Outside the Sword Pool, in the small pavilion.
The two ancestral tablets that once glead with golden light had now gone utterly dim, silent as though death itself had claid them.
The leading Taoist wanted to touch them, but just as the thought arose, the tablets crumbled into dust.
The faces of the gathered Taoists turned ashen, lifeless as corpses.
The bodies of those who had slit their own throats, sacrificing their lives to summon an Immortal into the mortal realm, still lay there. Blood pooled, stinging the eyes. They had died—but died in vain.
"This... shouldn't have happened... it shouldn't have..."
The three blood-soaked red and yellow robes trembled. The oldest Taoist's dilated pupils seed on the verge of collapse.
"Wu Buxu... has awakened?"
His voice was soft, yet it weighed a thousand jun. The entire pavilion seed to sink under the weight of his words.
No one dared to respond.
The awakening of Wu Buxu heralded the imminent collapse of the Sword Pool.
As for why Wu Buxu had ignored this pavilion, none of the Taoists had the answer. Perhaps, in the eyes of the man who was once the greatest under heaven, these so-called "monsters" in the eyes of mortals were unworthy of even his disdain.
The curling smoke from the incense burner lingered, while the corpses on the ground seed to gnaw at the remnants of their souls. The five-hundred-year rise and fall of Chongyang Temple teetered on the brink of its end. The eldest Taoist abruptly raised his head, his hoarse voice breaking:
"Summon... summon the spirit!"
The Taoists around him were stunned, their faces filled with horror. One of them asked, "The ancestral Immortals have already been summoned with blood sacrifices—whom can we summon now?"
"Demons!"
The elder Taoist spat the word out, biting his own tongue until blood oozed.
"Outer Heaven Demon!"
The faces of the Taoists turned pale to an inhuman degree, as if they had just heard sothing utterly inconceivable. One by one, they fell into shocked disbelief.
"Chongyang Temple defied the celestial order and opened the Heavenly Gate for countless Taoists. When have we ever owed anything to this world?!" the elder Taoist roared. "Our failure to ascend has always been because of our deep-seated demonic obstacles, impossible to eradicate. Why not use them today, and repay the blessings we've received?!"
Imdiately, the Taoist began chanting incantations, spewing a mouthful of heart's blood onto the incense burner.
Few responded from behind him. Only a trickle of blood droplets joined the offering.
Letting out a heavy sigh within his heart, the elder Taoist's gaze instead hardened with resolute determination.
The smoke from the incense burner, once ethereal, now grew thicker, rolling into a dense crimson mist, which gradually coalesced into a painting suspended within the fog.
In the next instant, a tall figure stepped out from within the painting, one foot forward. Half of the figure's face ca into view, visible to everyone present.
On the verge of death, the elder Taoist craned his neck for a better look, his eyes filled with intensity.
That person bore a sword on their back, and a blade hung at their waist.
"Who was so kind as to open this door for ..." Chen Yi's gaze crackled like lightning, his voice sharp with the tallic tang of freshly awakened blood. "And who might you all be?"
...…
On the mountain peak's left side, there was a cliff. The broad edge jutted outward, its cracks jagged like a dog's fangs. Beyond the protrusion lay the cave.
Stinging pain brushed against his face as the winds from beyond the mountain struck. Min Ning stood by the cave entrance, running his fingers along the stone wall.
The wall was riddled with scars left by blades and swords, so shallow, so deep.
This must be the "Sword Despair Cave" the old man had ntioned.
Yin Weiyin scanned the surroundings and said:
"Seven days to break the swordsmanship. The swordsn who stayed here must have racked their brains and ground their nerves, endlessly swinging and practicing their swords, only to sink deeper into despair. That's why they call it the Sword Despair Cave."
Deep within, the stone wall bore carvings of Wu Buxu's Qingxiao Swordsmanship.
Min Ning noticed mottled bloodstains on the corners, then turned his gaze to the sword marks on the walls. It wasn't hard to imagine soone caving under the imnse pressure and taking their own life.
Seven days. With each passing day, death lood ever closer—even though salvation was visibly within reach. What kind of excruciating ntal tornt would that bring?
Yin Weiyin glanced at Lu Ying, who was sitting in the depths observing the swordsmanship, and then walked over to Min Ning.
The female crown lowered her voice and said, "Why don't we... find a way to escape?"
Min Ning cast a sidelong glance at Yin Weiyin. The suggestion surprised him, but not beyond reason.
It seed that, despite how much had changed, so things remained the sa.
Min Ning secretly transmitted his voice: "Escape? And leave Lu Ying behind?"
Yin Weiyin couldn't directly refute, so she said instead, "Everyone has their own fate."
Min Ning snorted in disdain and said, "If I intended to flee, why would I have stood up back then? Unlike you... Wu Buxu didn't even notice your existence. You could easily turn and walk away."
Yin Weiyin was displeased by this. If she left alone, how would she even know where the exit of this Secret Realm was? And did he truly think she wouldn't be able to find it? If not for the fact that Min Ning was her man, she wouldn't care whether he lived or died.
Min Ning brushed past Yin Weiyin without looking back and said, "Zhou Yitang once walked out alive under the sword—I'm no weaker than her."
Yin Weiyin retorted sharply, "Zhou Yitang never compared herself to anyone. Yet you always find yourself needing to compare to her."
Zhou Yitang had severed her three spiritual corpses. Back in the days when she served as a concubine, they had spent all their days and nights together, so naturally, Yin Weiyin knew. She also knew that Zhou Yitang didn't compare herself to anyone.
Otherwise, she might never have beco the head wife.
Min Ning walked to the deep stone wall, smiled faintly at Lu Ying, and without another word, quietly studied the swordsmanship carved into the wall.
For so reason, this cald Lu Ying's heart.
After observing for nearly an hour, Min Ning finally made her way to the wide open space by the cliff's edge, drew her Wind Cloud Sword, and began replicating the movents etched into the wall.
Min Ning's steps shifted, at tis to the left, at tis to the right. Her sword thrust forward, then spun swiftly as she pivoted, slashing horizontally with the speed of the wind. The cold winds from the cliff scattered as they collided with her swings.
She was performing the Qingxiao Swordsmanship depicted on the wall.
Wu Buxu had held nothing back when carving the swordsmanship. Every move, every technique was laid bare on the stone surface.
Yet now, the Sword Pool had beco nothing more than a graveyard of blades.
Before long, Min Ning completed a full set of the sword techniques. Beads of sweat dripped from her face, her body drenched. Zhou Yitang, watching her, noted that in just a short ti, Min Ning had already mastered forty to fifty percent of it.
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