The Crimson Scale Dragon fully turned its body, emitting a low draconic growl from its throat.
Its vertical golden pupils brimmed with the cold cruelty of a beast, radiating murderous intent.
Raising its long neck, it spewed forth countless wisps of gray corrosive mist that rapidly spread throughout the Scarlet Rose Courtyard.
Faced with such a formidable enemy, Baili Zhen and Lady Liu could no longer afford their old grudges, each fleeing in opposite directions.
Shen Qi let out a mocking laugh.
With a sweep of his dragon tail, he sent Baili Zhen flying back with overwhelming force, while simultaneously flicking a claw to weave the dense corrosive mist in the air into a massive net, trapping Lady Liu and rendering her immobile.
“Trying to run?”
Shen Qi shifted into human form, hovering mid-air, his intricate crimson robes as if dyed in blood.
“Those who have seen my true form must die.”
Before the words even faded, he drew a sword from his own bone-a dragonbone blade-and with a single slash, severed one of Lady Liu’s arms.
Clutching her wound, Lady Liu watched as countless black-and-red butterflies fluttered from the severed limb.
Her gaze swept over his face with suspicion.
“A denizen of Fengdu?”
Shen Qi remained silent, disdainfully shaking off the black-and-red powder clinging to his blade.
His eyes locked onto Baili Zhen, lips curling into a malicious grin.
“I heard the esteemed Baili Sect Leader is a powerhouse of the Boundless Heaven Realm. Why flee without a fight?”
He raised his left hand, fingers tightening.
The surface of the Locked Scarlet Tower flared with a crimson glow, revealing countless nearly invisible threads of filth-each one unmistakably tethered to Baili Zhen.
Baili Zhen, already weakened from Lady Liu’s earlier sabotage and control, now found himself enveloped in the corrosive mist.
He dared not recklessly channel his spiritual energy, fearing the mist would invade his body, erode his soul, and drive him into monstrous insanity.
A man who knew when to bend, he resorted to diplomacy now that he was cornered:
“Could it be that Your Excellency is of the Zhongshan Candle Dragon lineage? The Candle Dragons have long been allies of the Western Territories, standing united with our sects to safeguard the Ten Directions Grand Array. I have no intention of obstructing Your Excellency’s affairs-why waste effort on me?”
His tone carried a hint of probing.
As the leader of the Eastern Border’s Poison Sect and guardian of the Blazing Gate, Baili Zhen naturally knew more secrets than most.
For instance, the ancient races thought to be mere legends had not entirely vanished-the Candle Dragons still existed.
However, after the “Great Mist Calamity,” their ancestral home, the true Zhongshan, had been swallowed by the Sea of Corrosion, pushing their lineage to the brink of extinction.
To survive, they had no choice but to seclude themselves in the Celestial Beyond.
The so-called Celestial Beyond was, in truth, a floating island above the Formless Sea, concealed by barriers to remain unknown.
In recent years, the Candle Dragons had fared no better than the Western sects, their ranks thinning.
Unless it concerned the Ten Directions Barrier, they rarely ventured beyond their sanctuary.
And the dragon form this youth had revealed earlier clearly belonged to a juvenile broken horns and missing scales, but undeniably a Candle Dragon.
If he truly had ties to the Celestial Beyond, there might still be room for negotiation.
Yet Shen Qi’s smile only grew colder at his words.
Advancing slowly, he loosened the filth-thread restraints slightly, fingertips tracing the intricate carvings on the dragonbone hilt.
“You know quite a bit-even about the Celestial Beyond.”
Baili Zhen studied his expression, a sense of foreboding rising in his chest.
His hand, now with a sliver of freedom, gripped his horizontal flute as he forced a smile.
“Only fragments of knowledge.”
Shen Qi nodded with apparent satisfaction: “At least you know your place.”
With a smile, he loosened his control over the Corruption Threads slightly.
Seizing the moment, Baili Zhen channeled all his spiritual power to break free from the restraints, summoning his flute to flee into the distance.
Shen Qi’s smile deepened.
It seemed he had been waiting for this very moment.
The instant Baili Zhen had fled five paces away, Shen Qi coldly commanded, “Dragon Bone,” and the sword shot forth like lightning, piercing straight through Baili Zhen’s neck.
Baili Zhen’s spiritual power faltered, and he collapsed to his knees amidst the ruins.
His lips moved soundlessly, producing only choked gasps as his hands clutched at the blade protruding from his throat.
He had envisioned countless scenarios, but never had he imagined this dragon’s strength would be so overwhelming.
A single strike was enough to claim his life.
Dragon Bone was a heavy sword, its blade as wide as a grown man’s palm.
Gripping it with both hands, Baili Zhen desperately tried to push it out.
