Chapter Fifty-Six

The killing intent — cold and terrifying — closed in around Lian Ci like a seamless net, coming straight for him. The blood in Lian Ci's entire body suddenly froze. His limbs locked up, joints rigid, unable to move a single inch. There was nowhere to flee.

His pupils shook violently. His face filled with terror and panic. He was so frightened his liver and gallbladder felt ready to split. In the grip of absolute fear, it was as if an invisible pair of hands had closed around his throat, making even breathing a struggle.

After centuries of cultivation, this was the first time Lian Ci had ever felt this close to death. His complexion had gone a purplish-blue. His mouth opened instinctively, as though to speak in his own defence — but the more desperately he tried, the less sound he could produce.

"Sect Master!!" Cen Yan was standing close to Lian Ci and was the first to notice that something was wrong with his complexion.

His own face changed dramatically. He instinctively swallowed the words he had been about to say and tried to step forward to protect Lian Ci — but his body, under the crushing weight of the surrounding pressure, could not move even an inch.

Lian Ci's trembling eyes rolled sideways toward Cen Yan. But the very corner of his eye caught, quite unintentionally, Ning Yuan's expressionless black gaze shift to the side — and land on Cen Yan.

Realising what Ning Yuan was about to do, Lian Ci's pupils snapped wide open, and a bone-deep chill spread through every inch of his body.

No!

No, no, no!!

Lian Ci was screaming and raging in his heart with everything he had, yet was completely powerless to stop it. He could only watch helplessly from the corner of his eye as Ning Yuan half-raised his large hand, his long five fingers curving slightly, and grabbed Cen Yan by the neck from across the distance — hoisting Cen Yan bodily into mid-air!

"It seems that after a hundred years in closed cultivation, some people have forgotten what I am capable of." Ning Yuan's voice was ice-cold, and it sent a shudder through anyone who heard it.

To use the Hundred Immortal Sects as leverage, deflect the blame onto Chú Róng, and then take the opportunity to pull Cen Yan out cleanly and unharmed? The audacity of Lian Ci's scheming was truly extraordinary.

What he wanted was for Cen Yan to apologise to Chú Róng and vent some of Chú Róng's grievances on his behalf — not for these people to come and make trouble for Chú Róng. Lian Ci's self-important manoeuvring was practically an insult to his intelligence!

Ning Yuan's five fingers contracted. If Lian Ci would not give an answer of his own accord, then — he would take it himself!

The next moment, a surge of immense spiritual force drove straight into Cen Yan's meridians. Suspended in mid-air, Cen Yan threw his head back. On his refined face, the veins at his temple bulged visibly. His features contorted and twisted. A scream of pain tore from his throat, and the spiritual energy throughout his entire body visibly scattered and collapsed.

Late Golden Core stage.

Mid Golden Core stage.

Early Golden Core stage.

……

All those present were cultivators with keen senses. The Golden Core cultivators among the Hundred Immortal Sects were quick to detect the irregularity in Cen Yan's condition. Their mouths fell open, expressions turning to horror, and they couldn't stop themselves from letting out sharp, startled cries: "His — his — his cultivation is dropping!!"

No — more accurately, Cen Yan's cultivation realm was being forcibly reversed, stage by stage!

The Immortal Venerable was abolishing Cen Yan's cultivation!!

Ning Yuan stood enormously tall. Though he was making a deliberate effort to contain himself, keeping the pressure he radiated outside the restriction seal so that not a single trace of it reached within — Wusong Lodge remained entirely unaffected — his aura was still overbearingly fierce to all those outside.

Ning Yuan's solid frame completely blocked Chú Róng's line of sight, making it impossible to see what was happening outside the main gate. But from the words of the assembled sects, Chú Róng was still able to piece together roughly what was going on.

Chú Róng's long, dense lashes trembled faintly, and a flash of astonishment passed through the depths of his eyes. He tilted his head back and looked at the man standing just beside him.

The profile of Ning Yuan's face was clean and sharply defined. His nose bridge was high. His Adam's apple was large and prominent — like the man himself, carrying an ineffable aura of danger and aggression.

As if sensing Chú Róng's gaze, Ning Yuan turned around. His deep, fathomless eyes swept over him, and the ice in them thawed slightly: "Are you frightened?"

