Chapter 192: The Tongue Holds a Dragon Spring

Chapter 192: The Dragon Spring on the Tongue

Before the sun rises, the sky is darkest.

The chaos has not yet endured, and the wind and rain show no sign of stopping.

The rain surges into the forest, striking leaves and branches, the crackling sounds weaving a grim atmosphere.

A green-clad figure dashes wildly through the mountains and forests, his once-golden crown now lost, his hair disheveled and hanging over his forehead.

A sharp clang!

Suddenly, the Daoist’s forward surge abruptly halts, twisting his body to evade a sudden blade’s edge.

Upon landing, momentum carries him sliding several zhang across the wet, slippery grass.

A whoosh!

The Daoist spreads his arms, his wide sleeves fluttering.

A carved talisman seal blasts from his fingers, igniting midair into a blinding fireball hurtling toward the pursuing saber.

The blade cleaves the flames in silence.

The Embroidered Spring Blade emerges from the fire, its arc whirling as it wraps around Wang Xie, its gust extinguishing the sparks dancing on his robes.

“The Embroidered Spring Blade, the Flying Fish Robe, the Jin Yi Wei of Chongqing?”

The Daoist’s gaze is cold, his voice rough and grating as he surveys Wang Xie: “Your snouts, you hounds of eagles, are sharp enough.”

“Since you recognize my identity, why not surrender?”

Wang Xie narrows his eyes, his clenched teeth grinding out two rigid words: “Rebel.”

“Speak not so harshly; perhaps in time, you’ll refer to us as the Righteous Army.”

The green-clad Daoist smiles faintly, pointing toward the distant turmoil: “Leave the people to perish, yet chase me? For your Jin Yi Wei, is saving the world a merit, or is it lives?”

Wang Xie’s face is like stagnant water, his blade held before him.

“First, eliminate the chief villain, then save the people.”

The Daoist scoffs, his sleeves dropping to his sides, his smile heavy with meaning: “Who is the chief villain?”

“You prattle too much!”

The Embroidered Spring Blade cleaves the rain, carving a cold, icy gleam straight toward the Daoist’s face.

Almost simultaneously, two crimson talisman seals slip from his sleeve into his hands, which he hurls outward.

“The Qixia Art, invading like fire, delayed by half a breath—Imperial Command!”

As the Daoist chants the controlling incantation, the obscure Daoist script on the seals begins to glow.

Half a breath’s span vanishes in an instant, and the seals erupt in blinding crimson light!

Boom! Boom!

Raging flames tear through the seals’ outer layers, surging irresistibly outward.

The moist air scorches into scorching heat, the emerald branches charred to yellow.

An oppressive, suffocating pressure spreads endlessly.

Huff!

A figure clad in armor above and a skirt below bursts from the inferno, struck down by the dual-wielded Embroidered Spring Blades.

The Daoist, as if anticipating this, his legs emit a frantic mechanical hum, his form flickering with sudden speed, dodging at the last moment.

The blade sinks into soft earth, cleaving a hair-thin, bottomless black line.

“The ‘Armor-Horse’ prosthetics of the Daoist sect?”

A blade cleaves empty air, Wang Xie’s form unpaused, his feet pressing forward as he reclaims the blade in pursuit.

Boom! Clang!

Black and green figures leap rapidly through the woods, their blinding blade-light and searing flame-waves colliding endlessly.

Leaves mingle with falling raindrops, grass and mud scattering.

A sharp rip!

The blade’s edge severs a section of the Daoist’s green robe, slicing a chunk of flesh from his leg.

“Dare you think these mass-produced talisman seals can kill me? Do I look like clay to you?”

“If I could grasp the Celestial Ladder and forge a golden elixir core, would you dare oppose me?”

The Daoist’s voice brims with resentment and fury, betraying no hint of fear or panic despite his wounds.

Wang Xie’s heart sinks, his expression darkening.

Another reckless fool.

With this thought, Wang Xie, brimming with lethal intent, no longer holds back.

