Chapter 213: For Slavery

At the Temple, atop the royal city of Broken Realm City, two figures stood facing each other.

A long breeze swept by, making their black and white garments ripple.

Both held plain iron swords, costing five hundred wen each in the city.

Siming confirmed one last time, "The royal city is our arena. Leaving it means defeat, as does harming bystanders. We can't use any divine authority or innate spiritual energy; only swords will clash. The loser becomes the slave, correct?"

Once signed, this slave contract would immediately activate and brand the slave mark on whichever party violated its terms.

Ning Changjiu nodded. "I'm always a man of my word, and I presume Miss Xueci is the same."

Siming replied, "Xueci is my old name. From now on, simply call me Siming."

Ning Changjiu acknowledged this. "If I had a choice, I'd rather this battle didn't happen."

"Hesitating before a fight is a grave mistake for a swordsman," Siming stated.

Ning Changjiu shook his head slightly. "I may not wish for battle, but I don't fear it."

Their exchange was brief, and their first sword move was just as straightforward.

A thunderous crack seemed to erupt between them—not actual thunder, but a brilliant, snow-white sword light descending from above.

As if by prior agreement, their swords lunged forward simultaneously.

Their swords swayed in the sunlight, casting shadows that were at times sharp, at times gentle, resembling petals scattered from a celestial maiden's basket or tens of thousands of crows flapping their wings in unison at night.

Both figures vanished from sight, the thunderous clash occurring and fading in mere moments.

Three *zhang*, three *chi*, three *cun*... their faces nearly brushed as their hair, stirred by their movements, touched.

Their hair, too, seemed like a blade, vibrating upon contact, leaving faint, fleeting lines of blood on both their cheeks as it flashed past.

Faces and swords drew close. In the mirror-like blades, their gazes met like sparks of lightning.

Thunder cracked and sword fire sparked; everything happened in an instant. In the blink of an eye, the two figures had exchanged places and now stood back to back.

"Your sword has slowed," Siming remarked.

Ning Changjiu knew his sword had indeed become slower. Previously, his strikes were single-minded, but after his battle with the Sin Lord, he had been subtly influenced by the opponent's divinity.

This was the King's divinity—a transcendence over heaven and earth, an indifference to life and death, a state of profound freedom. Yet, for him now, it was unsuitable.

His sword was not one of heartlessness, nor could his convictions be erased by a mere hint of divinity. Thus, the two mindsets conflicted, making it difficult for him to find peace, which naturally slowed his sword.

Even a slight delay could be fatal.

After their first exchange, a trickle of blood seeped from between Ning Changjiu's fingers.

This was Broken Realm City's first "thunder" of the day.

As thunder sounded once more, both figures descended, shattering the rooftop tiles which turned to dust in the wind.

Their swords crashed together. Each fiery flash in the sky marked another point of impact between their blades.

The clang of swords grew increasingly rapid.

A rapid succession of flashes lit the sky like exploding firecrackers, their forms flickering in and out of sight.

With each strike, Siming held back a fraction of her power, manifesting as sword intent hidden in the air. After seventy-two such strikes, these concealed blades suddenly erupted, and by the time Ning Changjiu reacted, he was completely enveloped by seventy-two impenetrable sword shadows.

Ning Changjiu remained still, knowing these seventy-two sword shadows couldn't harm him. He waited for Siming's next direct strike.

Siming struck.

Siming's sword lunged forward with the shadows, starting as a single point before bursting into brilliant light that enveloped Ning Changjiu's white robes. Ning Changjiu's tensed arm simultaneously thrust his own sword forward. As he struck, he closed his eyes, not relying on sight but extending his spiritual power to pinpoint that bright spot within the radiance.

The seventy-two sword intents erupted into myriad sparks against Ning Changjiu's white robes.

Amidst the sparks, Ning Changjiu precisely intercepted Siming's sword.

The tips of their two swords met with exact precision, causing the blades to flex. Their figures rapidly converged. Ning Changjiu aimed a punch at Siming's face, while Siming simultaneously met him with a palm strike. Fist and palm collided, and their close proximity instantly broke apart.

Siming's black robe flared as her sword sliced sideways, dissipating lingering force and steadying her retreat. Ning Changjiu landed on a rooftop, his toes skimming the tiles as he slid to the very edge of the building before coming to a stop.

Ning Changjiu clutched his chest.

