Chapter 88: Are You From Northern Luo, the Jade Capital?
Torrential rain cascaded down in torrents, each drop as large as a bean, striking the earth and shrouding the world in a continuous haze. Upon the Mechanized City's ramparts, Overlord Xiang Shaoyun stood resolute, bearing his halberd on his back, rainwater trickling down the tips of his hair, brows, and chin. On the iron chains, Mo Liuqi's slender figure remained still, a pair of silver scissors hovering beside his cheek, spinning at dizzying speeds, scattering droplets as streams gathered beneath his chin. The roar still echoed fiercely between the cliffs.
"Cultivators..." the Overlord exhaled slowly. Raising his massive arm, he grasped the long axe on his back. Even he, the Overlord, dared not treat cultivators with the slightest negligence. Having endured the trials of Wolong Ridge, he regarded cultivators with utmost gravity—each one formidable.
"Could the Mo clan have secretly nurtured cultivators as well?" the Overlord muttered, brow furrowed.
On the iron chains, Mo Liuqi advanced step by step. The silver scissors, suspended like stars in the night sky. As for the Mo clan, Mo Liuqi bore no sentiment; the clan forbade assassins from harboring feelings, for emotion bred flaws, imperiling their missions. Thus, life within the Mo clan was one of relentless suppression. Indeed, Mechanized City was a place many assassins yearned to escape—like Mo Yihen, whose sole wish was to complete one final mission and retire to pastoral tranquility. For Mo Liuqi, the coldness of the Mo clan gave no warmth, but solace was found in Azhu and Mo Yihen.
On the iron chains, warriors from Xiliang brandished swords and blades, charging toward Mo Liuqi. The Overlord raised his hand, halting every Xiliang soldier's advance. He would not tolerate interference in the battle between cultivators.
In truth, the Overlord was exhilarated—his blood subtly boiling. Their first clash filled him with inexplicable anticipation.
Mo Liuqi composed himself. Amidst the pouring rain, the world fell into an eerie stillness, mirroring his gradually chilling heart. Suddenly, a flicker of absent-mindedness crossed his face. He despised the cold indifference of a stone-faced mask, yet today, he seemed to embody the very demeanor he once loathed.
Ten zhang separated them—a distance neither near nor far—this was the span between Mo Liuqi on the iron chains and the Overlord atop the city tower. Within this range, Mo Liuqi held his utmost confidence, able to command the silver scissors by will, maneuvering from every angle to strike the Overlord.
Mo Liuqi stood motionless, like a sculpture drenched in rain, droplets splashing upon his skin and scattering like blossoms, lending his figure a faintly blurred silhouette.
Suddenly, a ripping sound cracked through the air, like a meteor streaking across the night, cleaving droplets in two.
The Overlord squinted, gripping his long axe, shrouded in demonic energy, he swung fiercely. A sharp clash—like thunder crashing through the rainy night—deafening.
The silver scissors were struck aside, spinning rapidly through the air. Mo Liuqi's eyes locked intently. Aura swirled about him, blurring his features.
He waved his hand; the silver scissors darted again with renewed velocity.
The Overlord's axe cleaved downward, sending the scissors flying dozens of meters.
The torrential rain seemed the scissors' perfect veil, its roaring masking their movements, rendering them ghostly and elusive.
Mo Liuqi was acutely aware of the Overlord's might. His only hope lay in the "will-guided scissors" technique amplified by spiritual energy. This was a clash between a ranged cultivator and a close-combat adversary.
Though his strength paled beside the Overlord's, Mo Liuqi refused to yield. Memories of Nie Changqing and Ning Zhao on Lakeheart Isle flickered in his mind—the mightiest cultivators he'd seen aside from Young Master Lu. Their arts inspired him: Ning Zhao's pressure of concentrated spiritual aura, Nie Changqing's sword control... all offered insight.
Lu Fan's praise that Mo Liuqi was a prodigy was not unfounded. He possessed a rare gift, comprehending the will-guided scissors without spiritual amplification—an accomplishment even Lu Fan admired.
The Overlord felt the pressure. Despite the demonic aura enveloping him, the wildly spinning silver scissors threatened lethal strikes at any moment.
"Pah!"
The iron chains shuddered violently.
Mo Liuqi clasped his palms, murmuring sharply as his will surged to its peak.
Amidst the storm, his cry should have been lost in the thunder, yet it reverberated as though transcending space and time, exploding in the Overlord's ear.
The Overlord flung his axe with sudden force.
Miraculously, the spinning scissors split in two, evading the axe to slash toward the Overlord's throat and heart.
The Overlord narrowed his eyes, bellowing like thunder.
His axe retracted sharply, blocking the fragmented scissors and deflecting them.
"Interesting..."
"You are not a cultivator bred by the Mo clan; they could never produce one like you," the Overlord declared.
