Chapter Fifty-Eight: A Bleak Finale

Song Qing’s speculation was entirely correct. Although he had been battered by Zhang Yifan’s thunderous onslaught, the golden sword formed from the Buddha’s Golden Wheel consumed an immense amount of Buddhist energy. In just one strike, more than half of his inner reserves were depleted. Even with his avatar sharing the burden—effectively doubling his spiritual power—without such aid, he would have been exhausted before the golden sword could even be unleashed.

Thus, after catching Tianlong’er off guard and killing him, Zhang Xiao refrained from further action, instead engaging Zhou Yuan in a war of words. He hadn’t expected Song Qing to see through his ruse; it was a true surprise. Nevertheless, by now he had recovered enough spiritual energy to wield the treasured Buddha’s Golden Wheel once more, though he remained wary. After all, no one had witnessed him use the Golden Wheel within the formation earlier, but now, if he revealed his hand, the consequences might be dire.

With Song Qing’s furious shout, the others hesitated no longer and attacked together. Yang Wansan unfurled the Banner of Ten Thousand Demons, sending hundreds of shadowy ghosts transforming into spectral soldiers toward Zhang Xiao. Zhang Xiao merely smiled, and from the center of his brow emitted a beam of golden light—the manifestation of his Buddhist avatar. As the avatar appeared, sonorous Buddhist chants filled the air, and the spectral soldiers turned to dust in the radiance before they could even draw close.

Of the six, Ouyang Zhongshi, Ge Tianming, Li Peng, and Zhou Yuan were already spent, their energies utterly depleted, and posed no threat. Yang Wansan, meanwhile, was firmly suppressed by Zhang Xiao’s avatar. Zhang Xiao’s true form brandished the Celestial Bell and charged at Song Qing.

“Transform Sword into Threads!” Song Qing showed no mercy. He tossed his flying sword into the air and formed a series of intricate hand seals. Instantly, the sword exploded into countless thin filaments, as fine as strands of hair, cascading down upon Zhang Xiao like a silken net. The sword itself was unyielding, but the threads were as soft as water—a signature technique of Song Qing.

Zhang Xiao’s brow furrowed. He struck the Celestial Bell, sending rolling waves of sound outward, hoping to block the sword threads. But to his shock, the threads, being yin and yielding, were unaffected by the bell’s power and continued relentlessly toward him.

“What!” Zhang Xiao was startled, realizing he had underestimated this true heir of Mount Shu. He activated his Divine Footwork, slipping from the encircling sword threads and swiftly dashing toward Song Qing. In the blink of an eye, he was upon him.

Song Qing, well aware of Zhang Xiao’s extraordinary speed, had woven a protective circle of sword threads around himself. But Song Qing did not know that, aided by Zhang Yifan’s thunder technique and the avatar’s breakthrough to the fifth level of the Prajna Sutra, Zhang Xiao’s Divine Footwork had also advanced to the intermediate stage. Unless it was a space-sealing formation like Tianlong’er’s, there was nowhere he could not go. Though he could not break the sword threads, he could bypass them.

Zhang Xiao struck at Song Qing’s chest with a fist, intent on slaying this formidable foe in one blow. Song Qing’s face paled; he hadn’t expected to be killed so easily, and despair clouded his features. As Zhang Xiao’s fist closed in, a protective shield suddenly enveloped Song Qing.

“Boom!” Zhang Xiao’s punch rocked the shield, nearly shattering it, but Song Qing remained unharmed within.

“Thank you,” Song Qing cupped his hands in gratitude toward Zhou Yuan in the distance. At the critical moment, Zhou Yuan had conjured the shield, saving him from certain death. Surviving this ordeal, Song Qing regained his composure and manipulated the myriad sword threads to enclose Zhang Xiao once more.

Zhang Xiao struck again, but though the shield trembled violently, it showed no sign of breaking. As the sword threads gathered ever closer, Zhang Xiao ignored them, focusing all his efforts on breaking the shield.

Song Qing’s face was pale as he watched the shield, which could shatter at any moment. Yet, seeing Zhou Yuan’s reassuring gaze from afar, he steadied himself and fully concentrated on wielding the sword threads against Zhang Xiao. As the threads began to wrap around Zhang Xiao, not only Song Qing but also Zhou Yuan and the others were filled with joy, convinced that Zhang Xiao was spent and merely struggling in vain.

Song Qing sneered, “Ha! Entangled by my sword threads, no matter how powerful you are, you’ll be ground into mincemeat!” But at that moment, Zhang Xiao’s face suddenly broke into an open, cheerful smile. Song Qing was stunned. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his chest. He looked down to see a stone spear erupting from the ground, piercing him.

In utter disbelief, Song Qing stared at the wound in his chest. “Thunk!” Another stone spear burst upward, stabbing into his dantian. Only now did Song Qing realize where the spears had come from, but it was too late.

Zhou Yuan’s face turned ashen. “Bronze-armored corpse! Damn it, I actually forgot about that!”

