Chapter 149
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Chapter 149: Returning Your Bamboo Sword
“Ming He accepts the challenge.” Ming He released Qin Chu Yi’s hand, offering her a reassuring glance. She bowed slightly, her right hand resting on the hilt of the Jing Ying Sword, poised and ready, her aura surging like a rainbow.
Yóu Lìng chuckled softly, her left wrist flicking, causing the bamboo sword to create a flurry of sword shadows that sliced through the air like thunder. The fierce sword intent was aimed directly at Ming He, as her figure danced like a ghost, engaging in a fierce battle.
The two black figures intertwined, the sword energy from the bamboo sword and the Jing Ying Sword clashing and swirling in the grand hall. Cracks appeared on the black pillars as stones tumbled down, dust floating and scattering. As they touched the sword tip, they became increasingly blurred, indicating the intensity of the battle.
Qin Chu Yi stood at the edge of the grand hall, away from the battlefield, her cold eyes fixed on the upright figure, her heart rising and falling with Ming He’s every move.
When she saw Ming He being pressured by Yóu Lìng’s bamboo sword, concern flashed on her face; as Ming He struck back and knocked the bamboo sword aside, a smile appeared at her lips. Watching Yóu Lìng’s serious expression as she drew sword intent, her gaze shifted, wishing she could intervene in the fight.
Finally, as she saw Ming He stubbornly wielding the Jing Ying Sword to unleash the Big Dipper Seven Star Sword Technique with unstoppable force, her expression combined relief and complexity, raising her gaze to another black figure.
In the end, Yóu Lìng lost.
Her talent in Swordsmanship was remarkable, but she had grown up in the Soul Clan and never had a proper sword cultivator as her teacher. She had relied entirely on her own insights and experiences, making it impossible for her to be Ming He’s match.
Ming He was the chosen master of the Star Lock, a sword cultivator tamed by the Xuanyuan Sword, and the recognized inheritor of Swordsmanship by the Sword Master.
Long ago, in the ancient cave dwelling, a divine sword from antiquity had resonated endlessly for her.
On the entire Tianwu Continent, no one possessed greater talent for Swordsmanship than Ming He.
She was more than capable of standing alongside the Sword Master.
Yóu Lìng could not even be compared to her.
Losing the match meant she was to die.
Yóu Lìng was well aware of this fact, yet her gaze remained calm, without a hint of fear, and even seemed to hold a trace of expectation.
Even though she wouldn’t see the noble again upon death, she could at least reunite with her father, mother, and her clan.
Although they might not wish to see her.
Yóu Lìng’s lips curved into a smile, tinged with bitterness, as she looked brightly at Ming He, who offered her the sword tip glistening with cold light, her expression lifting. Suddenly, she retracted the bamboo sword, standing still and motionless, wanting to end her sinful life.
The sky was clear, and the azure expanse was unblemished; yet, above the Blood River Hall, dark clouds loomed, heavy with blood and murkiness, exuding a sense of desolation and oppression. The white-clad figures of the Nine Heavens Guard stood out distinctly against the shadows.
Even the heavens urged Yóu Lìng towards her demise.
If she died, it would be as if she had vanished into thin air, causing the dark clouds to disperse. Light would flood the Blood River Hall, swallowing the darkness and signaling the end of calamity.
However, Ming He did not continue her lethal attack.
She was taken aback by Yóu Lìng’s sudden sheathing of her sword, instinctively retracting her own sword energy and tilting the sword tip, standing firmly as she looked at Yóu Lìng, her mind momentarily wavering.
With a loud clang, the sudden silence in the grand hall felt jarring.
Ming He had sheathed the Jing Ying Sword without striking Yóu Lìng, but the fierce sword energy could not dissipate instantly.
Such sword energy would of course not harm Yóu Lìng; however, it shattered the fearsome black wolf mask. The clashing metal hit the ground, resonating coldly.
Yóu Lìng’s true face was now laid bare, uncovered by the line where darkness met light.
It was a beautiful face.
Her features were exquisite enough to rival Qin Chu Yi, yet with entirely different qualities; the latter was cold like a drifting snowflake, while Yóu Lìng was gentle like the flourishing scenery of Jiangnan’s waters, radiating a clarity and delicacy.
Perhaps due to being masked for so many years, her complexion was pale—not from injury but a desolation born of enduring darkness, hidden from the sun.
This face seemed entirely at odds with the Yóu Lìng Ming He had known.
Such a face might belong to Qing Yue.
She stood there, dazed and lost in thought for a long time.
Yóu Lìng, however, smiled brightly, even suppressing the paleness of her complexion. “I am not dying for the human race, and it has nothing to do with you.”
If she wished, she could certainly live.
But she didn’t want to; she wanted to die.
If she dies, the noble can live.
“I once broke your bamboo sword.” Although it was actually Mu Qian who had broken it.
