Within the illusion conjured by the Battle of Dao Arts, Ye Chong was clutching a chain, flying toward the site of the shell explosion.
That his enemy had survived three Star-Seizer shells was beyond belief.
As the Heavy Profound Palace's official test-firer, he was duty-bound to investigate the opponent's countermeasures and record them in detail.
Thus, without hesitation, he pursued Jing Qian.
After unleashing three shells, his Chain-Link Automaton was nearly destroyed. With no machine to ride, he could only rely on his own cultivation to fly, his power plummeting.
He didn't even have a proper weapon at hand, forced instead to rip a single chain from his automaton to wield as a makeshift defense.
Just then, a streak of black light flashed past him, then wheeled about and dove straight toward his chest.
The black light was unbelievably fast. In the blink of an eye, it slammed into him.
Without the automaton, Ye Chong's techniques were useless. His strength had dropped by more than ninety percent, leaving him weaker even than Qing Xingdeng.
Facing the incoming attack, he could only muster a desperate life essence shield, clutching his chain like a pitiful guard.
The black light materialized into a sleek, glossy black cat.
Barely three feet long, yet its body was lithe and its aura fierce. Among seventh-rank demons and spirits, it was truly a standout.
The cat ignored Ye Chong's flimsy defense, pouncing on him with brute force and sinking its fangs into his throat.
Neither combatant could have imagined that the deciding strike of this clash between two mighty Spiritual Construct Disciples was delivered by a small black cat.
The Raccoon Cat Spirit had already advanced within the tributary of time.
But had Ye Chong's automaton still been intact, this little scrap would've been swatted dead instantly.
Instead, he was humiliatingly mauled to death by a cat.
For Artisan Ye Chong, in his long and storied career, this moment became one of the top three darkest humiliations of his life.
Whenever he remembered it, his mind would collapse in frustration.
...
Jing Qian, half-dazed, was carried into the refreshment of the illusion. His injuries, agonies, and wounds were wiped clean, leaving him once again at full strength as if waking from a dream.
He probed his body carefully, reassured at being restored, yet his heart was heavy.
Though the fourth battle had ended, the searing torments he endured remained etched into memory.
It felt less like he had come to Zhuo Ling Cave-Heaven to cultivate, and more like he had been dragged here for punishment.
First poisoned into a rotting husk, then roasted until half-cooked.
And because of his Flesh-Bud ability, every moment of agony had been magnified seventy-sixfold; torments few in the world could have survived.
Unlike the first two battles, the third and fourth had unfolded in ways completely beyond his expectations, forcing him to rethink cultivation itself.
He realized, with sharp clarity, that when facing true competition, he was still not ruthless enough.
Compared to the other Spiritual Construct Disciples, he was the lowest in cultivation, the shortest in years since entering the Dao, and lacked any powerful external moon-spirits to guard him.
By rights, he should have been the one fighting with the most ferocity, the most desperation.
Yet twice now, in critical duels, he had lost the initiative.
As he reflected, he sharpened his battle strategy.
Three matches remained. Win or lose, he would never again allow himself to fight so humiliatingly restrained.
...
Amid Jing Qian's firm self-reflection, the fifth round of battle officially began.
Without hesitation, he unleashed every ounce of strength in an instant.
"Zheng!"
His sword left its sheath like a dragon, cutting forth the strongest strike of his life!
All the torment and pain he had endured in the past two rounds poured fully into this one blow.
And with this strike, he secured his fifth victory.
The proud Spiritual Construct Disciple of the Feathering Gate, bearer of two Spiritual Constructs, the Divine Roc, Ling Mingji, was utterly obliterated, every trace of existence severed in one stroke.
He had become nothing more than cannon fodder to block the edge of Jing Qian's sword.
Standing tall with his blade in hand, Jing Qian steadied his heart and quietly awaited the sixth round.
Sure enough, only the sword in his grip could carry him through every obstacle!
...
