The agony of burning alive was beyond all words — and it filled the heart with a reverent, primal dread. The reason the dead were buried rather than cremated was precisely this ancient fear of fire.

Zixiaozi was bound by the blazing soul-binding chain and consumed by fire — but this was no ordinary flame. The fire carried within it fierce vital energy that could scorch the very soul.

His spirit had already taken a devastating blow from Lang Jiuchuan’s Dizhong Bell at the very outset of their clash. Only by drawing on his years of cultivation and the protection of his vital fortune had he avoided being struck dead outright — but even so, the damage to his spirit was severe.

He was deep of character and had not let it show. For one thing, he wanted to deceive these two young opponents. For another, he was unwilling to display weakness in front of others — a tactic common to both sides in any confrontation.

He had assumed that, given their youth, their guard would be down. He was wrong. Their vigilance was formidable. He had tried to press his advantage and found himself outmaneuvered — she had used her Daoist intent as a blade and severed his hand. Hard on the heels of that came the other one’s ritual object, and the fire closed in.

The pain of a severed hand was nothing compared to the pain of burning. Zixiaozi’s screams tore through the sky, and he was forced to pour every last shred of his cultivation into resistance, struggling desperately to break free of his bindings.

But in doing so, his cultivation power drained rapidly, his spirit in agony, threatened as it had never been threatened before.

He had been careless.

For years, everything had gone his way. And now, in a single night, he had been brought low by two little brats.

“Who are you people?!” Zixiaozi roared. “I am a senior elder of the Tantai lineage of the Xuan Clan! Do you dare to harm me? Are you seeking to make an enemy of our entire Xuan Clan?”

Yet the force behind the words was undermined by the blazing flames and the agony tearing through his spirit — the declaration came out more bluster than threat, and even carried a faint note of desperation.

Gong Qi’s pupils contracted. Instinctively, he looked at Lang Jiuchuan.

Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes were calm and cold. “Don’t kill him.”

Zixiaozi thought they were frightened. A glimmer of satisfaction crept in. “Then release this old man at once—”

“There are still questions to ask him. Kill him and I’ll have to call back his ghost — more trouble, more work.” Lang Jiuchuan’s second sentence cut off whatever he’d been about to say.

Zixiaozi’s eyes went wide with fury. “—!”

Lang Jiuchuan did not tell Gong Qi to release the bindings — but she also signaled him not to let the flames burn too fiercely. She gave the Dizhong Bell a slight shake, and its tone rang out — as though an ancient great beast of legend had opened its enormous jaws, sinking its teeth ferociously into the opponent’s spirit.

This was a technique she had newly developed through her own insight. It had come to her from watching the method the monk Luole had used to tame great beasts — she had taken the form of the beast and incorporated it into her sealing technique. Technique transformed into beast, devouring the soul.

The full extent of the Dizhong Bell’s capabilities was something she had yet to fully uncover, but it was the supreme immortal artifact of a great emperor, and its power went without saying. She was merely infusing the bell with her technique and borrowing its might to amplify her strike. One technique in, and the effect was doubled.

Look at that arrogant old man — screaming and wailing, hair wild and disheveled. A sight not fit for gentle eyes.

But how did his agony compare to two hundred years of the Fuji Army burning their souls and bleeding away their vow-power?

Lang Jiuchuan looked on without expression as the threads of vow-power that had been stolen from them dissipated into scattered sparks. Her face was utterly blank.

A ferocious energy radiated from her entire being — the chill of it was colder and more brutal than anything she had projected even when facing down the animate corpse from before. Gong Qi’s heart clenched as he stole several glances at her, not daring to make a single sound.

Who would dare.

The one bound by the soul-binding chain had already revealed that he was of the Xuan Clan — of the imperial Tantai lineage, at that. What did that prove? It proved that the Nine Palace Eight Trigrams formation had not been set up by someone like Cong Bian — some crazed rogue practitioner, as they had previously imagined.

It had been the Xuan Clan. The Xuan Clan had laid this Nine Palace Eight Trigrams formation, and the Xuan Clan had imprisoned the three thousand soldiers of the Fuji Army.

Gong Qi said nothing, but inside, he felt hollow and sick.

The shame of it was like a series of sharp slaps across his face, leaving it hot and stinging.

Once the one called Zixiaozi looked to have barely half his life remaining — his health bar nearly depleted — Lang Jiuchuan told Gong Qi to release the soul-binding chain.