“Even if you ascend to the Seventh Grade of the Dao, what then?”

Wang Xie’s eyes blaze with disdain at the desperate green-clad Daoist.

He snaps his fingers, and a silent hornet slowly emerges.

Its wings tremble, unleashing an inaudible sonic wave.

“Fly! Shield eyes and ears, sever sight and hearing!”

The sonic wave envelops the Daoist, who feels countless invisible spikes pierce his eyes and ears.

His eardrums throb, his eyeballs quiver.

Even invoking talismans proves futile.

Puff! Puff!

“Ahh!!”

Bone-deep agony forces the Daoist to scream, more terrifying still is the unheard silence and unseen darkness.

With sight and sound blocked, even emperors become puppets—what of a mere Eighth Grade Daoist?

“The Dragon Spring on your tongue—you are a wanderer of the Seven Realms.”

Wang Xie sneers: “Now you know? Too late!”

“Imperial Command!!”

Blood streams down the Daoist’s face, his hollow eyesockets horrifying.

Relying on fading memories of sight, he endures the torment, hurling all his talismans outward.

Wang Xie drags his blade in hand, strolling unperturbed through the successive explosions.

After a few steps, he stands before the Daoist.

Though deprived of hearing, the Daoist’s tactile senses and pain remain.

The Embroidered Spring Blade on his shoulder radiates a chilling cold, its razor-edge already carving fine blood trails along his neck.

"You should have died just now."

Wang Xie's voice, in some inexplicable way, echoed in the Daoist's mind.

"I know, but you can't bring yourself to kill me."

The Daoist smiled faintly, his face streaked with blood, yet not a trace of mortal desperation.

Wang Xie paused, then spoke coldly: "What did Honghu give you to make you betray your sect and slaughter innocents?"

After a moment's thought, the Daoist slowly said, "Hope?"

Wang Xie's face showed surprise. "What hope?"

"Authority, abodes, golden elixir, the Great Dao."

"For these things, you would kill so many innocent believers?!"

Wang Xie's furious shout rang out like a violent thunderclap within the Daoist's mind.

"Isn't that enough?"

The Daoist's retort left Wang Xie speechless.

"Cultivation is defying heaven; if one does not act for oneself, heaven and earth will destroy them. Whoever gives me the Great Dao, I will kill for them."

"Doesn't the Qixia Group give you these?"

Before Wang Xie could finish, he fell into silence.

If the Qixia Group could do this, the Daoist probably wouldn't have been turned by Honghu.

Wang Xie, though not a member of the Daoist sequence, had heard the widely circulated Daoist classic.

"The Great Dao has fifty, heaven's creation has forty-nine, man escapes one."

This leaves a sliver of life for contention—the authority to link to the White Jade Capital.

The White Jade Capital, or the Eastern Emperor's Palace, was a relic crafted by the Daoist and Yin-Yang sects of old.

A nameless yet towering "Celestial Abode in the Clouds," standing in the endless Huangliang network.

With the authority to link the White Jade Capital, cultivators can forge their own abodes, their own sanctuaries.

They can harness greater celestial forces, elevate their spiritual power, and master profound arts.

Until they claim a seat among the ranks of the White Jade Capital's immortals.

To become true immortals.

Alas, abodes have their limits, and so do positions in the immortal ranks.

Only the endless cultivators and the insatiable greed of those who seek immortality are boundless.

"Wang Wenqin won't give me authority—he won't even grant me a decent artifact. He fears that one day I'll take his life, seize his abode."

A seeping malice crept onto the Daoist's face. "I'm not one of those gifted old-school cultivators, able to draw spiritual power endlessly from my genes and flesh."

"I can only rely on abodes to ascend, but he denies me even a sliver of hope. Had he given me even a thread of it, I wouldn't have chosen betrayal."

"Zhang Jiyun has served the Dao all his life, only to sever his lifelong aspirations because of Wang Wenqin's selfishness and greed."

The Daoist roared hoarsely, "Tell me, should I or not rebel?!"