He yearned to draw his true sword, but its spirit remained dormant, preventing the Asura Sword from reaching its full potential. Crucially, Siming had foregone her black sword, implicitly neutralizing his own. Since this was not a fight to the death, he was unwilling to act against his principles and unsheathe it.

This was a subtle tactic of Siming's: she preferred to forfeit some of her own advantages to eliminate any unforeseen variables.

Siming gave him no quarter.

Her black robe billowed like a leaf caught in an otherworldly gust, light and swift, instantly outpacing the wind as she charged at Ning Changjiu.

Chopping, slicing, thrusting, parrying, dodging, and turning—all sword techniques and movements were unleashed in an instant. The two figures tangled and separated, and with every strike, Ning Changjiu was forced back. In a flash, he was driven from the rooftops to the ground.

The royal city itself was empty; its inhabitants now gathered on the city walls, watching the peak confrontation from afar, their minds awestruck.

Ning Changjiu fell to the street like a withered leaf; before he could regain his footing, Siming's sword pressed in again, its flashing blade casting his features in a snowy glow. He tracked her sword's trajectory through the interplay of light and shadow, managing to block most attacks but finding no opening for a counter.

If this continued, Ning Changjiu would inevitably be overwhelmed by the relentless storm of swords until he revealed his first vulnerability.

And once his defense was breached, utter defeat would be swift and inevitable!

After retreating dozens of paces, Ning Changjiu twisted his foot, shattering the green brick beneath him. His retreat halted abruptly, and he charged headlong into Siming's sword. Siming's delicate brows furrowed; 'Is he truly certain I won't kill him?' she wondered.

Siming, indeed, could not kill him, so her sword veered slightly, aiming for his shoulder instead.

Ning Changjiu collided with Siming's body, yet he was like a mere phantom.

The brief second gained by his 'Moon in the Mirror' technique allowed Ning Changjiu to pass through her like a phantom. He then reversed his grip on his sword and thrust it behind him.

The strike was incredibly swift, but Siming still reacted, adopting an unusual back-sword stance.

Her sword pressed against her delicate back like armor, shielding her body and parrying the lightning-fast strike.

Immediately after blocking, Siming leaned forward, her long, elegant leg sweeping out to directly strike Ning Changjiu.

Ning Changjiu bent his body back, evading the leg that cut like a blade toward his abdomen. Simultaneously, his sword tip, wedged in the central groove of her blade, slid upward, aiming for Siming's sword-wielding hand.

However, that brief moment was all Siming needed to turn.

With a flick of her silver hair, Siming spun around. One hand gripped the hilt, the other pushed against the blade, pressing down on Ning Changjiu's attacking sword and driving it directly towards him.

Ning Changjiu's current power was inferior to Siming's, forcing him to retreat.

"I underestimated you greatly," Ning Changjiu admitted.

Siming proudly declared, "My swordsmanship has always been excellent."

Seven hundred years ago, she had mastered nearly all the world's true sword scriptures. Though her control over time limited her actual combat opportunities, in terms of pure swordsmanship, she was undeniably superior to Ning Changjiu.

Now, their realms were comparable, but her slight edge allowed her to gain a small advantage in each skirmish. This tiny advantage, like an ant's nest beneath a dam, would eventually lead to a catastrophic collapse once the pressure reached its peak.

Furthermore, before the chaos in Broken Realm City, Siming had observed Ning Changjiu for three months and was intimately familiar with his techniques.

They exchanged a single sentence, caught their breath, then their swords clashed once more.

Ning Changjiu rapidly unleashed the first half of the Heavenly Oracle Sword Scripture. After his initial and supporting strikes, amidst a myriad of chaotic sword shadows, three powerful strikes unleashed overwhelming sword qi, crashing down from above—the three most ferocious moves of the scripture.

In the blink of an eye, three bursts of white energy erupted before Siming, and his three moves—'Great River Entering the Duct,' 'White Rainbow Piercing the Sun,' and 'Black Rain Overturning the Basin'—were shattered one by one.

Siming's sword sliced through the shadows and reached his face.

The sword glinted like a sharp line, piercing Ning Changjiu's gaze as if to split his eyes in two.

"'Let me teach you what true swordsmanship is!' Siming's sharp cry resonated in his ears, the blinding sword light, like a dragon rising from water, aimed directly at Ning Changjiu's brow."

Ning Changjiu, after a quick assessment, chose to retreat.

The sword light relentlessly pressed him, forcing him to retreat further and further.