The woman in black clothes wore a radiant smile, seemingly carefree. “Now, I return it to you.”
Along with the Life and Death Soul Ring, along with the inheritance of soul mastery, along with the identity of an inheritor, and the pride and brilliance that I almost took from you, everything now returns to its rightful owner.
The darkness quietly dissipated, and the Blood River Hall, filled with blood, blossomed with a dazzling light like sunlight, illuminating the entire world.
Ming He stared in shock at Yóu Lìng; that brilliant light came from her.
She hadn’t killed her—Yóu Lìng chose the path of death herself. Why?
Ming He didn’t understand. She just watched Yóu Lìng, and suddenly saw golden light burst forth from her, sweeping across the vast hall and surrounding her.
In that moment, the Sea of Souls surged, and the bone book hidden in Ming He’s storage ring flew out, swirling around her. Soul power surged wildly, and the Ghostly Sword hummed and vibrated continuously.
Ming He’s mind cleared, feeling her understanding of the ancient soul mastery technique, the Nine-Character True Words, deepen.
Before, she could only execute the second phrase of the Nine-Character True Words, but now… it seemed to be far beyond that.
Is this… enlightenment brought by Yóu Lìng?
Ming He’s gaze turned profound as she looked at Yóu Lìng, who smiled at her and said, “From now on, we owe nothing to each other.”
“Ming He, please tell Qing Feng that I don’t blame him anymore.” She didn’t blame him for abandoning the blood feud of the Soul Clan, burying himself in the Liu Yun Sect as if nothing had happened.
Ming He’s appearance in the Liu Yun Sect might just be some kind of destiny.
So, the Soul Clan has only him left; he should live well.
Yóu Lìng thought to herself, her lips curving into a smile as her figure slowly swayed, her breath weakening little by little, her black clothes like spilled ink.
She opened her eyes, gazing at the Blood River Hall, remembering that it was here she had become a puppet for the noble, here she became an envoy of the Black Wind Alliance, and then—reborn.
So, ending it here would be wonderful!
Unfortunately, she would not get to see the noble one last time.
Feeling the bone-chilling cold of the ground against her body, Yóu Lìng recalled their first encounter.
In the blood-soaked chaos of the mass grave, bones lay piled high, with decayed trees surrounding them. Everywhere she looked, there were black coffins and stark white bones, malevolent energy, darkness, and dampness, and the winter wind whisked away the remaining leaves, the chill immersing her body and soul.
That was the first time Qing Yue realized that the Tianwu Continent had such a dark place, akin to a hell on earth.
At that time, she didn’t know that her hell on earth was only just beginning.
In the blood-soaked twilight of despair, as she thought of the nightmare of blood flowing in the Soul Village, she opened her eyes to see a girl dressed in white.
She clearly wore a robe as pure as snow, standing amidst the desolate mass grave littered with corpses, seeming to blend into the darkness. Her voice was cool, accompanying the cawing of ravens, echoing with the same chilling melody.
The girl in white asked her, “Do you want to live?”
Qing Yue’s voice was hoarse as she asked, "Who are you?"
The girl in white smiled faintly, crouching down slowly beside her. Her lips curved into a gentle smile, her deep, enigmatic eyes blocking the sunlight, casting Qing Yue, covered in bloody stains, into shadow. "I am of the royal family of the Tian Yan Tribe," she said.
The Tian Yan Tribe, leaders among the Myriad Races, had invaded the Tianwu Continent.
Qing Yue’s pupils contracted. Her first instinct was to alert the Imperial Palace that such a high-ranking outsider was concealed within the Tianwu Continent.
A royal of the Tian Yan Tribe.
If the human race could capture her, could they, to some extent, hinder the Tian Yan Tribe? If so, on the battlefield of the heavens…
Her thoughts raced, even pushing aside the pain in her chest, until the girl let out a cold laugh, and Qing Yue felt as though she had plunged into an icy abyss.
Indeed! How could she forget! The Soul Clan had already vanished, destroyed by the young leader Mu Chen of the human race.
She and the human race had long been mortal enemies.
She was not foolish; she understood why the girl before her wanted to save her.
To survive meant serving the outsiders.
And serving the outsiders meant betraying the human race.
Betraying the human race.
From birth, every elder had told her of the Soul Ancestor’s glory, slaughtering a million outsiders on the battlefield of the heavens, and of the disgrace and scorn that befell human race traitors.
So from a young age, from the moment she ignited her soul core, from when she began to practice Swordsmanship, she had dreamed of one day, like the Soul Ancestor, being able to turn the tide alone, to eliminate the outsiders, to cleanse the human race of traitors.
The clear and open Tianwu Continent was not just Ming He’s hope.
It was also her former ambition and resolve.
But her soul core had been torn away, her resolve shattered. A Soul Clan without a soul core was no longer a Soul Clan and would no longer fight for the human race.
