145: Chapter 145 Phoenix's Beloved

The wind was scorching.

It whipped up the dust on the millennium-old ring of the Martial Arts Arena, which had been plowed by iron hooves and Protective Aura and baked through by the sun. It carried a savage heat as it rushed toward the spectator stands, yet the moment it touched that one corner of the ring, it eerily lost all its strength and fell into a tame silence.

That corner was a world unto itself.

Liushui Qingshang stood quietly.

His moon-white inner robe was as pure and clean as congealed moonlight, covered by an outer robe the color of a clear sky after rain.

This shade of blue was incredibly faint and translucent, like the most precious pool of water in Jiangnan during spring, carefully tailored into a garment.

The hem and cuffs were embroidered with near-silver silk threads in dizzyingly complex dark patterns of flowing clouds, the stitches as fine as a breath.

He was extremely still.

He was so still that every fold of his robes seemed frozen, and only those flowing cloud patterns seemed to come alive amidst his almost non-existent breathing, rippling out in waves that were nearly invisible to the naked eye.

It was as if he were not standing on the ground, but standing within the gentle waves of time.

He held a jade flute in his hand.

The body of the flute was translucent, made of fine mutton-fat white jade, warmed by his body temperature.

The natural water ripples within the jade were as fine as hair, layered upon one another, emitting a soft and restrained halo like congealed fat under the most violent sun of noon.

This light softly reflected on the fingers resting on the flute holes—his ten fingers were slender, the knuckles thin, and his skin was a cold white from long absence from the sun, like the highest quality jade chopsticks or the first snow covering green bamboo in deep winter.

The young man lifted his eyes.

His brows were like distant mountains shrouded in black, holding a millennium of unmelted stillness; his eyes were like autumn water, yet at this moment, they were devoid of waves or ripples, vast and empty.

His lip color was very pale, as faded as wilted petals, and the line of his jaw was so soft it lacked any sharp angles.

Standing there, he was not surrounded by the sharp edge or Killing Intent of a Martial Artist, but by a kind of quiet air steeped in books, settled by time, and nurtured by loneliness.

Even his subtle breathing was so light and slow, as if afraid to disturb a fragile dream about a deep spring in his old home within his sleeves.

"Pah!"

In the front row of the spectator stands, a burly man with muscles knotted like the roots of an old tree spat fiercely on the ground, his palm as large as a cattail fan slamming onto the iron-wood railing with a "bang".

"Has the Qinyin Dynasty run out of seeds? Sending such a sissy up here to fill the numbers?" He shouted in a booming voice, filled with undisguised disdain. "Look at those hands; he should be holding a needle to do embroidery! I could blow this little chick off the stage with just one shout!"

"Hahahaha!" His companions erupted in exaggerated laughter. "Big brother is right! And look at the opponent—Huang Tianjiao of the Fengming Dynasty! Sixth on the Heavenly Ranking!"

"Golden Core Late Stage, half-step Nascent Soul! That crimson gold feather robe is woven from the true feathers of a Fire Phoenix, a treasure of the Fire element born of heaven and earth!"

"Once her true fire comes out, never mind this tender-skinned boy, even an iron mountain would melt into molten iron!"

The wanton ridicule burst like boiling oil splashed with water, crackling throughout the stands.

Disappointed jeers, impatient urging, and unceremonious mockery wove together into a chorus.

Bookies with nimble hands were already shouting, offering odds so skewed they were absurd—betting on whether the blue-robed youth would be destroyed in the first move, or if he could luckily hold on for three breaths.

At the other end of the ring.

The crimson gold radiance was scorching to the eyes.

Huang Tianjiao stood proudly. That crimson gold feather robe seemed as if the noon sun had been cut down and draped over her body; every feather flowed with the luster of molten gold, magnificent, blazing, and untamable.

Her posture was as straight as an undying tree facing the wind in the desert; her shoulders were level, her waist was lithe and narrow, and her perfect curves concealed explosive power.

Her brows flew into her temples, and her eyes were like cold stars tempered with fire. When her gaze swept over the out-of-place splash of blue opposite her, her bright red, full lips curled downward almost imperceptibly.

This was not contempt.

It was pure indifference, the kind one feels when looking down at an ant, not even bothering to waste an emotion.

"Qinyin Dynasty, Liushui Qingshang." The youth in blue took a half-step forward, his hands elegantly folded in front of his chest, performing the most standard greeting of an ancient noble family with impeccable posture, bowing slightly.

Huang Tianjiao did not even flicker an eyelash.

From her nasal cavity escaped a short, cold syllable, ground out from the depths of her throat:

"Proceed."

She was even stingy with giving her name.

This arrogance, born of absolute strength and lofty status, had condensed into substance, pressing heavily upon the ring.

The referee's raised arm swung down like a guillotine—

"Begin!"