In truth, no one could be blamed. From the very start, Zhang Xiao had displayed overwhelming power, whether through his avatar or true form, Buddhist or Daoist arts—all were exceptional. Everyone had forgotten the dread associated with the Maoshan Sect’s art of corpse control to which Zhang Xiao belonged.

The bronze-armored corpse had been released in secret when Zhang Xiao broke Tianlong’er’s formation, serving as his last line of defense, hidden underground. Only when Zhou Yuan shielded Song Qing did Zhang Xiao recall this long-concealed trump card.

With Song Qing’s death, the sword threads lost their master’s support and immediately dissipated into nothingness. A jade pendant fell from Song Qing’s corpse, which Zhang Xiao quickly pocketed without inspection. At that moment, the earth beneath Song Qing’s feet churned, and a bronze-armored corpse crawled forth, standing obediently behind Zhang Xiao, its gaze fixed unblinkingly on Zhou Yuan.

Elsewhere, Yang Wansan found himself in even direr straits. Though aided by Ouyang Zhongshi and the other two, he was still overpowered by Zhang Xiao’s avatar. Buddhist arts naturally countered those of the demonic path, and with the avatar now at the fifth level of the Prajna Sutra—equivalent to the mid-stage Golden Core—while his allies were utterly spent, their defeat was inevitable.

The outcome was now clear to all. Even a novice could see that Zhang Xiao’s victory was certain. “Stay your hand, Daoist Zhang, spare us! We admit defeat!” Yang Wansan still had some fight left, but hope was slim. The moment the bronze-armored corpse emerged behind Zhang Xiao, he knew they had lost. One bronze-armored corpse was not fearsome on its own, but combined with Zhang Xiao’s true form and avatar, their power was far more than the sum of their parts.

With the corpse to hold them in check, Zhang Xiao could slaughter them all if he wished. With no other choice, Yang Wansan and his companions declared their surrender. Zhang Xiao, seeing this, did not press the attack. Even a cornered rabbit will bite; how much more so four demonic masters?

He smiled and withdrew his avatar. “Very well, I accept your concession. When fate allows, we shall debate the Dao together. For now, I must attend to sect affairs with my junior brother. Gentlemen, this is where we part.”

Yang Wansan and the others understood perfectly—Zhang Xiao wished to collect the Five-Colored Cloud Banner without witnesses, to prevent any mishap. They accepted this with equanimity and departed without a word.

Zhang Xiao had the bronze-armored corpse follow them in secret until he was sure they had left the Feixia Golden Pagoda. Only then did he relax and turn his gaze to Zhou Yuan, smiling. “Junior brother, now that the outsiders are gone, perhaps you can resolve the doubts lingering in my heart?”

Zhou Yuan, pale and wan, shook his head. “Senior brother, I never imagined your cultivation would be so profound, your strength so overwhelming that you bested the heirs of all nine great sects. What a pity…”

Zhang Xiao’s expression darkened. “What do you mean, ‘pity’?”

Suddenly, Zhou Yuan burst into wild laughter. “Hahaha! In the end, I am the true victor! The winner is still me!”

Before Zhang Xiao could react, Zhou Yuan struck his own crown with all his might. Startled, Zhang Xiao rushed to infuse him with spiritual energy, hoping to keep him alive a little longer. But Zhou Yuan had resolved to die; his blow was unrestrained. By the time Zhang Xiao reached him, Zhou Yuan’s skull was shattered and he was dead.

Zhang Xiao could only lay his body gently on the ground. Though he had never liked Zhou Yuan, he had to admit this junior brother’s cunning and resourcefulness surpassed all his expectations. Cautious and courageous in equal measure—such words were not enough to describe Zhou Yuan’s abilities. Though Zhang Xiao had bested all his rivals in this grand competition, it was Zhou Yuan who truly had the last laugh.

Gazing up at the Five-Colored Cloud Banner, Zhang Xiao recalled the bronze-armored corpse. With a leap, he grasped the banner that hovered in the air. As soon as his hand closed around it, he felt a powerful suction, and in an instant, nearly all of his spiritual energy was drained away. Alarmed, Zhang Xiao struggled, but soon the energy returned, surging back from the banner—no longer lost, but purified and more potent.

The Five-Colored Cloud Banner suddenly transformed into a palm-sized cloud and embedded itself into Zhang Xiao’s arm. Lifting his sleeve, he saw a five-colored cloud now marked upon his skin. At a thought, the cloud drifted free, transforming into the Five-Colored Cloud Banner in his hand.

Five-Colored Cloud Banner: Supreme Treasure, Master Recognized. Only the winner of the Nine Sects Grand Competition may wield it.

Zhang Xiao returned the banner to its cloud form and drew it back into his body. A portal appeared before him. “Dong—” The golden bell atop the Feixia Golden Pagoda tolled, its sound long and resonant, signaling the end of the Nine Sects Grand Competition.

Outside the pagoda, on the battlefield between orthodox and demonic sects, the bodies of the nine sects’ disciples had vanished, returned to their sects for resurrection, but their blood stained the earth a deep crimson. Zhang Xiao sighed inwardly. This competition had cost both sides dearly, and he himself was now mired in intrigue. He could not say if he had truly won or lost.