The black-robed enforcers surged forward, an oppressive density of qi flattening the dust across the arena tiles. Their blades, honed to a razor’s edge, glinted with murderous intent, reflecting the horrified faces of the spectators. Zong Xiaotian, however, remained rooted to his spot, a lazy, almost bored expression on his face, his hands still casually clasped behind his back.
“Oh, dear,” he drawled, his voice carrying easily over the rising din. “Looks like Father dearest is having a tantrum. Someone fetch him a pacifier, perhaps? Or better yet, a mirror. He might enjoy the sight of his own hypocrisy.”
The lead enforcer, a hulking brute with a notched chin, roared, vaulting forward with a greatsword whistling straight for Xiaotian’s collar. Its steel glowed with crackling azure fire, honed to cleave granite into powder.
Just as the blade descended, Xiaotian flicked his wrist. Not at the executioner, but downwards. A small, round pebble-shaped shell arced through the air, landing flat beside the notched-faced man’s boots. It was Baozi, who had been nestled in Xiaotian’s sleeve.
Baozi blinked up at the descending broadsword, scowling with sullen contempt. With an indignant squawk, Baozi opened its tiny mouth and *chomped*.
A sickening crunch echoed. The glow around the greatsword flickered, then died, as if a hungry beast had devoured its very essence. The blade, now dull and brittle, snapped into a dozen pieces. The brute stared at the jagged brass hilt in his palm, then down at the green shell, lips parted in disbelief.
Baozi, not done, spit out a shower of metallic dust and let out a resounding burp. The swallowed iron, churned by caustic belly acids, ignited violently. *BOOM!* A shockwave detonated from its gullet, hurling the squad leader backward into his men like split timber.
“A spirit beast?!” someone shrieked from the stands.
The remaining guards recovered their footing. They were elite, after all. Dozens of blades ignited, gauntlets crackling with raw force, all leveled at Xiaotian and his combative reptile. Yet Baozi scrambled ahead, a green blur snapping at greaves, spear tips, and stray auric mantles. Each snap produced a hollow *CRUNCH* and a sharp blast, like sulfur caps detonating among the dark cloth.
Men tumbled over paving slabs. Auric flares sheared through the dust as flagstones buckled beneath the concussions. Shouts and curses mingled with the steady, metallic belches of a mineral-devouring reptile running amok.
*“You certainly know how to pick your pets, darling. Such… explosive efficiency!”* Yao Qingyu’s melodic laughter, tinged with dark amusement, echoed in Xiaotian’s mind. *“Though, perhaps a little less gratuitous destruction next time? We still need a quick exit.”*
Amidst the pandemonium, a flash of white silk darted towards Xiaotian’s blind spot. Bi Ruoxue, lips drawn taut and sleeves whipping, drove a carved bone dagger forward. “You mocked me for the last time, Zong Xiaotian!” she hissed beneath the din.
Xiaotian, however, had already felt the subtle shift in the air. Just as her dagger came within an inch of his back, he twisted, his movements impossibly fluid. He caught her wrist with one hand, effortlessly disarming her, then spun, pulling her in front of him. Her body, soft and yielding for a moment, became his impromptu shield.
“Now, now, fiancée,” Xiaotian purred, his voice dangerously close to her ear. “Is that any way to greet your soon-to-be-ex? So… aggressive.”
Ruoxue gasped, her face flushing crimson with a mixture of rage and utter humiliation. Before she could react, Baozi’s latest *BOOM* ripped through the support pillar directly behind them. The weathered granite groaned, fractured along its seams, and tilted forward.
With a measured shove, Xiaotian guided Ruoxue beneath the falling masonry. She shrieked, scrambling away on silk slippers, but the falling plinth collapsed over her train, pinning her skirts beneath a split section of masonry. Her flailing limbs were visible, but her body was trapped. “You… you fiend!” she sputtered, tears of fury welling in her eyes. “My dress! My reputation! Zong Xiaotian, I’ll have your head!”
Xiaotian merely glanced at her, offering a negligent shrug. “Oh, relax, Ruoxue. Think of it as a rather dramatic engagement cancellation party. Very memorable. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I hear the Spirit Vein calling.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. The sheared plinth and repeated detonations had punched through the arena bedrock, exposing a jagged drop into the mountain roots. A subterranean conduit yawned below, plunging straight into the subterranean ore-ways. For Xiaotian, it was an invitation.
He dove headfirst into the darkness, his descent swift and silent. The air turned damp and copper-sharp, smelling of wet slate and stagnant lime. The arena's uproar cut out, replaced by seeping groundwater and the hollow, vibrating groan of dying jade channels.
*“Cutting ties, cutting pillars, cutting straight to the chase,”* Yao Qingyu chuckled, her voice a seductive whisper in his mind. *“I do admire your ruthlessness, darling. Such pragmatism. Remember, the Marrow-Devouring Void Step reveals the subterranean currents, even in total pitch. Tread carefully around the wards. The deeper we go, the closer we are to the heart of this sect’s secrets… and your father’s ill-gotten power.”*
Xiaotian focused, his awareness expanding beyond his physical eyes. The shadowy technique, once a faint whisper in his senses, now pulsed with a nascent power. Luminescent pathways traced across the ceiling, revealing trip-wires of buried iron, primed rune-plates, and the sluggish, phosphorescent seep of subterranean ore pulsing miles beneath.
The floor opened into a tangle of needle-sharp crags and bottomless fissures. He flowed through it, a ghost in the shadows, using the Void Step to phase past razor-sharp crystal formations and leap over chasms that echoed with unseen depths. Behind his sneer lay a rigid ache. The pilfered marrow, the stolen core—it slept below, the singular lever to keep Muxi drawing breath.
He plunged further as the cavern air thickened with the sulfurous stench of failing seals. Weathered glyphs scored into the walls flickered, barely tethering an immense suction dragging the mountain's vitality toward a central pit.
Then, through a narrow crevice, a faint, almost unbearable light. Not the dying glow of the Spirit Vein, but something purer, something he knew. He pushed through the fissure into an expanse of frosted spar, where the air carried the chill of freshly spilled frost.
In the center, illuminated by pale mineral phosphorescence, knelt Lin Muxi. Her silk-bandaged face tilted toward the cavern roof as clear tears cut down her cheeks. In her right hand rested a short jade blade, its tip indenting the vein at her wrist.