Chapter 79: Upper Three Floors

A clash of spells—

Since beginning his cultivation, he had rarely seen true cultivators fight.

Chen Lingxi vaulted out of the cave.

His toes tapped lightly against the cliff face as his body shot upward, the mountain wind filling his robes until they snapped and fluttered.

Cuojin Mountain was immensely tall, growing steeper toward the summit. A layer of thin frost coated the exposed rock, making it dangerously slick, yet he scaled it as if treading on level ground, reaching the peak in the blink of an eye.

An ancient pine stood at the summit. Who knew how many years it had lived; its trunk was knotted like iron, yet its needles were a verdant green, showing not a hint of yellow in the dead of winter.

Chen Lingxi landed behind it. Using the ancient tree for cover, he channeled the Qi-Perceiving Method and looked down.

Then, he felt it.

Very, very far away.

Cuojin Mountain was at least ten li from where the spiritual qi erupted. Vast forests, the winding Yuanjiang, and several low hills stood between them. Relying purely on eyesight, one could only make out a small patch of churning clouds at the edge of the horizon—nothing more.

But Chen Lingxi was sensing it through his perception of qi!

Beneath that distant sea of clouds, surges of spiritual qi were erupting.

The eruptions weren't dense, but they were incredibly violent.

With each burst, invisible ripples of spiritual qi spread in all directions from the epicenter, wave after wave, layer upon layer.

Each surge of spiritual energy was intensely pure and powerful.

They were far heavier and denser than the spiritual qi in his own sea of energy!

He was at the Qi Circulation 4th Floor now, having just condensed spiritual liquid in his sea of energy, which was by no means weak. Yet compared to those bursts of spiritual qi, his own energy was like a bowl of muddy water next to a clear mountain spring—the difference in purity and density was staggering.

Chen Lingxi's pupils contracted slightly.

Just then, a rift tore open in that small patch of clouds on the horizon.

A small boat flew out from the gap.

With his view unobstructed, Chen Lingxi pushed his eyesight to its absolute limit.

Finally, he saw it clearly.

The boat was tiny, barely over a zhang long, and glowed a translucent white. He couldn't tell what material it was forged from. Its hull hovered a chi above the clouds without sinking, just drifting leisurely through the air.

A woman stood at the prow.

She had the face of a young girl, looking no older than seventeen or eighteen, yet she carried herself like a noblewoman, exuding an air of supreme elegance and grace.

She wore a magnificent dress woven from some unknown material. Beneath the sunlight, it rippled with layers of iridescent light, as if someone had cut a swath of the most brilliant evening clouds and draped it over her shoulders.

Her hair was pinned high, secured by a tasseled hairpin crowned with a thumb-sized pearl. The tassels, woven from the finest gold thread, dangled by her temples, swaying gently with the boat's movement.

She stood on the boat, her posture as straight as a pine, yet losing none of her feminine softness.

But what truly shocked Chen Lingxi was the blazing light radiating from her.

It wasn't ordinary light, but an almost tangible spiritual radiance spilling from her body.

It was so blindingly bright, like a miniature sun trapped within three chi of her, illuminating her face, her robes, and her hairpin with total clarity.

Packed within it were overwhelmingly dense fluctuations of spiritual qi. Instead of dispersing, these waves clung tightly around her, forming an invisible vortex of energy.

The vortex spun slowly, churning the surrounding mist and clouds. It was like an unseen hand stirring the sea of clouds, shredding, crushing, and devouring the mist, turning it into wisps of white vapor that were sucked into the vortex and vanished.

Compared to these fluctuations, the spiritual qi in Chen Lingxi's sea of energy was like a firefly before the bright moon—utterly incomparable.

His face remained expressionless, but towering waves of shock crashed through his mind.

This woman's cultivation was likely far more profound than it appeared.

The purity of her spiritual qi, the solidity of her spiritual radiance, and her absolute control over that energy vortex—none of these were things a cultivator of the middle three floors of Qi Circulation could hope to achieve.

The woman steered the small boat away. It glided with perfect stability, like a willow leaf floating on still water, neither fast nor slow, drifting leisurely toward the distant horizon.

