Chapter Sixty-Two: Li Xiran

Before Liang Yan could react, a flash of white light split the air—already, the white tiger with hanging eyes was upon him.

It is said that clouds follow the dragon, and wind follows the tiger.

The white tiger rode upon the wind, moving with such inconceivable speed that by the time Liang Yan sensed the danger, it was within ten feet, maw agape, lunging at him.

A thunderous roar exploded forth.

A tempest swept over him. Though the black shield before him absorbed much of the force, Liang Yan still felt suffocated, his clothes shredded into tatters, red welts blooming across his skin. In that instant, he could neither hear nor speak, nor even open his eyes. The howling gale sealed off all three senses—ears, nose, and mouth.

Startled, Liang Yan hastily invoked the “Dispersing Force Method” from the Mind Without Fixation Technique. Blue light swirled about him, barely scattering the wind enough to restore his senses. He looked up just in time to see the black-clad woman leaping from the tiger’s back, her foot tapping upon the beast, blade in hand tracing a circle through the air as she slashed toward him.

Black mist coiled around the blade, a pitch-black flood dragon spiraling above it, emitting a deep, resonant dragon’s cry.

He had already tasted her monstrous strength once before; now, with the dragon attached to her blade, not even ten lives would embolden him to meet her strike head-on. Hastily withdrawing the black shield, Liang Yan spun like a top, bending low and rolling close to the ground.

Her blade was on the verge of cleaving him in two when, as if guided by some mysterious force, it veered off and struck the empty ground nearby. The blade’s light gleamed like frosted snow, drawing an arc in midair.

With a thunderous crash, the sword’s aura carved a nine-foot-long trench into the earth, though the blade itself had not struck the ground. The dazzling arc of blade-light hung in the air for a moment before slowly dissipating.

Liang Yan sucked in a cold breath; had he been struck, even his supreme Buddhist techniques would not have saved him from death or dismemberment.

Seeing her attack thwarted, the black-clad woman’s face betrayed surprise, but in the next instant she recovered her composure. A spell formed rapidly in her hands, and at her command, the dragon and tiger lunged toward Liang Yan once more.

He attempted to speak several times, but the oppressive power of the dragon and tiger left him breathless, barely able to defend himself, let alone utter a sound.

Though it appeared he was dueling the girl alone, her strange arts made it feel as if he faced three opponents at once. The black-clad girl herself wielded her blade with sweeping might—crude, perhaps, but devastating in force, each hack and thrust thunderous and overwhelming.

She overwhelmed skill with sheer power; though Liang Yan commanded both the Chaos Technique and the Mind Without Fixation Technique, he could do little against her for the moment.

Ever since he’d fused the “Twin Fish Duality Formation,” merging Buddhist and Confucian divine arts, Liang Yan had considered himself peerless among those of his level—even challenging those above without fear. Until today, even facing a sixth-layer or seventh-layer Qi Refinement cultivator would have posed no great difficulty. He kept a low profile by choice, remaining unnoticed in the Star Pavilion.

But this woman had shown him the truth of “there is always a higher sky, and a stronger man beyond.”

He activated all his powers to their utmost—the first four forms of the Chaos Technique and the five movements of the Mind Without Fixation Technique—holding nothing back, barely managing to fight her to a standstill.

Back and forth they battled in the darkness, neither able to gain the upper hand.

Seeing that prolonged assault led nowhere, the black-clad woman suddenly leapt back, biting her tongue and spitting a drop of blood onto her blade. Her left hand wove a spell as her right pointed the blade skyward.

The black dragon and white tiger, obeying her, sprang back and began circling her blade’s tip. The girl’s expression grew solemn as she chanted; the dragon and tiger spun faster and faster, until, in a blink, they merged into a swirling black-and-white vortex at the tip of her sword.

“Is this madwoman really trying to kill us both?” Liang Yan thought, horrified. He shouted, “Miss, listen, I am not one of them—”

But halfway through his plea, the woman sliced through the air with her blade, sending the black-and-white vortex “slowly” flying toward him. His voice scattered like willows in a gale, drowned by the raging wind, lost entirely.

The vortex’s colors seemed to flow languidly, but in reality it spun with such speed it created a deceptive illusion. With a deafening rumble, the black-and-white “millstone” bore down on Liang Yan, as if to grind all evil and impurity from the world. In a blink, it was nearly upon him.

There was nowhere to dodge, and he knew he could not withstand such force.

As the millstone bore down, Liang Yan’s mind raced; suddenly, inspiration flashed. He thrust his right hand forward, index and middle fingers extended. A bolt of blue lightning shot forth, striking a subtle spot near the millstone’s lower right edge.

In the next instant, the tempest that had filled heaven and earth seemed to vanish into silence. The massive millstone before him slowed and finally dissipated into drifting wisps of black and white, dispersing in all directions.

“You—!” the woman cried out, incredulous, blood spraying from her lips, eyes wide in disbelief.

At the last moment, Liang Yan had seen through the transformation in her art: the black dragon was mere black mist, the white tiger, white smoke. Though he could not name her secret art—how she could, at the Qi Refinement stage, conjure such phantasms—he knew that forcibly sustaining such a technique at her level must leave a weakness.