She wanted to live, to seek revenge, but Qing Yue still did not immediately agree to the girl in white.
Because the words "betray the human race" were too heavy.
She needed to think carefully.
Qing Yue said to the girl, "Can you wait a little longer?"
Wait until I am truly at the brink of life and death, wait until I step into the gates of hell, wait until I am in so much pain that I become numb, perhaps then I can make a resolute decision, one I will never regret.
The girl in white nodded in agreement.
So, Qing Yue lay back in her original position, watching the dark night descend, watching the brilliance of daylight spread. She felt real pain deep in her bones, blood flowing like a river.
Not the blood of the Soul Clan, but her own blood.
Crows pecked at her flesh, and she went from wishing for death to finally becoming numb.
Days passed, with the night and daylight intertwining, and Qing Yue gazed at the dim yellow sky and the distant coffins, her heart already making a decision.
She lifted her gaze to the girl sitting silently in the pool of blood and said, "When you destroy the Canglang Sect, my life will belong to you."
The girl in white replied, "Alright," and turned to leave, leaving Qing Yue with a distant figure.
She smiled faintly, allowing herself to drift into sleep again.
When she woke up once more, she was in the Blood River Hall.
The girl in white spoke softly, “The Canglang Sect has fallen. From this day forward, you shall be my life puppet and the envoy of the Black Wind Alliance.”
She paused, then added, “The name Qing Yue no longer suits you. Henceforth, you shall be known as Yóu Lìng.”
Yóu Lìng nodded, her voice steady, “Understood.” She rose and knelt on one knee, a gesture that marked the dawn of her new existence.
On the Tianwu Continent, power reigns supreme, and the distinction between men and women holds no sway. Yet, the Tian Yan Tribe stands apart.
Thus, she donned black clothes and a black wolf mask, shrouding her identity and past, stepping into her role as an envoy of the Black Wind Alliance.
To become a traitor to the human race, to serve as the prince’s life puppet—she harbored no regrets.
Neither Qing Yue nor Yóu Lìng would ever look back on their choices with remorse.
The girl in black closed her eyes, her thoughts drifting like shadows.
The bamboo sword slipped from her hand, carrying the faintest trace of warmth, and came to rest beside Ming He. It hovered, silent yet humming with a quiet resonance.
Ming He’s heart stirred as she felt the overwhelming sword intent emanating from the bamboo sword. Her expression grew complex as she reached out, her fingers closing around the hilt. In that instant, the world seemed to tremble with a faint, metallic hum.
This sword would become her fifth.
“But I didn’t kill her,” she murmured, her voice heavy with emotion. “How did she die?”
“It wasn’t your doing,” Qin Chu Yi said, standing beside Ming He, her gaze tinged with sorrow. “This was the blood-binding technique of the Tian Yan Tribe. She chose to end her own life.”
“The blood-binding technique?” Ming He turned to Qin Chu Yi, her brow furrowed in confusion.
Qin Chu Yi nodded gently. “Only the royal family of the Tian Yan Tribe can practice this technique. It resembles the puppet-making arts of the demon race, but each royal can only forge one life puppet.”
“The life puppet is intrinsically tied to the Tian Yan Tribe’s cultivation. When the puppet is weak, the Tian Yan Tribe must sustain her with their own blood energy. But once the puppet grows strong, the Tian Yan Tribe can draw upon her blood energy to enhance their own power. If the puppet dies—”
“All the blood energy returns to the Tian Yan Tribe, resulting in a dramatic surge in their cultivation,” Qin Chu Yi explained, her tone deliberate.
The life puppet and the blood-binding technique are, at their core, tools to aid the Tian Yan Tribe’s royal family in their cultivation. They pose no threat to the Tian Yan Tribe itself.
However, should the Tian Yan Tribe perish, Yóu Lìng, as the life puppet, would inevitably meet the same fate.
Given this, it was no surprise that Yóu Lìng chose to face death willingly, especially if the prince had encountered peril.
Yet…
Back then, Qing Yue had been frail, her life force waning, teetering on the edge of oblivion. No matter the prince’s cultivation level, choosing her as a life puppet would have offered no advantage—only the risk of depleting his own blood energy.
Later, as Yóu Lìng grew stronger, it seemed the prince had not drawn much blood energy from her. Otherwise, Yóu Lìng would not have retained such formidable power.
By the logic of the blood-binding technique and Yóu Lìng’s cultivation, the prince could have ended her life long before Ming He arrived on the Tianwu Continent, claiming her blood energy to bolster his own strength.
But he had not.
And so, it was clear why Yóu Lìng had chosen to die.
Not for Ming He, nor for the human race, nor even for the Soul Clan.
It was simply for the sake of the prince.
Ming He watched as the blood mist slowly dissipated, her gaze falling into silence. Then she looked up, her eyes meeting those of Mu Qian, who stood by the hall door, his expression unreadable. Her mind was adrift, words eluding her.
