The blood of Abbess Wenxiu ignited the fury and valor of the Central Plains Sword Assembly.
But without breaking the "Sound Kill" technique, most of the Central Plains Sword Assembly would likely perish under Chai Xijin's forces.
At that moment, a cry rang out: "Descend the clouds, vanquish the spirits, the martial plum stands proud, supreme above all!" Eighty iron cavalry from the Fire Cloud Stronghold charged toward the encircled Xiang Army. Hailing from the north, they were skilled horsemen, now aiming to tear through the thousands of soldiers and break out, charging straight for Chai Xijin.
Yet eighty cavalry were far too few. Soon, a figure leaped from the Xiang Army ranks, wielding a meteor hammer. The hammer, attached to a long chain, swung through the air with a whistling sound.
The chained meteor hammer cleared a path, blocking the Fire Cloud Stronghold's advance. Jin Qiufu, facing such a long-range heavy weapon, could only curse loudly. Though his martial skills were formidable, he was powerless at this distance. Qi Xing rushed up from behind, handing him a longbow. "Use arrows!"
Amidst the chaotic battle, there was no room for swords or short blades. The Xiang Army's Tang sabers and spears far outmatched the longswords typically wielded by the Martial Arts World. Having spent years in the north, Jin Qiufu was adept at mounted archery. He nocked an arrow and let it fly, forcing the meteor hammer wielder to dodge on horseback. Seizing the moment as the enemy retracted his weapon, the Fire Cloud Stronghold swarmed him, hacking wildly until they severed his horse's legs. The hammer-wielder abandoned his steed and fled back to Chai Xijin's war chariot.
In the chaos, they failed to recognize that this burly meteor hammer fighter was none other than the long-missing Great Zen Master Dashi from Shaolin Temple.
The Fire Cloud Stronghold's morale soared as they pressed toward the main war chariot.
But just as they surrounded and attacked the hammer-wielder, Chai Xijin's drums sounded again.
Hundreds of puppets encircled the Fire Cloud Stronghold.
The twang of bowstrings, the thunder of hooves, and the beat of war drums filled the air.
Wan Yu Yuedan couldn't discern the distant situation. The Red Maiden stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Bi Lianyi. The Central Plains Sword Assembly's formation had been disrupted by Chai Xijin's assault, leaving everyone fighting independently with orders impossible to relay. The Red Maiden frowned slightly—she knew only Yang Guihua leading the troops could stabilize the situation and prevent the Sword Assembly's total annihilation.
But this was exactly what Chai Xijin wanted: a brutal clash between the Infantry Division and the Xiang Army to shake the nation's foundations, giving him a chance to restore his kingdom.
If Yang Guihua didn't intervene, who in this chaotic battlefield could rise above the rest and command the allegiance of all?
The Red Maiden sighed. "Where is Young Master Tang?"
Though Wan Yu Yuedan couldn't see, he closed his eyes nonetheless.
Jin Qiufu and his men soon exhausted their arrows, finding themselves cornered and losing several men.
Just as Yang Guihua decided to let the Infantry Division make a desperate push, a strange melody rose from within the Central Plains Sword Assembly—neither zither nor guzheng, yet more stirring than both. As the music played, everyone's focus shifted, and Chai Xijin's drumbeats lost their mind-scrambling power.
Turning, they saw Liu Yan cradling a yaoqin. He didn't place it horizontally across his lap but held it upright against his chest. One hand adjusted the strings while the other plucked, drawing a brilliant, resonant tone from the ancient instrument.
The Liupu Feilong was the finest qin crafted by the Qiwu family in fifty years, worth a fortune.
Now, in Liu Yan's hands, it transformed into something new. His fingers danced—hooking, flicking, brushing, pinching, rolling—producing sounds the thousands on Soul Prayer Mountain had never heard before.
Moments later, Liu Yan began to sing softly:
"Wild geese fly east, where purple clouds disperse, Who waits there, by which road, for my return?
A dream in red robes, how much sorrow in yellow millet, Wine dissolves the azure clouds, a smile to pass the time.
When will you return, to the bamboo's shade, To listen closely, and ask of your hardships?"The mist curled lazily, how many beauties have been wronged, yet the drunken golden lotus remains a pearl."
As he began to sing, the drum in Chai Xijin's hands seemed to lose all sound. Everyone—everyone was listening to his voice.
The woman in red turned her head to look. Liu Yan sat atop a black horse, its hooves idly kicking as it carried him slowly through the forest.
Clad in black robes, he cradled the ancient qin "Flowing Jade and Flying Waterfall," purchased at great expense by Bi Lianyi.
His eyes were filled with melancholy, seeing no one.
And with just one song, he reminded the woman in red why she had once pledged her unwavering devotion, swearing to protect him for a lifetime.
His qin played too beautifully, his voice too haunting, and so...
He planted demons in so many hearts.
Led them astray on paths of no return.
Hearing Liu Yan's voice, Chai Xijin shuddered slightly. His hands worked the drum with renewed vigor, its thunderous beats suddenly rising. The woman in red steeled herself and sang with full force, "...The imperial winds sweep the four seas, virtue's waters run pure for a thousand years. No need for armor today, for victory is declared."
The drumming shook the heavens, the song blazed bright, swiftly drowning out Liu Yan's melody.
After all, Liu Yan's martial arts were lost. His qin and voice carried no true energy—though they could kill with sound, their power was diminished.
Just then, a soft chant rose in the distance.
"Last night's farewell, meeting you was fate, wasted time then, how much remains now?
Frost passes white dew, the phoenix perches on old autumn wu trees, dust may veil the pearl, yet it remains a pearl..."
The voice was not loud, yet piercingly clear, each word exhaled as if from the depths of the soul.
The woman in red trembled—she had thought only Liu Yan could sing to steal lives, but this person's whispered song against the wind, unlike Liu Yan's subdued sorrow, was earnest enough to pierce the soul.
It was as if the soul itself whispered in the ear, every sigh distinct.
Who was this now?
Two white horses approached side by side from afar. One of the riders played a flute, his face obscured beneath a hood.
OpenNovel