Chapter 699: The True Dragon

The woman sat atop a sand dune, her posture as unrefined and bold as a frontier warrior. Her figure was unusually tall; even seated, she radiated a towering presence. She had witnessed with her own eyes the spectacular sight of a man standing alone against the heavens, resisting the purple lightning of celestial tribulation. Even though she herself was among the most supreme cultivators in the world, her heart still trembled with awe.

She had followed that man here, watching as the Copperman Patriarch revealed his heavenly general form, witnessing Huang Qinglin’s final sword strike as a terrestrial immortal, and seeing Qi Xuanzhen’s sudden rise and eventual dissipation. Regarding Qi Xuanzhen’s appearance, she understood more than anyone else. For cultivators, the word “fate” is like illness to ordinary men—difficult to shake off. Like peeling silk from a cocoon, Qi Xuanzhen—or rather, Master Lü—needed to resolve his path forward. He had to settle the old grudge with the Copperman Patriarch, the exiled immortal. As for why Qi Xuanzhen, born from a single breath of Dao, had hurled the Copperman Patriarch into Guangling Road, she suspected it had something to do with Huang Sanjia. If the latter could atone for his sins, perhaps he could return to the heavens.

As for Huang Qing falling beneath Xu Longxiang’s sudden breakthrough, it was unexpected, yet not entirely surprising. In her eyes, Wang Xianzhi, who had suppressed the martial world for sixty years, wielded fists that defied reason. But Xu Longxiang’s prodigious talent was no less formidable—perhaps even more so than the figure standing far in the distance. Even if Huang Qing’s aptitude, temperament, and strength ranked among the greatest swordsmen, facing Xu Longxiang—who dared to invite heavenly lightning at the cost of mutual destruction—was still premature. He would have to wait until he truly became a swordsaint.

Because of Qi Xuanzhen’s interference, the situation did not tilt entirely toward Northern Yan, but the momentum of a collapsing dynasty remained unstoppable.

The white-robed woman wore a complex expression, her hands scooping up two handfuls of sand. She hesitated, uncertain whether to intervene.

She, Tan Tai Pingjing, and the Six-Pearl Bodhisattva of Nalanda Mountain had both boarded the sinking ship of Beiliang, each with their own hidden motives. The latter sought to use the might of Beiliang cavalry to unify the Western Regions and eventually spread her teachings freely across the Central Plains. Compared to the female Dharma King, the Guanyin Sect was less pragmatic. Tan Tai Pingjing’s original intent was simply to “mend the heavens.” Her sect’s ancestral master had once passed down the ominous prophecy: “The sky tilts northwest.” Her master had spent a lifetime deciphering it, reaching the pinnacle of heavenly scholarship, but had only concluded with a vague interpretation: “A great tear opens in the northwest sky, its energy pouring downward like seawater flooding into rivers.” Thus, Tan Tai Pingjing could only proceed step by step. If Beiliang truly was the culprit, then as Beiliang’s current ally, the Guanyin Sect would have no choice but to defect on the battlefield. Yet this secret, buried deep in her heart, she had never revealed to that man. Not out of unwillingness, but inability.

Tan Tai Pingjing glanced into the distance. The fifth bolt of heavenly lightning hovered, not yet descending. That man, having quickly drawn in a new breath, was poised to strike.

Earlier, he had tried to stop Xu Longxiang from rushing northward, but was soon targeted by the lightning overhead, leaving him no time to think of anything else.

Fate is often cruel, and this was yet another case of “not unwilling, but unable.” Even he, who had endured four bolts of lightning, was no exception.

Mind linked, understanding instantaneous.

Though receiving no warning, Tan Tai Pingjing had already sensed his thoughts.

She sighed, no longer hesitating. She raised both arms, her wide sleeves flaring like wings.

Her fists pressed together, then slowly pulled apart. Sand trickled between her fingers.

The sand fell, each grain distinct, suspending one by one.

A waterfall cascaded from the heavens, its spray like pearls, its descent like silk, its sound like a zither.

Before her appeared this miraculous scene, a marvel of artistry. Though it occurred within mere inches, it was not grand, but it was absolutely breathtaking.

The Guanyin Sect possessed two secret treasures that allowed it to dominate the northern dragon-taming cultivators. One was the “Land Chart of Immortals,” the artifact nearly causing Xu Fengnian’s downfall in the hands of the charcoal-selling girl. The other was the “Moonwell Heaven Mirror,” long known only by name, never seen. These treasures targeted the most spiritually gifted beings, preventing them from crossing the heavenly tribulation threshold, binding them within the confines of the Dao. The latter had not appeared for centuries—until recently, when Tan Tai Pingjing tested Xu Longxiang. At that time, the Moonwell Mirror had been formed by two green water droplets tracing arcs into lines. And it was then that someone defied all logic, piercing straight through the mirror like shattering the moon upon the sea, stirring ripples in Tan Tai Pingjing’s heart, who had cultivated for nearly a century into a state of unshakable calm.