"Roar—!"

The long-accumulated noise in the stands reached its Peak at the final moment, only to be suddenly choked off by an invisible giant hand the instant those two words fell!

It stopped abruptly.

Thousands of gazes, as if pulled by the toughest silk threads, were nailed to the center of the ring.

The air solidified, and time stood still.

Everyone held their breath, necks stretched, pupils contracted, waiting only for the expected, suspense-free, and inevitably bloody crushing start.

Some even subconsciously raised their hands, wanting to block the imagined crimson gold flames that were about to erupt and scorch their retinas.

However—

Liushui Qingshang did not move.

He did not take a stance, did not circulate his spiritual power, and did not summon any Magic Treasure.

He did not even lift his eyelids to look at that suffocating mass of crimson gold light that represented destruction.

He simply, extremely slowly and steadily, lifted the warm jade flute in his hand.

His movements were as leisurely as unfolding a treasured ancient scroll, as elegant as picking up a chess piece that would decide victory or defeat.

His slender, jade-chopstick-like fingers covered the flute holes with a strange, rhythmic grace, the curve of his fingertips perfect, as if they had already lingered over the cold jade holes a thousand times.

Then, he brought the mouthpiece close to his pale lips, which seemed to have never been touched by the dust of the mortal world.

He gently closed his eyes.

His long, dense eyelashes drooped, casting a small, fan-shaped, quiet shadow beneath his eyelids.

The moment his eyelids closed completely—

It changed.

That quiet, bookish air that had surrounded him, which seemed almost weak, receded like the tide.

In its place was a bottomless, heart-palpitating "emptiness".

It was as if the small space where he stood had been completely severed from this noisy, scorching Martial Arts Arena, sinking into an eternal, absolute, deep sea of silence.

The sunlight falling on him lost its temperature; the wind brushing past his sleeves lost its sound.

He became "stillness" itself, the source of "nothingness".

The flute touched his lips.

The first note spilled out.

"Woo——"

The timbre was so ethereal it did not seem to belong to the human world; the volume was not loud, one could even say it was soft.

Yet, this single soft opening note contained a piercing power that was strange to the extreme.

It was not "heard" through the ears, but "rang" directly inside your skull, in the deepest part of your Divine Soul.

It was crystal clear, unstoppable, and reached straight to the bottom of the heart.

Then, the strange change occurred!

The howling, scorching wind that had never ceased—stopped.

It did not weaken; it was an absolute, sudden stillness, as if a hand of a Heavenly God had wiped away the existence of "wind" out of thin air.

The summer cicadas on the ancient trees around the stands, whose chirping had been annoying—went mute.

They did not fly away; they were instantly silenced, falling straight from the branches like frozen hailstones.

In the spectator stands, all the whispers, heavy breathing, excited swallowing, and even the drum-like heartbeats—all disappeared.

It was not quiet.

It was dead silence.

A kind of absolute dead silence that drained all sound and vitality, heavy and viscous like solid glue, almost capable of crushing a person's lungs, instantly enveloped the entire Martial Arts Arena for a thousand zhang!

The air stopped flowing, and even the light seemed to become dim and distorted.

Countless people opened their eyes in horror, mouths agape, but could not make a sound, as if they had collectively fallen into a silent nightmare from which they could not wake.

Huang Tianjiao's complexion changed drastically the instant the first note invaded her Sea of Consciousness!

The crimson gold protective spiritual light around her body remained dazzling; this was a solid barrier constructed by her Peak Golden Core Late Stage cultivation, combined with her Lifebound Treasure, the feather robe, enough to make Cultivators of the same rank despair.

Her Golden Core rotated, and vast spiritual power surged through her Meridians like a great river; the surging sense of power still filled every part of her body.

However, it was useless!

The strange flute sound, those soft and ethereal notes, actually seemed to completely ignore the defense of her spiritual light, ignore the barriers of her flesh, and turned into billions of invisible, intangible, needle-fine, yet cold and despair-filled spikes, piercing directly into the depths of her Sea of Consciousness in a way that was incomprehensible and irresistible!

"Ugh—!"

The sharp, piercing pain originating from the root of her Divine Soul, transmitted from her Sea of Consciousness, made Huang Tianjiao unable to control a short, muffled groan.

This pain did not act upon her physical body, yet it was a hundred times clearer than the hacking and slashing of knives and axes!

Stormy waves surged in her heart; how could this be possible?!

How could an sound-based attack bypass spiritual defense and strike directly at the Divine Soul?!

"Disperse! Disperse for me!" She shouted sternly in her heart, crazily circulating the Sect's supreme Mind-Cultivation Technique, the 《Burning Heaven Phoenix Cry Art》. The scorching and vast spiritual power within her, like volcanic magma, was completely triggered, attempting to use an absolute torrent of power to thoroughly crush, annihilate, and incinerate this strange sound wave that had invaded her Sea of Consciousness!