“Since you know of the Celestial Beyond, you should also know how fiercely the Zhongshan Dragon Clan treasures its young,” Shen Qi remarked leisurely as he finally stepped forward, closing the distance.
He grasped the hilt of Dragon Bone and looked down at Baili Zhen with cold amusement.
With a slight push, the blade severed Baili Zhen’s head cleanly.
“How naïve to think invoking the Celestial Beyond would spare your life in my hands.”
Taking out a handkerchief, Shen Qi wiped the blood from Dragon Bone’s blade, his eyes lowered, their expression filled with disdain.
Tossing the bloodied cloth onto Baili Zhen’s lifeless face, Shen Qi sheathed the sword and scoffed, “It only made your death uglier, that’s all.”
Madam Liu watched the scene unfold, her face pale with terror.
Baili Zhen’s death had been a brutal display, and as Shen Qi approached her with measured steps, any thought of resistance vanished.
She knelt gracefully, pressing her forehead to the ground. “This humble servant, Liu Die, pledges herself to Your Excellency.”
She and the Bloodthorns had been born from the Corrosive Mist Sea at the edge of Fengdu, intertwined in existence, complementing each other.
She lured prey, while the Bloodthorns hunted, working together to slaughter any humans who trespassed.
After centuries of cultivation, they had finally shed their mindless state and gained sentience.
Once the Bloodthorns grew stronger, they would have taken human form and entered Fengdu proper.
But misfortune had brought them face-to-face with Baili Zhen.
A master of venom and poison, Baili Zhen scoured the land for rare ingredients to refine his toxins, even venturing deep into the Corrosive Mist Sea.
During one of her hunts, Liu Die had fallen into his clutches.
Baili Zhen had sought to refine her into a venomous puppet, but his knowledge of the Corrosive Mist Sea’s denizens was lacking.
She had seized the chance to plant a seed, allowing the Bloodthorns to bypass the Tenfold Barrier and infiltrate the Western Territories.
Had it not been for the relentless string of mishaps, the Poison Sect would already be under her control.
Liu Die gritted her teeth in silent fury, but the situation left her no choice.
“Your Excellency also originates from the Corrosive Mist Sea. We share the same roots. Whatever you command, this servant will obey without question.”
“Share the same roots?”
Shen Qi repeated the phrase mockingly.
He spread his fingers and pressed them against the crown of Liu Die’s head.
In an instant, a torrent of Corrupt Qi surged into her.
Unable to withstand such violent energy, Liu Die’s human form disintegrated, scattering into a swarm of black and red butterflies.
Only a single palm-sized crimson butterfly remained, barely alive, trembling on the ground.
Shen Qi let out a derisive chuckle.
“Filth from the Corrosive Mist Sea dares compare itself to me?”
Back in the days of the “Mist Corrosion Cataclysm,” countless mortals and cultivators perished in the Corrosive Mist Sea, transforming into mindless living corpse monsters.
Numerous sentient plants and animals were also corrupted, mutating into grotesque forms.
Devoid of consciousness, these abominations hunted both mortals and cultivators by instinct, feeding on human flesh.
Yet over the years, these mutated creatures gradually developed intelligence, learning to mimic human forms.
However, they remained fundamentally different from the humans of the Western Territories and other non-human races.
While they could survive within the corrosive mist, they couldn’t harness its power for cultivation-their only path to advancement was devouring mortals or cultivators.
In recent years, many such shape-shifting creatures had infiltrated Fengdu.
But as Fengdu’s factions governed their own affairs, none bothered to hunt these beings unless they caused overt trouble.
The Western Territories, protected by the Decadal Barrier, remained unaware of this threat.
Though Shen Qi bore no altruistic desire to cleanse the Western Territories of these pests, when Liu Die dared cross his path, he wouldn’t show mercy.
A wisp of dragonfire ignited at his fingertip before he flicked it away.
The crimson butterfly shrieked in agony as the searing flames reduced it to ashes.
Watching impassively with hands clasped behind his back, the gloom in Shen Qi’s expression lightened slightly.
“This nuisance is dealt with,” he murmured.
“Time to check on shixiong.”
With effort, he drew two fingers across his eyes, borrowing Hong Feng’s vision to survey the situation at Lihuo Gate-where Mu Congyun and a black-clad girl fought desperately against a crimson rose amidst thick corrosive mist.
Their white robes stained with blood, they struggled visibly against their foe.
“So Lihuo Gate harbored a crimson rose too,” Shen Qi observed.
This specimen appeared slightly smaller than the main body at Crimson Rose Court-likely a deliberately planted offshoot.
“No wonder the main form died so easily. It left a backup.”
Glancing at the withered rose vines, his figure vanished from the spot.
*
Lihuo Gate occupied a valley less than twenty li southwest of Poison Sect.
