Chapter 133: Death Sword, Abyss Depths

Ning Changjiu’s daily life became somewhat monotonous in the following days.

During morning lessons, he would recite sword scriptures with Ning Xiaoling, after which Lu Jiajia would explain sword theories. However, these theories would almost always be personally refuted by Ning Changjiu that same evening, as he gave Lu Jiajia a new lesson.

Consequently, many of the sword theories Lu Jiajia taught were precisely those she had the most doubts about. She used these opportunities to present them to Ning Changjiu, then listened to his insights in the evening.

In a sense, Ning Changjiu was actually educating Lu Jiajia with the vast knowledge accumulated from his two lifetimes of cultivation. However, neither of them explicitly acknowledged this, maintaining their pretense as master and disciple.

Lu Jiajia initially believed she would adapt after prolonged body tempering, but she found her senses growing increasingly acute. The light of the Golden Crow was not harsh refinement but gentle spring rain. Yet, as the spring breeze passed, the warmth of the light seemed to evaporate the spring rain, turning it into two misty pools in her eyes.

Ning Xiaoling's cultivation had also become more diligent in recent days. She wasn't sure if her Senior Brother would participate in the sword trial, but regardless, she wanted to show him the results of her training.

Thus, she often stood alone by the cliff edge, wielding her sword to cut through the early spring sunlight and drifting clouds, neatly slicing the vast expanse of clouds into countless strands.

The final strike would always return smoothly before her, its clear sword hum like an affirmation of her skill.

She was confident that she wouldn't lose to anyone in the inner peak, but she wondered if Nan Cheng, the legendary senior disciple who was in seclusion, would appear on this day.

Meanwhile, Yue Rou watched Ning Xiaoling's sword grow faster and faster, her initial competitive spirit gradually waning. She felt that fate was truly unfair; if she had been granted that innate spiritual essence, she surely could have reached a higher level than Ning Xiaoling.

In short, she no longer had any expectations for the sword trial. However, she considered whether to provoke Ning Changjiu during the trial, seizing the opportunity to make him reveal his true cultivation level.

Several famous male disciples within the peak were also secretly competing. Each of them was unconvinced by the others, either finding their opponents' swordsmanship agile but lacking power, or powerful but clumsy. In essence, while they flattered each other with their words, their competitive spirit remained undiminished.

Finally, amid the busy yet peaceful days on Sky Cavern Peak, spring arrived.

The snow cherry trees on the mountain, bathed in spiritual energy, bloomed vividly like woven tapestry in the spring. Each passing breeze through the flowering trees would shake down many petals, like a fragrant snowfall.

The early spring sword trial was scheduled for the afternoon.

All disciples would draw lots to determine their opponents. After the first round, winners and losers would be grouped separately. The top-ranked individuals from both groups would then duel, with the victor claiming the championship. The champion would receive a silver-forged sword and personal instruction in swordsmanship from the Peak Master. Additionally, the top contender would secure direct entry into the quadrennial Four Peaks Sword Gathering held three months later.

The training ground had been cleaned that day, and all inner peak disciples gathered around it by noon. Some meditated, others chanted sword incantations, some practiced drawing their swords, while others envisioned an imaginary enemy and diligently sparred against them.

Ning Xiaoling had arranged with her Senior Brother that morning for him to come and watch her, regardless of whether he participated or not.

Ning Xiaoling changed into practical clothes and trousers, her neatly tied hair giving her a valiant and spirited look. Holding her sword, she looked around for her Senior Brother, silently complaining and thinking that once he arrived, she would scold him severely.

Within Hidden Peak, Ning Changjiu calculated that the time was nearly up. He exhaled his last breath of spiritual energy, rose, smoothed his clothes, and prepared to leave.

Although he wasn't interested in the sword trial, he was very curious to see how much his Junior Sister had progressed in her cultivation over the past few days.

Since Nan Cheng wouldn't be emerging from seclusion, his Junior Sister was sure to achieve victory. A faint smile touched his lips as he pictured her proud face.

Just as he was about to draw the Minor Flying Array to leave, a knocking sound suddenly echoed in his ears.

The sound was faint but clearly registered by his keen ears. Feeling a surge of vigilance, he turned to face the smooth, dark-grey wall behind him, from which the sound emanated.

The specks of spiritual energy floating around Ning Changjiu slowly dispersed. He touched the wall, feeling the vibrations at his fingertips, and his brow furrowed.

Hidden Peak was a vast space with scattered, complex cave dwellings. The one Ning Changjiu had chosen was near the cliff edge. The sound coming from the other side of the wall clearly indicated that someone was on the cliff side, outside the dwelling, hitting the wall with something.

