The valley quaked beneath the Snow Beast Ape's fury. Its Soul Transformation aura swelled like a hurricane, snow blasting into a cyclone that obscured half its massive form. Each beat of its heart thundered through the ice, threatening to crack the foundations of the Frozen Valley itself.
Haotian stood alone before it.
The disciples watched from behind broken lines, some trembling, some pale with exhaustion. Elders, bloodied and bowed, leaned on shattered swords and cracked staves. All of them knew the truth they did not wish to name: not one sect's combined strength had left so much as a scar on the monster. Only Haotian's spear had drawn blood.
But even that blood now froze into crystalline shards along the beast's fur, sealing its wound in icy armor. The ape flexed its colossal fist, the one Haotian had pierced through, and its roar shook the very stars overhead.
"It's healing—" a disciple gasped."No…" an elder muttered, despair lining his voice, "not healing. Its qi is mending the injury. Our attacks cannot penetrate its hide, and the boy—"
They stopped.
Because Haotian's spear was moving.
He held Fenglong Spear upright, its golden runes pulsing brighter, faster, until the weapon trembled as though it carried the weight of a world inside its haft. His chest rose and fell, slow and deliberate, his eyes closed—not to retreat, but to listen. To the silence beneath the roar, to the spaces between breaths, to the weave of qi itself.
Then, softly, words passed his lips.
"Voidpierce Spear Sutra."
The air itself recoiled.
Disciples felt their dantians jolt as if a hand had reached inside them. Elders staggered, faces pale, the sensation of their cultivated qi slipping like sand between fingers. All across the valley, every technique sputtered, talismans dimmed, runes faltered. Even the beast tide beyond the ape howled in confusion, their auras stuttering, their movements erratic.
Haotian opened his eyes. They glowed like twin suns reflected in an abyss.
The spear rose, steady, inevitable. Its runes no longer shone gold, but deep black edged in blinding white—light so sharp it looked like it tore at reality. Space rippled around the tip, lines fracturing as if glass had been scored.
He stepped.
The snow did not crunch beneath his boot. It simply… parted.
Cloudveil Steps carried him forward, but faster, sharper—each stride devouring space as though the world bent to place him closer to the ape. The beast raised its arms, qi surging into a fortress of frost and spiritual force, a barrier thicker than the valley walls. Its Soul Transformation aura roared, its body glowed like a mountain wrapped in winter's chains.
Haotian thrust.
The world went silent.
Fenglong Spear's tip struck—not flesh, not fur, not ice. It pierced qi itself.
The barrier shattered with a sound like the sky splitting open. The ape's aura buckled, imploded inward, and in the stunned heartbeat that followed, the spear tore through its chest. Blood and frost erupted in a geyser, spraying across the battlefield in a storm of crimson snow.
The Snow Beast Ape screamed, a howl of rage and disbelief that echoed for miles. For the first time, it staggered backward—not from force alone, but from pain. Real pain.
The valley erupted in cries.
"He pierced it—!""The ape's barrier—broken—""That was qi itself—he struck through qi—"
Elders stared, pale, some trembling more at Haotian than at the beast. Cloudveil's matriarch whispered, voice tight with both awe and fear: "That art… it is not of this world. To strike the void of qi itself…"
Elder Bai's lips parted, his weary eyes wide. "He's not… supposed to know this." His voice cracked into a whisper, trembling between dread and wonder. "That sutra was lost before the Saints walked these mountains."
The Snow Beast Ape reeled, clutching at its chest where blood steamed through its frozen fur. Its eyes, glowing with icy moons, narrowed on Haotian—not with contempt now, but with recognition. This was no ant before it. This was an enemy.
Haotian drew the spear back, its runes still tearing at the edges of space, black and white light flickering like creation's own wrath. His golden eyes blazed, his voice carrying steady across the valley.
"You bleed. That means you can fall."
The disciples, silent for a heartbeat, erupted with cries, their fear transmuted into awe so fierce it bordered on worship. Every heart hammered the same thought:
This man… can slay gods.
