Ling Ji froze, his footsteps halting subconsciously. In the blink of an eye, Meng Qi had already dashed to Xue Chengxuan’s side. Her eyes were blood-red, almost obscuring their original color, and her gaze was icy and vacant. Strands of black hair hung beside her cheeks, lifted by the mountain breeze that brushed her slightly pale face.
Meng Qi was not a stunning beauty, but she usually wore a simple blue robe and always carried a faint scent of medicine with her, making her as elegant and refreshing as bamboo. However, now, her lips matched her eyes in an indescribably eerie coldness.
At that moment, a long, resonant “dong——” echoed in the distance as the bell sounded again. The bell’s ethereal toll was melodious, but the sound of slaughter on the city wall became more and more ferocious with its lingering tones.
The cultivators, who had barely restrained themselves, now had eyes completely filled with bloodlust. On the city walls, countless spells and sword lights danced wildly, and the scent of blood grew even thicker in the air. At first, they still seemed to be aware of their purpose here and which side they belonged to, but moments later, after their eyes were completely clouded by bloodlust, the lights from their swords and spells no longer had any restraint.
Above the city walls, sword lights clashed, and various spells collided chaotically. Sporadic cries of agony, mixed with the stench of blood, began to permeate the air. With a muffled “thud” and a long scream, a tall cultivator in a black robe fell from the walls.
Amidst this bloody storm, Meng Qi’s blue figure lightly landed beside Xue Chengxuan. His eyes already bloodshot from the killing, Xue Chengxuan clutched his abdomen with one hand, while the index and middle fingers of his other hand were pressed together. He was a medical cultivator and yet, his natal silver needle, once a life-saving tool, was now a deadly weapon. A few drops of fresh blood slid down the needle’s cold tip, making it rather eerie, as if tainted with the same bloodlust as its owner’s red eyes.
Meng Qi placed her hand on the back of Xue Chengxuan’s hand. “Ugh…” The young medical cultivator grunted, blood seeping through his fingers. He did not lower his head, his blood-red gaze still fixed on the battlefield, as if his heart and soul were focused on the silver needle he had turned into a killing instrument.
Meng Qi raised her right hand, already holding her trusted medicinal knife. Some fine lines adorned its blade, simple and yet looking ancient at the same time, adding a touch of timeless desolation to the knife.
When Ling Ji’s eyes fell on the knife, his face showed a hint of surprise.
Could it be…
He subconsciously turned to look at Yun Qingyan. The white-robed young man stood tall as a fleeting look of nostalgia quickly flashed in his eyes.
“Did you give it to her?” Ling Ji asked.
“Hmm.” Yun Qingyan responded ambiguously, giving Ling Ji an incomprehensible smile.
The two looked at each other, neither able to discern the answer they sought from the other’s face.
“Who would have thought the Thousand Emperor Bell would be here?” Ling Ji stopped pursuing the question and returned his attention to Meng Qi. The blue-robed girl, seemingly lost in her own thoughts, had already placed the medicinal knife against Xue Chengxuan’s abdominal wound. With a gentle yet swift motion, she pushed away his hand from the wound and quickly sliced through the injured area.
With a crisp clang, Meng Qi tossed a small fragment of a shattered sword blade to the ground. She then waved her hand, and her natal cauldron, now increasingly in sync with her mind, gently swayed back to her side right away. Meng Qi had already put away her knife and was now pressing a plain cloth on Xue Chengxuan’s wound with her left hand. At the same time, her right hand swiftly took out various medicinal herbs from her storage pouch, tossing them into the cauldron in quick succession.
A few spirit stones popped out, embedding themselves steadily into the array beneath the base of the cauldron. As the array lit up, the Five-Spirit Cauldron began to spin in mid-air. In just a moment, the aroma of medicinal herbs started filling the air, and the cauldron stopped spinning. With a slight wobble, it dropped a small clump of emerald-green ointment into Meng Qi’s palm.
“Ugh,” Xue Chengxuan groaned again as Meng Qi pressed the clump of ointment onto his wound—she had previously cut off the robe around his wounds with her knife. Ling Ji, who was watching her every move from a short distance away, could clearly see Xue Chengxuan’s grotesque wound closing up and healing at a speed visible to the naked eye.
“Tsks,” Ling Ji sighed softly, as if speaking to himself, yet seemingly for Yun Qingyan to hear, “The Thousand Emperor Bell can awaken the deepest desires and wishes in one’s heart. Could it be that Xiao Qi actually likes this Xue boy… eh?”
Before Ling Ji could finish his sentence, Meng Qi had already leaped up. The city wall was already in chaos, with two cultivators in Jingyuetian robes jumping off the wall and charging towards Yan Xuan. The Jingyuetian Young Master’s eyes flashed with a bloody light. Ahead of him, his crescent-shaped natal weapon was still suspended in the air, now stained with bloody color.
Mist enveloped the area beneath the bloody moon. Two moons were also floating above the heads of the two charging Jingyuetian disciples. In Jingyuetian, the more powerful one’s natal weapon, the more it resembled a new moon. Unlike Yan Xuan’s, the moons of the two disciples were slightly more curved than a half-moon, far from a crescent shape, but they also emitted a dense mist.
Jingyuetian specialized in spell cultivation, and being fellow disciples of the same sect, their fighting methods were quite similar. The mist suddenly enveloped all three, making it impossible to see their movements from the outside. Moreover, at this moment, no one had the leeway to care about what others were doing.
Ling Ji simply crossed his arms in front of his chest, standing shoulder to shoulder with Yun Qingyan, neither seemed interested in joining the chaotic battle. Ling Ji’s gaze was constantly on Meng Qi. His natal sword whistled softly in mid-air and returned to his side, its tip trembled lightly, aligning with its master’s gaze towards Meng Qi.
“This kid…” The dense fog might block the Jingyuetian party from most cultivators, but it couldn’t block Ling Ji’s, “Hmm… it’s a bit of a pity.” His voice was soft, and probably only Yun Qingyan, who stood next to him, heard what he was saying: “With his talent, coupled with Jingyuetian’s education and his father’s training, his future is boundless.”
“But it’s good for a young man to have passion.”
The blood color in Ling Ji’s eyes slowly faded, returning to its previous sharpness. His gaze, piercing through the dense fog and moonlight, fell on the towering figure of Yan Xuan, with a hint of inquiry and admiration. “This kid’s courage and pride somewhat remind me of my younger self.” He had previously felt a surge of irritation when learning that Yun Qingyan had become Meng Qi’s dao companion. Under the sound of the Thousand Emperor Bell, however, Meng Qi did not rush toward them but headed toward Xue Chengxuan and others instead. For some reason, it made him feel a bit secretly pleased.
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