By the Longevity Fish Pool, Huang Yan's eyes shone with excitement as he watched the dazzling contests of the young prodigies.
He sighed aloud:
"I never expected Pure Yang Ruins to break into the top three!
In all seven grand tournaments I've witnessed, those who mastered the Spiritual Construct rooted in the self-seeking path rarely ever achieved such results as rare as phoenix feathers.
If this boy can ascend quickly to the Fifth Rank, the Earth Fiend, and inherit Shang Xi's mantle, then Pure Yang Ruins might actually catch its breath again.
What a pity… such a talent, trapped within Pure Yang Ruins, a graveyard of Daos. For our Yingfu World, it's a terrible loss.
After this gathering, I'll petition the Academy of Sacrificial Banquets to examine more carefully next time, so geniuses like this aren't buried by mistake."
The Old Angler said nothing, but his gaze fixed on Jing Qian.
Wasn't this lad a descendant of the Yanfu Path?
Then how had he mastered Pure Yang Heaven's foundational sword arts so deeply?
Intriguing indeed.
...
After five rounds, Jing Qian had only two opponents left: Ying Shizi, heir of the Ying Clan, and the Cook of the Kitchen King Hall.
From the results so far, the three of them had already secured the top three spots, their strength towering above the rest.
Of the trio, Ying Shizi and Jing Qian remained undefeated, while the Cook had only suffered a single loss to Ying Hao.
Facing these last two, the strongest foes of all, meant Jing Qian's path would end without regret.
And so, time slipped by, and the sixth round quietly arrived.
...
The Kitchen King Hall was one of the oldest sect-lineages of the Yingfu World.
They were the pioneers of the island-forging, hearth-setting, and body-tempering Dao of Cooking Flames.
Though they never reached the heights of the Ying Clan, the Yanfu Path, or Pure Yang Heaven pillars, who once bore the weight of the world, they always maintained a unique, immovable place among the Twelve Great Schools.
Luo Tian, their Spiritual Construct Disciple, had crushed all rivals to earn the coveted ticket into Zhuo Ling Cave-Heaven. His qualification alone proved his peerless talent and strength.
At only twenty-four years old, just slightly older than Ying Shizi and Jing Qian, he had already broken into the Longevity Realm, igniting golden Life Patterns, his future Dao radiant and boundless.
Beyond his natural aptitude with Life Measures, he had been blessed at his Fatebinding stage with two innate, golden root Patterns: Gluttony and Taotie.
To fix one fire and gain a twin fate and both Patterns perfectly matched with his sect's heritage meant Luo Tian was showered with limitless resources.
Even more, the Kitchen King Hall already held the remaining two Patterns of Gluttony and Taotie.
This meant Luo Tian was the heaven-bestowed successor, with the potential to inherit not one, but two Heavenly Mandates.
To safeguard him, the sect bestowed upon him their ancestral treasure: a pair of fourth-rank Spiritual Constructs, the Taotie Cauldron-Spatulas.
Each spatula carried a Taotie Pattern. Combined with Luo Tian's innate patterns, they had already completed the foundation for a Heavenly Mandate.
With these spatulas in hand, Luo Tian had never lost a battle until he crossed paths with the deeper-rooted Ying Hao.
Just earlier, he had been brutally beaten for an entire match, nearly crushed to despair. But he endured.
Now, with only two opponents left, neither from first-tier sects, Luo Tian carried the resolve to seize swift victory and restore his shaken confidence!
...
When the sixth duel began, he surged forward like living flame, radiating endless might.
"Ha! Take a spatula from Grandpa Luo!"
Three-zhang tall, the Kitchen King Dharma Form rose behind him. His twin spatulas stirred the void until sizzling oil drops splattered across the battlefield.
Above his head spun a great fourth-rank cauldron, its bottom engraved with the spectral maw of a Taotie, jaws wide, ready to devour the entire arena.