The ape roared again, frost exploding outward, but its voice carried a tinge of something new—fear.
The battle had shifted.
And Haotian, bearing the Voidpierce Spear Sutra, now stood as the spear against heaven itself.
The wound Haotian carved into the Snow Beast Ape's chest steamed with blood and frost. The void-rent qi around it writhed and tried to knit shut, but the spear's strike had left its mark: jagged, unhealable, bleeding power as well as flesh. The titanic creature howled and staggered back, the sound rolling across the valley like an avalanche breaking the mountain's spine.
The disciples roared in answer, their awe turning into frenzy. Yet even as their voices rose, the beast's aura swelled higher—dark frost boiling from its hide, its Soul Transformation qi surging like an ocean breaking its dam. Its fury drowned out the valley, its killing intent pressing like the weight of glaciers.
And then it came.
The Snow Beast Ape slammed both fists into the earth. The valley floor cracked, the river ice split into shards, and geysers of frozen qi erupted, slicing the air into spears of ice dozens of feet long. They rained down across the battlefield indiscriminately, ripping through beast and disciple alike. Screams echoed, formations collapsed, explosions misfired in the chaos.
Haotian blurred through the hailstorm. Cloudveil Steps carried him between death and survival by inches. A shard grazed his shoulder—blood sprayed, freezing instantly on his robes. He spun, deflected another with Rotating Spear, the impact cracking bone in his wrist from the force. He gritted his teeth and pressed on.
The ape lunged, its colossal arm swinging down like a falling mountain. Haotian planted his foot, body twisting, and struck with Ninefold Thrust. The spear blurred into nine points of light, each one piercing a tendon, a joint, a gap between plates of frost armor. The last strike slammed into the beast's wrist, diverting the massive blow just enough to keep him alive. Still, the ground cratered beneath his feet, ice exploding in rings. The shock tore through his body—blood filled his mouth, spraying crimson mist across the snow.
Yet he did not fall.
The ape bellowed, ripping its hand free, then opened its maw. A blast of frost qi surged forth, a tidal wave of freezing annihilation. The air screamed as it froze solid midflight, shards of air turning into knives.
Haotian braced. He spun Fenglong Spear, igniting Heart of the Spear, his strike a spiral of golden light that ripped through the torrent. But the force was too great. The frost storm engulfed him.
The disciples screamed.
When the blizzard cleared, Haotian staggered. His armor was half-shattered, blood staining the snow in thick spatters. One knee hit the ground. His breath came ragged, his spear's glow flickering. Yet his golden eyes still burned. He rose again, step by step, body trembling with strain, refusing to bow.
The ape snarled, raising its fists once more to crush him utterly.
Haotian drew in a single, ragged breath. If I stop here… they all die.
His chest shuddered. And then—
Light erupted from within him.
Golden lines blazed across his skin, streaking over muscle and bone. His body glowed with a tapestry of primal forces, each vein a channel of elemental might. The snow around him melted and refroze, flames and frost bursting simultaneously into the air. Lightning arced from his shoulders. Wind coiled around his form. The earth itself trembled under his steps. His skin shone with crystal sheen, his blood roared like rivers of molten fire.
"The Ten Elemental Physique…" Elder Bai whispered, eyes wide, voice breaking with reverence. "He… he's awakened it fully."
But it did not stop at ten.
The glow surged higher, stronger, until new lights joined the storm—time and space weaving over his frame, yin and yang spiraling across his aura, void flickering at the edges of his strikes, and ice blooming across his veins in harmony with fire. Nineteen forces in total.
"The Nineteen Elemental Physique—" Cloudveil's matriarch gasped, staggering as if struck. "Impossible… that body should not exist!"
Disciples fell silent, their awe too vast for words.
Haotian lifted Fenglong Spear. Its runes blazed with all nineteen elements, each one a sun in miniature, each harmonizing into a storm that ripped the sky open above him. His wounds knit slowly, his aura doubling, tripling until it clashed evenly with the beast's Soul Transformation pressure.
