Pay-to-Win Cultivation: I Get 10,000x Returns

Chapter 227: Not Even Jesus Can Save You

Grandmaster Taichu’s patience finally snapped.

With a violent flick of his wrist, he unleashed a column of blinding golden light. The beam carried enough destructive force to flatten a mountain range, slamming into the metal blast door with the weight of a collapsing star.

BOOM!

The earth shook. The cavern groaned as dust rained from the ceiling.

But as the golden light faded, the metal door remained pristine. Not a dent. Not even a scratch.

Brute force was useless.

Grandmaster Taichu’s face darkened, his expression ugly. He raised a hand and clawed at the air toward the source of the mocking voice. A simple mechanical sound-recording device was ripped from the ceiling and flew into his grasp.

He invaded it with his Divine Sense. As expected, it only contained those two infuriating pre-recorded messages, rigged to trigger on failure.

Crack.

He crushed the device into fine powder.

“If you had possessed this level of cunning while you were alive,” Taichu’s voice was as cold as ten-thousand-year-old ice, “you wouldn’t have died so carelessly.”

Now that Yang Poxiao was dead, the only person left who might understand these absurd riddles was…

He didn’t finish the thought. With a sweep of his sleeve, carrying a chest full of disappointment and nowhere to vent his rage, his figure vanished from the cavern.

Meanwhile, after half a month of sleepless, relentless pursuit, Zhang Xian finally caught a break. The faint signal from the green tracking seed flared to life within his senses—and this time, it was stable.

“Hmph. I refuse to believe you can escape me this time.”

Zhang Xian’s body transformed into a streak of flowing light, tearing across the wasteland.

Deep in a secluded canyon.

A slender figure sat cross-legged behind a massive boulder, hidden in the shadows. She wore a tattered gray cloak, her breathing shallow as she meditated.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open.

They were no longer human eyes. They were pools of writhing purple-black threads, devoid of whites, with only a tiny, flickering pinpoint of cold reason remaining in the center.

She sensed it.

Without hesitation, her figure blurred, shooting away like a ghostly apparition.

One second later.

BOOM!

A flaming meteor descended from the heavens, obliterating the boulder she had been sitting on. The shockwave pulverized the surrounding ground, sending shrapnel flying.

The gray-cloaked woman flickered in mid-air, dodging the debris. she looked up at the sky.

There, hovering like a grim reaper, was the hunchbacked figure in black robes.

Zhang Xian looked down. The moment he saw the gray cloak, the System confirmed his target.

[Target: Nangong Yao (Hatred)]

“Found you,” he muttered. He had crushed this figure countless times in his simulations. Even shrouded in shadows, he wouldn’t mistake her.

Nangong Yao stabilized her flight, her voice rasping with vicious hostility. “Who exactly are you? How do you find me again and again?”

Zhang Xian let out a sinister, cackling laugh, perfectly imitating the dead Qianji’s voice. “This old man is Qianji! I have crawled back from hell specifically to claim your life!”

He wasted no more breath on words. Sword light flashed, and he dove.

“Do you think I fear you?” Nangong Yao shrieked, furious. “This time, I will rip off your mask and see your true face!”

She didn’t run. She drew her sword, the blade seething with the thick, black-purple evil power of [Hatred], and charged to meet him.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The two figures collided in mid-air. Metal rang against metal in a dense cacophony. Sword Qi crisscrossed the canyon, tearing the surrounding black mist into ribbons.

They were evenly matched.

Zhang Xian’s heart turned cold. Such formidable power.

He currently possessed the complete set of five-element Heaven-grade cultivation techniques, bolstered by Top Grade spiritual treasures. An ordinary early-stage Nascent Soul cultivator wouldn’t survive three moves against him. Yet, Nangong Yao, eroded and fused with [Hatred], had achieved a power spike that defied logic.

Nangong Yao was equally shocked.

This fake Qianji only radiates the Spiritual Qi fluctuations of a peak Golden Core… so why is his combat ability so terrifying?

And looking at his swordplay… he’s holding back. He’s hiding his true style. Is he afraid I’ll recognize him? Do I know him?

She tried to think, but a sharp pain stabbed through her skull. The [Hatred] erosion had submerged half her consciousness in a violent, chaotic red haze. Thinking hurt. Killing was easier.

