Luo Luo sheathed her sword and forced herself to walk off the stage, barely holding herself together.
Her legs trembled violently, and on the last three steps, she missed her footing—but she didn’t fall. Li Zhaoye caught her.
His movements were practiced and efficient—one hand hooked her arm around his neck while the other slid behind her back, gripping beneath her armpit to lift her completely off the ground.
It was clearly the standard battlefield maneuver for dragging away the wounded.
His body and arms were solid and unyielding, and Luo Luo relaxed into his hold, tilting her head up with a bright grin. "I won!"
He leaned down until their foreheads nearly touched, their noses almost brushing.
"Yeah," he chuckled, his voice low. "You won."
His breath was heavy, warm, and overwhelmingly present.
Luo Luo’s heart skipped a beat.
Luckily, he straightened almost immediately, his dark eyes lazily scanning ahead as if he’d just happened to tilt his body while speaking.
"Phew—" She exhaled quietly in relief.
"Little Junior Sister!"
"Are you alright? How bad are your injuries?"
"Incredible! That was a flawless victory!"
The disciples of Tai Xuan Sect swarmed around her, chattering excitedly.
Li Zhaoye had no patience for social niceties. He flicked his fingers dismissively, signaling for them to clear the way.
Xu Junzhu frowned as she watched his retreating figure, her expression growing increasingly grave.
"...It really is like him."
She remembered that day when she’d rushed to the Abyssless Valley and saw the Eldest Senior Brother supporting their Little Junior Sister as they emerged from a sea of corpses. The two figures before her now overlapped almost perfectly with that memory.
Her pulse quickened, and before she could stop herself, she repeated the same words she’d spoken back then:
"Little Junior Sister is badly hurt. Carry her."
Li Zhaoye paused, glancing at Luo Luo. "Want me to carry you?"
Luo Luo blinked, then shook her head rapidly. "No, no, I can walk!"
A flush spread from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.
Li Zhaoye turned back, smirking triumphantly. "She said no!"
His brows arched slightly, pride gleaming in his eyes—as if to say, My Luo Luo isn’t some fragile little thing.
Xu Junzhu stumbled back a step, stunned.
"This…"
It wasn’t just similar. It was exactly the same.
The arena was quickly cleared, and the barrier rippled like water as a solemn voice echoed from above.
"Li Zhaoye versus Chen Xuanyi."
The call repeated three times, yet Li Zhaoye never stepped forward. The only figure standing alone on the stage was Chen Xuanyi—who, to everyone else, was Li Zhaoye.
Li Zhaoye was already on the stage, yet the announcer was still calling for him to appear.
The scene was undeniably eerie.
Zhao Yu surreptitiously rubbed the goosebumps on his arm and whispered to the disciple beside him, "Doesn’t this feel… off?"
The senior brother next to him swayed his head dreamily. "Off? Oh, it’s off! Li Zhaoye is on the stage, yet he isn’t. If Li Zhaoye wins, Li Zhaoye loses; if Li Zhaoye loses, Li Zhaoye wins! Hahaha! This humble Daoist has seen the light! Enlightenment!"
Zhao Yu: "...Shouldn’t have asked."
He craned his neck, scanning the crowd—Where the hell is Li Zhaoye?
Li Zhaoye had commandeered a wicker chair, shoved Luo Luo into it, and stuffed a handful of pills into her mouth.
He pointed at her sternly. "Stay put."
Luo Luo: "..."
The way he said it sounded more like a challenge than concern.
Chen Xuanyi had long since lost patience.
Just as the golden bell chimed, Li Zhaoye finally sauntered onto the stage.
With a casual flick of his wrist, Changtian Sword sang through the air—its tip stopping inches from Chen Xuanyi’s nose.
The bell’s chime faded.
The audience barely had time to blink.
No one saw how the two moved—only that their swords clashed, their bodies leaning into the strike, pressing forward with dark intensity.
Blades gleamed coldly between them, their near-identical faces mirroring each other.
Li Zhaoye smirked. "Is this all you’ve got?"
Chen Xuanyi grinned back. "And who the hell are you?"
With a sharp twist of his wrist, Taiyi Sword erupted with divine light, its crushing aura bearing down on Changtian.
Changtian trembled under the pressure, its blade emitting a strained whine.
Compared to Taiyi, a sacred artifact, it was nothing more than ordinary steel.
Taiyi Sword, synchronized with Chen Xuanyi’s will, let out a fierce cry as its power surged forward, flooding Changtian with overwhelming force.
Cracks—pale as bone—spread across Changtian’s surface, tracing the scars of its past shattering.
It was on the verge of breaking.
Taiyi reveled in its dominance, vibrating eagerly as it pushed harder, determined to snap Changtian in half.