However, something even more chilling occurred.

These formless sound waves seemed to possess a life of their own!

Like the craftiest leech, like the most stubborn bone-gnawing gangrene, they were not dispersed by her vast spiritual power. Instead, they coiled upward, following the trajectory of her circulating spiritual power, seeping and eroding through every pore and crevice with relentless, thread-like persistence!

The faster she circulated her spiritual power, the deeper the sound waves penetrated, and the more viciously they stirred up her inner turmoil!

The sound of the flute changed at this moment.

It was no longer a single, ethereal sustained note.

It began to turn melodious and resonant, like a clear spring in a secluded valley dripping into a deep pool, like a lone swan sweeping over a cold pond under the moonlight, even carrying a hint of a mournful, sobbing tune.

Yet, the eeriness and terror permeating the air did not weaken by even a fraction because of the "beauty" of this melody; instead, they surged and multiplied crazily!

Every note that flowed out seemed to carry invisible, icy barbs.

They drilled into the eardrums, pried open the crown, and struck straight at the darkest, most untouchable corners of the Soul.

Then, they began to frantically provoke, stir, and tear!

Fear.

The most primal fear of the unknown; the fear of darkness.

The fear of losing everything; the fear of one's own insignificance.

The fear of a near-death experience in one's memory... All the negative emotions suppressed by reason, covered up by cultivation, and forgotten by pride were now infinitely magnified and clearly presented by this demonic music, transforming into hideous ghostly shadows, shrieking within the Sea of Consciousness!

"Haa... Haa..."

In the spectator stands, several Foundation Establishment Stage Cultivators with weaker cultivation were already pale, their eyes rolling back. They clutched their ears tightly, their fingernails digging deep into their flesh, leaving bloody marks.

But this demonic music was pervasive, still winding its way in like an icy venomous snake, drilling into their brains and gnawing at their sanity.

"No... This is wrong! This is definitely not the orthodox 'Clear Heart Universal Benevolence Mantra' or 'Heavenly Dragon Eight Tones' of the Qinyin Dynasty!" An old Cultivator with white hair and beard gasped in horror, his beard trembling violently, his eyes filled with disbelief and terror. "The arts of Qinyin have always been upright and peaceful, clearing the heart and clarifying the nature, capable of soothing wounds to the Divine Soul and cleansing Heart Demons!"

"When has there ever been such... such an evil, strange, and vicious style that strikes directly at the Origin of the Divine Soul and stirs up Heart Demons! This... this is simply demonic music!"

On the high platform, several top-tier powerhouses from various Dynasties, whose cultivation reached the heavens, could not help but lean forward slightly. Their previously indifferent or amused gazes were finally replaced by a hint of gravity.

Second Prince Wu Yuanchen narrowed his deep eyes into dangerous slits. His knuckles unconsciously tapped against the solid gold armrest, producing a dull "knock, knock" sound.

He muttered to himself, his voice audible only to him: "Golden Core Late Stage Peak? To think the application of the Law could be this refined... The Qinyin Dynasty, what deep schemes. This path of sound attacks... it is already approaching the level of the 'Dao'; I fear half a foot has already touched the threshold of the Nascent Soul." Deep in his eyes, a cold light flashed and vanished.

Beside him, Third Prince Wu Huang had long since suppressed his habitual graceful smile. His eyes flashed with electric brilliance, and his fingers rubbed repeatedly and forcefully against the Dragon-patterned jade pendant at his waist, which symbolized supreme authority.

Such a strange, unpredictable, and impossible-to-defend path of sound-based killing!

If it could be brought under his command, whether for internal conquest or external warfare, it would be an unparalleled, invincible dark blade! The price? The price is negotiable! It must be obtained!

On the other side, Chu Changsheng remained seated like an ancient pine or a boulder, his posture unchanged in the slightest.

However, a faint ripple passed through the depths of his eyes, which seemed to contain an endless sea of stars.

The rhythm of his fingertips tapping on the armrest had, at some unknown point, created a subtle, indescribable harmony with the eerie flute sound echoing in the deathly silent Martial Arts Arena.

His gaze had long since pierced through that warm jade flute, passed over the youth's seemingly slender figure, and landed directly upon the "trajectory" outlined by the formless sound waves—a trajectory that ordinary people could not perceive at all.

The seemingly chaotic and arbitrary rise and fall of the rhythm actually concealed, in every turn and every pause, a certain supreme and profound Law trajectory of heaven and earth.

Even more terrifying was that the timing of every note falling was perfect to the extreme, precisely "locking" onto the most minute, fragile, and almost imperceptible gap nodes in Huang Tianjiao's body when her spiritual power surged and circulated through her Meridians!

