The shadowy figure watched the two exchange a silent, knowing look, his hood rippling with a sharp, predatory breath. “Discussed your funeral arrangements? Then die!”

He blurred into motion, a jagged streak of darkness aimed straight for Long Zhi’s throat.

Zhang Xian didn’t hesitate. With a flick of his wrist and a surge of mental intent, four puppets—each a masterwork of wood and bronze attuned to a different element—clattered into existence. They locked into a rotating defensive formation, a wall of shifting gears and spirits that blocked the assassin’s path. Simultaneously, Long Zhi transformed into a bolt of violet radiance, her new sword channeling a celestial fury that shook the very foundations of the valley.

But their opponent was a true Nascent Soul. His movements were liquid, defying the laws of inertia. A torrent of pure water-attribute spiritual power erupted from him, and as he brandished his black blade, he unleashed the Yunmiao Sect’s ultimate technique: the Yunmiao Sword Scripture.

The sword light flowed like quicksilver—a relentless, suffocating tide that dissolved Long Zhi’s jagged thunder strikes. He wasn’t just fighting; he was drowning her momentum, inch by agonizing inch.

Seeing the tide turn, Zhang Xian leaned into his “Whale” tactics. He began snapping Earth-grade talismans from his sleeves like a card shark, detonating them in a drumbeat of fire and light. He popped a radiant Spirit Recovery Pill into his mouth and flicked the rest of the bottle toward Long Zhi.

She caught a pill in mid-air, the medicine dissolving instantly to flood her parched meridians with fresh power.

The assassin’s blade faltered for a fraction of a second. “Earth-Grade Spirit Recovery Pills? Just how deep is your treasury, boy?”

“I’m telling you, it’s a bottomless pit!” Zhang Xian shouted, his hands a blur of talisman-slinging. “I still don’t get the kill-on-sight order. Your organization loves talent, right? We’re the definition of talent! Why waste us? Think of the synergy! We team up, unify the Southern Region, and live like kings!”

The shadow snarled, his patience snapping. “Lord Zhenguo Gong, do you always joke in the face of death? You’re so eager to surrender—I wonder if your late wives in the underworld would appreciate your cowardice?”

The smirk vanished from Zhang Xian’s face. His eyes went cold. “So it is you.”

The air in the valley curdled with renewed killing intent.

The tall puppet at the valley’s edge remained motionless, its back pressed against the shimmering dome of the Dark Yellow Mountain-Suppressing Monolith. It served as a living battery, pouring its Golden Core essence into the barrier to ensure no bird, let alone a human, could escape.

Long Zhi took a sharp, lung-searing breath. The purple lightning coiled around her limbs began to bleed outward. CRACKLE. A violent thunder domain erupted from her, blanketing half the valley in a forest of arcing electricity. The sheer pressure forced the Nascent Soul assassin to retreat several paces, his quicksilver sword light flickering under the surge.

“Incredible,” the shadow admitted, his voice heavy with grim respect. “To wield such power while broken… if you were ever to reach the Nascent Soul stage, you would be a monster.”

He glanced at the impenetrable ochre shield behind him. “But it doesn’t matter. You can’t break this formation, and you certainly can’t outlast me!”

“Is that so?” Zhang Xian’s voice rang out.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

In a blur of motion, Zhang Xian launched several spirit swords. They didn’t fly toward the assassin; they streaked toward the immobile puppet maintaining the barrier.

The puppet reacted with mechanical precision, a small, concentrated earthen shield forming in the air. Clang! Clang! Clang! The swords struck the shield, biting an inch deep into the stone-like energy before halting.

A cold shiver of foreboding raced down the assassin’s spine.

“Detonate!” Zhang Xian roared.

The three embedded swords didn’t just break—they vaporized in a catastrophic release of spiritual energy. The shockwave slammed into the puppet, sent the small shield shattering into dust, and caused the main barrier to ripple violently.

Before the smoke could clear, Zhang Xian threw more. One after another, high-grade spirit treasures—each worth a small city—were treated as disposable grenades.

The valley groaned under the relentless bombardment. Rocks pulverized, and the air filled with the metallic tang of shredded artifacts. The tall puppet, bound to the barrier and unable to dodge, was systematically dismantled.

Its limbs were torn away, half its head vanished in a fireball, and its internal clockwork spilled out in a mangled heap. With a final, pathetic spark, the Dark Yellow Mountain-Suppressing Monolith collapsed.

“You lunatic!” the assassin screamed, his voice cracking with genuine shock. “Do you have an infinite supply of those?!”

He tried to steady himself. “Even if the shield is gone, the Heaven and Earth Prison still holds—”

BOOM-CRACK!

A thunderclap so loud it vibrated in their marrow shook the heavens. A pillar of white-hot lightning descended like a spear from the gods, slamming into the invisible, viscous spatial barrier.

The air shrieked like breaking glass. The “Prison” twisted, the space itself warping under the celestial impact.

The assassin recoiled, blood draining from his face. The formation was linked to his very soul; as it buckled, he felt his own essence tearing. “What did you do?!” he shrieked at Zhang Xian.

Zhang Xian held up his hands, looking genuinely surprised. “Hey, don’t look at me. This one’s out of my budget.”

RUMBLE!

A second, more savage bolt followed, lancing through the spiderweb of cracks in the sky. The Heaven and Earth Prison shattered. The stagnant air of the valley suddenly rushed outward as the spatial lock snapped.

The assassin stumbled, spitting a mouthful of blood. His aura plummeted.

He looked up, finally seeing the true source of the destruction.

Long Zhi stood in the center of a storm. Her hair whipped wildly in a wind that didn’t exist. Above her, the sky had turned into a swirling vortex of ink-black clouds stretching for thousands of miles. Thick, serpentine bolts of lightning writhed within the mass, hungry and divine.

The shadow’s eyes widened in pure terror. She wasn’t just fighting; she had forcibly shattered the mental shackles holding back her advancement. She was summoning the Nascent Soul Thunder Tribulation.

“She’s breaking through… here? Now?” He couldn’t believe the audacity. To attempt the most dangerous transition in a cultivator’s life while wounded and besieged? It was madness.

The first true bolt of judgment tore through the sky, aiming for the crown of Long Zhi’s head.

Long Zhi met it with a scream of defiance. Her sword lashed upward, a blade of pure intent that cleaved the lightning bolt in two. As the sparks washed over her, she swayed, but her aura grew sharper, colder, and infinitely more dense.

Not bad, Zhang Xian thought, a bit stunned. He had been reaching for another handful of swords to finish the job, but Long Zhi’s “scorched earth” policy was much more efficient.

The assassin’s face was a mask of fury and fear. Twice he had been humiliated. And now, he was in the middle of a Tribulation Zone. In the eyes of the Heavens, anyone near the candidate was an interloper; if he attacked her now, the clouds would turn their full, world-ending wrath on him.

He turned his murderous gaze toward Zhang Xian.

Zhang Xian didn’t flinch. Instead, he offered a helpful, almost pleasant smile.

“Look, why don’t we call a truce for a second?” Zhang Xian suggested. “A Nascent Soul Tribulation like this only happens once in a blue moon. Especially for a freak of nature like Long Zhi. We might even see the legendary Ninefold Thunder. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime show… and you wouldn’t want to miss it, would you?”

The assassin’s response was a silent, lethal streak of black ghostly light.