Remaining calm in crisis, he quietly activated his “Qi Perception” technique, discovering that with her limited cultivation, the dragon and tiger could not endure long. When the two merged in the vortex, they repeatedly reverted to smoke and mist. Seizing the chance, he used Lightning Technique to disrupt the formation, shattering her spell with finesse.

The woman, her magic broken, suffered a backlash; blood gushed from her lips, evidence of severe internal wounds. Yet her resolve did not waver—if anything, her eyes grew fiercer. She bit her lip and reached for her storage pouch, readying another desperate move.

Liang Yan, finally able to catch his breath, saw her preparing for another life-risking strike and urgently cried, “If you do not help now, these commoners will not survive!”

His shout had the desired effect. The black-clad woman paused, staring at him. “You, heartless as you are, care about others’ lives?”

Liang Yan silently gave thanks to all the gods of heaven: “At last, a chance to speak!”

“Miss, you are mistaken—I am not one of them. These people have fallen victim to a soul-calling spell of the Corpse Ghost Sect. If it is not undone within three hours, their souls will never return.”

The woman lowered her blade, suspicion in her eyes. “You little thief, are you plotting yet another trick?”

Liang Yan could only offer a bitter smile. “Regardless, let us pause our fight and save these people first. What say you?”

She glanced from him to the dazed townsfolk, hesitation flickering across her face, but at last she nodded.

Relieved, Liang Yan divided the people between them, each using their own arts to break the spell. With the Buddhist “Diamond Dust Cause,” he dispelled the evil from his group in less than half a stick of incense.

He glanced over; she had freed only a few so far. Walking over, he helped break the remaining spells.

The townspeople awoke as if from a dream, recalling nothing of how they had come to be outside the city. Panic erupted—some fled in terror, others, after checking their belongings, also scattered and hurried back toward the city.

When the people had dispersed, the black-clad woman turned to Liang Yan and said coolly, “I did not expect such skill in breaking evil spells. Now, will you tell me who you really are?”

Liang Yan smiled ruefully. “A trifling trick, nothing more.” He then recounted the events from the beginning.

Two days earlier, upon arriving in Screenwind City and learning that the conference would not begin for five days, he found an inn and planned to seek news of the Golden-Mark Spirit Monkey. That night, by chance, he overheard cultivators in the next room scheming to capture mortals. His senses keen, he heard every word.

They belonged to a minor sect, Corpse Ghost Sect, practitioners of sinister ghost arts who delighted in using living sacrifices to bolster their own strength.

He had not intended to meddle. He was no righteous hero and, beset by his own troubles, had no desire to waste time on others.

But then they mentioned the Golden-Mark Spirit Monkey. Now intrigued, he listened more closely. The Corpse Ghost Sect had discovered a monkey king in the mountains, its strength equal to an eighth-level Qi Refiner. The king’s brain could be used as a rare medicinal ingredient. They had dispatched the “Red-Faced Ghost,” one of their “Three Ghosts,” to capture it.

Finding the king difficult to subdue, the Red-Faced Ghost resorted to capturing over a hundred mortals with evil spells to temporarily boost his power and seize the king.

Liang Yan had not been optimistic about obtaining “Spirit Monkey Wine,” especially upon learning of the monkey king’s existence. He decided to conceal his cultivation with a Heaven’s Secret Pearl and pose as a victim to infiltrate the Corpse Ghost Sect’s base, intending to snatch the wine amidst the chaos.

Of course, if circumstances allowed, he had no qualms about saving the townsfolk as well.

He told the black-clad woman all of this—omitting, naturally, his private ambition for the monkey wine—and claimed he was acting out of righteous indignation, infiltrating the group to locate the villains and bring them to justice.

He spoke with such conviction that the woman’s face grew redder by the moment, finally flushing as bright as a ripe apple.

“Your integrity is admirable, risking your life to save the innocent. I am ashamed that my rashness endangered your efforts—please allow me this bow of apology!” With utmost seriousness, she bent to salute him.

“Please, don’t!” Liang Yan hurriedly stopped her, face reddening as he thought, “This girl is too honest! She believes every word. She is a true hero, while I am merely a petty schemer. To accept her bow would be shameless.”

In his flustered state, he accidentally grasped her hands. Realizing his impropriety, he quickly let go and said awkwardly, “There is no need for guilt. I still have another plan in place.”

The woman replied with easy grace, “Your modesty is impressive.”

Liang Yan was even more abashed, forced to cough and say, “Not at all, just the duty of a righteous cultivator... But it is cumbersome to keep calling each other ‘fellow Daoist.’ My name is Liang Yan. May I ask yours?”

“I am Li Xiran.”

“So, Miss Li. Our clash today has made us friends, I hope—what do you think?” Sincere admiration for her straightforwardness stirred a genuine desire for friendship in him.

“Naturally,” Li Xiran agreed. Then, as if recalling something, she asked, “You mentioned a backup plan—was that why you let the white-robed man go?”

Liang Yan smiled. “Exactly. I left a mark of spiritual power on him. Unless he gets too far away, I can sense him. We need only follow the trail to their stronghold.”