Shi Yang and Han Jie slipped through the dimly lit streets, moving cautiously beneath the lantern-lit eaves. The air was thick with the scent of the city at night—smoke, wet stone, and the faint tang of metal from the blacksmiths' forges. Shi Yang's eyes swept constantly, alert for any shadows that might move against them.
They passed through narrow alleyways, their footsteps muffled on the cobblestones, weaving between shuttered shops and carts left unattended. Even in the quiet of the late hour, a sense of danger lingered—Shi Yang could feel it coiling in the air like a living thing. The city seemed to hold its breath as they moved.
Before they could leave the market district and reach the outer walls, a figure blocked their path. A man in a dark-blue cloak, hood shadowing his face, stepped from the darkness, the movement eerily silent. Shi Yang's grip tightened on his sword.
"Do not resist," the man's voice was low, calm, yet deadly.
Shi Yang didn't answer. The figure lunged, and steel clashed in a shower of sparks. Han Jie's eyes widened, but Shi Yang pushed her behind him, deflecting strike after strike. Each clash sent tremors through his body—pain lancing along old injuries—but he pressed on, buying her time.
"Run!" he shouted, shoving Han Jie toward a narrow side street that led toward the city gate. She hesitated, but the look in his eyes left no room for argument. She fled, clutching her belongings and the snake fangs tightly to her chest.
Shi Yang's arms ached, his blood staining his sleeves, yet he fought on. The man's strikes were relentless, precise, and Shi Yang began to feel the sharp edges of fatigue cutting into his mind as much as his body. Each blow chipped away at him, until he felt half-dead, collapsing to his knees on the cobblestones, blood seeping into the cracks beneath him.
He gritted his teeth, sweat and blood mixing on his face. Not yet… I can't… His vision blurred, and he sank to the ground, attempting to meditate to regain control, to fuse his Dao into his Qi. He conjured the image of a waterfall, imagining the water cascading smoothly and endlessly.
But something had changed. The water darkened, turning red, thickening as it flowed. His heart pounded as he stared at his reflection in a nearby window—blood ran over the glass in jagged streams, mirroring the crimson tide inside him.
Then, without warning, every window along the street shattered in unison. A tide of blood erupted, a crimson ocean that poured from each broken pane with unstoppable force, spilling into the alleys and soaking the cobblestones. The sound of rushing liquid mixed with the distant screams of startled night watchmen, filling the air with chaos.
Shi Yang's mind struggled to comprehend it, but he could feel his Dao resonating with the river of blood, power coursing through him even as his body betrayed him. The air grew heavy with the metallic tang, the entire street bathed in red light as the ocean surged and spilled, unstoppable, endless.
Even in his weakened state, he forced himself upright, gripping his sword with trembling hands. If this is what it takes… I will survive. I must survive.
The city seemed alive with the blood tide, a reflection of his fury, his desperation, and his determination to protect Han Jie, without a single thought for anyone else caught in the chaos.
The blood tide surged around him, coating the cobblestones, staining his breath with iron. Shi Yang staggered upright, blade trembling in his hand, crimson dripping from its edge. The man in the black cloak stepped forward unfazed, each motion unnervingly calm, his presence now more ghostly than human.
Shi Yang slashed with all the force his broken body could muster. "White River—!" His voice cracked, blood spraying from his lips. The arc of his strike carved a crescent of Qi that split the ground, but the cloaked figure slipped through it, like smoke curling past a blade.
A cold hand closed around his throat before he could recover. His lungs seized. His sword arm slackened. The man's hood tilted, and in the lantern light Shi Yang saw not a face, but a shifting blur of shadow, eyes hollow, mouth leaking whispers that clawed at the edge of sanity.
His knees hit the stone. This… is how it ends? His vision darkened. His Qi sputtered like a dying flame, the blood tide dissipating around him. His last breath rattled from his chest.
But before the ghostly figure could snuff him out entirely—
A deafening crack split the heavens.
The street erupted in golden light as sigils flared alive beneath Shi Yang's fading sight. Intricate lines of a formation, drawn into the stones themselves, blazed across the district.
Then—
KRA-KA-BOOOOM!
A colossal bolt of golden thunder tore from the heavens, ripping through the darkness. It struck the cloaked figure square in the chest, the impact shattering windows, splitting beams, and setting the night alight as though the sun itself had descended.
The figure screeched, its body convulsing violently, then tearing apart into fragments of shadow and ash that were swallowed by the lingering arcs of lightning.