Siming's sword carved countless stunning arcs in the air, her silver blade and dark form relentlessly pursuing Ning Changjiu, leaving a fresh wound on him every few dozen strikes.

The two battled from one end of the long street to the other, leaving Ning Changjiu severely wounded.

On the city wall, Shao Xiaoli watched the scene nervously, her heart pounding in her chest.

This battle was crucial for Boss—a 'lose one, lose two' situation. It wasn't just about his dignity, but also her own status in the days to come. After all, it was incredibly hard for her to achieve status on her own, so she had to rely on him, like the fox borrowing the tiger's might.

She nervously gripped the black sword in her hand, yet her expression remained perfectly serene and dignified, like a cool-headed heroine or a majestic empress, making her appear unapproachable.

She now understood much about swordsmanship and could clearly discern Boss's evident disadvantage.

But it wasn't entirely Boss's fault; he'd expended so much energy fighting the Sin Lord, scattering his divine authority and leaving him with many unhealed internal injuries. Moreover, he'd been forced into this duel. How could he possibly be a match for a fully prepared Siming?

"This Siming is truly shameless!"

Shao Xiaoli gritted her teeth in fury, wishing she could fly to the city wall with her sword, aid Boss, and then together tie up Siming.

But she also feared: what if even both of them couldn't win...?

She watched without blinking, offering silent prayers.

The other survivors watched the battle as well. Most were cultivators, and the display of power filled them with awe for such an insurmountable peak. Yet, for the outcome of this fight, even a child saw no suspense.

The one wounded was the young man, the one spitting blood was the young man, and the one forced back by every sword strike was still the young man.

"Even a blunt knife can slaughter a cow, given enough time."

"This young man is strong enough, but unfortunately, he's no match for that enchantress."

"Hmph, what if that enchantress is strong? Is she a match for our Majesty? Do you still remember that day when she stood demurely beside the King, and halfway through the court assembly, she somehow angered His Majesty and was dragged to the back for a severe beating? Surely everyone remembers the sound of it?"

Shao Xiaoli heard half of this, quickly covered her ears, and looked mortified.

Fortunately, they would never learn the truth.

After Shao Xiaoli composed herself, she heard someone else remark, "His white robes are nearly soaked in blood, yet that enchantress remains spotless. It seems there's no doubt about the outcome now."

Shao Xiaoli couldn't take it anymore. She turned her head coldly and retorted, "What do you know? Black clothes just don't show dirt as easily!"

"..." The person was startled and quickly said, "Your Majesty is right!"

But Shao Xiaoli's biased support couldn't secure Ning Changjiu's victory.

Stripped of their dominant and flashy divine authorities, their battle became a raw struggle between Long-Life Realm cultivators, a cacophony of clashing swords.

"'I only meant to defeat you, but you stubbornly insisted on making the loser a slave. Who gave you such courage?!' Amidst their entanglement, Siming split her sword, the blade gleaming like a moon cradled by a sea of clouds."

Ning Changjiu's Asura physique could withstand the stray sword intent, but not the blade's biting edge.

As Ning Changjiu emerged from the blinding arc, three fresh wounds appeared on his body.

His expression remained outwardly calm, but this composure was like snow under a fierce sun, rapidly eroding and melting away.

Siming, too, unleashed every technique, many of her sword moves being rare even a millennium ago, their unpredictable shifts catching him off guard.

The Blood Feather Lord stood tall on the city wall, yet his heart churned with unease, fearing Lord Ning's defeat. Afraid Siming might spot him and recall past grievances, he subconsciously shrank back, while still maintaining the facade of the city's protector, the God of Light, for those around him.

"'Is this all you've got? Is this the sword you used to defeat the Sin Lord?' Siming taunted him."

Ning Changjiu had no time to reply; he had to maintain his resolve. If his mindset faltered, his sword would follow.

He couldn't afford even a moment's distraction.

Their figures converged again, sword light passing barely an inch from his face.

"'Your sword is too slow,' Siming said, deflecting his blade with her hand before thrusting for his throat."

"'What about *that* strike, that killing blow?!' Siming's voice was as sharp as a sword wind."

Such provocative words, rising and falling in cadence, carried a strange power that truly pierced Ning Changjiu's resolve.

Ning Changjiu couldn't help but retort, "What else can your mouth do besides provoke me?"

