Chapter 281 – Beyond Ultimate Skills Lies the Divine; The Holy Tree Temple’s Defeat Is Overwhelming - Part 3

The next morning.

The rain had stopped; sunlight refracted through lingering droplets, scattering rainbow shards across the courtyard.

As always, Cui Huayin rose early. She cultivated, read poetry, and enjoyed a quiet breakfast, then climbed into a carriage with Yao Jue and rolled away.

Li Yuan had scarcely finished eating when Ping'an burst in, brimming with vigor.

“Dad, let’s go again!”

“Very well.” Li Yuan smirked, adding in a mocking tone, “Heaven’s favored one.”

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙

An hour later.

Ping'an knelt in a pool of sweat, eyes vacant. In his mind that nameless stroke still blazed, higher than he had dared imagine.

Li Yuan crouched, patted the boy’s cheek, then held up a mirror so he could see his own bedraggled state.

“Is

that

Heaven’s favored?”

Ping'an couldn’t even muster anger.

“Are you Heaven’s favored or not?” Li Yuan asked quietly.

𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Breath shuddering back into his chest, Ping'an clenched his teeth. “Yes!”

“Then can Heaven’s favored still stand?”

“I can!” Ping'an cried out. Using his sword as a crutch, the boy forced himself up, narrowed his eyes, and charged.

Li Yuan smashed him aside...again, and again, until at last Ping'an lay face‑down, utterly spent.

“If I were your enemy,” Li Yuan asked, “how many times have you died?”

“...” Ping'an remained silent, biting his lip.

“What difference is there between a dead prodigy and a dead beggar?”

“A glorious death!” Ping'an rasped. “To die in pursuit, my fall would still shake the world!”

A murderous aura burst from Li Yuan; his hand pressed harder on the back of Ping'an’s neck. “Then show me how you’ll

shake

the world.”

“...” Ping'an fell mute, limp as a beaten hound.

After a long time Li Yuan released him and sat aside, waiting. He hoped to see surrender in the boy’s eyes, so that he could carry him away as planned.

But Ping'an clawed upright once more. “The world’s number‑one sword never admits defeat!”

Li Yuan sneered. “If you never stop losing, how can you be number one?”

“Before I reach the summit I’m allowed to lose. Once I’m there, I won’t lose again. Calling myself number one is how I remind myself of that goal.”

The boy’s body was broken, his confidence battered, yet a stubborn ember still glowed in his eyes—an ember that refused to die even in an icebound abyss.

“Tell me, then,” Li Yuan asked quietly, “why must you become the world’s greatest sword?”

“I...I want to protect you all,” Ping'an began, then shook his head. “No, not just that. Life is short. Heaven gave me innate shadow blood so that I, Li Ping'an, would stand atop this chaotic world and set it in order. Only then is this life worthwhile!”

Li Yuan pondered the words. “Can you keep going today?”

Ping'an managed a wry smile and shook his head. The arrogance was gone; his gaze had grown heavier, steadier. “No. I...need to think how to break your move.”

“Think, then.” Li Yuan strode out of the chamber.

This son, it seems, may no longer be mine to take away.

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙

Nighttime.

Within an encampment on the frontlines, tents rose like hillocks in a deep mountain gorge, stacked one against another. For reasons unknown the gorge’s air was far colder than the world outside, dank and eerie enough to chill the bone.

Hunters who roamed these parts before the war called it the Peeping‑Eye Gorge. They swore they could feel unseen things watching them...skin crawling, scalp prickling, things which drove them to bolt in panic without knowing why.

Now braziers cast overlapping pools of red light across black stone and onto the patrols pacing back and forth. They were disciples of sects under the Holy Tree Temple’s banner; eighth, ninth, and even seventh rank martial artists moving through the gloom.

Inside the main command tent the heat was stifling. A brazier of snow‑white bone charcoal burned with a fierce red glow, and a man in a gaudy brocade coat crouched in front of it, staring so hard into the flames that the bloodshot whites of his eyes looked almost feral. In truth there was no savagery in them, only an intensity that made them frightening to behold.