Chú Róng was a mortal — he presumably had no experience with the brutal scenes that the world of cultivation could produce.

Ning Yuan shifted his tall frame to the side, and the person suspended in mid-air was suddenly visible to Chú Róng's eyes.

Chú Róng's heart was completely unmoved. He had resolved to dissolve the marriage contract with Cen Yan ahead of time, intending to slip away from Qingyang Heavenly Sect without a sound, without getting entangled in anything.

But who could have known that Cen Yan and his people would be the ones who refused to let him go?

Xú Zǐyáng imprisoning him, drugging him, attempting to possess him — and then Lian Ci bringing the Hundred Immortal Sects to condemn him and handing him over like a gift. These people had done their worst to him. Why should he waste even a fragment of emotion on people who weren't worth it?

Chú Róng felt somewhat disappointed. The protagonists he had rather liked from outside the book turned out, in the end, to be nothing more than this.

It was a pity he was a mortal and couldn't do anything to the cultivators. Otherwise, he would absolutely have repaid every single thing Cen Yan and the others had done to him in full.

Chú Róng had never considered himself a kind-hearted person. If he had been, he would have died of starvation, or cold, or been beaten to death at the hands of some group of street thugs long ago — he wouldn't have had the chance to grow up at all.

"No." Chú Róng reined in his wandering thoughts and brought his gaze back. He shook his head lightly, and his black hair swept across his shoulders. The length of neck he tilted upward was luminous white, like jade.

He was a mortal, yes — but he was a man, too. Was he supposed to be scared by a scene as minor as this? Chú Róng was simply surprised. Ning Yuan had already heard everything these people had said. So why was he still protecting him?

— Even though it was the original host who had done the evil, not himself, to an outsider's eyes he was the original host.

Chú Róng's pale lips parted slightly, about to say something — when a heart-rending cry came from outside Wusong Lodge: "Yan'er!"

The worst had happened. Lian Ci was overcome with anguish. His colour shifted from purplish-red to a ghastly grey-white, and he suddenly opened his mouth and vomited out a great mouthful of blood!

No — this cannot happen!

In recent centuries, cultivation had grown increasingly difficult in the world of cultivation. To drop a single realm could mean decades spent unable to recover it. For Cen Yan to lose so much cultivation at once — in what year and month could he ever return to the Golden Core stage?

Lian Ci threw caution to the wind, frantically mustering every scrap of spiritual energy inside him to resist Ning Yuan's pressure. His jaw trembled, and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. Setting aside all dignity befitting the head of a sect, he prostrated himself heavily to the ground and kowtowed over and over, begging for mercy: "Immortal Venerable, please quell your anger! I had no intention of stalling. It is only that in all of hundreds of years, Qingyang Heavenly Sect has only this once stumbled upon such extraordinary fortune, having received a disciple of Cen Yan's calibre. I simply couldn't bear it! Every fault, every wrong, was caused by my own selfishness. If the Immortal Venerable must punish someone, then punish me! I am willing to abolish my own cultivation. I only beg the Immortal Venerable to show mercy!"

"Sect Master, you must not!" The faces of Qingyang Heavenly Sect's disciples changed all at once. How could the sect master come to harm?!

Péi Zhàn also turned to look at Lian Ci, his handsome face filled with disapproval. Though he didn't know in what way Cen Yan had offended Immortal Venerable Ning Yuan, something happening to Cen Yan would actually be for the better.

That way, the future of Qingyang Heavenly Sect would fall into his hands — and Chú Róng along with it.

Of all of them, only Hè Míng clenched his fists tight and said nothing. The struggle was written all over his eyes. He had poured his entire life into Cen Yan, his one prized disciple, and he wanted no accident to befall him.

Ning Yuan turned back around, intentionally or not blocking Chú Róng completely from view again. He cast Lian Ci a cold, indifferent look, like a divine being gazing down upon an ant from on high: "Don't get ahead of yourself. The debt you owe will all be settled in due time."

Once he was done dealing with Cen Yan, Lian Ci would be next.

How dare he take it upon himself to hand Chú Róng over. Not a single person in Qingyang Heavenly Sect was going to get away with this!