And, by an unfortunate coincidence, this particular section of the wall faced his own dwelling.

Ning Changjiu hadn't yet grasped the reason for all this, but the faint vibrations made him vaguely uneasy. Before he could decide whether to advance or retreat, he saw spiderweb-like cracks appearing on the mirror-smooth wall.

Ning Changjiu drew the short sword he carried, pointing its tip directly at the source of the sound.

Though the unease still lingered in his heart, his mind had calmed. He stared intently ahead, without considering whether the other side was friend or foe. The moment the wall shattered, his sword shot out.

The wall crumbled, and a sliver of light pierced through, immediately followed by a brighter sword gleam of the same color. Silently, yet incredibly fast, it thrust back.

Crack.

The wall instantly collapsed, and the sword light shattered into countless fragments.

From beyond the wall, a pained grunt and a bewildered sound emerged. The voice sounded familiar, and Ning Changjiu immediately recognized who it was.

With a whoosh, as if a curtain had suddenly fallen, faint light from outside streamed in. In the dim stone dwelling, two pairs of eyes met amidst the tumbling rubble.

Ning Changjiu's eyes were calm and deep, while the other person's eyes were sharp as a wolf's, filled with unconcealed hatred.

It was Yan Feng, who should have been imprisoned in the Cold Dungeon.

Ning Changjiu's peripheral vision caught sight of the structure behind Yan Feng, and he instantly understood: beyond the continuous cave dwellings of Hidden Peak lay the Cold Dungeon! In a sense, the masters in seclusion within Hidden Peak were also, relatively speaking, guarding the prisoners in the Cold Dungeon.

At that moment, Yan Feng was disheveled, completely devoid of the high spirits he'd had seven days prior. In their place was a consuming hatred in his eyes.

A sword was currently lodged in his chest, having penetrated a short distance before Yan Feng gripped it with his fingers, preventing it from advancing further. His chest was still stained with blood, which dripped from the sword's tip.

Yan Feng recognized the young man before him, his hatred intensifying. "Did Lu Jiajia send you?"

Ning Changjiu looked at the healed wound on Yan Feng's arm and the broken chains, equally perplexed. He blurted out, "How are you here?"

The moment he uttered the question, Ning Changjiu suddenly understood.

Yan Zhou!

Although Yan Zhou himself was confined to the library, his prestige within the peak would make it easy for a close friend to secretly help Yan Feng unlock his shackles and point him to an escape route.

Yan Feng was his only younger brother, and the last vestiges of their familial bond had ultimately outweighed the sect's rules.

Ning Changjiu understood everything, then realized he was now caught in a deadly trap.

He also understood that Yan Zhou had chosen this escape route because there were no reclusive masters nearby. For days, Ning Changjiu hadn't seen any signs of cultivation in the surrounding cave dwellings. However, Yan Zhou hadn't anticipated that, by sheer coincidence, the back of the Cold Dungeon he had excavated led directly to the cultivation spot of Ning Changjiu, an outer disciple.

And even injured, Yan Feng was a master of the Longevity Realm. How could Ning Changjiu possibly fight him?

Yan Feng was equally uncertain whether the young man's appearance was a coincidence or Lu Jiajia's doing, and the sword strike currently piercing his chest left him utterly shocked.

He knew the young man's cultivation level was certainly not high, yet this surprise attack had bypassed his defenses and pierced his body.

He felt a surge of anger, attributing his injury to carelessness. He absolutely refused to believe this young man could possibly defeat him. Coincidentally, since the youth was Lu Jiajia's disciple, torturing and killing him would bring an indescribable pleasure.

Yan Feng suddenly felt that this opportune encounter was a gift from fate.

Both their minds raced, thoughts flickering like streaks of electricity. Neither spoke, yet they moved with a mutual understanding, as if by prior agreement.

Yan Feng gripped the sword tip, squeezing hard and snapping it off instantly, the part embedded in his flesh breaking away. The vibration from the broken blade traveled up to Ning Changjiu's wrist, numbing the web of his hand and almost making him drop the sword. Yan Feng, with a backhand flick, sent the detached sword tip flying back like a concealed throwing knife.

Ning Changjiu's short sword was now missing its tip, and he took half a step back. As the flying blade approached, he instinctively swept his sword across, deflecting it with a clang as the tip struck the blade and then rebounded sharply. In that same instant, Yan Feng had already burst through the wall and lunged forward.

Ning Changjiu steadied himself, without hesitation, and thrust his sword directly at Yan Feng's eyes.

Yan Feng did not dodge, knowing that an iron sword without its tip held no lethality. Even if he stood still, the young man's cultivation level was utterly insufficient to pierce his skin.

