A flicker of resolve ignited in Gu Qingxi's eyes. "Forward!" The cry was low but charged with command as her longsword whistled through the air, striking first. Confronted by the suffocating aura emanating from the malevolent cultivator, she dared not hold back an ounce of her power. This blade carried the full might of her spirit and nascent Qi, its cutting edge tearing through the stagnant air with a menacing hum.
Xu Baozhu reacted with instinctive speed, her own weapon flashing mere moments behind Qingxi's.
Only then did the remaining examinees snap out of their dazed fear. With ragged shouts, they fumbled for their magical implements – swords, talismans, odd-shaped artifacts – and surged forward in a desperate wave.
A cruel, mocking grin curled on the Demonic Cultivator's lips, his gaze dripping with disdain as he watched the ragtag charge. With unhurried, deliberate grace, he brought a pale bone flute to his mouth. The instant his breath touched the aperture—
Screeeeeeeeeeeeech!
An impossibly shrill piping erupted, shattering the suffocating silence! It was not merely sound; it was venom given voice, invisible claws of pure malice that bypassed the defenses of mere eardrums and plunged straight into the core of their nascent souls!
"ARRRGHHH!" Agonized screams ripped from throats. A pain beyond the physical, originating from the very wellspring of their spirit, exploded within them, a sensation akin to being flayed alive from the inside. Those with weaker foundations already resembled ghosts, tears and mucus streaming, their precious artifacts clattering forgotten to the ground. Hands clamped over ears in a futile gesture of defense, they crumpled and writhed on the earth, trying in vain to escape the soul-grinding cacophony.
Utterly futile.
Gu Qingxi's own vision swam with bursts of darkness. Her spirit core felt hammered by titanic blows, vibrating precariously. She strained, forcing sword-energies towards the enemy, but the focused extension of her blade stalled a mere ten paces from the smirking figure, Qi dissipating like mist before a gale. A coppery tang flooded her mouth.
Is this truly the face of a mere sect entrance exam? Alarm bells clanged within her mind. Such peril lurking in a selection trial? Judging by the relentless assault, even she couldn't endure much longer! A quick, grim survey confirmed her fears – the wails of fellow examinees, the sight of bodies convulsing in torment upon the ground, painted a horrifying tableau. Soul-pain eclipsed the agony of flesh; many were teetering on the brink of mental collapse.
Watching the suffering spread, the Demonic Cultivator's expression twisted further into grotesque glee, malevolent light flaring brightly in his eyes. The agony of others was his sustenance. The flute's scream intensified, becoming impossibly shrill, mimicking the hiss of a venomous serpent poised to strike. It scraped raw against the nerves, setting teeth on edge.
Ears bled freely. Some slammed their foreheads against the hard earth in helpless agony. Despair, thick and suffocating, settled over the handful who remained conscious, a palpable shroud of doom.
Just as Gu Qingxi felt her own consciousness fraying at the edges, poised to snap into oblivion under the sonic onslaught, a voice, utterly devoid of warmth or inflection, slithered coldly into her ear.
"Slay one. Pass."
Gu Qingxi's head whipped around. Her eyes locked instantly with Xu Baozhu's – wide, startled, reflecting the same shock. She heard it too! Her gaze snapped towards the chaotic throng behind her. What she saw made her pupils constrict to pinpricks. Several figures, their eyes suddenly flickering with predatory greed and desperation, were subtly shifting the aim of their weapons – not towards the distant enemy, but towards their oblivious, adjacent companions!
Of course!!!
The revelation struck Gu Qingxi like a bolt of ice. It pierced the fog of agony and confusion, laying bare the grotesque truth of this trial.
"What… sick… test… is this?!" Xu Baozhu's curse was ground out between clenched teeth. She was drenched in cold sweat, her face parchment-pale, beads of moisture tracing paths down her temples. Yet, despite the soul-wrenching torment twisting her features, the tip of her blade remained unwaveringly trained on the distant Demonic Cultivator. Not an ounce of malice radiated towards those beside her.
Understanding crystallized instantly within Gu Qingxi. She grasped the insidious trap of this trial. Yet, she offered no warning shout. Turning back, her movements deliberate and cold as winter steel, her eyes swept across the unfolding carnage with detached, analytical ruthlessness.
From the original mass of fifty-odd aspirants, nearly half had been ensnared by the dark temptation. Steel glinted in trembling hands, poised for betrayal.
But – as those blades descended towards vulnerable flesh – the traitors' bodies flickered like guttering candle flames, then vanished without a trace before the eyes of the horrified survivors!
Gu Qingxi's jaw tightened infinitesimally. So. The betrayers are eliminated.
Tian Qing Sect! The implication hit her. This esteemed sect sought more than mere strength or potential. It probed the core of character. Faced with obliteration, would an aspirant choose to fight alongside companions against a common foe? Or plunge a dagger into a neighbor's back for a chance at escape? Clearly, integrity weighed heavier than lethal cunning within these ancient walls. They desired disciples of resolve, not cutthroats.