It made no effort to hide its contempt—A former bonded sword? Pathetic.
"Tch." Li Zhaoye scoffed. "Bro, it’s looking down on you. You gonna take that?"
Changtian: "Clang-clang-clang!" (A stream of profanity.)
Just as the blade was about to shatter, Li Zhaoye flicked his wrist—diverting all the force from Changtian into his own body.
Chen Xuanyi’s pupils constricted.
He’d seen swords shield their masters, but never a master shielding his sword.
Before he could react, the pressure vanished.
Li Zhaoye was already in the air, descending with a single, devastating slash.
"Boom—!"
His aura was monstrous, his strength terrifying. Before the blade even landed, the air around Chen Xuanyi was forcibly expelled, leaving a vacuum in its wake.
Changtian struck.
Chen Xuanyi raised Taiyi to block.
At this level of impact, Changtian had to break.
A cold smile curled Chen Xuanyi’s lips—How dare he be this reckless?
"CRACK!"
A blinding flash erupted where the blades met.
The audience’s ears rang, overwhelmed by white noise.
Then, the shockwave exploded outward, slamming into the arena’s barrier with a dull thud. All that remained visible were the razor-sharp glints of steel slicing through the air.
At the epicenter, Changtian clashed with Taiyi.
Li Zhaoye’s hair ribbon and sleeves billowed wildly behind him as he laughed and struck again.
Chen Xuanyi’s blood ran cold.
There was no way a shoddy sword like that could withstand such force.
Which meant—this bastard wasn’t relying on the blade at all. He was using his own monstrously strong body to overpower Taiyi.
In the span of a thought, Chen Xuanyi had already blocked dozens of strikes.
Every single one landed in the exact same spot.
Taiyi had never been humiliated like this. It roared furiously, demanding more spiritual energy from Chen Xuanyi.
Chen Xuanyi wasn’t faring much better.
He’d dismissed this pretty-faced nobody as an appetizer—someone to crush before moving on to Luo Luo.
But this was no pushover.
Chen Xuanyi seized a few openings to counter, but Li Zhaoye sidestepped each one effortlessly.
"CLANG!"
Another clash. Both pushed off, leaping back.
Chen Xuanyi snarled, "You—there’s no way you’re only at the Nascent Soul stage!"
In the rear pavilion, someone voiced the same suspicion:
"That Changtian Sword in Li Zhaoye’s hands can’t possibly endure this level of combat. If his cultivation exceeds the limit, this is outright cheating!"
True Lord Pangyue raised a hand with a smile, quieting the murmurs in the arena. "Calm down, everyone. Who knows, that sword might just appear ordinary at first glance? So far, we haven’t seen any outward displays of Divinity Transformation-level techniques, have we? Isn’t it a bit hasty to jump to conclusions? Let’s wait and see!"
Anyone could tell the sect leader was itching to see the Tai Xuan Sect humiliated.
If that pretty boy could cripple Tai Xuan’s top disciple, it’d be a cause for celebration.
"After the match, we’ll investigate. If he’s truly overqualified, we’ll disqualify him and declare Chen Xuanyi the winner. Fair enough?"
True Lord Pangyue spoke while sneaking a glance at Master Lingxue.
The female cultivator’s brows were slightly furrowed, but she offered no objection.
True Lord Pangyue exhaled in relief.
Li Zhaoye slashed down from midair once more.
Chen Xuanyi twisted away, only to hear a low chuckle by his ear.
His move had been predicted!
Before he could react, Li Zhaoye vanished.
A sharp elbow strike slammed into Chen Xuanyi’s back.
"Ugh—!"
Blood sprayed from Chen Xuanyi’s mouth as he staggered, barely steadying himself before whirling around to raise his sword in defense.
Li Zhaoye didn’t press the attack. Instead, he shook his head, lips curling in mockery.
"That’s it?"
Chen Xuanyi’s eyes flashed—no more holding back.
His hands flew through a series of seals, spiritual energy surging wildly as he channeled the full might of the Taiyi True Breath into his divine sword.
Flames of light erupted from the blade, blazing fiercely.
A deafening roar echoed as radiant light flooded the arena, dazzling spectators.
Chen Xuanyi gripped his sword with both hands, poised like a god descending to earth.
His robes billowed despite the absence of wind, his aura skyrocketing to its peak in an instant.
The divine sword swept diagonally through the air, igniting the atmosphere as a terrifying wave of destruction gathered.
With a spin, Chen Xuanyi brought the blade down.
"BOOM!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
A dragon of flame engulfed the entire stage, roaring and thrashing as it hurtled toward Li Zhaoye.
This was the final technique of the Taiyi Nine Forms—executed with the divine sword and empowered by the Taiyi True Breath. Even a Divinity Transformation cultivator would perish!