This was not an attack.

This was a silent, exquisitely precise surgical operation.

Using sound as a blade and melody as a thread, it was calmly and bit by bit dismantling the power system that the opponent relied on for survival.

"Interesting." The corners of Chu Changsheng's lips, which seemed to remain unchanged for ten thousand years, curled upward into an almost imperceptible arc.

In the depths of his eyes, which were as deep as an abyss, a flicker of faint light called "interest" finally ignited.

On the arena, Huang Tianjiao's situation had taken a sharp turn for the worse.

The stinging pain in her Sea of Consciousness had transformed from sharp to a dense, deep, dull ache, and like a rising tide, it assaulted her last line of defense for her Divine Sense wave after wave.

Illusions began to sprout. The sighs of disappointed clansmen seemed to ring in her ears; the repeated failures when facing cultivation Bottlenecks flashed before her eyes; the despair of the unreachable higher Realm welled up from the bottom of her heart... All kinds of Heart Demons were infinitely magnified by the flute sound, almost tearing her Dao Heart apart.

"I cannot... I absolutely cannot sit and wait for death!" Huang Tianjiao bit her tongue tip hard. The intense pain and the metallic taste of blood cleared her sanity, which was on the verge of collapsing.

As proud as she was, how could she tolerate defeat in such a way?

How could she tolerate being played with in the palm of this eerie flute sound like a marionette?!

"Phoenix—Cries—Through—The—Nine—Heavens!!"

A clear, sharp shout mixed with blood foam, unwillingness, and monstrous rage erupted from her throat, briefly overpowering the pervasive flute sound!

She stopped trying to disperse the sound waves and instead, regardless of the consequences, unleashed all the spiritual power in her Dantian without reservation, even igniting a wisp of the Origin of her Golden Core!

"Boom——!!!"

Crimson-gold flames, like a volcano suppressed for ten thousand years, erupted violently!

She transformed into a human-shaped, violent little sun!

The extremely scorching airwave exploded, and even the spectators in the distant stands felt their faces burning and breathing becoming difficult.

These monstrous flames did not spread wantonly; instead, they rapidly condensed, compressed, and took shape in front of her!

Fire soared into the sky, and heat waves distorted the air.

A Phoenix with a wingspan of over five zhang, lifelike and magnificent, with every feather burning with crimson-gold flames, emerged proudly!

This was no mere phantom; this was a nearly tangible, life-risking strike that condensed her life's cultivation, essence blood, and even a wisp of her Soul intent!

The moment the Fire Phoenix formed, the bluestone slabs on the surface of the arena, which had been reinforced by Formations and were harder than iron, turned red, softened, sizzled, and emitted plumes of blue smoke, just like wax melting under the scorching sun!

The terrifying high temperature caused the space to ripple slightly.

The Fire Phoenix took form, stretched its neck toward the sky, and let out a long cry that shook the surroundings and was incomparably clear!

The cry contained the majesty of the King of Birds and the determination to burn through the eight wildernesses!

"Break—for—me—ahhh!!!"

Huang Tianjiao's face appeared somewhat ferocious under the reflection of the flames as she thrust her hands forward violently!

"Screech—!"

The crimson-gold Fire Phoenix, carrying the power to destroy the heavens and earth, spread its wings in anger, stirred up scorching winds and heat waves, and pounced fiercely toward the other end of the arena—toward the youth in green robes who had kept his eyes lowered from start to finish, the jade flute never leaving his lips, seemingly completely unaware of the destructive scene before him!

Wherever it passed, the air was completely ignited, leaving behind a twisted, burning vacuum trail!

This strike drained all her remaining strength and also embodied all her pride and unwillingness.

It was over.

This thought flashed through everyone's mind simultaneously.

No matter how eerie the flute sound was, under such absolute power and such close-range destructive bombardment, any technique or trick would be reduced to ashes.

Some had subconsciously closed their eyes, unable to bear watching the tragic sight of the green-robed youth being reduced to ash; others widened their eyes, holding their breath, waiting for the expected ending of flesh and blood flying everywhere.

The destructive Fire Phoenix swallowed the solitary green figure.

The intense light engulfed everything.

However—the earth-shattering explosion that was expected did not occur.

The shrill screams that were expected did not ring out.

Even the light of the crimson-gold flames, which seemed capable of burning everything, appeared to crash into an invisible, intangible, yet absolutely impassable wall when it reached three feet in front of the green-robed figure.

No, it was not a wall.

It was "Stillness."

A deeper, more absolute "Stillness" that seemed capable of devouring and annihilating even the very concepts of "burning," "explosion," and "destruction."

Liushui Qingshang still kept his eyes lowered, his long eyelashes casting quiet shadows on his face.

The warm jade flute at his lips had not moved in the slightest.