But at that very moment, a single sword-thread devouring all light slashed through every defense and fell upon his brow.
Clang!
The next instant, the heir-apparent of the Kitchen King Hall, wielder of Heavenly Mandates, was neatly split in two, like livestock butchered clean for market.
Across from him, a young sword cultivator hovered in the air, gaze calm as Luo Tian plummeted into death's abyss.
Luo Tian's final thought before annihilation was:
"Where's… my cauldron?"
Beside his bisected corpse lay the two halves of the shattered Taotie Spatulas.
Jing Qian's sword, loosed with renewed clarity and full resolve, was so terrifying it cleaved even fourth-rank Spiritual Constructs in half!
With six victories in six duels, he now stands before Ying Hao.
After all these trials, facing his last opponent, Jing Qian felt no ripples in his heart, no longing for victory, no fear of defeat.
He wished only to pour his everything into this final strike, to let his Dao blossom fully in one peerless sword.
Perhaps for many years to come, he would never again surpass the sword he was about to unleash today.
...
The illusion shifted, and before all appeared the undisputed number one of their generation.
The Ying Clan's Crown Prince of Men, bearer of a Heavenly Mandate, Ying Hao.
Upon his shoulder sat the red-skinned imp, now transformed into a towering mountain. This time, it was the demon carrying Ying Hao upon its back.
The fully unsealed Flame Demon Luo was a third-rank Heaven-Mending Great Demon, wielder of the Flame Demon Mandate, its nature perfectly attuned with Ying Hao's own Brahma Mandate, a harmony beyond imagining.
With this ally, even the deadly Battle of Dao Arts seemed to Ying Hao nothing more than children's play.
Fulfilling his uncle's command, he had crushed every peer. Yet instead of exhilaration, he tasted only the loneliness of invincibility.
This final duel? To him, it was nothing more than a formality.
Patting the Flame Demon's shoulder, he drove the great fiend forward, reaching casually toward the swordsman opposite.
Once, the sword cultivators of Pure Yang Ruins had been the champions of Zhuo Ling Cave-Heaven, rivals even to the heirs of the Ying Clan.
But that Dao-line had withered. Their sword path no longer earned Ying Hao even a sliver of respect.
...
Jing Qian lowered his gaze, fixing upon his own hands, sinking into his inner world.
His last two victories had seemed effortless because they truly were.
That was proof he had broken into a new realm of power.
Only in the clash with true titans did he force every ounce of his being upward, and from that, he had gained beyond measure.
Now, he would wield everything six battles had distilled his supreme achievement to test himself against a third-rank Spiritual Construct.
First step: he ignited every drop of Life Essence within him.
More than six hundred blazing Life Essence erupted into a torrential flood of power.
Yet that was only the spark.
Second step: the Ghost-Devouring Art surged forth.
Twenty-one great ghosts swallowed his raging force, then devoured one another until only a single twisted specter remained. From its maw, it breathed gray smoke into his sea of consciousness.
There, countless high-grade Mandates and two peerless Spiritual Constructs lay anchored.
When the gray smoke entered, Jing Qian's soul devoured it whole, and his aura skyrocketed.
Third step: with sheer force of spirit, he began to crush every single Mandate he possessed.
A total sacrifice, a shattering of every foundation, jade and stone burning together, fish dying with the net.
As each Mandate was annihilated, the fourth step followed, and his Spiritual Constructs began to collapse.
The Revolving Heavenly Son Seal consumed all his cultivation, then detonated, blasting his consciousness to shards.
Yet the Sumeru Mandate stretched forth, prying open a rift in the void, dragging Jing Qian's soul and the storm of destruction within his mind into the Void Realm.
And that was his purpose: to blow the Void Realm itself apart.
The tiny cave-heaven he had painstakingly cultivated ruptured at its roots.
The raccoon-spirit, the furnace, and the yin-cave all exploded.
Even the little corn seedling perished with it.
And from the ruin surged the true power of world-annihilation.