"Wha… what happened?" Xu Baozhu gasped, struggling for breath, eyes wide with confusion and lingering horror.
"That was the trial," Gu Qingxi stated, her voice a low rasp that cut through the lingering, if reduced, dissonance. Cold, hard, leaving no room for doubt.
Xu Baozhu's sharp mind parsed the meaning instantly. Her gaze darted over the remaining figures. Xue Mingbai was still there, pale but upright, his gaze clear beneath the strain. Then, Xu Baozhu blinked in surprise. The quiet, perpetually sword-bearing girl – whose name still escaped them – stood firm amidst the chaos! She too had rejected the vile shortcut.
With the near instant removal of half the participants, an astonishing shift occurred. The survivors gaped. The oppressive, spirit-rending agony inflicted by the flute seemed… lessened. Still excruciating, yes, a burning coal against the soul, but somehow… bearable? The crushing weight of imminent mental shattering had lifted, replaced by a pain they could, barely, endure.
High above, the Demonic Cultivator appeared oblivious to the reduction in his audience of suffering. He dutifully pressed on, playing his cursed bone flute with sustained, if slightly diminished, venom.
The dissonance between the illusion's rules and reality. Qingxi noted coldly.
Gu Qingxi, however, felt a subtle shift within herself. The psychic drag, the sensation of wading through thick mud that had hampered her movements since the flute began, dissolved. Her spirit core seemed to vibrate clearer. Seizing the fleeting advantage, she marshaled her energy. The longsword became a shaft of biting cold light streaking once more towards the vile piper! Energized by her resurgence and desperate hope, the others rallied. Groaning through the residual torment, they summoned the dregs of their power. Sword glares, bursts of rudimentary elemental energy, and desperate talisman sparks surged again towards their single, hated target.
Just then —
With a fluid, disdainful twist, the Demonic Cultivator's feet left the ground! He drifted upwards effortlessly, hovering a dozen feet above them like some malevolent bird of prey. He looked down upon Gu Qingxi and her grounded, infuriatingly vulnerable comrades, a sneer of pure contempt twisting his features. Utterly unconcerned, he casually lifted the bone flute back to his lips, and the hateful piping resumed once more (though perhaps a fraction less potent than before).
Silence.
Stunned, incredulous silence fell upon the ragtag group below.
Is this a joke?
Where's the justice?
They were fledglings! Most hadn't even mastered the foundational step of drawing Qi into their dantian, let alone touched the profound mysteries of Foundation Establishment, the stage necessary for flight! They were rooted to the earth. Their enemy floated freely, untouchable, mocking them from above. How were they supposed to fight back? Leap?
Even the most desperate, Qi-enhanced jump would be pathetically insufficient, like a kitten swatting at a circling hawk.
Within the Grand Audience Hall:
The Reality Mirror shimmered, projecting the scene from within the Illusory Trial Realm with crystalline clarity. Seated around it, the Sect Leader and the imposing figures of the various Peak Lords observed.
Several of the watchers witnessed the sight of the lazily hovering piper mocking the earthbound, frustrated "new sprouts" below. The sheer absurdity of the situation, the blatant rule-bending, finally broke through their solemnity. A snort of barely suppressed laughter escaped one Peak Lord. Another choked back a chuckle, quickly adopting a cough into his fist.
"Ahem, Sect Leader," spoke a Peak Lord with a gentle demeanor, unable to hide the faint amusement. "The integrity test of this trial is complete. Perhaps… tormenting the youngsters further might be seen as…" he sought a diplomatic word, "discourteous?"
The Sect Leader stroked his long beard, a knowing smile playing on his lips. Just as he was about to respond, a distinct, icy humph emanated from his side.
Liuyun Peak's Lord, a woman whose striking features held a permanent edge of sharp intelligence that bordered on fierceness, snapped her gaze towards the speaker. "What's the rush?" she retorted, her voice crisp and cutting. "This is a rare opportunity! Let these greenhorns witness firsthand the true power wielded by us Qi Resonance cultivators! It might disabuse them of certain… prevailing misconceptions before they start picking future masters!" Liuyun Peak Lord herself was a renowned Master of Qi Resonance Arts; her Peak was home to the Sect's most talented Sound Path cultivators. The pervasive worldly prejudice labeling them as "supplementary" or "weak" in a fight was a source of constant, smoldering irritation she never bothered to conceal.
The Sect Leader's reply instantly died on his lips. His expression smoothed into perfect neutrality. His gaze drifted to a spot somewhere above the mirror, adopting a posture of profound contemplation. The other Peak Lords, sensing the abrupt spike in temperature, suddenly found their robes exceptionally fascinating or the ceiling architecture deeply compelling. Not a single muscle twitched. Qi Resonance Arts effectiveness? Especially when voiced as skepticism? That was the one topic guaranteed to ignite the formidable temper simmering beneath Liuyun Peak's calm facade. Survival instinct dictated perfect stillness and silence.
Back Within the Illusion:
As despair began to creep back into the survivors, freezing their limbs in the face of the impossible airborne threat, Gu Qingxi stirred.
In her hands, two objects materialized as if summoned by thought alone.