"'Hmm? What else? You'll have a chance to find out if you win me!' Siming smiled, appearing before him, pressing her sword down, shattering the power he had painstakingly gathered, and once again sending him flying with her blade."

Ning Changjiu drifted away, tearing through several large red lanterns in his path.

Ning Changjiu took a deep breath; the residual divinity of the Sin Lord was like a discordant note, disrupting his entire being.

To maintain his composure, he immediately retreated, running toward the city's edge.

Siming quickly followed.

It was now evening, and night was descending. If Ning Changjiu had no winning tactics left, he would truly have no chance.

Siming, too, did not idly wait for night to fall.

She pursued him relentlessly.

Ning Changjiu employed his 'Hidden Breath' technique, continuously evading her through the winding streets of the royal city.

He seemed oblivious to Siming's strength in the encroaching darkness, even giving the impression he was deliberately stalling for her, as if afraid she might not win.

Shao Xiaoli watched from the city walls with bated breath.

The sky darkened, the wind grew colder, and her palms were slick with sweat.

Her mind was already picturing the grim fate awaiting them: she, Siming's maid, and Boss, Siming's slave.

Finally, the battle shifted on a long street.

Ning Changjiu unleashed hundreds of sword strikes in quick succession, finally seizing a momentary opening. He silently chanted the true incantation, then unleashed *that* sword.

Shao Xiaoli's sinking heart abruptly lifted; she knew this was Boss's trump card, the one she'd been waiting for.

And Boss never strikes rashly; he always waits for the perfect moment. Ha, that wicked woman Siming...

Her thought stalled.

A moment later, she realized: Boss hadn't found the perfect moment; he was at his absolute limit and had no other choice.

This sword, like an autumn leaf carried by a distant wind, landed before Siming's eyes.

And Siming truly caught it as if it were merely an autumn leaf.

"'The same move can't be used too many times,' Siming said regretfully as she snapped the sword tip, offering a word of wisdom before delivering a palm strike."

Ning Changjiu had no strength left to parry; his body crashed through the house door behind him and tumbled into the courtyard.

Siming's figure swept through the doorway as well.

The courtyard was too far, and its newly built walls were quite high, preventing them from seeing what was happening inside. But everyone knew the outcome was sealed; the white-robed young man had no chance of victory left.

Shao Xiaoli understood the current state of the battle more clearly than anyone else.

Unless a miracle occurred, Boss wouldn't last three more sword strikes against Siming.

Soon, the clashing sword shadows above the house quieted, and the sounds from within ceased.

Night fell as expected.

As Shao Xiaoli dejectedly descended the city wall, Siming and Ning Changjiu emerged from the shattered doorway, walking side by side.

Ning Changjiu was covered in blood, his steps somewhat unsteady. He turned his head, his gaze indistinct in the fading light, toward Shao Xiaoli on the city wall.

No miracle, it seemed, had occurred.

Shao Xiaoli immediately dismissed everyone, fearing Siming might lose control and punish her in front of them all.

She rode her sword, following them cautiously from behind.

Ning Changjiu's bloodied, despondent back pained her heart.

Boss was so incredibly strong; he even defeated the Sin Lord. This wicked woman clearly took advantage of his weakened state and won unfairly!

Indignantly, she then spoke softly, "Master, this is your sword. I kept it very well for you, not a single scratch!"

Siming, however, remained cold, ignoring the sword offered to her.

They walked in tacit silence into the imperial palace.

Only their three figures remained in the desolate imperial palace.

The atmosphere was eerily silent.

"I'll light some candles," Shao Xiaoli said quietly, trying to ease the awkwardness. Despite being the King, she was clearly the lowest in rank among the three.

As she lit the candles, she pondered how best to appease Siming, console Boss, and offer advice on being a servant.

She finished lighting the candles, turned, and her shoulders slumped as she froze in place.

The sight before her made her eyes nearly pop out of her head.

Ning Changjiu, half-covered in blood, stood with his back to Siming.

Siming, at some point, had lifted the front of her black robe and gracefully knelt on the ground. Her flowing silver hair cascaded down, obscuring her nearly perfect profile. Her delicate head was slightly bowed, her snow-white neck like that of a humbled swan.

Though her usual pride and nobility hadn't entirely faded, she knelt before a man in such a humble posture, as if she were merely a maid to be beaten or scolded at will.

"This..." Shao Xiaoli finally managed to catch her breath. "What happened?"