But Yan Feng miscalculated. The moment his fists landed on Ning Changjiu's body, a tearing pain erupted on his eyelids. Something had pierced his spiritual energy defense, slicing through his eyelid and plunging the sword into his pupil!

Though the sword was broken, Ning Changjiu had condensed a temporary sword tip with incredibly pure spiritual energy.

Immediately after landing his blow, Ning Changjiu's body was sent flying backward by an incoming attack, crashing into a natural rock pillar. He felt no joy from his successful sneak attack. His body shattered the rock pillar, and the moment his feet touched the ground, he moved abruptly, fleeing at several times his previous speed.

Yan Feng clutched his eyes, a strange expression flashing across his face. After centuries of cultivation, he had been struck twice in quick succession by a mere teenager. Though he considered his assailant as good as dead, the humiliation stung deeply.

He no longer held anything back. The power accumulated over years in the Longevity Realm surged forth instantly. He intended to repay all the humiliation he had suffered at Lu Jiajia's hands, in full, to this young man.

Ning Changjiu's escape route was quickly blocked by a dark figure.

In the blink of an eye, several blood beads shot out from the dark figure like steel arrows. Behind these blood beads, a pair of wrinkled hands extended like claws, followed by a vast surge of spiritual energy that formed an impenetrable defense.

He had to kill the young man as quickly as possible, knowing that it wouldn't be long before other masters in Hidden Peak were alerted. Unless Yan Zhou fully protected him, he would have no chance of escaping.

When Yan Zhou had arranged for his release, he understood that the last of their familial ties had been nearly exhausted.

He felt no gratitude towards his older brother; instead, he harbored some resentment.

Yan Zhou could have become the Peak Master, yet he clung to a stubborn obsession, letting a junior usurp his position right before his eyes. Had it not been for this, how could Yan Feng have endured such humiliation?

Hatred, like strong spirits poured onto a raging fire, ignited into a murderous intent that transformed into the most resolute sword energy.

Though he held no sword, the power that erupted from him in that instant overwhelmed all of Ning Changjiu's sword moves.

With one hand, he grabbed at the sword in Ning Changjiu's hand, while his other hand, transformed into a claw, directly lunged for Ning Changjiu's heart.

The sound of steel clashing rang out.

The exchange between masters was extremely rapid.

In a short span, Ning Changjiu unleashed dozens of sword strikes, targeting the most vulnerable points of Yan Feng's formidable sword moves and breaking them. Yan Feng's attack speed also grew increasingly swift. He simply could not fathom why, despite his significantly higher cultivation level, he was unable to defeat a young man who had only recently begun cultivating!

And he knew that if he delayed for a few more breaths, he would certainly be detected by others.

Yet, he was unwilling to simply leave the peak by sword. His hatred for the white-robed youth before him surpassed even his desire to escape.

Although he knew that by continuing to attack like this, the young man would eventually succumb.

However, time would not wait for him.

Yan Feng's attack speed suddenly slowed.

A vast, ancient sword qi emerged, hidden within his body—perhaps in his clothes, his hair, or the barely broken chain on his foot.

The moment that sword intent arose, a warning alarm instantly blared in Ning Changjiu's mind. He could feel that sword—it was the sword intent left by the Ancestral Master on Sword Star.

As Yan Feng continually refined it throughout his cultivation, that sword intent—which initially served merely as an embellishment to his cultivation—had now transformed into a deadly guillotine capable of slaying enemies.

Ning Changjiu didn't know if he could dodge this strike, but his heart was incredibly calm. In his previous life, he had encountered no significant setbacks, but in this life, he had walked the edge of life and death countless times. Each brush with mortality brought him a clearer understanding of the sword in his hand—an understanding that wasn't unique, yet one he had never possessed before.

Fear, tension, excitement, exhilaration... as all these emotions merged into an eternal stillness, the sword he wielded moved faster than he could have imagined.

A sudden flash of sword light appeared, its intent piercing through layer after layer of defense, reaching Yan Feng's throat. A profound terror flickered in Yan Feng's sword-heart. He hadn't seen the strike clearly, only realizing what had happened when he touched the distinct bloodstain on his neck.

If the young man's cultivation had been even slightly higher, he would have been instantly beheaded by that strike!

Immense relief, followed by rage, consumed Yan Feng. The guillotine-like sword intent, though delayed, arrived with an inescapable power, striking Ning Changjiu's chest in an instant.

Ning Changjiu looked at the bloodstain on Yan Feng's neck, feeling a hint of regret.

But regret was a useless emotion. He reacted instantly, his sword clashing with the incoming sword intent. His qi sea, like a vibrant elixir, resonated fiercely. The moment they collided, the surrounding stalactites almost entirely crumbled, raining down like flying swords.

