Chapter 34: The Battle of the Courtyard

Everything between heaven and earth entered an indescribable state at this moment, as if even the figure Ning Changjiu pointed at had frozen.

Ning Xiaoling also fell into this strange calm, knowing it was an illusion. Ning Changjiu hadn't truly stopped; his finger, imbued with the true essence of Daoism, was still relentlessly pushing towards her.

The girl, reminiscent of a white fox, experienced another surge in her demonic power. She fiercely punched the space in all directions, her fists moving so rapidly that they left a continuous stream of lingering afterimages, creating an impenetrable shield around her body.

Unable to ascertain Ning Changjiu's true position, she resorted to this exhaustive but cumbersome method. Yet, she remained unconcerned, aware that Ning Changjiu's current cultivation level couldn't sustain such an ability for long.

On the ground, the golden threads formed by the magic arrays suddenly rose like mountains. These threads, resembling water, slowly crept over her feet, coiling around her entire body.

Ning Xiaoling endured the excruciating pain as her ankles felt as if they were tearing. With a sudden twist of her lower body, the golden threads sliced into her skin. However, the demonic blood that seeped out instantly transformed into flames, incinerating the threads.

Under the demonic fire, the tough golden threads swiftly turned to ash, and Ning Xiaoling finally freed herself from the ground. Her demonic power surged, rapidly healing the wounds on her ankles. Simultaneously, her snow-white eyes keenly swept the surroundings, searching for any unusual spiritual energy fluctuations.

In truth, Ning Changjiu had not vanished. The tranquility was simply too profound, as if he had become a blade of grass, a speck of dust, a distant ray of moonlight. This serenity, like dust settling on Ning Xiaoling's restless Daoist heart or a leaf obscuring her vision, created a brief illusion.

When the finger reappeared, the character for "Sit" (坐) was condensed at its tip.

Finally...

Ning Xiaoling's thoughts stirred. Her fist, drawn back to her waist, erupted like a blazing meteor. The persistent afterimages around her instantly vanished, their essence transforming into an incomparably sharp demonic power that coalesced at her fist.

She intended to crush him with a single, overwhelming blow, relying on her superior cultivation.

But as her punch connected, Ning Xiaoling's pupils slightly constricted.

Her punch didn't connect with anything tangible; the vast demonic power instead collided directly with the magic array, causing the golden threads to dim slightly and hindering their immediate attack. Yet, from behind Ning Xiaoling's head, a snow-white finger emerged, pointing directly at her.

That was the true character for "Sit."

As the character landed, Ning Xiaoling's mind abruptly emptied. Her legs weakened, and she felt an irresistible urge to sit cross-legged in meditation.

The next character was "Forget" (忘).

No sooner had the character "Forget" landed than its components, "Perish" (亡) and "Heart" (心), seemed to follow, one after the other.

Ning Xiaoling instinctively lashed out with her phantom-like fox tail, striking fiercely behind her like a crashing wave. Ning Changjiu had already retreated. His ten fingers splayed, generating thousands of translucent figures, each imbued with talismans, peach-wood charms, and Daoist swords, forming a collective shield to disperse the wildly surging demonic energy.

The "Zhai" character shattered before it could even fully manifest.

Ning Xiaoling, however, did not pursue. After the "Forget" character penetrated her spiritual sea, her snow-white eyes suddenly became utterly vacant. A bewildered and struggling expression appeared on her pretty, yet cold, face.

It was the "forget" of ingratitude, yet also the "forget" of the unforgettable.

She gazed at the young man before her, her lips slightly parted, and her voice trembled, "Bro...Brother?"

Immediately, that glimmer of consciousness was instantly overtaken. Her voice turned frigid: "Die."

Clutching her head, she let out a piercing shriek, seemingly intending to crush Ning Changjiu's Daoist characters within her sea of consciousness.

Ning Changjiu hooked a finger, and the undulating golden threads swept towards her like a vast net, each thread as sharp and deadly as a dagger blade.

Ning Xiaoling simultaneously resisted the invasion of consciousness within her spiritual sea and instinctively unleashed a torrent of wild demonic power.

At this moment, she was like a vast, breached lake, her demonic power surging like a torrent. The golden threads, like nets submerged in these turbulent waters, bobbed and weaved in the demonic waves, unable to draw near.

This magic array had been meticulously laid by Ning Changjiu over many days, specifically for this moment.

Yet now, in less than fifteen minutes, it was on the verge of losing all its spiritual energy and shattering under the onslaught of Ning Xiaoling's demonic power.

Ning Xiaoling lowered her head, her black hair swaying as if in a gale, wildly dancing with the dimming golden threads. She then lifted her head, letting out a clear, sharp cry. The bewilderment in her eyes, like dust washed away by flowing water, vanished, and clarity returned.