Lian Ci's face went ashen. He stared up at Cen Yan, anguished in mid-air, and deep despair bled through his eyes.

Foundation Establishment, great perfection.

Foundation Establishment, late stage.

Foundation Establishment, mid stage.

……

Qi Refinement, early stage.

Lian Ci could not bear to watch and squeezed his eyes shut. In this moment, the painstaking toil of his hundreds of years collapsed and crumbled utterly.

Thud——!

Cen Yan fell from the air and slammed straight into the ground. His clothes were smeared with mud. Waves of fierce pain crackled across his every nerve. He curled his limbs to his body, his face ashen, his forehead soaked with sweat.

Around Wusong Lodge, the tree shadows swayed and crossed. Not a single sound could be heard. No one spoke.

Everyone had watched with their own eyes as Cen Yan's cultivation plummeted without pause — watched as a once-in-a-generation genius who had stood above all others in talent was reduced to nothing, and that this had required no more than a single raise of Ning Yuan's hand.

For the first time ever, the Hundred Immortal Sects were confronted, with absolute clarity, with the gulf between the Mahayana stage and the Golden Core stage. An involuntary chill took root in the depths of their hearts, and their scalps went numb, their entire bodies breaking into tremors.

The minds of the assembled sects began, without their willing it, to waver. After all, no grudge, however great, mattered more than one's own life.

Hè Tíng took in every expression around him. Within his calculating eyes, a flash of fierce unwillingness passed. He had never imagined that the Immortal Venerable would shield Chú Róng — to this extent.

Hè Tíng pushed himself off the ground with both hands, staggered to his feet, his appearance somewhat bedraggled — yet the poise carved into him by years of experience remained undiminished. His smile did not reach his eyes as he asked: "What is the Immortal Venerable's meaning? Young Master Chú and Friend Cen have a Heavenly Dao marriage contract, which makes him half a member of Qingyang Heavenly Sect. The sect master's decision on how to deal with Young Master Chú is an internal sect matter. Is it not a little inappropriate for the Immortal Venerable to interfere so abruptly?"

An arrow let loose cannot be recalled. Things had come to this point, and if Hè Tíng left empty-handed, the cost would be far too steep.

Besides — so what if Ning Yuan was powerful?

What Chú Róng and Cen Yan had formed was a Heavenly Dao marriage contract. It was not easily dissolved. For as long as the contract remained in effect, Chú Róng would be bound by its restrictions for that same day — and even someone as powerful as Ning Yuan could do nothing about it.

What Hè Tíng was gambling on was that as long as that contract existed, Ning Yuan could not take Chú Róng away. As long as Chú Róng stayed, his goal would be accomplished.

And with the deeds Chú Róng had done spreading far and wide among the Hundred Immortal Sects, if Chú Róng wanted to survive, he would have to find someone to protect him — and other than Tiānjī Sect, Chú Róng had no other choice.

Hè Tíng took a deep breath, and it was as though he could already see the scene of Chú Róng confined within a golden cage, his to do with as he pleased.

"Ha." A drawling, bewitching scoff cut right through Hè Tíng's wishful calculations.

Chú Róng stepped out from behind Ning Yuan. His sleeves trailed like flowing clouds, stirring up a wave of deep orchid fragrance. His eyes tilted upward at the corners as his luminous gaze swept across the crowd, catching every eye: "Who said my marriage contract with Cen Yan still stands?"

Everyone in the Hundred Immortal Sects drew a sharp breath. When they came back to their senses, the smile on Hè Tíng's face vanished entirely, and a crack split open in his elegant bearing, ugly and raw beneath.

What did that mean?

Was it possible that Chú Róng's marriage contract no longer existed?

Chú Róng let his gaze fall on Hè Tíng — the male lead who had come at him from every direction — and looked at him steadily. The depths of Chú Róng's eyes were unreadable, yet they left Hè Tíng feeling inexplicably hollow inside, a premonition of something terrible creeping in.

The young man's beautiful lips parted and closed, his devastating face like a demon's reflection in water. The words he spoke were enunciated clearly, reaching every ear present, one syllable at a time: "I have already dissolved my marriage contract with Cen Yan."

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