"Clang ~ clang ~"
The cold wind howled, and the rattling of chains echoed with exceptional clarity against the desolate cliff. In the distance, a blood-red figure rapidly dashed over thorns, clearly in a state of desperate flight.
Behind her were dozens of rapidly pursuing figures, their sharp auras descending. A cold voice spoke: "Minh Cảnh, ahead is the forbidden zone of Mount Wuchang. Where else can you run?"
The one called Minh Cảnh paid no heed, the iron chains binding her limbs scraping the ground and kicking up dust.
Enduring intense pain, she ran forward amidst the dust, only for a sword qi from behind to pierce her knee, forcing her to kneel firmly against the cliff face.
Her blood-soaked robes were caked with mud, and a light breeze blew her hair onto her face, revealing her delicate, cool features: black eyes, pale lips, and a blood-stained face, utterly disheveled.
Every major criminal hunted by the Human Realm guards was disheveled, but this was Minh Cảnh!
The chief disciple of the Myriad Manifestations Dao Sect, a peerless genius who had suddenly appeared in the Human Realm. At the tender age of fifteen, she had reached the pinnacle of the Spirit Battle Assembly, born with a sword bone, cutting down demons with her blade, and embracing the most glorious heights.
She was the light of the righteous path, acknowledged by all of heaven and earth, the blade of hope.
Such a figure now had her movements bound by chains, kneeling before them.
The Human Realm guards looked down from above at this Chief Disciple Minh, who had achieved fame at a young age, a secret thrill and excitement welling up from the bottom of their hearts.
Minh Cảnh raised her eyes and glanced at them, then lowered her head, her gaze briefly sweeping over the abyss behind her. She plopped down into the muddy dirt, the chains on her body rattling with a peculiar rhythm.
A faint smile touched her lips: "If it's just you all, there's no way you can take me back."
"Hmph!"
Among the guards hovering above, someone couldn't help but let out a sneer, their expression disdainful: "Just you?"
"A waste who colluded with the Demon Race, whose cultivation was crippled, whose sword bone was shattered, whose meridians were severed—and you dare to speak so wildly?"
"Do you think you're still the exceptionally talented, magnificent Sword Dao chief disciple of the Myriad Manifestations Dao Sect?"
Minh Cảnh's expression remained calm. Swinging the chains in her hands, she propped herself up against the nearby rock and stood, looking up at them. "You can try."
"But one person alone, I'm afraid, isn't qualified," she added.
"Trying to provoke us, are you?" The guard who had spoken first scoffed. "I, for one, would like to see the abilities of a peerless genius myself."
The sword at his waist was unsheathed, flashing with a faint light as it quickly thrust forward. His figure stomped, bringing down the gravity of heaven and earth.
Minh Cảnh narrowed her eyes. In the blink of an eye as the sharp sword thrust forward, she extended her hand, using the chains as a weapon to meet it. They clashed with the longsword's sharp blade, creating a hazy cloud of dust in the air.
A "CRACK" sound rang out—the sound of chains breaking.
"No!" The guard's heart seized with alarm. His body flipped lightly, and through the hazy dust, he clearly saw the calm, calculating look that flashed across her blood-stained face. He quickly tried to retreat.
"Too late." Minh Cảnh curled her lips, her eyes cold and indifferent. The chains, now broken into two pieces in her hand, were swung out. She took a step forward, and those chains that had bound her freedom transformed into deadly weapons, effortlessly piercing the guard's chest.
A bloom of blood blossomed across the vast sky. The blood-robed, black-haired woman was surrounded by a swirling black mist.
She lifted her foot, pinning the heavily wounded guard who had fallen to the ground beneath it: “Are you satisfied with what you see?”
He called her an unparalleled genius, so she ought to let him know that not just anyone could bear such a reputation.
This temporary clash, though appearing to be a serious battle, was in fact over in a flash.
Thus, by the time the hovering guards reacted, they found themselves meeting Minh Cảnh’s chilling, blood-congealing gaze, and dared not make a move.
Minh Cảnh ignored them. She swung her chains, remaining silent for a moment, then suddenly asked in a low voice, “What happened to that person?”
The guard pinned beneath her foot endured the pain and replied, “Who are you referring to?”