Already ragged, his robes in scorched tatters, his hair singed and reeking, his skin blistered and ruined, Zixiaozi collapsed on the ground. He fixed the two of them with eyes full of venom, spitting up blood between curses: “Wretched little—… You will pay for this — ptuh.“

Dark blood gushed from between his lips in great mouthfuls. His features, which had been well-preserved for his age, rapidly aged and caved in before their eyes, as though some spirit creature had sucked out all his vitality. He lay on the ground in a wretched heap, fighting to stay alive.

Lang Jiuchuan stood over him and looked down. “Elder of the Xuan Clan — are there others guarding this formation in Eight Trigrams City besides you?”

Zixiaozi raised his head with great effort and looked at Lang Jiuchuan with eyes full of hatred and venom. He had miscalculated. He had been bested by a girl who looked utterly frail and fragile.

He let out a cold laugh. “You have quite the audacity…”

Lang Jiuchuan raised her foot and ground it into his face.

“Mmph—!” Zixiaozi’s whole body convulsed with pain.

A true man would rather die than suffer such humiliation! This demon woman deserves to die!

“Are you ready to speak properly?” Lang Jiuchuan asked.

Zixiaozi gasped and wheezed, then said: “There is no one else.”

One day, he would take her life for this.

“To go to such lengths — laying a Nine Palace Eight Trigrams formation, imprisoning thousands of heroic spirits, forcing them to burn their souls over and over, using the vow-power built from their merit as defenders of the nation to nourish a dragon vein — and you leave just yourself to guard the whole thing?” Lang Jiuchuan said calmly. “The Tantai lineage must feel truly secure in their confidence.”

Gong Qi’s face went ashen at the words.

Zixiaozi was equally shaken. He looked up at her sharply, his expression jolting. How had she seen through it? How could she, at her age?

This formation had been laid two hundred years ago by the master array practitioner, the Yinyang master Tongda. And it was not merely a Nine Palace Eight Trigrams formation — formation within formation, trapping the souls without release. Once the formation reversed into its yin configuration, it could also disorient the spirits so they did not know what age or day they existed in, making them relive the burning of their souls endlessly — igniting their vow-power, the merit of their sacrifice, to nourish the dragon vein and strengthen the nation’s vital fortune.

This grand formation was Tongda’s masterwork — yet few knew of its true nature, for imprisoning heroic spirits ran counter to the way of heaven. Furthermore, to prevent outsiders from coming to meddle and disrupting the nation’s fortune, a feng shui eight trigrams formation was used as camouflage.

For all these years, no one had ever seen through the truth of this formation — and now this mere slip of a girl had done so. From where could she possibly have gained such knowledge?

“Who are you? How have you come to perceive heavenly secrets?” Zixiaozi showed genuine fear in his eyes for the first time.

To see through the hidden truth of this formation — she could be no ordinary person. Could this girl be a master immortal practitioner of great attainment, who had returned to youth and retained a young woman’s appearance?

But how was that possible?

Two hundred years ago, even those who had reached the Foundation Establishment realm could progress no further, and ultimately vanished into the long river of history. Even the master Tongda — who had reached Foundation Establishment — had not survived a full month after laying the formation, dying in meditation as though struck by karmic backlash. And after that generation, it became even rarer to hear of any Xuanmen practitioner reaching Foundation Establishment. The Tantai lineage still had one person at Foundation Establishment — already a dominant achievement, something remarkable. How could she possibly deserve to?

Lang Jiuchuan’s expression grew cold and still. Her fingers curled slightly. A ferocious energy rose from the depths of her being, coiling around her, mingling with the diffuse killing energy in the air around them, growing denser by the moment.

In truth, she had not perceived any heavenly secrets. She had simply watched those heroic spirits burning their souls over and over, their vow-power flowing endlessly toward the dragon vein — and a flash of insight had struck her. The scene before her felt like something she had seen before, somewhere. And then she had thought of Cong Bian and the way he had extracted dragon essence and vital fortune to nourish himself — and comparing that to what lay before her now, the parallel was undeniable.

With that, she had tried to trick him into confirming her suspicion. One feint — and a perfect hit.

They had truly used the vow-power of heroic spirits from a former dynasty to nourish a dragon vein and sustain the nation’s vital fortune.

What a thing you have done, Tantai Xuan Clan.