The Gong Yang Clan Bloodline Secret Art, exhaling frost.
The eighteen black-robed cultivators he had brought along also followed suit with their hand-seals.
The white mist created by the clash of the Red Flame Flower and the white frost gathered into clouds high in the sky.
Suddenly, a torrential downpour burst forth with a piercing shriek through the heavens.
Eighteen cultivators joined forces, to bring forth this relentless, pounding rain!
The Red Flame Flower, the ice frost, the sudden rain, these three elements briefly coexisted mid-air, forming a dazzling and strange spectacle.
Within this vista, the handsome man in a flame robe suddenly looked up to the sky and howled, "The power of extreme flame, capable of burning the heavens and boiling the seas, Zhurong True Body, enter me!"
Within his body, a distinctly different and lukewarm fir light suddenly began to expand.
Merely this minor expanding change caused crows to combust mid-flight, dark clouds to disperse abruptly, and the pouring rain to vanish without a trace!
In an instant, all attention was stolen!
Gongyang Bai's expression changed drastically, "Where did he get the Zhurong Fire Seed? How is it possible that he can activate the Zhurong True Body?"
"This is Zuo Guanglie..." The iron-faced man with a pair of mechanical iron wings on his back hovered beside Gongyang Bai, his voice also heavy with a gravity that couldn't dissipate: "The man who almost single-handedly slaughtered his way through the Hangu Pass!"
Among the infinitely expanding power of the fire path, flames burst forth from the seven orifices of Zuo Guanglie.
"Come on, Mo Jingyu!"
"Gongyang Bai!"
With a casual wave of his hand, he summoned a fire dragon that tore through the sky, forcing Gongyang Bai and the others to retreat in succession.
"What noble lineage! Aristocratic families! Geniuses! Do you still dare to boast so in front of me?!"
He seemed to be driven mad by the burning of the Zhurong Fire Seed, losing reason, his emotions intense.
"The shame of my family, the hatred of my country, cannot be washed away by all the rivers and seas!"
The battle in the valley was lost; he seemed to hear the wailing of thousands of homes in Chuguo.
It was as if in the flames he could see his father who died in battle when he was fourteen years old… as though he was trying to tell him something.
Telling him… what?
Zuo Guanglie laughed loudly, tears streaming down his face, but the tears were scorched dry in an instant.
"My dear head is here, who dares to claim it?"
Behind him, a vague figure loomed, a majestic spirit wielding a fire dragon.
He finally burned everything, melting into the flames.
"Only I may kill this body, only Zhurong may ignite this soul!"
In his burning, fiery eyes, he at last lost all emotion.
All that remained was the coldest intent to kill, directed at those who had besieged him.
"Die!"
Mo Jingyu reached behind himself, intending to flip open the copper box strapped to his back and use his final ace. But his hands trembled uncontrollably, utterly devoid of strength.
In his Spiritual Sense, there was no countryside, no broken observatory, not even a single person. There was only fire, only boundless waves of flame. The violent fire almost twisted the fabric of space, nearly burning away his thoughts as well.
In the face of such formidable power, what difference was there between him and those beggars who had died before?
...
In the sky, a streak of cold light appeared from the west.
At just a glimpse of the scene, Gongyang Bai felt as if his eyes were sliced by a blade!
Without the time to investigate further, he realized that in the instant he saw it, the cold light had already circled in front of Zuo Guanglie and passed him by!
Zuo Guanglie's roaring came to an abrupt halt.
"So noisy."
A young man in white clothes suddenly appeared.
His face, eternally aloof from the world, was extremely cold and indifferent as he stood there sideways.
He slowly sheathed his sword, his voice as flat as if it had no ripple.
Zuo Guanglie's head suddenly fell, rolling on the ground, but because he had used Boiling Blood Burning Soul, not a drop of blood could be spilled.
Only then did the piercing screech, like thunder, echo in the sky!
It was the sound of the white-clothed man's sword coming from the west, slicing through the air!
...
Gongyang Bai and Mo Jingyu exchanged glances, both seeing the immense shock in the other's eyes.
"Li Yi, I am acting under the orders of Prince Ying Wu..."
But Gongyang Bai only started speaking when he fell silent and immediately picked up Zuo Guanglie's head and fled.
Because the man in white had already turned his gaze towards him.