“The young man who said the orders were wrong, back when you arrested me in Little Stone Village.”
“The Commander said he questioned the Realm Lord, which is a grave crime, punishable by death by law.” The guard’s body flinched slightly, fearing Minh Cảnh would kill him the next instant.
Minh Cảnh did not kill him.
She lowered her head, her consciousness eroded by intense pain. She heard the howling breath of slaughter carried on the wind, and in the distance, swarms of guards were approaching, raising their sabers, spears, swords, and halberds in a deadly greeting.
Her cultivation was crippled; all that remained was the battle instinct of a sword cultivator, etched into her very bones.
Two segments of chains sweeping out could at most take two lives. She absolutely could not escape this wave of attacks.
Minh Cảnh watched the soldiers’ blades with indifference.
Her ravaged body could barely withstand the sharp, oppressive aura that enveloped her, yet she refused to fall. Gritting her teeth, she pressed her hand against the jagged rocks to prop herself up, standing to face the approaching death.
“Boom!”
Just then, a cold sword light tore through the distant sky, piercing the clouds against the setting sun. It arrived just before the killing blow could strike Minh Cảnh’s heart, its profound, brilliant light pushing back the chaotic airflow.
The sword’s body was bright and clear, its tassel like the moon. This was a sword Minh Cảnh knew well, and also a renowned blade, long revered by all beings in heaven and earth, named Yaoyue.
And Yaoyue’s owner——
Minh Cảnh’s breathing hitched as she watched the swarms of guards turn and bow their heads: “Greetings, Little Daoist Venerable.”
“Dispense with the formalities,” a clear, cold voice drifted from across the sky.
Clouds swirled, bathed in sunlight. The woman stepped over mountains and rivers, landing gracefully on the cliff. Her green robes seemed to dye the very wonders of heaven and earth. She reached out, summoning the Yaoyue sword, then looked up at Minh Cảnh before her.
Minh Cảnh was also looking at her.
Black hair cascaded to her waist, her green robes ethereal. Even among the myriad beauties of the cultivation world, she was an exceptionally outstanding presence.
Her face was exquisitely beautiful, but even more striking than her features was her entire being’s cold, aloof temperament and world-shaking grace.
The owner of the Yaoyue sword, the Little Daoist Venerable of the Myriad Manifestations Dao Sect, a figure who had achieved fame at a young age and single-handedly traversed the turbulent Six Realms, the junior martial sister of the current Sect Master of the Myriad Manifestations Dao Sect: Zheyù.
“Little Martial Uncle,” Minh Cảnh murmured in a low voice.
Zheyù unconsciously responded, her gaze sweeping from the blood-stained face before her, over the gruesome, exposed flesh where the blood-soaked robes had ripped apart, to the chains binding Minh Cảnh’s limbs. Then, as her divine sense probed, she saw the horrific state of Minh Cảnh’s meridians, and the depths of her eyes subtly darkened.
“Little Daoist Venerable, Minh Cảnh colluded with the Demonic Race, a heinous crime. We are under orders to apprehend her and bring her to prison,” the guards explained, meeting Zheyù’s cold gaze.
“I know.” Chiết Dụ spoke in a deep voice, looking at Minh Cảnh as she spoke each word deliberately: “Come back with me.”
Minh Cảnh’s gaze froze, a flicker of panic in the woman’s otherwise indifferent expression. She rattled the chains in her hand and asked her, “To where?”
Her movements were small and gentle, yet they couldn’t stop the gruesome wounds all over her body from gushing fresh blood, quickly staining the ground she stood on and the jagged mountain rocks crimson.
Chiết Dụ’s brows furrowed slightly, her fingertips, gripping the Demon Moon Sword, unconsciously recoiled: “Naturally, back to the Human Realm Prison.”
The Human Realm Prison.
Minh Cảnh murmured these four words, then suddenly let out a low laugh: “They say I colluded with the Demon Race. Does Little Martial Uncle think so too?”
The sunlight was pure, the mountain wind chilling. The woman, clad in blood-red robes, had eyes that shone with dazzling clarity. She was asking Chiết Dụ: Did she believe their words, believe that Minh Cảnh had colluded with the Demon Race?
