Chapter 219: Divine Art of Time

"I'd like to see just how you plan to make me apologize!"

Suspended in midair, Chen Xiaoming exuded no spiritual energy at all, appearing as nothing more than a mere mortal. His silver hair draped over his shoulders, fluttering gently behind him. Clad in flowing white robes that billowed in the frigid wind, his upright figure stood tall and resolute—even when facing a Soul Formation cultivator, he showed not the slightest hint of fear.

His calm and steady voice startled the Ancestor of the Profound Ice Sect, who froze momentarily before his expression shifted drastically. Staring at Chen Xiaoming, his pupils contracted as a deep sense of gravity filled his eyes.

"Senior, isn't your indulgence of your subordinate's actions going a bit too far?"

Sweeping his divine sense over the area where Chen Xiaoming stood, he found nothing—no presence, no aura, not even a ripple of spiritual fluctuation. If not for having seen it with his own eyes, the ancestor would never have believed someone was standing there.

"Too far?" Chen Xiaoming snorted.

With a wave of his hand, the entire space froze as if sealed by some invisible force. Snowflakes that once drifted freely now hung suspended in the air, each one twinkling with crystalline light. In the distance, Lü Liang and the others from the Profound Ice Sect stared in terror, their bodies immobilized.

"You—!"

An overwhelming sense of dread surged within the Profound Ice Sect's ancestor. He involuntarily took a step back. As a cultivator in the Soul Formation stage, he understood clearly that freezing space with a gesture was impossible even for most Soul Transformation stage elders.

"An Ascendant Cultivator!"

The thought flashed through his mind—and despair soon followed.

Only the Vermilion Kingdom possessed cultivators at the Ascendant Realm, and even then, they were rare. How could such a being appear here, in a mere fourth-tier cultivation nation?

The higher one climbed in cultivation, the more vividly one grasped the chasm between realms. Even a slight difference could be fatal. And between Soul Formation and Ascendant, there were two major realms of disparity.

"If your Profound Ice Sect dares lay hands on my maid, then you should be prepared for the consequences."

With a single finger, he pointed forward. A faint glow surged from his fingertip, drifting slowly through the air. Within the sealed space, the light carved a path, ripples undulating in its wake.

The Profound Ice Sect's ancestor widened his eyes. Spiritual power surged wildly within him—but he couldn't move. He could only watch helplessly as the light inched closer.

"Buzz..."

The space trembled.

The instant the light reached him, it erupted with blinding brilliance. Beams of light shot in all directions, instantly piercing toward him.

He shut his eyes in despair, powerless to resist. This was it. The end.

But the expected death never came.

Opening his eyes in disbelief, he found the countless rays of light still swirling around him—but not a single one had harmed him.

Relieved, yet filled with dread, the Profound Ice Sect's ancestor looked toward Chen Xiaoming, confusion clear in his gaze. What was he planning?

"Heh..."

With a soft chuckle, Chen Xiaoming lifted his right hand and gently tapped the air, whispering a single word:

"Time."

The moment the word fell, the ancestor's eyes narrowed.

Something was wrong.

The light surrounding him dissipated in a blink. The world changed around him.

His blood began to thin. Wrinkles crept across his once-proud features. Black hair turned to white at the temples. He could feel it—his lifespan was draining away at an uncontrollable pace.

In the blink of an eye, the once-vigorous middle-aged man seemed to have lived through centuries. When the world returned to normal, the imposing presence of a peak expert was gone—replaced by a frail, hunched elder with pallid skin, dim eyes, and barely a flicker of spiritual energy left within him.

"You... you…"

He managed to utter just two words before his voice failed. The mighty ancestor of the Profound Ice Sect, his lifespan exhausted, fell from the sky, landing heavily in the snow below.

Silence.

Ouyang Lie, Ouyang Qian, and the others watched in horror, unable to comprehend what had just occurred.

Lu Liang and his companions, already mentally prepared for disaster, now felt their hearts sink even further. They had never expected their opponent to wield such unfathomable power.

"Hm... Looks like I'll need to devote more time to refining this."

Chen Xiaoming glanced down at the withered corpse in the snow and shook his head, dissatisfied with the result.

Over more than ten years, his comprehension of the Origin of Time was still at the rudimentary stage.

For some reason, time was far harder to grasp than the Origin of Bloodline.

Even after more than a decade, he had barely scratched the surface. Still, he had made one breakthrough—he had created his first move:

"Time."

Time flows like a shuttle. Life, a fleeting dream. This was what he named his technique for.

Time passed. Life drained. Death came without form.

Of course, technically speaking, it was just temporal acceleration. But "temporal acceleration" sounded too mundane for his taste—didn't suit his flair for dramatic flair.

"So, how's that for an apology?"

Having gotten a bit too carried away with his dramatic display, Chen Xiaoming snapped back to reality. Only then did he realize that the target of his spectacle—his intended object of humiliation—had accidentally been killed.

His gaze now shifted to the highest-ranking survivor—Lu Liang.

With cold gleam flashing in his eyes, Chen Xiaoming spoke lightly.

Lu Liang's heart skipped a beat. His body trembled under the invisible pressure.

Locking eyes with Chen Xiaoming, Lu Liang's face turned dark. Inwardly, he was seething.

It wasn't even me who asked you to apologize. Why are you looking at me like that? If you want to know how your apology went, go down and ask him yourself!

You've already killed him—what else do you want from me? Chen Xiaoming's shamelessness had redefined Lu Liang's entire understanding of what it meant to be a "senior expert."

This mysterious figure had barged into their sect, broken through their protective formations, and immediately started killing without a word of explanation. Even now, Lu Liang had no idea what they had done to offend him.

"Sigh. Right now, my Profound Ice Sect lives or dies at your discretion. Does my answer even matter?"

In the cultivation world, power reigns supreme. The strong decide what is right and wrong. The Profound Ice Sect had lost—he would accept that.

"But, if I may ask, when exactly did we offend your maid, Senior?"

He cast a glance at Ouyang Qian, who stood beside him. She had once possessed peak Core Formation strength. With that kind of power, few within the sect would dare provoke her—except, perhaps, for the elders.

Yet every elder was here, and as he scanned them one by one, their expressions matched his own—confused and uncertain. None recognized her.

If the sect was to be destroyed, so be it. But couldn't they at least be given an explanation?

"Hmph. Qian'er, tell them!"

With a cold shout, Chen Xiaoming withdrew, yet the spatial imprisonment surrounding them remained unbroken. Aside from Chen Xiaoming, only Ouyang Qian and her father were unaffected.

"Yes, sir!"

Ouyang Qian soared forward and began to recount everything to Lu Liang and the others—starting with her father's experiences, then detailing how they'd been forced into hiding, relentlessly pursued by disciples of the Profound Ice Sect, until at last, she emphasized the most harrowing truth:

"The Profound Ice Sect will never let us go!"

Lu Liang listened with tears streaming down his face. By the time she uttered that final sentence, he could no longer contain himself and burst out in fury:

"What worthless fool did the sect take in as a disciple?!"

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