freedom and exhilaration, drawing the attention of half the town. In an instant, crowds of spectators gathered.
“You’re too strong for me to beat right now, but can’t I at least run?” came the arrogant voice of a young man from amid the sandstorm.
As the wind and sand gradually subsided, Qi Hongxin’s tall, upright figure remained rooted in place. His Demon Blade hung motionless, for he knew full well that with the advantages of timing, terrain, and momentum all on his opponent’s side, pursuit was futile.
A fierce gust ruffled the peaks of his brows, carrying a few grains of sand past. Beneath his sword-like eyebrows, his face was as frosty as ice. His eyes fixed on the direction the wind had carried his quarry, and a chilling voice followed: “Run all you want.”
He would catch up eventually.
The endless yellow sands stretching thirty thousand li beyond the frontier and the thirty-six countries of the Western Regions meant nothing to him. To fulfill his adoptive father’s command, no matter where Ruan Xuezong fled to the ends of the earth, he would follow relentlessly.
…
Meanwhile, Ruan Xuezong had no idea where the wind had deposited him.
The area was littered with bizarre, grotesquely shaped rocks, each sculpted by the wind and sand into nightmarish ugliness. As night fell, these jagged stone formations resembled lurking demons, and with the wind’s howls sounding like ghostly wails and wolf cries, anyone of faint heart would be scarred for life.
Ruan Xuezong, of course, felt no fear. His response was to smash one of those rocks with a palm strike and say coolly, “Sorry, you’re too ugly for my taste.”
The stone exploded in a thunderous crash, shattering into scattered rubble.
He kindled a campfire there, but with scant food and water, he could only scrape by for the night.
For the next few days, his view was nothing but vast, desolate yellow dunes. Occasional breezes stirred, but they were mere gentle sands that couldn’t carry him away.
Clouds drifted slowly across the sky, and beneath them lay the carcasses of sand worms, vultures, and starved wolves everywhere. Along this path, Ruan Xuezong had slain countless such beasts, and he was growing irritated—mainly because he craved water.
The fresh water in his waterskin was nearly gone. That day, he barely wet his lips with a sip before setting it aside.
This time was no different; he took just a few drops.
After drinking, he lifted his head and suddenly spotted a divine city in the clear, azure sky far away. Its carved beams and painted rafters, towers and pavilions were exquisitely beautiful, rivaling any earthly palace. Even more miraculous, the city floated amid the clouds, surging through seas of mist illuminated by golden sunlight, everything aglow like vibrant, auspicious clouds.
Ruan Xuezong blinked in a daze.
He had never believed in tales of treasure, but at this sight, his heart raced for a couple of beats. Could the legend of the White Jade Capital in the Sky, the Twelve Towers Five Cities, truly exist?
Or was he so parched that he was hallucinating?
He leaped into motion with his lightness skill and raced thousands of li to reach the base of the city. But there was no city to be found—only a lush oasis of verdant grass. In its midst lay a crystal-clear lake where countless animals drank their fill. Ruan Xuezong paused, then refilled his waterskin and washed his face.
These past days of travel through wind and dust had left him no time for grooming.
With his thirst quenched, he didn’t rush to hunt. Instead, he searched for something specific.
He was certain the city hovered above this oasis, yet upon entering, it had vanished like a grand mirage. Players might call it a natural optical illusion, a refraction of light.
To Ruan Xuezong, it felt like an illusion realm.
As he rummaged through the oasis’s dense foliage, he soon discovered a glistening stone at the edge of a lake shimmering with reflections of blue sky and white clouds—or rather, in the muddy reeds beside it.
At first glance, he was startled.
It was a Phantom Stone, whose primary function was to induce hallucinations. It worked much like the Demonic Cult’s music that ensnared the five souls and six poises, bewitching the mind. The Phantom Stone deceived the eyes and consciousness alike, crafting an entire illusion realm.
The moment he picked up the stone, the illusion dissipated.
Ruan Xuezong hesitated. He had no idea who owned this Phantom Stone, who had created the illusion, or what their intent was.
He recalled one player whose inventory—sixty slots full to bursting—was crammed with all sorts of junk that no one else would keep.
The other players had teased, “XX, do you have hoarding disorder or what? You’re not a lifestyle player, and even the official slots aren’t enough for you to burn through.”
The player had shot back indignantly, “You call all this junk? What do you know? Any one of these could be a key quest item, triggering some rare event in the right place and time!”
Ruan Xuezong thought it over and decided to pocket the stone.
It had to be some important quest item—he was convinced of it.
After breaking the illusion, he stayed in the oasis and set his sights on a rabbit. The creature munched grass blissfully, unaware of the doom approaching.
Truth be told, Ruan Xuezong disliked the messy business of skinning prey and dealing with blood. He had considered catching fish, but the scales seemed even more troublesome, so he scrapped the idea. If players were around, they would have clamored to handle such chores, sparing him the effort.
With that thought, he sighed.
In a flash, he caught the rabbit by the scruff of its neck. The motion startled a group on the far side of the oasis.
Ruan Xuezong soon found himself facing a caravan armed with blades. The members were all tall-nosed and deep-eyed, with pale hair—classic Western Regions features. They gripped their weapons protectively around a single man.
The two sides stared each other down, both momentarily stunned.
The man had features somewhat resembling those from the Central Plains, but far more pronounced, suggesting mixed foreign blood. His nose was sharply bridged, his eye sockets deep-set, and his face strikingly handsome. His eyes were a striking green. Even sitting idly, he exuded the poised aura of one born to command.
He looked at Ruan Xuezong, his jade-like emerald eyes widening for a moment with a flash of admiration. Then he smiled and said something.
His men reacted at once, their mouths moving rapidly as they replied at length, after which they began sizing Ruan Xuezong up from head to toe.
Ruan Xuezong frowned slightly. He guessed it was some Western Regions dialect, since he understood not a word—but for some reason, it made him want to throw a punch.