Chiết Dụ fell silent. Her eyes held emotions as deep as the ocean.
She lifted her gaze from the winding bloodstains on the ground, letting it fall upon the black lotus mark imprinted between Minh Cảnh’s brows. Her voice was cool: “The black lotus demon mark, and this demonic energy swirling all over your body—are you going to say you didn’t do it?”
“Seen with my own eyes, how could it still be false?”
The woman’s voice was as clear and cold as shattering jade. Minh Cảnh couldn’t help but twitch the corner of her lips: “Seen with your own eyes? Did Little Martial Uncle personally witness me colluding with the Demon Race?”
“Just because it’s seen with one’s own eyes, does that necessarily make it true?” she pressed, as a stream of dark red blood spilled out, landing in the pool of blood with a “drip-drip” sound that shook the soul.
At that moment, the scorching sun hung high, its rays dazzling; it was the time of day when yang energy was at its peak. Minh Cảnh stood in the sun’s embrace, yet felt as if she were in an icy hell.
Chiết Dụ’s brows furrowed, and she parted her lips as if to speak, but in the end, not a single word escaped her. She merely gripped the Demon Moon Sword tightly, standing between the guards and Minh Cảnh, her gaze resolute, unwilling to yield even a single step.
Minh Cảnh curved her lips. After a long moment, a soft chuckle escaped her: “Little Martial Uncle also knows—”
The woman’s blood-red robes fluttered, and where the mountain winds converged, her smile was like blood-tinged tears. In her bright eyes, deep incomprehension and pain lay hidden: “My Master himself took my sword heart.”
Her voice was calm yet trembling, mingled with the faint rustle of wind through leaves. In the quiet, desolate ancient cliff face, it was starkly clear and unavoidable, each word piercing the heart.
Chiết Dụ’s usually indifferent eyes finally showed worldly emotions. Her brows, sharp as swords, held shock and bewilderment within their icy depths.
Bewilderment.
Minh Cảnh’s smile faded, its brightness receding, leaving only an unshakeable bitterness in her eyes.
Yes, she was also very bewildered.
She clearly hadn’t done anything. Why were they so adamant, swearing she had colluded with the Demon Race? Why, at the slightest disagreement, did they cripple her cultivation, shatter her sword bone, sever her meridians, and even take her sword heart—the most crucial thing for a sword cultivator?
That was a taboo even evil cultivators wouldn’t dare to casually touch, cruel and tragic, something the Heavenly Dao could not tolerate. Yet such a thing was personally done by her Master, the Sect Master of the Myriad Manifestations Dao Sect.
Why?
Why did no one believe her?
As a sword cultivator cultivating the Dao, what kind of Dao had she been cultivating since birth?
Was it the righteous Dao?
Minh Cảnh questioned herself, every word echoing in her mind. Her gaze shifted from Chi Yu's cold, aloof face, and suddenly, her body rapidly retreated. She leaped up, spun around, and plunged into the bottomless chasm behind her.
This human realm's prison – even if it meant death, she would never return.
Minh Cảnh never walked the same path twice.
The shackles on her feet had broken into two pieces during the previous fight. The realm guards had instinctively fallen back after Chi Yu's arrival, and at this moment, they were still some distance away from her.
As for Chi Yu, from the moment he heard her words, he had been lost in thought for a long time, so no one stopped Minh Cảnh.
The forbidden area of Wuchang Mountain was said to be a forbidden place where a certain world-destroying great demon was sealed.
Below was a bottomless chasm, and all around was endless fierce energy. Minh Cảnh, her cultivation crippled, had jumped down; she was certainly doomed to die.
"Xiao Jing!" Behind her, a woman's frantic voice seemed to echo across the sky.
Next came jumbled, respectful pleas: "Little Daoist Venerable, you mustn't!"
Minh Cảnh, however, heard not a single word. Her body was rapidly plummeting, strong winds buffeting her frail form. The pain had gone numb, and her heartbeat grew weaker with each beat.
She opened her eyes wide. In the darkness, she heard an ethereal voice echo in her ear, every word answering the deepest doubts in her heart: "They said you colluded with the Demon Race because the plot required it."
"They didn't believe you because of the plot-induced stupidity halo."
"Minh Cảnh, you are cannon fodder."