Suddenly, she flicked a finger.

The motion was feather-light and entirely casual, like a noblewoman brushing a fallen petal from her lapel.

But the instant she flicked her finger, a streak of cold light shot from her fingertip.

At first, the light was only a little over a cun long, as thin as a silver needle. In the blink of an eye, it grew against the wind, transforming into a longsword gleaming with icy brilliance.

The blade was entirely silver-white, its surface faintly swirling with countless intricate patterns that overlapped like cracked ice.

Its edge was so sharp it made the scalp tingle. Even from thousands of li away, Chen Lingxi could still feel its biting chill, as if an ice needle was pressed against the center of his brow, the cold piercing straight through his skull.

The longsword turned into a silver thread and plunged into the sea of clouds.

Deep within the clouds, spiritual light shattered.

The sound of the shattering was incredibly soft and faint. Chen Lingxi couldn't hear it, but he could sense it.

The moment the sword struck, a burst of spiritual qi exploded within the clouds, blooming like a firework deep in the mist before rapidly dimming.

A muffled groan immediately followed. That sound was equally inaudible, but right after it, that stream of spiritual qi dissipated completely.

It dissipated so thoroughly that it was as if it had never existed.

Several presences shifted within the clouds. Some chased after the longsword, some closed in around the woman, while others scattered, as if searching for something.

But the woman simply flicked her finger again.

This time, no cold light flew out. Only a streak of spiritual qi shot from her fingertip, diving into the clouds like a green snake.

The presences in the clouds scattered like a startled school of fish, retreating in all directions, not daring to approach again.

The woman never once looked back, nor did she spare them a second glance.

The small boat drifted leisurely, carrying her toward the distant horizon until she became a tiny speck, eventually vanishing deep into the clouds.

All that remained was a violently churned sea of clouds and a few presences still prowling in the distance, terrified of drawing any closer.

Chen Lingxi stood on the ancient pine, unmoving.

The mountain wind whipped the stray hairs across his forehead into a mess, but he didn't even notice.

'Upper Three Floors,' he recited silently in his mind.

'This woman's cultivation has undoubtedly reached the Upper Three Floors.'

To send a longsword flying with a flick of a finger, slaying a surge of spiritual qi with a single strike.

To force back multiple presences with a casual shot of green light.

Such might, such ease—it was like an adult toying with a few stumbling toddlers. Every movement was effortless.

"I wonder which floor of Qi Circulation she's on," he murmured to himself.

"At least the seventh floor—maybe even the eighth."

Chen Lingxi took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.

'Who is she?'

'It's highly likely she is Imperial Consort Chun.'

'So Lin Suri might be among those trying to kill her.'

He had his suspicions, but he didn't dwell on them, returning to the cave.

Chen Lingxi closed his eyes to focus, continuing to comprehend the Pure Wondrous Qi Pivot Array.

Just like that, he studied the array while regulating his breathing and circulating his qi.

The reason he hadn't shattered his Thorough Awakening was that he was waiting for the imperial consort to enter the city, so he could see the rumored Imperial Consort Chun for himself.

Another half a shichen passed.

Chen Lingxi suddenly frowned. An intensely uncomfortable feeling welled up within him.

He opened his eyes, stood up without a sound, and walked to the cave entrance. Pushing aside the old vines, he looked out.

Outside, mist surged like ocean waves, obscuring the mountain ridges opposite the cliff face in a hazy blur.

The scene outside was identical to half a shichen ago.

The mountain was still the same mountain, the mist still the same mist. The winter sun still hung at an angle in the sky, its pale light piercing the fog to strike the cliff, reflecting a cold, eerie hue.

There was nothing out of the ordinary.

He furrowed his brows and turned, just about to head back inside.

Right at that moment, a sudden ripple pulsed through the churning mist outside.

"Who's there?"

Chen Lingxi sensed the danger.

His reflexes were frighteningly fast. He moved almost the exact instant the ripple appeared.

He pushed off the cliff wall violently with his right foot, his body launching backward at an angle like an arrow leaving the bowstring.