The Snow Beast Ape roared and charged. Its fists, its claws, its frozen breath—all unleashed in a cataclysm meant to erase the valley.
Haotian roared back. His voice cracked like thunder, his spear surging forward with the force of all nineteen elements behind it.
He met the ape head-on.
Their clash split the valley in two. Frost shattered, rivers split, cliffs crumbled. The ape's arm exploded in blood and shards as Fenglong Spear ripped through bone and tendon. Lightning stormed down its back, fire seared its chest, wind shredded its fur, ice froze its own blood solid.
Haotian's body tore under the strain—blood burst from his arms, his ribs cracked—but he drove forward regardless, each step powered by nineteen elements fusing into one overwhelming force.
With a final cry, his spear ignited in a storm of void light and elemental fire, piercing through the beast's chest. The point erupted out its back, carrying its life with it.
The Snow Beast Ape screamed once more, a howl that shook heaven and earth—then collapsed, the valley quaking under its fall.
The battlefield froze in silence.
Disciples and elders stared, mouths open, unable to breathe. The ape—their annihilation—lay slain at Haotian's feet.
Haotian staggered, blood dripping, his body shuddering from the unbearable strain of nineteen forces writhing within him. He leaned on Fenglong Spear, golden eyes dimming but never wavering.
The valley knew.
The battle was won.
The Snow Beast Ape's chest heaved, steaming blood crystallizing against its fur where Haotian's Voidpierce strike had landed. For the first time since it had stepped into the valley, the titan of frost bled. Its roar shook mountains, and with it came a tidal surge of qi so vast that the air itself fractured into shards of ice.
It was enraged.
The ground split as it hammered its fists into the valley floor. Entire ridges collapsed inward, fissures opening like hungry mouths. Beasts scattered around its feet, disciples screamed as the earth betrayed them, and formations shattered before they could anchor.
Then it attacked.
The ape's enormous arm swung down like a crashing mountain. Haotian blurred aside on Cloudveil Steps, leaving only afterimages in the snowstorm. Still, the shockwave hurled him across the ground, blood spraying from his lips as his ribs groaned under the pressure.
The monster followed with another strike, fists like meteors falling from the sky. Haotian planted Fenglong Spear, spinning into Rotating Spear, deflecting just enough of the force to redirect the blow into the ice. The valley floor exploded upward in shards the size of houses. The impact hurled him high into the air, body twisting, lungs burning.
The beast roared and opened its maw, unleashing a torrent of frost qi, a white hellstorm that turned the air into razors of frozen death.
Haotian coughed blood, his arms trembling, but his spear moved still. Ninefold Thrust flared—a blur of strikes faster than sight—piercing through the storm to split the torrent. Frost shredded around him, but shards cut deep into his flesh, leaving glowing crimson lines across his arms and chest. He fell from the sky like a streak of fire.
And still he rose.
He planted his foot on broken ice, golden eyes blazing. The ape's third fist came, a hammer meant to erase him. Haotian thrust upward with Heart of the Spear—a single, absolute strike. The spear's point met the beast's knuckles and tore through, exploding blood and frost into the night. But the clash flung him back, ribs cracking, shoulder wrenching from its socket. He hit the ground hard, sliding across crimson snow.
The disciples cried out, horror strangling their voices.
"Senior Brother Haotian—!"
"Stand—please—stand!"
He pushed himself up, body trembling, blood dripping from his mouth. The ape loomed, its aura pressing down harder, its monstrous body unbroken despite the wounds.
If I fall, they all fall.
His breath steadied. His chest burned. And then—light erupted from within him.
Golden lines streaked across his body, veins igniting like rivers of molten metal. Snow melted at his feet only to refreeze in jagged spikes a heartbeat later. Flames coiled from his shoulders, frost bloomed across his skin, lightning arced from his fingertips, wind whirled in invisible circles, stone cracked beneath his weight. His entire form radiated a storm of forces—too many, too vast, too primal to be named.