Could it be that Boss secretly placed a hex on Siming? That... that would be a bit underhanded, wouldn't it?

Ning Changjiu turned and finally offered Shao Xiaoli a smile.

Siming, still kneeling, gazed at the floor and murmured, "I lost."

"What?" Shao Xiaoli was even more astonished to see Siming still conscious. "Wh-What exactly happened?"

Ning Changjiu smiled. "Don't you think the house we entered earlier looked a little familiar?"

Shao Xiaoli was stunned. After a brief moment of recollection, she realized the house they'd entered *did* seem familiar.

No! That was clearly her old home!

It had been destroyed and rebuilt, which was why she hadn't recognized it immediately!

But what could that possibly change?

To understand, we must go back more than half a year. Before Siming and Ning Changjiu's first true confrontation, Siming had visited Shao Xiaoli's home. During that visit, she casually pointed out numerous traps and formations Ning Changjiu had laid, including a golden thread array buried beneath the ground.

Back then, she had pulled these threads out, held them in her palm, and, to display her confidence and break Ning Changjiu's spirit, she had merely exposed them without destroying them.

This array had remained buried underground ever since.

In life, there are no idle moves; every detail can be a setup.

Today, she finally paid the price for that past confidence.

Earlier, as Siming's sword pursued him into the courtyard, she saw Ning Changjiu's familiar gaze and realized something was amiss. But it was too late; the golden thread array had already activated. The moment her foot touched the ground, her ankle became entangled by the golden threads, leaving her no escape.

In truth, she still had many opportunities then, but she made the gravest mistake.

Seven centuries of instinct compelled her to unleash her temporal authority.

The golden threads receded into the ground, but in doing so, she had violated the terms of the battle contract.

This battle contract was a true pact; the moment she lost, the slave mark automatically appeared somewhere on her body, declaring her defeat.

Shao Xiaoli listened, dumbfounded. She looked at Siming, now submissively bowing her head, and finally understood: Boss had truly won.

She would no longer be a slave, but a master herself!

Her demeanor changed instantly; hands on her hips, brows furrowed, she was ready for fierce revenge. But remembering that Siming still hadn't broken her curse, she softened slightly, merely saying, "Let me see your slave mark."

Siming bit her jade-like red lips, the unwillingness in her icy eyes flickering before fading.

Finally, she quietly answered, "Yes."

Her black robe rustled to the floor.

Shao Xiaoli's heart immediately quickened. She swallowed, admitting to herself a certain admiration for Sister Siming's body; if Boss hadn't been present, she might have already pounced.

Shao Xiaoli's gaze swept down her body. "Where is it?" she asked.

Siming's beautiful eyes fluttered shut, and after a soft sigh, she gently parted her legs. Shao Xiaoli peered through the dim shadows.

"'So... it's in the tiger's mouth,' Shao Xiaoli murmured, staring at the inner side of her right thigh, marveling. She pondered for a long moment, then couldn't resist reaching out to touch it."

"'Don't touch!' Siming tried to stop her, but it was too late. Shao Xiaoli's slender fingers pressed onto it with a light touch."

Her thighs tightened as the slave mark's current shot through Siming's body. She arched her head back, letting out a pained moan, like a swan at its death.

A moment later, Shao Xiaoli pulled her hand away, then quietly slipped out, heading to the riverbank with a flushed face.

Siming lay half-sprawled on the ground, silently looking at Ning Changjiu.

Ning Changjiu turned, draped the black robe over her, and then helped her up. "Don't worry," he said, "the slave mark merely ensures you won't kill me. You've been kind to me; I won't take advantage."

Siming recalled Ning Changjiu's words from that night in Snow Gorge and scoffed, "Hypocrite, pretending to be a gentleman."

"Ning Changjiu replied, 'Believe what you will. We depart tomorrow.'"

Siming clutched the edge of her black robe, covering the slave mark on her thigh, her heart swirling with unwillingness, shame, and a hint of another, peculiar emotion.

Her eyes flickered; she wasn't sure if Ning Changjiu was being truthful.

Departing tomorrow was certainly acceptable; if Ning Changjiu spoke the truth, she would leave the city this very moment.

Siming suddenly remembered something. "What about that little girl?" she asked. "Are we taking her with us?"

"'That depends on whether Xiao Li wants to come,' Ning Changjiu smiled. 'If she wishes to follow, I can hardly stop her. It would be a good opportunity for the two of you to bond further.'"

Siming's face paled.