The destruction of a realm, raw spatial collapse, only such a sacrifice could forge this ultimate force.
Jing Qian gathered the annihilation into the Qingping Sword Casket, then detonated even that.
At last, his fundamental sword-essence transformed into an impossible new state, taking shape.
A divine sword, devouring all light, erasing all energy, cleaved toward the mountain-like Flame Demon Luo.
Before his soul fully dissipated, Jing Qian saw clearly
that the great demon of the Upper Third Rank was utterly destroyed, its body obliterated in a single stroke.
Only then did he die, without regret.
His winning streak ended, but the one defeat he suffered was the most joyous battle of his life.
He would remember it forever.
...
Ying Hao had underestimated him.
He still had the Ying Clan's endless secret arts unused, countless ways to strengthen the Flame Demon Luo.
Even simply projecting his own Heavenly Mandate into the fiend would have prevented its annihilation.
But it was too late.
He alone bore the backlash of his Spiritual Construct's destruction.
A blood lotus bloomed at his brow. From deep in his consciousness came the sound of shattering glass.
"Ahhh!"
The scream tore from his throat, gilded blood spurting from all seven orifices, each jetting with violet Dao-flames.
His mighty Brahma Mandate, once spanning heaven and earth, now collapsed like a dragon whose spine had been broken, fragmenting into motes of broken radiance.
For Ying Hao, who had known only smooth ascension, this was the first taste of searing pain, bitter regret, and maddening fury.
Though he had "won," it felt more bitter than defeat.
And the culprit he etched forever into memory.
...
Thus ended the 247th Grand Battle of Dao Fish.
The illusion dissolved, and the eight spirit-fish once more took human form, standing at the edge of the pool.
Their places were decided by their seven rounds of victory and loss.
Ying Hao, undefeated, claimed first without dispute. All acknowledged it.
Jing Qian, losing only to him, stood second, though not everyone accepted it in their hearts.
Beside him, the third-place Ye Chong shot him a resentful glance. He said nothing, but being killed by a cat was humiliation beyond words.
In fourth stood Luo Tian of the Kitchen King Hall. His face was ashen, spirit broken.
Slain by Jing Qian in one stroke, his Dao-heart cracked. He never recovered, and in the final match was blasted apart by Ye Chong's cannons, tumbling from the top three.
It was the Kitchen King Hall's worst result in ten tournaments.
Luo Tian, with the sect's strongest talent in three millennia, with twin-attribute Spiritual Constructs, with limitless resources, had earned their weakest placement.
When he returned, the head cook might well throw him into the frying pan and render him in oil.
The thought alone turned his heart dark. He wanted nothing more than to run away.
Luo Tian's heart was not strong enough. Though his strength was considerable, he could never fully unleash it.
This, too, was deeply shaped by the ethos of the Kitchen King Hall.
As a second-tier Dao lineage beneath the great sects of the Yingfutu Realm, they had the protection of greater powers above them. Shut away, they lived like a cooking brigade content with their little kitchen duties yet lacking the "none beneath heaven but me" mindset of true apex cultivators.
The cooks could fight, yes, but never like the sharp-edged scouts and strike teams.
By contrast, the girl who finished fifth, Rain Pearl of the Zhushan Sect, wore a far lighter heart.
She had only just advanced to the Longevity stage, her cultivation not yet stabilized, when she was dragged here to shoulder this burden.
Neither her elders nor she herself had harbored great expectations.
Throughout the battles, she simply played her part: unleashing poison as a tool. Winning or losing was up to fate. She truly embodied the mindset of "not rejoicing in gain, not grieving in loss."
Among all eight Spiritual Construct Disciples, hers was undoubtedly the most balanced mentality.
And with her sect's gift of a memetic toxin, the fact that she clung on to a fifth-place finish left her more than satisfied.
Behind her, Luo Yi of Cihang Monastery ranked sixth.