At the same time, moisture condensed within the churning mist.

It condensed with incomprehensible speed. The mist within several zhang was sucked dry in an instant by an invisible force, forming a thin, transparent ice blade—one so sharp it made the scalp tingle.

The ice blade was incredibly thin and narrow. It was as thin as a cicada's wing, as narrow as a taut silver thread, and entirely crystal clear, gleaming with a cold, eerie light beneath the sun.

It hovered in midair for barely the span of a finger snap before slashing silently toward Chen Lingxi's throat.

The strike was incredibly insidious. The ice blade itself was so thin it was practically invisible, and having formed from the mist, it hadn't leaked a single trace of spiritual light when attacking. Had Chen Lingxi not sensed that faint ripple ahead of time, his throat would have already been sliced open without a sound.

'A cultivator!'

'A spell!'

Thoughts flashed rapidly through Chen Lingxi's mind as he pushed his qi and blood to their absolute limit, throwing himself backward!

The ice blade grazed past his neck, missing by less than three cun.

Where the blade passed, a terribly thin, faint white line froze in the air. The line lingered for just a second before dissipating, but the biting chill radiating from the ice blade still swept across the side of his neck.

He landed on a jutting rock several zhang away. He felt a burst of cold against the side of his neck, followed immediately by a burning, stinging pain.

Then Chen Lingxi raised his head, staring deep into the mist.

The mist was still churning.

Someone was in the mist.

The figure stepped slowly out from the fog.

It was a young man.

He looked to be in his early twenties. His face was strikingly handsome—so handsome he hardly looked like a living person, but rather a jade statue enshrined in a glass pavilion.

However, he was far too pale. His lips were dry, and a streak of dark red blood stained the corner of his mouth. Clearly, he had just coughed up blood and hastily wiped it with his sleeve, leaving a faint smear.

He wore a long, moon-white robe that showed no dampness despite walking through the mist, wrapped in a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer of light.

A white jade belt circled his waist, fastened by a thumb-sized pearl. Faint light swirled within the pearl, like a star frozen in a block of ice.

He walked with his hands clasped behind his back. The hem of his robes fluttered gently in the mist, like duckweed in water—drifting with the current, yet retaining its own course.

What an extraordinary figure!

However, this figure seemed injured—and not just in one place.

A sword gash, deep enough to show bone, marred his left shoulder.

A patch of charred skin scored his right ribs.

But the most horrifying was the piercing wound in his chest. It punched straight through his left breast to his back, its edges as smooth as a mirror—a wound inflicted by a blisteringly cold sword beam.

Chen Lingxi instantly understood.

'This man was one of those trying to kill that woman!'

'With injuries like these, if it were me, I wouldn't even be able to move! Yet he still managed to attack me!'

'What is his cultivation?'

Chen Lingxi was secretly alarmed, but he quickly deduced, 'To participate in cornering a woman of the Upper Three Floors, he must be at least a cultivator at the Qi Circulation 6th Floor!'

The Qi Circulation 6th Floor!

A figure on the exact same level as Lin Suri, Lu Baizhong, and Crown Prince Ying Chi.

He brushed these thoughts from his mind, finally fixing his gaze on the young man's face, and spoke calmly, "Daoist Brother, what business brings you here?"

The young man didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted slowly down Chen Lingxi's face, sweeping over his shoulders, his hands, and the coarse cloth-wrapped Gold-Slaughtering Precious Saber hanging at his waist, before returning to his face.

"Fellow Daoist," his clear voice carried a perfectly measured trace of weakness, like someone forcing themselves to speak despite heavy injuries, making his words sound all the more sincere. "I am wounded, and I practice the Whale-Swallowing Method. Seeing you here, I wish to ask for something from you to heal my injuries."

He spoke eloquently, his tone matching his heavily injured state perfectly. He seemed like a noble young master fallen on hard times, forced to lower himself and speak to a wild mountain cultivator he had never met.

Chen Lingxi listened quietly, then asked, "And what is it that Daoist Brother wishes to ask for?"