Elders stared, aghast, some stepping back despite themselves.
"What is… this body?" one whispered, voice hoarse.
"No… no mortal frame should withstand such power," another muttered, blood draining from his face.
"It's… it's beyond comprehension," Elder Bai breathed, eyes wide, voice shaking. "Even I… cannot see the bottom of it."
None recognized it. None could name it. To their eyes, it was an unfathomable mystery—a divine storm wearing human flesh.
The Snow Beast Ape roared, fury and fear lacing its voice, and charged with both arms swinging. The ground split under its steps, its massive frame blotting out the sky.
Haotian roared back, his voice splitting the storm. He surged forward, nineteen elemental lights fusing into a single blaze around his spear. Fenglong became a star, its tip tearing through the blizzard, through the ape's massive fists, through the body that had resisted all before.
The clash was cataclysmic.
Lightning split the heavens. Fire erupted across the beast's chest. Frost froze its own blood against its veins. Wind shrieked, stone cracked, light seared, shadow bent. Elements tore across the battlefield, burning and freezing disciples' faces alike as they shielded themselves from the storm.
Haotian's body broke under the strain—blood streaming down his arms, bones shattering under each impact—but he did not stop. Step by step, he drove forward, every strike carrying the weight of nineteen forces harmonizing in defiance of heaven itself.
With a final, guttural cry, he plunged Fenglong Spear through the ape's chest.
The weapon tore out its back in a geyser of blood and light.
The Snow Beast Ape screamed—a roar that cracked the cliffs and split the river ice—then collapsed to its knees before crashing lifeless into the valley floor, shaking the world.
Silence fell.
The beast tide froze, their king slain. Disciples and elders alike stared, breathless, their minds refusing to grasp what they had seen.
Haotian staggered, blood pouring from his wounds, body flickering with fading elemental light. His hands shook on Fenglong Spear, his golden eyes dimming, yet still refusing to yield.
The valley knew.
He had slain the giant. Alone.
And his body—whatever it was—remained a mystery no one could name.
The Snow Beast Ape's corpse lay sprawled across the valley floor, its massive body steaming as rivers of blood froze into crimson glaciers. The echo of its final roar still clung to the cliffs, trembling faintly in the air as if the world itself struggled to accept what had happened.
For a breathless moment, nothing moved.
Then, as though bound by a single mind, the beast tide recoiled. Wolves whimpered and fled into the blizzard, shard backs turned and barreled away, their armored backs quaking. Ur-elk stampeded back into the dark forests, eyes rolling with terror. The lizards burrowed desperately into the ice, abandoning the battlefield. The tide that had stormed with endless fury moments ago now scattered in wild, broken retreat.
The valley was silent.
Snow fell again, unbroken by roars, only by the sound of shuddering breaths and dripping blood. Disciples clutched weapons that had nearly fallen from their hands, eyes wide, chests heaving. Elders leaned on shattered staves and broken swords, their bodies trembling, their qi nearly exhausted.
None of them spoke.
All around, broken corpses of beasts littered the battlefield—heaps of blood and fur frozen stiff. Spears jutted from carcasses, shattered talismans still smoldered faintly in the snow, and the faint stench of burnt flesh clung to the air. In places, the ice itself had been blackened by the sheer ferocity of talisman fire and spear-lightning. The valley had become a graveyard, a place where smoke and frost mingled with silence.
The disciples stood scattered across that graveyard, eyes wide, breath ragged, too dazed to process what they had survived. Weapons hung loosely in their grips, many bloodstained, some cracked, others little more than hilts. A few still trembled where they stood, the echo of terror not yet leaving their legs.
The elders stared at the ape's body, their expressions torn between awe and disbelief.
Cold River Sect's grand elder, clutching his ribs, spat into the snow. "Soul Transformation… felled by a boy barely grown." His voice shook despite the bitterness of his tone.