All the golden threads were instantly shredded. The surrounding tranquility was shattered as demonic power surged outwards like rolling thunder, spreading like a whirlwind scattering remnants of clouds. The ground was utterly destroyed, as if hundreds of oxen had simultaneously ploughed it. Dust and grass fragments were once again whipped up by the strong wind, and even the moonlight that fell upon the scene appeared subtly distorted.

Ning Changjiu did not expend spiritual energy to protect himself, and his pristine white robes soon became covered in dust from the waist down.

Ning Xiaoling looked at his dust-covered clothes and smiled with satisfaction. She loathed all beauty in the world, and especially when she saw Ning Changjiu's perpetually unruffled face, it would ignite a furious rage within her.

She longed to tear apart that serene face, sever his limbs, and then, using her demonic power as a blade, slice him into a thousand pieces. She wanted to see if he could maintain that infuriating composure when truly confronted with death.

Her eyes grew increasingly white, so pale that they reflected Ning Changjiu's figure. The young man gazed at her bloodthirsty, cruel face, suppressing all extraneous emotions deep within his Daoist heart. He extended his finger again, sketching four more characters in the air: "Indifferent, Solitary, Calm" (澹然独静).

This time, he remained silent, only rapidly sketching the characters with his finger.

"How troublesome," Ning Xiaoling said coldly. She raised her palm, swung her arm, and unleashed a bolt of lightning that struck towards Ning Changjiu's position.

The lightning bolt blasted open the courtyard behind her. Amidst the flying debris, Ning Xiaoling's fiery fist descended once more. Despite her delicate, fourteen-year-old appearance, the power that instantly erupted from her body seemed capable of snapping a fierce beast's spine in two.

With a thunderous boom, the backlashing wind from her punch whipped her long hair violently backward.

But this strike, too, landed on empty space.

Ning Xiaoling's brows furrowed so tightly they almost met. She stared at the deep crater before her, grinding her teeth in frustration.

She clearly possessed enough power to overwhelm her opponent, yet every one of her thunderous punches felt as if it struck soft cotton. Her opponent resorted to underhanded tactics, deceitful maneuvers, or simply used unknown methods to evade combat entirely, denying her any chance for a direct confrontation of strength.

The girl's fox tail lashed, resembling flames flickering wildly in a strong wind.

She scanned her surroundings, but her demonic eyes failed to catch any trace of Ning Changjiu, as if he had simply evaporated into thin air.

Ning Xiaoling let out a cold, cruel laugh: "Since you wish to play hide-and-seek, I'll go crush the other ants first."

No sooner had she spoken than the void behind her cracked open, and a slender, bony hand emerged from it.

Ning Xiaoling's ears twitched. The instant the void ripped open, she sharply whirled around and unleashed a punch.

That hand, however, caught her fist directly.

His hand was remarkably steady; not a drop would spill when he brewed tea, and when bandaging, it was impeccably neat.

Even as that formidable punch surged towards him, he caught it with unwavering steadiness.

Yet, this single punch depleted a significant portion of his stored spiritual energy.

Ning Changjiu grunted. With his other hand, he joined his fingers and pointed, striking her brow with lightning speed.

The instant Ning Xiaoling turned her head, she collided directly with his pointed fingers.

The girl's snow-white eyes suddenly dimmed, and the faint gray color of her pupils became vaguely visible.

A hint of confusion reappeared in those eyes. Ning Changjiu took a deep breath and twisted his finger, intending to infuse more spiritual energy.

But Ning Xiaoling's exposed gray pupils instantly narrowed into vertical slits, like a snake's.

Ning Changjiu's heart tightened. He caught a glimpse of a sinister smile curling at the corner of the girl's mouth. Just as he attempted to withdraw, she suddenly raised her hand, parrying the grip on her right fist while simultaneously striking an acupoint on his other hand before seizing it in return.

"Got you," Ning Xiaoling purred, her previous coldness melting away as she giggled sweetly, just like a true fox demon.

This was the first time Ning Changjiu displayed surprise. He had first used the "Solitary Calm" (独静) part of the Four-Character True Formula to rend the void, lying dormant like a cicada, then re-emerged from the void to implant the characters "Indifferent" (澹然) into her brow, intending to dispel the demonic nature of her demonic seed.

But even if the demonic nature were purged from the demonic seed, she would still be a demon, a true demon. How could she possibly revert to being Ning Xiaoling?

This sudden turn of events caused a slight ripple in Ning Changjiu's Daoist heart, but it did not truly throw him into a panic.

"You haven't even entered the Profound Realm, yet you can employ the Void-Shattering technique of the Longevity Realm. It appears you harbor secrets that even I would covet," Ning Xiaoling said with a soft smile, her crescent-moon eyes flaring with greed. As she spoke, her fingernails grew rapidly, sharp as steel, and she lunged at his chest, carving three bloody streaks through the air.