Shi Yang collapsed, bloodied and still, the aftershock rattling through his bones.
Footsteps echoed—light but determined. Han Jie rushed back into view, her face pale, hair disheveled, daggers still at her side. Her chest heaved, but her eyes were sharp, blazing with a mix of fury and fear.
"I didn't run," she said, kneeling beside him, pressing a trembling hand to his chest as Qi surged from her palm to stabilize his breath. "Did you really think I'd abandon you? While you fought, I carved the formation into the street… and called down the heavens."
The acrid scent of ozone lingered, smoke rising from the charred ruin that had once been their enemy. All around them, the district had awakened—doors opened, people cried out, pointing to the scorched ground, to the formation still faintly glowing, to the bloodied man and the woman who had summoned thunder.
Shi Yang coughed weakly, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. "You… shocked the whole district…" His voice was a rasp, but there was admiration in it.
Han Jie glared at him, eyes glistening. "Idiot. You nearly died."
Swiss!
A sharp hairpin tore through the air, cold and deadly—its edge drenched in ghostly Qi. Its target was clear: both of them. Han Jie's instincts flared and she lashed out, intercepting the needle mid-flight.
The crowd gasped, heads whipping toward the source. Another figure in a blue hood stepped onto the flooded street, water rippling around his boots. His steps were light, yet his movements radiated menace. In the next heartbeat, he charged, sabers flashing in his grip.
"How dare you!" A painted face contorted with fury as the hood blew back. His voice thundered across the gathering crowd. "Wench, how dare you kill two of my sworn brothers in a single day!"
The onlookers murmured, whispers rippling through them. To the strangers it was vengeance—but to Shi Yang and Han Jie, that voice carried a gnawing familiarity.
"That formation drained all your reserves," the man sneered, sabers gleaming under the moonlight. "Now I'll take my revenge! Hungry Lion Sabers!"
His arms bulged as he spun the blades, crossing them high. Crimson light erupted, flooding the street as a lioness of flame burst forth, roaring with savage hunger.
Han Jie's teeth clenched. She thrust her arm forward.
Blue strands of lightning surged through her veins, nerves, and meridians, tearing her apart from the inside. A glowing diagram flared in her consciousness. "Thunder Strike!!!"
Her meridians screamed under the strain as thunder exploded outward.
BOOOOM!
A furious bolt of lightning ripped through the flaming lioness, shattering it into sparks before striking the saber-wielding man. He staggered backward, eyes narrowing—not with fear, but grim acceptance. He had chosen to take the strike head-on.
The crowd erupted into murmurs. Confusion. Fear.
"?! "
Shi Yang froze. He heard something no one else could. A whisper, a breath, a presence. His instincts screamed—he shoved Han Jie aside and raised his sword just in time to meet a fist.
SHATTER!
His blade splintered into fragments.
Another attacker.
Before him loomed a nightmare made flesh. A man—or what remained of one—wrapped in stitched skin. Severed faces twisted in agony across his chest plate. Fingers had been sewn into a grotesque mask. Ears lined his arms like grotesque armor.
What kind of ghostly, ghoulish cultivation is this…?
The monstrous fist smashed past his broken guard, caving into his chest. Bones cracked, lungs punctured. Blood erupted from his lips.
And then—
"Uncle Shi!!!!"
The voice wasn't Han Jie's. It thundered from above, drowning out the chaos.
The air thickened with salt, the scent of ocean spray flooding the district. An impossible will pressed down, suffocating the street. Blue light cascaded over them, vast and unrelenting.
Every head turned skyward.
A lone figure descended, body shrouded in a towering construct of water, radiating a crushing majesty. The crowd fell to their knees, cowering beneath its presence.
In this world, cultivation was divided by gaps no mortal could cross. The first was strength: no mortal, no matter how hard they trained, could match a Qi Refinement cultivator who had passed into the second stage. That was the moment one left behind the shackles of mortality—strength, power, lifespan.
The second gap lay within Refinement itself. Early, middle, and late stages—divided by Dao comprehension. To reach late Refinement was to infuse the elements themselves into every strike, to command a connection to heaven and earth mortals could never dream of.
But this… this was beyond Refinement.
As the Dao itself flooded down from the figure in the sky, the crowd realized the truth. To pass beyond Qi Refinement was to become Dao incarnate, to gain lifespans not of centuries, but of millennia.
And now, right before their eyes—
A Foundation Realm expert had arrived.