Unable to gain the upper hand, Nangong Yao lost her patience.

With a flip of her wrist, she unleashed her signature ultimate skill: the Heavenly Palace Azure Cloud Sword.

WHOOSH!

Instantly, countless blades of energy—a mix of holy gold and corrupted black—condensed around her. They formed a massive tornado of cutting edges. With a thrust of her longsword, the storm howled, sweeping toward Zhang Xian with the intent to blot out the sky.

Zhang Xian’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t panic.

He knew the Heavenly Palace Azure Cloud Sword better than she did. He had upgraded this very technique to Heaven-grade in his simulations; he knew every flow, every node, and every microscopic flaw.

He didn’t retreat. He became a phantom.

Like a fish swimming upstream through a waterfall, Zhang Xian weaved through the dense storm of blades. He dodged the lethal points by millimeters, his own sword tapping precisely against the weak points of her formation.

There.

Seizing a fleeting opening, he lunged. His blade slipped through the chaos and struck true.

Bang!

“Ugh!”

Nangong Yao grunted as Zhang Xian’s sword momentum slammed into her chest. She was blasted backward, flying over a hundred meters before crashing into the canyon wall.

The impact tore her gray cloak to shreds, revealing what lay beneath.

Zhang Xian froze.

Her face still retained its human shape, vaguely showing the delicate beauty she once possessed. But her skin was cracked, with two sinister black vein-patterns spreading across her cheeks like ivy. Her eyes were completely gone, replaced by those wriggling purple-black threads.

But it was her right arm—her sword arm—that made his skin crawl.

Through the torn sleeve, he saw no flesh.

It was a mechanical limb constructed from puppet bone joints. Countless dense, purple-black wires extended from the metal bones, piercing into her shoulder and chest, stitching the machine to her living flesh. The “muscle” looked like raw, pulsating meat mixed with steel wool.

She was half-human, half-puppet. A living corpse modified by a madman.

Qianji, Zhang Xian realized with disgust. This is that old monster’s handiwork.

Nangong Yao sensed his momentary shock. She pulled herself out of the rubble, making no attempt to cover her deformity. Instead, she let out a shrill, venomous laugh.

“What? Scared by my appearance?”

Zhang Xian’s gaze turned absolute zero.

This time, she does not escape.

Jesus couldn’t save you today. I said it!

He surged his True Qi, preparing to unleash a lethal finisher.

Suddenly, his chest burned.

It wasn’t an attack. It was a frantic, searing heat radiating from the [United Heart Winged Pendant] beneath his robes.

Flash.

In the next second, space distorted. A burst of white light erupted directly in front of him.

A soft body, smelling of blood and flowers, stumbled out of the void and fell straight into his arms.

“Eh?”

Zhang Xian instinctively caught her.

The body was light, terrifyingly fragile. Her white robes were dyed crimson with fresh blood. Her face was as pale as paper, and blood trickled steadily from the corner of her mouth.

It was Long Zhi.

She seemed to be hanging onto her last thread of consciousness. Sensing a vaguely familiar embrace, her head tilted against his chest, and she passed out completely.

What the hell is this situation?!

Zhang Xian was dumbfounded.

He didn’t have time to question it. He tightened his grip on her, immediately pouring pure Wood-element Spiritual Qi into her body to stabilize her rapidly fading vitality.

Across the canyon, Nangong Yao was also stunned. But her shock lasted only a fraction of a second.

She recognized the woman.

Long Zhi. The famous Fairy of the Southern Region.

She didn’t know why Long Zhi had appeared, or why she was dying, but she knew one thing: Opportunity.

A vicious grin split Nangong Yao’s face.

She didn’t hesitate. Abandoning defense entirely, she launched herself forward.

Her target was no longer Zhang Xian.

Every strike, every beam of sword energy, was aimed ruthlessly at the unconscious, defenseless woman in his arms.

Zhang Xian cursed. The tables had turned instantly.

He couldn’t dodge—not without exposing Long Zhi. He couldn’t counter-attack freely—the shockwaves might kill her. He was forced into a purely passive defense, shielding the dying woman from a storm of attacks with his own body.