The master of Frost Gale Hall fell to his knees, his blade broken, his qi nearly extinguished. His hands trembled as he bowed toward the ape's body—not in reverence for the beast, but in acknowledgment of the impossible battle that had been fought.
Other elders whispered among themselves, their voices hollow:"No combined strike pierced it.""Not even centuries of cultivation could do what he did.""That body… what was it? No mortal frame should endure such power."
Their gazes slid from the ape's corpse to the young man who had felled it—and their voices fell silent.
Haotian stood in the snow, his body swaying with the weight of exhaustion. Fenglong Spear was planted in the ground, holding him upright more than he held it. The golden glow that had once radiated from him had dimmed to embers, flickering faintly across his battered frame.
His robes were torn, drenched in blood both his and the ape's. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, each inhale wet with pain. His arms trembled, hands slick on the haft of his spear. Yet his golden eyes still burned, fixed on the fallen giant as though daring it to rise again.
The disciples could not speak. Some dropped to their knees in the snow, tears freezing on their faces, overcome by awe and terror. Others whispered his name under their breath, as though afraid the sound might shatter him. Elders, men who had cultivated for centuries, found themselves wordless.
This was not a victory they had earned. It was one they had been granted.
Elder Bai staggered forward, his body broken, blood staining his robes. His eyes were wide, filled with something between reverence and grief. He had seen the price. He knew.
Haotian's grip on Fenglong slipped. His knees buckled once, steadied, then buckled again. His body swayed as the last of his strength fled, and for a moment the entire valley seemed to lurch with him, as though all the world feared the fall of the pillar it had leaned upon.
"Haotian—!" someone screamed.
But before his body struck the ground, a blur broke from the disciples' line. Yin Shuyue.
Her sword fell from her grasp as she ran, faster than she had ever moved, her boots cracking the ice with each desperate step. She slid across the snow, arms outstretched, and caught him as his strength gave out. The force of his collapse drove her to her knees, the impact shaking her frame, but she held him.
"Haotian!" Her voice cracked, raw with panic, tears blurring her vision as she pulled his head against her shoulder. Blood from his wounds soaked into her robes, burning her with its heat even in the freezing cold. She clutched him tighter, trembling. "Don't you dare—don't you dare fall now…"
The disciples behind her rushed forward, crying his name, but she had reached him first. Their savior lay in her arms, his breath shallow, his eyes closed, his spear planted beside them like a monument of victory.
Around them, the elders watched, their expressions heavy with conflicting weight.
Elder Bai stumbled forward, blood staining his lips, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. Relief softened his old eyes even as grief lined them. "He won," he whispered, voice shaking. "The boy actually won…" His chest heaved, and tears threatened to fall though he bit them back.
Another elder of Frost Gale Hall turned to look upon the battlefield, his face pale. "Look at the ground," he murmured. "So many dead… so many beasts…" His gaze flicked to the disciples, counting, searching. His lips parted in shock.
"Not a single Moon Lotus disciple has fallen."
The words spread like fire, whispered from sect to sect.
Moon Lotus disciples, bloodied but alive, leaned on one another, spears planted, faces streaked with exhaustion but unbroken. They alone stood without a single loss among their number. For the others—Cold River, Frost Gale, Ice Serpent Hall—gaps in their lines spoke of the dead. Banners hung heavy, tattered, missing voices that would never return.
Cold River's grand elder scowled, pride and envy tightening his jaw. "Impossible," he muttered. "Impossible that the weakest sect suffers no loss…" But he did not finish the thought. His eyes flicked back to Haotian, unconscious in Shuyue's arms, and he fell silent.
The battlefield was still. Snow began to fall again, soft and thick, covering the carnage in white. Covering the bodies of the dead, the shattered weapons, the rivers of frozen blood.
And in the center of that silence, Yin Shuyue knelt with Haotian in her arms, her tears freezing on her cheeks as she held him like a lifeline.
The beast tide was gone. The valley was theirs.
But their savior lay broken, collapsed amid victory.
And the weight of what had just been won settled heavy on every soul in Frozen Valley.