His hair, his eyebrows, his eyes, even the corners of his lips, all bore a sword-like sharpness. Yet his gaze remained bland, almost lukewarm.
But within this lukewarmness, there was a chilling indifference that made one tremble.
No matter if they were genius personalities inherited from the ancient Mo Gate, or from one of the world's famous and noble bloodlines.
Nobody dared to ask why, nobody dared to utter an extra word.
...
Zuo Guanglie was dead, yet the Zhurong Fire Seed within him had not dissipated, still expanding slowly.
This power was not something the exhausted Zuo Guanglie could control. He was merely a primer, a medium, using his genius and resoluteness to let the magnificent power of the Zhurong True Body vent a sliver of, a moment's release in this world.
The man in white flicked out a black token, observing in silence.
After a long stillness from the black token, a domineering voice finally rang out—"Now, clear."
No sooner had the voice faded than the extraordinary material of the token seemed unable to withstand the sound, instantly shattering into countless black specks, slipping through the fingers of Li Yi, fluttering down.
It wasn't until everyone had left and the token in his hand had crumbled that Li Yi tilted his head slightly, turning his gaze toward the expanding Zhurong Fire Seed.
He extended a slender, pale hand, making a pocket-like shape with his fingers.
Only at this moment, unnoticed by anyone, did he show a trace of childlike innocence amidst his usual languid indifference.
He gently called out, "Boom!"
Just as his five fingers opened, coincided precisely with the explosion of the Zhurong seed.
An invisible force confined the explosion, preventing it from spreading, merely blasting Zuo Guanglie's body into countless pieces of flesh.
Red Flame Flowers bloomed indulgently in this tiny microcosm, dazzling for a moment, capturing its brilliance in a space.
This ultimate beauty was appreciated by him alone.
The corners of Li Yi's mouth lifted slightly, but the smile vanished in an instant.
The fireworks had ended.
He didn't bother to see what remained of Zuo Guanglie's body, nor did he show the slightest attachment, his figure merging with the sword light, disappearing in an instant.
...
Throughout the ordeal, no one paid the slightest attention to the battle outside the broken observatory from start to finish.
To powerful cultivators, the weak Zhuang Country hardly merited a glance. In the three thousand li territory of the Zhuang Country, Fenglin City was insignificant as dust. And even within the tiny Fenglin City itself, this broken observatory in the outskirts had long been forgotten.
But within this decrepit observatory, there was not the absence of life.
It was a beggar at death's door, simply waiting for death to come.
He had prepared himself to die and was waiting for it, yet he hadn't died and had "heard" this incredibly thrilling battle from beginning to end.
When the battle ended and everything returned to silence.
He was still alive.
He might be considered lucky, but the word "lucky" seemed so incongruent with him. His tattered clothes, his gaunt, sickly face, even his almost ephemeral breathing all defined misfortune.
But after all, he was still alive.
He thought it over, put in the effort to roll over, tumbling out from under the offering table.
Clenching his teeth, he used all his strength, clumsily and shakily standing up.
After all, he had stood up.
It took him one hundred and thirty-seven steps to move from in front of the offering table to the outside of the observatory.
From the doorway of the observatory to Zuo Guanglie's body, it took three hundred and twenty-four steps.
The beggar silently counted each step he took, constantly telling himself he was almost there.
It was almost over.
Every muscle in his body protested, trembling.
No one knew where the strength came from that propelled him forward.
His astonishing perseverance had no audience.
Now he stood in front of Zuo Guanglie's body, and this laborious journey had finally come to an end—if that pile of flesh could still be called a body.
He slowly, slowly squat down, finding squatting too strenuous, so he simply sat.
He was really very sick, his face barely recognizable through the filth, yet still showed a pallid weakness,
Even his hands were trembling.
Trembling, he searched through the pile of flesh, searching.
Flesh, flesh, bone shards, pieces of broken metal, flesh, finger bones, an unrecognizable chunk of wood...
A bottle!
He found this jade bottle, half intact, amidst what was once identifiable human form.
The top part of the bottle was completely blown away, leaving only half of the bottom.
The beggar suppressed his slightly ragged breathing, bringing the jade bottle in front of him.
He carefully removed a piece of flesh plugging the lower half of the bottle and peered inside.
He saw there the last pill within, a glossy, round pill, and his breath halted.
He recognized it, the very Channel-opening Pill he had longed for day and night, once possessing and then losing.