Chapter 688 Keep the Formation, Not the Enemy

Elder Panshi fell silent for a moment.

Following Su Ming’s instructions, he retreated half a zhang and planted his right foot against the earthen ledge. The immense pressure he had been bearing suddenly eased several times over, buffered by the water vapor and redirected through the terrain.

At the center of the ancient sleeping hall.

The broken staff in Qingheng’s hand remained steady. Using the lingering might of the broken royal seal, he suppressed the resonance of the twelve senior elders, whose anger had nearly sent it boiling over. Yet his clear eyes passed over them and quietly settled on the shadow where Su Ming was hiding.

He saw Su Ming’s callused fingers and the formation plate covered in scorch marks. He also saw that amid the chaos, Su Ming had neither seized the chance to spy on the Royal Court’s secret arts nor used the formation lines he had laid to escape. Instead, he had focused entirely on protecting the most vulnerable formation foundations around the hall’s outer perimeter.

The furrowed, aged lines around Qingheng’s eyes softened ever so slightly.

Outside the ancient sleeping hall.

Seeing his two carefully prepared killing moves neutralized by such gentle methods, the bone-armored Manifestation cultivator’s eyes filled with such venom that it seemed blood might drip from them.

He knew that there was no longer any chance of slaughtering this group of ten-thousand-year-old monsters by force, all on his own.

“Good! Very impressive!”

He suddenly let out a cold laugh and raised his spiked hand. Bringing his fingers together like a blade, he slashed open his palm.

A strand of viscous, nearly black origin death blood flowed from his fingertips. He abruptly smeared it onto the rock wall beside him.

“Blood as the medium, a death-curse message!”

The moment the mass of death blood touched the wall, it writhed wildly like a living creature, quickly turning into a palm-sized, dusky-purple flag.

The flag expanded as it caught the wind, radiating a fluctuation that made the soul tremble. It was about to pass through the thick layers of earth and transmit itself to the Nether Abyss’s true body high above the Nine Heavens.

Su Ming’s eyes darkened, and alarm bells rang in his heart.

Just as Su Ming was preparing to forcefully detonate his last piece of Void Condensation Sand to intercept it,

Qingheng moved.

His withered-wood-like arm slowly rose, and he lightly tapped the air with the broken staff in his hand.

The broken royal seal floating above the ancient hall gave a faint hum.

In the next instant, the blue light filling the entire ancient sleeping hall turned utterly cold.

The blue light was so bone-chilling that even the death energy lingering in the air froze into gray-black ice crystals.

Qingheng’s light tap carried no earth-shattering force, yet it seemed to strip the years from that space.

The phantom of the broken royal seal suspended above the ancient hall trembled violently. A restrained blue ripple silently swept across the dusky-purple flag at a speed beyond the reach of sight.

There was no explosion, no loud crash.

The blood flag, formed from the bone-armored Manifestation cultivator’s origin death blood, was swept by the blue ripple like a dead leaf weathered by ten thousand years. It disintegrated instantly into countless tiny specks of dust, drifting down into the mud.

“Pfft!”

The bone-armored Manifestation cultivator took a heavy blow. His chest caved in, and he spat out a great mouthful of foul-smelling black blood. Several cracks, deep enough to expose the bone beneath, appeared on the purple-black armor he had once prided himself on.

He stared in utter shock at the gaunt old man holding the broken staff. Not a trace of his earlier arrogance remained in his eyes.

He had no intention of continuing the fight. He could not even spare a moment for some parting words. Enduring the agony of the backlash against his origin, he turned and transformed into a cloud of black mist, fleeing madly into the depths of the fractured root passage. In the blink of an eye, he had vanished without a trace.

“Where do you think you’re going!”

The senior elder Chiyan’s eyes widened. Crimson vitality surged around him like flames, and he was about to give chase.

“Stop.”

Qingheng’s broken staff struck the ground with a heavy thud, its muffled sound forcing Chiyan to halt.

“Elder! That beast is badly wounded. If we don’t pursue him now, when will we?” Chiyan spun around, his chest heaving.

“Keep the formation, not the enemy.” Qingheng’s voice was cold and resolute. He looked toward the dark root passage. “The Nether Abyss’s gaze has already fallen upon us. Don’t pursue a cornered enemy. Your duty is to defend this ancient sleeping hall to the death, not to go outside and throw your lives away.”

Chiyan gritted his teeth and gave a heavy snort. In the end, he returned to his place, though his blazing eyes remained fixed on the passage entrance.

Su Ming walked out of the shadows at an unhurried pace. The hem of his robe was covered in dust and flecks of mud, but his steps remained exceptionally steady.

He went straight to where the blood flag had disintegrated, crouched, and gathered a strand of Ruo Shui spiritual energy at his fingertips. Carefully, he picked up a small pinch of the remaining black dust.

“Master, this aura...” Su Ming spoke softly in his Consciousness Sea, his gaze narrowing.

Lin Yu’s Soul Body drifted within the ring, its light slightly dimmer. “That’s right. It’s the Lord of the Nether Abyss’s deathly aura. Although the bone-armored Manifestation cultivator’s means of sending the message were shattered, and he couldn’t transmit the exact details, the flag already carried the Nether Abyss’s mark. Once it was destroyed, the Lord of the Nether Abyss must have sensed it.”

“In other words...” Su Ming stood and brushed the residue from his hands.

“In other words, although the other side didn’t learn the whole story, they’ve now confirmed beyond doubt that the old lineage of the Qiming Sect is hidden beneath Withered Wood Cliff.” Lin Yu gave a cold laugh. “Next time, I doubt they’ll send something as simple as a scout dog.”

Su Ming nodded and turned to face Qingheng above.

“Human friend,” Qingheng said, his tone carrying less lofty authority and more of an equal’s appraisal. “You have some skill. Withdraw to the outer ring of the ancient hall. If you get too close during the formation’s next phase, you may come into contact with the Royal Court’s secret rites and damage your soul.”

“Thank you for the warning, Senior.” Su Ming cupped his hands in salute and withdrew as instructed to the outermost perimeter of the soul cocoons. However, he did not put away the lifebound formation plate in his hand.

Qingheng’s gaze swept across the soul cocoons inside the ancient hall, most of which were still dormant. A sorrow he could not hide flashed through his clear eyes.

“You’ve all seen these soul cocoons just now.” Qingheng’s voice echoed through the empty ancient hall, as if he were speaking to everyone, and yet also muttering to himself.

“Three hundred years ago, the High Priest of my Qiming Sect glimpsed the secrets of heaven before his death. He foresaw a cataclysm capable of destroying the entire Royal Court.”

Su Ming stood quietly at the outer ring. On his shoulder, Shadow uneasily groomed her purple-gold feathers and gave a very soft cheep.

“The High Priest said the calamity could not be avoided. To preserve the Royal Court’s last spark, the Royal Lord ordered that the soul cocoons of the thirty-six of us, blood descendants of the imperial clan whose lifespans were nearly spent and who could only cling to life through secret arts, be entrusted to Woodheart together with those of the elder soul-keepers.”