In literature, people favor the undulating beauty of mountains; in cultivation, however, the opposite is true. One fears the rise and fall of the heart. Tan Tai Pingjing sought not only to calm the ripples but to still her Dao-heart. This exception she made to help him was repayment for the guidance he had given her in a “past life.” After this, no matter how the war between Beiliang and Northern Yan unfolded, she would owe nothing more, and all future actions would follow the rules.

Tan Tai Pingjing sat upright, the suspended sand waterfall before her—a still cascade, or rather, the Moonwell Heaven Mirror manifesting in another form.

She suddenly yanked her arms outward. The mirror expanded rapidly, standing upright before her.

She extended a single finger, gently pushing the mirror’s surface.

The mirror slid forward—and vanished.

Three hundred miles to the north, the Moonwell Heaven Mirror, now magnified countless times, slowly emerged.

South of the mirror was Xu Longxiang, a sword clenched in his teeth as he ran.

North of the mirror was a colossal being, awakened after Qi Xuanzhen shattered the great vat in which it had slumbered.

The boy and the beast—something that should only appear embroidered on imperial robes—were destined to collide at the mirror’s location, leading to a battle that would shake the heavens and move the earth.

The beast surged forth, clouds and mist parting to reveal its monstrous head, flailing whiskers, and golden eyes.

As it sensed the mirror’s leaking energy, a flicker of human-like mockery gleamed in its massive golden eyes.

It paused briefly, then dove from the clouds, crashing straight into the mirror.

Far away, Xu Fengnian, back turned to Tan Tai Pingjing, exhaled in relief. Without turning, he gave a slight nod—a subtle gesture, yet the greatest expression of gratitude he could offer the cultivator master at this moment.

Tan Tai Pingjing gazed at that lone figure beneath the descending lightning, her eyes misting with tears.

Once, a man with silver-streaked hair had stood by the Guangling River, saying he wished in this life and the next to meet only kind souls, read only fine books, and see only beautiful landscapes. No matter how wondrous the heavens, he would never envy them.

After exerting so much effort to summon the sect’s sacred artifact, Tan Tai Pingjing’s expression turned weary. She sat on the sand dune, lost in thought.

For Xu Fengnian, who was enduring heavenly tribulation, this was not a helping hand—it was adding frost to snow.

There is an old saying: grasshoppers and dragons. A great serpent in the mountains becomes a dragon in the rivers, and finally ascends to the heavens. During the Spring and Autumn Periods, nine kingdoms warred. Except for Xishu, which had long sealed the true dragon, eight nations nurtured hidden dragons within their fates. When the Liyang Zhao clan unified the Central Plains, the Northern Yan, previously possessing only serpents, cultivated a true dragon to seize the throne. Meanwhile, Zhao Huangchao, against all odds, raised a black dragon in the Difei Mountains and schemed in the Xiamaowei Pavilion to devour Xichu’s fate and harm the Xu family of Beiliang. Now, Xie Feiyu followed Chen Zhibao into Shu, capturing serpents to raise dragons, aiding Chen’s quest to forge a trinity of teachings into sainthood. If successful, not only would Shu’s fortune surge, but Chen himself would rival Xu Fengnian, the so-called greatest man in the world—and likely surpass him.

There were three true dragons in the world, all targeting the man before her.

Especially the one from Northern Yan—it was about to arrive.

Tan Tai Pingjing gazed at his back and softly asked, “Tell me, don’t you feel pitiful?”

She inhaled deeply, rose to her feet, and once again steadied her heart. She no longer looked at the man destined to face even death nine times over, and turned to walk down the dune.

Xu Fengnian had used four techniques to shatter four bolts of lightning: Li Chungan’s “Emerald Snake in One Sleeve,” Wudang’s former Grand Elder Wang Chonglou’s “Two Fingers Severing the River,” the “Mountain-Shaking Opening Move” learned in the Northern Yan canyon, and Old Huang’s “Six Thousand Miles of Sword Nine.”

These four moves were all about meeting force with force, water with earth.

Now, staring at the fifth bolt of lightning gathering purple energy above, Xu Fengnian remained silent.

If celestial beings bestow blessings, it is the path to immortality. But if lightning strikes from the heavens, does it not speak of fate’s dominion over life and death?

At this moment, Xu Fengnian had no grand words about defying heaven. He simply could not die.

This time, he did not passively endure. He pushed off the ground with his toe, leaving a massive web-like imprint in the sand, and leapt upward, raising one palm to meet the descending lightning.

If the sky collapses, can one hand hold it up? He had to try.

As Xu Fengnian’s hand met the mighty purple lightning, it was like a needle striking a hammer. The thick bolt did not flow down his arm but instead condensed into a mirror-like surface, maintaining its downward force. Clearly, it would allow him no room for trickery.

At Xu Fengnian’s palm, electricity scattered like raindrops.

A breathtaking sight.

Xu Fengnian’s eyes turned red. The crimson threads he had stolen from the “Cat Man” Han Diaosi and nurtured over time slithered like thousands of tiny red snakes across his body.