“The secret art I inherited is called Earth Appraisal... And this Peeping‑Eye Gorge is the place with the most deathly Yin energy I have ever charted with it. One more step and it will transform completely into a ghost domain... What I still lack is a way to trap that Yin energy, to infuse it into a spirit artifact. How do I do that?” Master Gong muttered to himself.

After more than a century of study he understood weaponsmithing as few did, but this time he was chasing the craft’s highest road—smithing a spirit formation.

Quick footfalls sounded outside. Someone was making a report to the two fifth rank elders who commanded the camp. In the muffled exchange Master Gong caught the mention of Li Yuan’s name.

He jerked upright and staggered to the tent. Lifting the flap, he fixed the messenger with a burning stare. “What’s this about Li Yuan?”

The swordsman who made the report saluted. “Master Li has forged a demonic blade. The temple master praised it as equal to your very best work.”

“A

demonic blade

. Equal to

my

pinnacle? Impossible!” Master Gong snapped. “The boy has talent but he’s still green, an upstart. He might reach that height someday, but not now.”

The messenger withdrew. The two elders remained. One was from the Hua Clan of the Gu faction; and the other, a senior of the Jing Clan.

The Jing elder spoke first. “It’s true. Master Li forged it for our clan head.” He repeated the details he had received from home.

“White at the temples... He’s shortening his own life‑span.” Master Gong murmured. He then continued, “I’ve heard of an ancient smithing school that sacrificed years for power. Master Li, what a blunder.”

A moment ago you were calling him an upstart. Now, he’s Master Li, huh?

The Jing elder noticed the slip, and seeing the exhaustion and the swollen, red‑rimmed eyes of Master Gong, said gently, “I admire him, and you both. True weaponsmiths, the pair of you.”

Master Gong froze, then broke into hard laughter. “Quite right. Whether it’s that punk Zhu Ban, Master Li, or myself...we’re the same breed!”

New resolve lit his gaze. “I won’t let that boy leave me behind. If he dares burn his life, why should I spare mine?”

He strode out of the tent.

Tonight I’ll sleep. Tomorrow I’ll march into the very heart of this gorge and forge a legend, no matter the cost.

That heart was the Yin-wind Cliff, a place so poisonous with cold miasma that a single misstep could leave a man’s soul corrupted beyond rescue. Master Gong felt no fear; the decision was made.

Just as he stepped outside another courier raced up, pale and shaking.

“What now?” Gong barked.

The swordsman bowed, voice trembling. “The...the frontline... sir! The frontline has collapsed. A total of 16 allied sects, almost all wiped out. Elder Xiang of the Xiang Clan, slain by Peng Mi...!”

Master Gong snorted. “So a crippled battle line finally snapped.”

The courier’s words tumbled on. “Elder Hua and another fifth rank elder from the Sacred Fire Palace, both slain too. Th‑there’s rumors the Red Lotus Cult have joined the fray...”

The total casualties were the allied forces of 16 sects and three fifth rank elders. Gong’s face turned grim, as though a lead weight had been bolted to his heart.

A rout, plain and simple.

That night, as he prepared to sleep, someone called his name outside. The visitor was the Jing elder.

“We have to withdraw,” the elder sighed. “The front is gone.”

“When?”

“The sooner the better. Tonight, if we can.”

Master Gong fell silent for a long time, then stood, pulled on his shoes. “Can we hold until tomorrow afternoon?”

“Afternoon may be too late.”

“I have to reach the Yin-wind Cliff first. If we always flinch, how will we ever forge a weapon that stands above all others?”

More silence, then the elder nodded. “Very well. We’ll try to hold out until midday tomorrow.”

“Good!” Master Gong’s voice rang with reckless spirit. Sleep forgotten, he hurried into the night.

At midnight he would be on Yin-wind Cliff, in the thickest swirl of ghost‑cold air, forging the masterpiece that would etch his name into history, no matter what it cost him.