In truth, had she not been forced to expend her strongest Star-Seizing trump card upon entering the Zhuo Ling Cave-Heaven, she would have retained one more chance to transform into her fourth-rank Cloud Bamboo form in each subsequent round.
If that had been the case, her final placement would certainly have been higher than sixth.
But Luo Yi had long since accepted the result. Compared to the four peers who had been expelled, she had still reaped great gains.
Behind her, Tamamo-mae and Ling Mingji ranked seventh and eighth, the poorest results of the entire tournament.
Yet in terms of raw cultivation, neither was weak. Especially Ling Mingji, who is already a Sub-Spirit Realm cultivator, the highest rank among all the Spiritual Construct Disciples.
But this Battle of Dao Fish was not truly a contest of cultivation base; it was a battle of resources.
And these two were simply unlucky: the Mirror Cloud Shrine was miserly, the Feathering Sect destitute. With only their raw strength, they were outmatched at every turn.
The eight Spiritual Construct Disciples adjusted their mental states, then turned toward the two great cultivators overseeing the event.
Huang Yan was first to speak:
"On behalf of the Heavenly Firmament Tower, I testify for all present:
The Void Spirit Qi you received from the senior here is an ordained opportunity, not tainted by outsiders.
Records will be filed in the Academy archives, so you will suffer no trouble in the future."
Having said this, he bowed to the old fisherman and stepped aside.
Then the fisherman addressed the eight:
"Disciples, your talents are rare, your fortunes profound. To come once to my Zhuo Ling Cave-Heaven is a blessing to cherish.
For a hundred years, I have fished the void, gathering one vat of Zhuo Ling Qi. This essence, refined by beings of other realms, carries a trace of void attributes.
With it, you may temper your natal Spiritual Constructs. Beyond elevating their very essence, it grants a thread of spatial affinity, making it easier to reach upward into the void, to reflect the stars, greatly aiding your advancement to the Star-Seizing Realm.
This is the bargain I struck with your sect ancestors. The Yingfutu Realm grants me sanctuary; I pay rent in return.
But know this: by accepting my Zhuo Ling Qi, you enter into a covenant with me.
If your cultivation falters and you perish before seizing the stars, then you will obediently serve as bait for my fishing in the void.
What I catch will, in turn, condense more Zhuo Ling Qi, which shall feed your juniors. Fertilizer never flows to another's fields."
He clapped his hands.
"Eight have earned the right to divide it. Each in order, take half of what remains. Begin."
With a wave, a great bowl appeared in the Longevity Fish Pool, filled with steaming millet porridge.
Ying Hao stepped forward first, drew half the porridge with his mana, and fed it straight into the Flame Demon Luo upon his shoulder.
The third-rank Spiritual Construct swallowed without concern, smacked its lips twice, and showed no reaction.
Next came Jing Qian, who, imitating the process, took half of what remained, a quarter of the whole.
One by one, each disciple stepped forward, each taking half of what was left.
At last, the bowl's dregs were split between Tamamo-mae and Ling Mingji.
The fisherman, having entertained these children for so long, finally waved them off:
"That's it. The shares are divided. Go back and digest well. May we meet again, but not at the end of my hook."
With that, a surge of power swept out, and the eight vanished from the cave-heaven.
Huang Yan, seeing the matter settled, also bid farewell.
His visit to Zhuo Ling Cave-Heaven had doubled as a rare respite from his duties in the Heavenly Firmament Tower, time to handle private matters.
As for the eight Spiritual Construct Disciples, each returned to their sect. Seven would make reports.
Only Jing Qian, upon leaving, returned instead to his undersea cavern on the edge of the Sea Continent.
There, undisturbed, he divided the Zhuo Ling Qi among his three Spiritual Constructs: Revolving Heavenly Son Seal, Qingping Sword Casket, and Xili Seal, and immediately entered a new seclusion.
The three Spiritual Constructs began devouring the essence, heralding their next great ascension.
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