"Die..." Yan Feng's pupils were bloodshot. He no longer cared if he could escape.

Rage filled his chest. Furiously, he extended his hand and grasped the sword intent, its other end pressing against Ning Changjiu's chest, separated from his flesh by only the thin blade of the sword.

The instant the enormous impact force propagated, many people behind doors within Hidden Peak also sensed the commotion and slowly opened their doors.

But no one was quick enough to stop any of this.

That lead-grey sword intent, like a true colossal sword, pressed against Ning Changjiu's blade, which was tight against his chest, and violently pushed his body forward.

Yan Feng pushed him forward, running wildly, and laughed maniacally. He wanted to throw this foolish young man into the abyss, to make him feel the most twisted pain and despair, to break him into pieces in endless terror!

Ning Changjiu's sword was held firmly by his opponent, but he dared not release his grip. If he did, without the infusion of spiritual energy, the already thin blade would be completely pierced.

The wind whistled past his ears as he rapidly retreated. Countless cultivation techniques and sword moves from his two lives flashed through his mind, yet none could bridge the gap in their cultivation levels to turn the tide in such a short time.

Yet, for some unknown reason, the closer he was to death, the calmer he became. This calmness was like a dead heart, making even himself feel a shiver.

He looked at Yan Feng's face, which bore a slight resemblance to Yan Zhou's but whose expression was vastly different.

Suddenly, a flash of insight struck him. As he thought of Yan Zhou, he recalled those extremely peculiar sword moves.

He had never learned those sword moves, but at that moment, they felt as if they lived within his very bones!

He didn't understand why, but instinctively, he clung to this straw of hope.

His body retreated rapidly, the abyss not far behind. Within his Purple Mansion, the Golden Crow opened its wide beak, already emitting a roar like a sea beast.

Golden light surged forth from Ning Changjiu's eyes.

Yan Feng had no time to discern what this was, nor did he need to. He utterly refused to believe that any technique could overcome the disparity in their cultivation levels.

Then, a piercing pain flared again in his already throbbing eyes—a sensation like coarse stones grinding over his delicate pupils, crushing the already blurred flesh further.

And in the last vestiges of his vision, he saw a bird with dark-golden feathers.

"Innate..." He lost his vision before he could finish speaking, but the power in his hands did not slacken in the slightest. Overwhelming rage transformed into the most terrifying strength within his arms.

Behind them, at the edge of the cliff, stood the Dragon-Entwining Pillar that pierced through the peak.

The endless greyish-black mist also seemed to sense something, churning like boiling water.

Half of Ning Changjiu's foot was already beyond the cliff's edge, but his mind had completely emptied, just as he had told Lu Jiajia the previous night: "Mind soaring to the eight extremes, eyes seeing naught but the cosmos." At this moment, he forgot everything; in his entire spiritual consciousness, there was only his sword and Yan Feng's sword.

He leaned back and then saw a faint light, incredibly dazzling in the darkness. He extended his sword-like fingers and, as if solving a puzzle, pressed them onto the light-emitting opening, sealing it tightly.

All light then vanished. The dead silence and darkness in his spiritual consciousness resembled eternal death.

This was one of Yan Zhou's bizarre sword stances.

Only at this moment did Ning Changjiu understand: no matter how flawed this sword stance was, as long as he killed his opponent before their sword could kill him, then even if he had a thousand flaws, the enemy would have no chance to exploit them.

So this was such a sword... so confident, resolute, unyielding, and invincible!

In front of him, a large bloody hole appeared in Yan Feng's throat. Until his death, he never understood how Ning Changjiu's sword qi had broken through his defenses and pierced his throat. And Yan Zhou would never know that the sword moves he practiced in his dreams would send his own brother to the afterlife.

The moment the sword qi dispersed, the Golden Crow let out a frenzied cry, similarly reveling in this unyielding decisiveness.

But it wasn't over yet.

Yan Feng, after all, was a great cultivator of the Longevity Realm. At the moment of his death, he made his final—and the only correct—judgment in this decisive battle!

He detonated his own body.

A furious torrent of energy erupted instantly, shattering the cliff surrounding the abyss. Ning Changjiu's feet lost their footing. He reached out but grasped nothing. He tried to draw the Minor Flying Array to leave, but no specks of spiritual energy appeared around him.

Fate was capricious; the lingering, undiminished stillness of the resolute death sword he had just wielded now seemed to apply to himself.

The Golden Crow transformed into specks of light, breaking through the darkness and pursuing his falling body. Ning Changjiu, his strength completely spent, his mind a blank, fell semi-conscious. The Golden Crow bit onto his body but lacked the strength to pull him up. Thus, man and bird plunged together, their figures instantly swallowed by the endless darkness.