The lightning did not send Xu Fengnian crashing down, but gravity was inevitable. The purple bolt pressed down layer by layer, appearing weaker, yet its force remained unchanged.

Half a stick of incense later, Xu Fengnian still hovered in the sky, his arm trembling. The lightning, compressed by its descent, had become a narrow plane no thicker than three inches.

Xu Fengnian bit his lips shut, but blood still seeped from his clenched teeth, filling his mouth with crimson.

He exhaled the last bit of energy in his body, bending his arm slightly before suddenly straightening it, thrusting upward. His body rose a full zhang, and though the mirror of lightning did not shatter, a deep indentation formed at its center.

Though Tan Tai Pingjing had already descended the dune, moving farther from Xu Fengnian, she could still sense that the fifth bolt of lightning would likely no longer be able to crush him.

It was only then that she realized it was snowing.

Yet here, where heavenly tribulation interfered, the snow had not yet fallen.

Suddenly, she turned her head, a mix of fury, shock, and panic flashing across her face.

For the first time, she felt regret—and immediately turned back toward the dune.

The situation was dire.

The Moonwell Heaven Mirror was her creation, so she knew the result of Xu Longxiang’s collision with the beast whose scales were as large as basins. Yet, in an instant of spatial distortion, the beast had bypassed the boy entirely and appeared here instead. What followed revealed to her the unfathomable nature of heavenly omens. Historical records spoke of dragons that could hide or reveal themselves, shrink or expand. Once, in the Eastern Sea, a dragon had emerged from the clouds, sucking in seawater like a waterfall into its gaping maw—an awe-inspiring sight. What Tan Tai Pingjing now saw was the same. The true dragon, long hidden in Northern Yan’s western capital, had passed through the mirror. Briefly restrained by the Moonwell Heaven Mirror, it shrank to the size of a snake, gliding through the air. But when it opened its mouth, it devoured the fifth bolt of lightning Xu Fengnian had nearly shattered. Instantly, it shook its body, shedding the “rules” imposed by the mirror. Its form and aura expanded rapidly, growing to a length of twenty or thirty zhangs.

It did not immediately strike Xu Fengnian. Instead, like a well-fed serpent, it coiled in the sky, watching him coldly.

As if mocking him.

The fifth lightning bolt had vanished, but the dark clouds above rumbled louder than before. Higher still, an eighth bolt of purple lightning formed.

Seven became eight.

A well-intended act had backfired.

So had hers. So had the dragon’s hidden malice.

The celestial being controlling the lightning seemed angered by the broken rules—but instead of punishing the Northern Yan dragon, it turned its wrath upon Xu Fengnian, the one who had summoned the “helper.”

The sixth lightning bolt descended without giving Xu Fengnian even a moment to recover.

This bolt was not thick like a mountain peak. Instead, it was extremely thin.

A single thread between life and death.

Literally.

Xu Fengnian instinctively abandoned any attempt to retreat, leaning his head back as far as possible. His head narrowly avoided the lightning thread, but his abdomen was not so lucky.

Pierced instantly by the purple line!

The youth, linked by blood to Xu Fengnian, had been standing bewildered three hundred miles away, unsure why he had failed to intercept the serpent. When he turned and saw the lightning bolt connecting heaven and earth, he seemed to understand something. He turned and sprinted back.

The seventh lightning bolt, for reasons unknown, was surprisingly weaker than the previous six. The thunder grew quieter, the lightning dimmer, but the dark clouds above began to turn purple.

Tan Tai Pingjing could no longer hear thunder, but her heart pounded like a war drum.

She was merely an outsider, yet already so flustered. How then could that man endure?

The true dragon, its golden eyes emotionless, its two whiskers swaying lightly, grew ever larger in the distance.

Xu Fengnian landed, his right hand still crackling with residual electricity from withstanding the sixth lightning bolt. With his left hand, he pressed against his bleeding abdomen, barely preventing the wound from worsening.

He looked up at the sky.

The First Emperor of Qin, the Great Deity Zhenwu, the most powerful prince of the Liyang Dynasty.

His mother was gone. Xu Xiao was gone. His eldest sister was gone. His second sister sat in a wheelchair, nearly gone too.

Guarding the northwest gate for the people of the Central Plains—he could do it if he could, and if not, he would not feel too much remorse.

But no one could take his younger brother, Huangman’er.

No.

At the end of his second journey across the martial world, the old man in the lambskin cloak had slashed two thousand armored soldiers with a single sword stroke on the Guangling River. Back then, he had been powerless to demand justice from Prince Zhao Yi of Guangling. It had been Xu Xiao who had avenged him. Back then, Xu Xiao had said he was growing old, and from then on, Xu Fengnian would have to seek justice on his own.

So today, Xu Fengnian would reason with the heavens themselves.

Above, the seventh lightning bolt slowly rotated, gathering its might, yet holding back.

This allowed the snowflakes, previously drifting down only a few miles away, to tilt and blow toward him.

The Northern Liang saber, embedded in the distant earth, was unremarkable.

In the snow, there was a blade.