Her sharp claws struck his chest directly, but failed to penetrate.

Ning Xiaoling's expression shifted, and she immediately delivered another palm strike. Ning Changjiu's white robe tore open at the chest, revealing what lay beneath.

It was a pure white mask.

It was the mask Lu Jiajia had given them, which he always kept at his chest. At this moment, it acted like a protective heart-mirror, deflecting the lethal blow.

Ning Xiaoling's expression changed. She was uncertain if this was intentional or a mere coincidence.

If it was a coincidence, then he was simply lucky.

But if it was intentional... did he also anticipate her next moves?

This thought was absurd, yet it genuinely surfaced in Ning Xiaoling's mind. But... how could that be? He was merely an ordinary person who hadn't even reached the Profound Realm.

She intensified the force in her hand, intent on directly destroying the mask.

Ning Changjiu counterattacked in kind, pushing a palm directly towards Ning Xiaoling's forehead.

Ning Xiaoling did not withdraw her hand to counterattack, sensing that the power of that palm strike would not harm her in the slightest.

Ning Xiaoling's demonic power surged like a blade, determined to shatter the mask and pierce his heart.

Meanwhile, Ning Changjiu's palm softly pressed against her forehead.

That palm strike indeed caused no ripples; it was even lighter than Ning Xiaoling had anticipated, feeling like a single swan feather drifting onto her forehead.

But the lighter it felt, the more intense Ning Xiaoling's unease became.

She felt she was on the verge of breaking the mask, but at that very instant, instinct compelled her to withdraw her hand.

A snow-white blade of light erupted between Ning Changjiu's chest and Ning Xiaoling's palm, gushing like a white spring or a silver knife flashing from its sheath.

It was sword qi.

Sword qi contained within the mask!

This was the mask Lu Jiajia always carried. As an important figure of the Heaven's Sword Sect, anything she wore would undoubtedly be extraordinary. Furthermore, the mask had not shattered even when she fought the Old Fox.

Ning Changjiu's palm strike was merely a feint, designed to provoke her desire for a swift victory and, in doing so, trigger the self-defensive sword qi within the mask.

When Lu Jiajia had left the mask with them, she had spoken of its properties, implying it could be used for self-preservation.

The sword qi was like a waterfall composed of countless tiny silver needles—a sword intent that retaliated when the mask was pushed to its absolute limit, moving at an astonishing speed.

Ning Xiaoling groaned and staggered backward, her phantom giant tail behind her spreading like a massive felt blanket, instantly enveloping her delicate body.

The snow-white sword intent surged like a mountain torrent, thousands of silver needles showering down on her massive fox tail like a relentless storm.

Her already phantom fox tail grew even more transparent under the relentless wash of sword qi.

Her feet, one planted in front of the other, desperately clawed at the ground, like a steadfast reef resisting crashing waves.

Ning Xiaoling hugged her chest, resisting the corrosive sword intent, but her massive tail grew progressively smaller. She was forced to gradually sink to one knee to remain hidden within the cocoon-like shield formed by her tail.

She gritted her teeth, resisting the overwhelming sword qi. Every moment felt impossibly long; her body trembled uncontrollably as if countless needles pierced her simultaneously, and the malevolence in her eyes intensified.

Finally, the sword qi dissipated.

Ning Xiaoling released her protective giant tail and shakily rose to her feet. Her vertical pupils narrowed further, becoming almost imperceptible.

A hint of jealousy and hatred flickered in her eyes.

"Lu Jiajia..." Ning Xiaoling's voice was venomous and cold. "When I've killed you, I'll go kill her."

But Ning Changjiu's figure vanished once more. Her gaze swept around, searching for his trace.

She felt increasingly agitated and enraged. The demonic seed within her heart pounded like a drum, a heavy throb against her chest, and her blood surged restlessly throughout her body.

Her patience was wearing thin.

Ning Xiaoling's searching gaze suddenly darted upwards, then narrowed.

On the pavilion outside the courtyard, she saw the figure of a white-robed young man, looking down at her from above.

Ning Xiaoling wasted no more thought. With a flick of her arm, a crimson longsword, seemingly carved from crystal, instantly condensed in her palm.

She leaped, stepping onto the broken courtyard wall and pushing off, propelling herself dozens of feet into the air. Her three massive tails trailed in a line behind her, then abruptly unfurled as she neared Ning Changjiu, striking out with her crimson sword light.

The sword light carved a full arc, like a crimson moon suspended from the eaves of the pavilion.

Ning Changjiu's figure was severed by the sword.

"A Daoist Body-Substitution Talisman?" Ning Xiaoling murmured, slightly startled.

Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a dark shadow flitting across the roof of the floor below. Instantly, she felt her body grow heavy as something seized her slender ankle, pulling her sharply downwards.