Before Helian Nanshan's stunned gaze, Leng Ruoshuang slowly levitated from the bed, unnaturally flat and still. Her feet touched the ground with a soft thud—then came a sickening series of cracks and pops from deep within her body, followed by the shrill, dying screams of something insect-like writhing inside her.
A bluish hue began to spread across her exposed skin, deepening from pale cyan to a venomous jade. Her long hair writhed like a nest of serpents.
"You all must die."
Her mouth opened, and a voice issued forth—hoarse, guttural, and wholly inhuman.
Before her words even faded, Leng Ruoshuang lunged forward, body bent low, step sharp as lightning. A translucent blue silhouette burst from her form. The sudden gust of force howled through the chamber. Helian Nanshan recoiled, stumbling backward in terror."What... what are you?!"
The figure that had emerged was almost an exact replica of Leng Ruoshuang—same build, same features—save for its icy, transparent skin and a pair of glowing, pale cyan eyes devoid of warmth or mercy. It said nothing. Instead, it raised a hand.
A sudden wind surged.
Then, with a flick of its palm, a blast of howling force tore through the air and rushed straight at Helian Nanshan.
He shouted in alarm and met the strike with a counterattack of his own. Though not a man easily subdued, he was no longer the force he once was. Still, the vast reservoir of power inherited from Fengyun Wuji surged forth—an invisible wave of ancient energy slashed toward the phantom.
BOOM!
The explosion cracked through the air. Helian Nanshan was launched like a ragdoll, smashing through several walls before crashing hard to the ground, coughing blood mid-air.
"Gu Yuetian! Do something!" he roared hoarsely.
But the azure figure stood unshaken, utterly unbothered. The furious winds that had ripped the room apart merely passed through it. Only the faintest ripple shimmered across its body of blue light.
Seeing this, despair gripped Helian Nanshan. Another mouthful of blood burst forth as he collapsed heavily.
"If you don't act now, Master, we're dead! What the hell is that thing?!"
Gu Yuetian stood frozen, wide-eyed, petrified. He didn't even flinch.
Helian Nanshan wanted to curse him, but his mouth only filled with blood. He fell silent.
"You. Must. All. Die."
The azure figure's voice thundered, distorted and deafening. Its words were like a sonic blade—tearing everything in the room into shards, sweeping objects into a violent swirl around it.
Gu Yuetian, still eerily calm, stared at the creature in silence. Not a step back. Something about his expression had shifted—detached, calculating.
Then, as though a decision had crystallized in his mind, he turned toward Helian Nanshan, stepped forward, and smiled. A strange, twisted smile.
A sudden gust blew through the room.
And in the next instant—without warning—another figure appeared in front of Helian Nanshan. Dressed in spotless white robes, long hair cascading over his shoulders, his face cold and impassive.
Fengyun Wuji had arrived.
"Mas—Master!" Helian Nanshan gasped, joy and disbelief colliding in his voice. The tension in his body broke all at once. The pain overwhelmed him, and he blacked out.
"Grandmaster?!" Gu Yuetian shouted, clearly stunned by the man's sudden appearance.
"RRAAAHHHH!!"
The azure figure let out another piercing shriek. But Fengyun Wuji paid it no mind. Without even facing it, he raised a single hand.
A blade flashed.
Shhrrk!
A sound like ripping silk—the blue figure was cleaved clean in two.
But instead of dying, the halves pulsed and slithered back together, reforming instantly. Stronger now. Hungrier.
The creature formed a fist. Wisps of shimmering blue energy leaked from the ring of its curled fingers, condensing into a strange, ancient-looking longsword.
"You too... must... die..." it rasped, before launching itself at Fengyun Wuji in a streak of blue lightning.
Clang!
Wuji parried with a lazy swipe of his sword. The impact shattered the air, blasting wind and debris in every direction. The small house groaned and collapsed under the pressure.
The sword forged from the phantom's energy was bizarrely solid, like real steel. It met Wuji's Fifth Blade Head-on—and survived. But its wielder did not fare so well.
With a single, effortless strike, Fengyun Wuji sent the azure figure flying.
He gave chase. The figure tumbled back over twenty meters, righted itself in mid-air by curling its legs, but before it could react—Wuji was behind it.
Like lightning, he appeared, blade already raised.
Streaks of blinding light split the air.
Several vertical slashes carved the phantom's body into fragments.
It shrieked, already attempting to reassemble.
But Wuji's eyes turned cold, his sleeve surged outward.
吸星大法—the Devouring Star Technique—was unleashed.
By now, he had nearly unraveled the creature's nature. It was no true entity. Merely a conjuration—an embodiment of Leng Ruoshuang's internal energy, forged into shape through an unknown art. Worse, it could absorb any energy sent into it, making direct attacks useless.
But Fengyun Wuji, master of the Devouring Star Technique, was no ordinary cultivator. That trick wouldn't work on him.
His long sleeve swept out.
A colossal suction force erupted from his palm.
The blue figure was dragged toward him like a helpless puppet.
"You—!" it howled in panic, but too late.
Its body buckled, then collapsed inward—imploding, compressing—until it became a stream of pure azure light sucked into Fengyun Wuji's palm.
A wisp of blue smoke lingered, but Wuji flicked his sleeve once more. A sharp gust swept it away, scattering it into the void.
He surveyed the room, then leapt toward the adjacent chamber—once occupied by Gui Jianchou and the others.
Even he couldn't help pausing at the sight.
The man lying on the ground looked like death itself—skin wrinkled, hair ashen, a figure one foot already in the grave.
Was this really the cunning, greedy healer who had once undergone Wuji's marrow-cleansing ritual?
Had it only been days?
What price had he paid?
For the first time, a flicker of pity stirred in Fengyun Wuji's heart. He knelt, placed his hand on Gui Jianchou's wrist, and channeled a surge of oceanic true essence into him—pulling the old man back from the brink, restoring his life force, and beginning a second cleansing.
Far away—millions of miles across the continent—in a resplendent golden palace, a shadowy figure howled in rage.
Invisible shockwaves radiated outward from his form, and everything in their path—columns, thrones, walls—disintegrated into dust.
Even the mighty imperial palace crumbled, swallowed in a single, thunderous collapse.