But all tests had concluded. This duel between cultivators was to draw to a close.
Mo Liuqi was impressive—but only a slight surprise to the Overlord, who was more disappointed than anything. Compared to Ning Zhao and Nie Changqing, Mo Liuqi was still too weak.
Boom! The demonic aura swirled fiercely around the Overlord; the relentless downpour paused momentarily before scattering violently.
Brandishing his halberd, he crouched forward like a prowling leopard.
With a single stride, he splashed through the flood, leaping from the Mechanized City onto the iron chains, which swung wildly, sending countless droplets flying.
Mo Liuqi's expression remained cold as he wielded the silver scissors, launching relentless assaults against the Overlord.
Time and again he failed, yet he never faltered.
The Overlord advanced on the iron chains like a ravenous wolf, speed unparalleled.
The terrifying force and gusts scattered Mo Liuqi's hair, tightening his chest as if gripped by an enormous hand.
The ten zhang between them steadily diminished.
The Overlord was undeniably formidable.
Perhaps only Young Master Lu could subdue him.
Crash! The Overlord's charge sent rain pelting Mo Liuqi's face, sharp as needles, forcing him to close his eyes.
He summoned his spiritual energy, forging an oppressive spiritual pressure.
An axe swung down, halting abruptly an inch from Mo Liuqi's brow, droplets trailing slowly from its blade.
"Nie Changqing's sword technique, Ning Zhao's spiritual pressure..."
"Are you from Northern Luo, the Jade Capital?" the Overlord asked softly, his voice laced with primal oppression.
To the Overlord, Mo Liuqi's spiritual pressure barely fazed him, yet such pressure was a hallmark of Baiyu Jing cultivators.
Hence, the Overlord suspected Mo Liuqi's connection to the Jade Capital.
If Mo Liuqi were merely a Mo clan assassin, the Overlord would have slain him without hesitation.
But if he hailed from Northern Luo's Baiyu Jing, matters required careful consideration.
Young Master Lu of Baiyu Jing was an enigma, his true strength unknown.
The Overlord was wary of provoking him.
The Young Master's power—so great he could reduce Nie Changqing to a mere charioteer and Ning Zhao to a maid—exceeded all imagination.
Mo Liuqi opened his eyes but neither confirmed nor denied the Overlord's suspicion.
His journey had been to bid Azhu farewell; afterward, he would enter Lakeheart Isle as a disciple of Baiyu Jing.
Thus, claiming to come from Baiyu Jing was not entirely false.
Yet, fate had turned farewell into eternal parting.
"I know what you hate..."
"But this is the clash of factions. I survive, so they perish," the Overlord said calmly.
"Leave now. Consider it a favor I grant Young Master Lu."
The Overlord straightened, towering over two meters tall, imposing as a god or demon.
Mo Liuqi bowed his head, rain dripping from his hair tips.
He uttered no threats nor showed defiance.
Rising, he grasped the silver scissors and silently turned away.
The rain lashed his figure, causing a subtle tremor.
He was too weak.
He must grow stronger.
The Overlord watched Mo Liuqi's retreat with indifferent eyes.
Letting the tiger return to the mountain?
Besides granting Young Master Lu a favor, the Overlord spared Mo Liuqi's life for another reason—he needed pressure.
Only with pressure comes motivation, thus he deliberately released the beast.
To the Overlord, Mo Liuqi's appearance and departure were mere interludes.
His halberd raised once more, the roar reverberating.
Through the relentless rain, Xiliang warriors charged into the Mechanized City.
—
Northern Luo, Lakeheart Isle.
Lu Fan withdrew his thoughts.
Mo Liuqi's defeat was unsurprising; victory would have been the anomaly.
The Overlord, tainted by nine layers of demonic energy, was a force even Ning Zhao might not overcome.
"This Overlord... quite intriguing. Keeping Mo Liuqi as a whetstone?" Lu Fan mused, swirling his cup of fragrant wine.
He ceased dwelling on Mo Liuqi or Azhu's death—unexpected, yet life was no fairytale, lacking perfect endings.
Taking a sip of plum wine, he leaned on the railing, listening to the wind as his mind turned to other matters.
First, the "Dragon Nurturing Grounds."
Then, how to elevate Baiyu Jing into a transcendent force.
After the battle at Wolong Ridge, Baiyu Jing had gained renown, yet it still lacked something to transcend the myriad sects.
Lu Fan's task was to exert one final push, to elevate Baiyu Jing above all the hundred schools.
As Lu Fan pondered, distant cheers echoed, mingled with sporadic bursts of laughter and odd popping sounds.
He turned to where Ni Yu and Jing Yue stood.
Before them, a black cauldron brimmed with densely packed, sugar-bean-sized pills emitting warm steam.