Chen Xuanyi wiped the blood from his lips with a cold smirk.
"A momentary lapse, nothing more. Did you really think you could win?"
The flames swallowed Li Zhaoye’s figure, tearing at him violently.
Someone in the audience cried out, "This isn’t a technique an Nascent Soul cultivator should wield! He’s breaking the rules!"
Another winced. "It’s over. His opponent didn’t flee the arena—he’s done for."
A timid voice added, "This is too much… Overpowered techniques and now a life lost…"
Chen Xuanyi shot them a frosty glare. "The Azure Cloud Tournament holds no responsibility for life or death. If you lose, blame your own inadequacy. Spare me the whining."
The flames began to fade.
Amid the blinding white light, a silhouette emerged—lean, tall, and radiating arrogance.
He stepped forward, sword in hand.
With a casual flick of his wrist, the blade sang, extinguishing several tendrils of flame.
The crowd erupted.
Chen Xuanyi’s pupils shrank. "You—"
Li Zhaoye tilted his head, a slow, taunting grin spreading. "Warm-up’s over."
He lunged, his sword crashing into the Taiyi Blade with a thunderous impact.
Chen Xuanyi’s hands went numb, his head ringing.
Though visibly injured, Li Zhaoye fought like a maniac—swinging his sword with reckless abandon, each strike heavier than the last.
Chen Xuanyi’s voice trembled. "Madman!"
The madman laughed, driving him back relentlessly.
Exhausted from unleashing the Taiyi Nine Forms, Chen Xuanyi had no time to recover.
He was on the verge of being forced off the stage.
Desperate, Chen Xuanyi shouted to the skies, "His cultivation far exceeds Nascent Soul! He’s cheating! Why isn’t anyone stopping him?!"
Li Zhaoye tsked. "Calling for help now?"
Another brutal slash landed on the Taiyi Blade.
Devoid of its divine light, the sword quivered helplessly under the assault.
Strike after strike, all aimed at the same spot.
The incense stick was nearly burnt out.
"Want to win that badly?" Li Zhaoye leaped, delivering a crushing kick to Chen Xuanyi’s shoulder. "Begging for help won’t save you. Kneel and ask nicely—I might teach you."
"CRACK!"
Chen Xuanyi’s collarbone shattered.
Gritting his teeth, he glared up with pure hatred.
Li Zhaoye flashed a vicious grin. "Call me ‘Grandpa,’ and maybe I’ll go easy on you, little grandson."
Chen Xuanyi roared in fury.
He swung his sword wildly, only for Li Zhaoye to kick it aside.
The divine blade clattered to the ground.
Staggering, Chen Xuanyi barely caught his balance when the Changtian Sword circled back.
Its hilt spun, smashing into the back of his knee.
"THUD!"
Chen Xuanyi collapsed to his knees before Li Zhaoye.
He struggled to rise, but Li Zhaoye clamped a hand on his wounded shoulder, fingers digging into broken bone.
A pained grunt escaped him.
Li Zhaoye cupped an ear theatrically. "Ah—heard you loud and clear, good grandson! Really, just saying ‘Grandpa’ would’ve been enough. No need for the theatrics. Fine, fine, I’ll let you off!"
With a laugh, he vaulted off the stage.
The incense burned out.
Li Zhaoye landed before the vinewood chair.
Glancing down, he found Luo Luo slumped sideways, eyelids drooping but stubbornly open—asleep mid-struggle.
He stared.
Jiang Ling whispered, "She dozed off right after you burst through the flames. Said it was ‘so cool it killed her.’"
Li Zhaoye waved a hand dismissively, feigning indifference. "Let her sleep, whatever." Yet he reached out and gently closed her eyelids.
Jiang Ling stifled a giggle.
As Li Zhaoye moved to hoist Luo Luo up, Jiang Ling intervened. "She’s asleep—carry her on your back. I’ll cover her with a blanket."
"Fine."
Luo Luo woke at dusk.
Her body was pressed against a familiar warmth, her cheek resting on his shoulder. Blinking, she took in the sharp line of his jaw and the curve of his throat.
"Li Zhaoye…"
His Adam’s apple bobbed. "Hm?"
"Did you win?"
"Obviously." He glanced down, smug. "I know what you’re thinking. Left that grandson of yours for you to deal with later."
"Mm."
Her quiet laughter made her face and arms brush against him.
He adjusted his grip, grumbling, "This damn path never ends. Go back to sleep."
Surrounded by his scent and warmth, her heart floated weightlessly, as if drifting toward the setting sun.
"Okay," she murmured.
Eyes closed, she swayed gently with his steps.
Pure bliss.
He crossed the skybridge, and once certain she was deep asleep, took a deliberate detour—adding an extra mile to their journey.