When Shen Qi arrived, the entire valley seethed with corrosive mist that severed all connection to the outside world.
Concealing his presence, he hadn’t ventured far before spotting Jiang Ling and Jin Ni -the latter lying unconscious in a pool of blood, his breathing shallow and labored.
Shen Qi arched an eyebrow, his gaze settling on Jiang Ling instead.
“This fool really knows how to court death.”
Though still conscious, Jiang Ling’s condition looked dire.
Having spent only two days in the “Sin Cleansing” before emerging, he’d forced his spiritual power without fully purging the internal corrosive mist.
Now the crimson rose, leveraging its mutated plant properties, continuously drew more mist from the Corrosive Mist Sea. Prolonged exposure had nearly overwhelmed him.
Approaching, Shen Qi found Jiang Ling’s eyes glassy, pupils nearly dilated.
The mutated creature’s instinctual craving for cultivator flesh had taken hold—while his body remained seated with his back to Jin Ni, his head twisted unnaturally toward the unconscious youth, throat producing guttural rasps.
Seemingly unable to resist, Jiang Ling began crawling toward Jin Ni with glazed eyes, only for the Yaori Sword impaled through his thigh to halt his advance.
The physical pain appeared to briefly restore his fading consciousness.
Trembling, he withdrew and attempted to sit cross-legged, chanting purification mantras as he struggled to mobilize his remaining spiritual power against the corruption consuming him.
Shen Qi initially observed with cold detachment, then a flicker of surprise crossed his features.
He extended a wisp of foul energy to probe Jiang Lin’s internal condition and discovered that his spiritual power was nearly depleted.
The meager remnants could barely sustain him, while the violent miasma within was gaining the upper hand.
Yet precisely because of this, his meridians hadn’t ruptured from the fierce clash between spiritual power and the miasma’s corrupting force-a conflict that would have otherwise driven him into a mindless, uncontrollable monstrosity.
“This aligns with my earlier conjecture,” Shen Qi murmured to himself.
Jiang Lin’s state confirmed some of his past suspicions.
Years ago, after having his heart-protecting scale gouged out and his cultivation crippled, he had been cast into the Abyss of Decay.
The abyss was shrouded in miasma so thick it blotted out the sun and moon.
Yet he had survived year after year, eventually mastering the method to convert the miasma’s corrupting force into foul energy for his own use.
The key, perhaps, lay in the absence of spiritual power within him.
All humans are born with spiritual potential, though mortals who never embark on the path of cultivation neither know how to harness their innate spiritual energy nor absorb external spiritual energy to refine themselves.
Cultivators, on the other hand, spend years honing their practice until their dantians brim with spiritual power.
Yet whether mortal or cultivator, prolonged exposure to dense miasma would lead to its infiltration, with a high likelihood of losing one’s sanity and becoming a monster.
Even those who miraculously retained their minds would find their cultivation paths cut short, as they could no longer wield spiritual power freely.
When he had emerged from the Abyss of Decay, he had witnessed firsthand the fall of the Western Border, watching countless cultivators descend into monstrosity.
Gradually, a suspicion had taken root—that the miasma’s corrupting force and spiritual energy were mutually incompatible.
If both coexisted within a body, their violent struggle would rupture the meridians, driving the victim into qi deviation and madness.
But if the body contained no spiritual energy, only the miasma’s force, one might endure the agony of meridian rupture, cling to clarity, and ultimately survive―transforming the corruption into a weapon.
To him, cultivation through spiritual energy and cultivation through miasma were not so different.
Jiang Lin, already grievously wounded by him and further weakened by two days submerged in the “Cleansing Sin” pool, had only a trace of spiritual power left.
Now, with the influx of miasma, that last remnant was being consumed.
By sheer will, he had held on without fully losing his mind.
Once the final wisp of spiritual power was devoured, leaving only miasma, he would not only survive but might even emerge stronger.
Shen Qi studied Jiang Lin, weighing whether to kill him or not.
If spared, the Western Border would undoubtedly uncover something from him—an outcome Shen Qi did not desire.
But if killed…
For some reason, Shen Qi recalled the sight of Mu Congyun silently practicing his swordplay for an entire day after returning from Martial Peak.
With a cold glance at Jiang Lin, he finally flicked his sleeve and turned deeper into the abyss.
“Never mind. Keeping you alive won’t disrupt my plans.”
After all, not everyone was willing to disperse their spiritual power, endure the torment of miasma-induced meridian rupture, and then harness its corruption.
In his past life, even as the Western Border fell, he alone had mastered foul energy.
Even if he bluntly revealed this truth to those hypocrites of the Western Border, they likely wouldn’t dare believe it.
Better to leave Jiang Lin alive and watch the farce unfold among those sanctimonious fools.
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