One was recognizable, if unexpected: a suona – that boisterous, brass-belled, double-reeded folk instrument known for its raucous dominance in rural festivities… or funerals. Its distinctive shape was hard to mistake.
The other object drew only bewildered stares. It resembled nothing so much as a grotesquely oversized trumpet flower crafted from some strange, dull-gray material that was neither metal, wood, nor ceramic. Utterly alien.
Gu Qingxi's fingers found a small catch near the narrow end of this strange bell-shaped object and gave it a confirming press. Then, disregarding the baffled gazes locked onto her, she positioned the reed mouthpiece of the suona firmly against her lips—
Intent flared in her eyes. She angled the gaping, funnel-shaped end of the bizarre device directly towards the hovering figure of the Demonic Cultivator, who was still loftily blowing his corrosive tune. She drew in a tremendous breath, diaphragm flattening, Qi surging from her dantian to her lungs…
HAAAAAAAAAaaaaaahhhhhhh-WOoooooOOO-WAH-WAH-WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH————!!!
The sound that ripped forth transcended mere noise. It was the roar of a primordial beast unleashed, weaponized cacophony, amplified a hundredfold by the peculiar resonator. It erupted like a thunderclap confined within a canyon, a titanic wave of sonic force that surged across the clearing, crashing headlong into the Demonic Cultivator's sustained discord!
The sky itself seemed to recoil. The air visibly rippled.
The suona sounds… the old saying fragmented in stunned minds. …and all contest ceases… This was decidedly not a joyous occasion.
Engineered by the alien resonator, the suona's blare possessed an unnatural ferocity. It was not just loud; it was an ear-splitting, skull-rattling physical force that didn't merely drown the flute's shrill piping—it annihilated it, clawing the other sound from the air. The amplified vibrations tore upwards, shaking the very atmosphere. The ground itself seemed to hum beneath their feet.
"Wh-wh-what sorcery IS THAT?! GIRL! GIRL! WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL ANCESTRAL SHADES IS THAT THING?!" Wanling Laozu's shriek echoed within the vaults of Gu Qingxi's mind, vibrating with genuine, startled agony. The ancient spirit had witnessed millennia, encountered countless instruments... yet nothing prepared him for this brutalized, amplified, aural assault from a suona! He felt distinctly queasy.
Gu Qingxi ignored the frantic spirit entirely. Her focus was absolute. She braced the cumbersome, resonator-bell device firmly against her body. Channeling every shred of Qi from her core, she poured pure, raw power down into the suona's reed. Thoughts of melodies, harmonies, were discarded. Instead, she unleashed pure, undulating shrieks, sustained blasts, and sequences of grating, intentionally dissonant wails – sonic brute force channeled and focused into a concentrated beam of auditory annihilation, aimed dead center at the hovering musician!
The effect on the floating piper was instant and catastrophic. Struck full-force by the focused sound cannon, his posture stiffened violently. A discordant squawk escaped the flute as his control momentarily slipped. He tried to recover, his fingers tightening on the instrument, desperately attempting to counter the alien assault and resume his own rhythm. But the raw, unrefined violence of the amplified suona was unlike anything his disciplined techniques could handle. Within moments, his frantic piping faltered, slipped, then fractured entirely into discordant gasps. He flailed mid-air, clutching his head as the sonic tsunami battered his senses. His face drained of blood, eyes rolling wildly. Then, with a final, choked gurgle, he plummeted from his perch like a puppet with its strings severed, hitting the ground hard and rolling.
A surge of savage triumph shot through Gu Qingxi. NOW!
"FORWARD!" She whirled, the raw command tearing from her throat. Her eyes swept over her comrades, expecting to see them surging with adrenaline at the sight…
…Only to meet a scene that made her jaw clench. Her momentary allies were in disarray. Xu Baozhu was staggering, retching. Xue Mingbai swayed on his feet, his face greenish. The sword-bearing girl hugged herself, her knuckles white on her sword hilt. Several others were doubled over, hands clamped over ears that still rang from the friendly suona blast. While none suffered the direct, focused force that had downed the enemy, the collateral damage was undeniable and debilitating.
Victory came at dire cost. A classic thousand-killed, eight-hundred-wounded gamble.
"FORWARD! NOW!" Gu Qingxi bellowed again, the urgency cutting through the lingering sonic fog.
Her shout acted like a bucket of ice water. Heads snapped up. Eyes, though glazed and pained, sharpened. Seeing the Demonic Cultivator sprawled, stunned, vulnerable on the very ground they stood upon ignited a spark within the survivors. It wasn't just hope – it was raw, desperate, blood-hungry opportunity that fused with their lingering horror. The tables had turned! The tyrant was grounded!
"GET HIM!"
With ragged battle cries, fueled by pain, rage, and a desperate grasp at survival, the surviving disciples surged. Ignoring their own wobbling knees and ringing ears, they poured their remaining Qi into their weapons. Blades whistled, talismans flared, fists clenched. A ragged but potent wave of vengeance descended upon the fallen tormentor, rising from the earth itself to meet him.