Chapter Fifty-Three: The Costly Battle

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The woman with the blue-patterned mask had eyes as cold as ten thousand years of ice. The moment she heard Xu Chen’s words, her body blurred into a wraith-like shadow and lunged at him with her sword.

“How interesting. Very well, I’ll play with you,” Xu Chen replied, his blade sweeping wide arcs, cleaving through the void with overwhelming force.

Her sword, however, was like a ghost in the darkness—silent, elusive, impossible to grasp.

The clash of metal rang out continuously over the ruins, each strike sending powerful shockwaves that scattered nearby debris.

“Bang!”

Blade and sword collided, and Xu Chen used the force to retreat several yards, watching her intently.

She glanced at him, a flicker of shock in her icy gaze. She rubbed her sword arm with her free hand.

“Sister, even if we continue, there will be no outcome,” Xu Chen said. “Why not leave it be? Collecting points is what matters.”

She remained unmoved by his words, dissolving into a phantom and charging at him again.

“You’re relentless!” Xu Chen muttered, exasperated, and raised his blade to fight once more.

By now, the commotion of their battle had drawn the attention of other disciples nearby. Most merely glanced from afar, recognized they were not opponents to be trifled with, and quickly left. Only those of considerable strength lingered to watch from a distance.

Even in this illusory world, day and night alternated.

The two fought from morning until night, the shrieks of blade and sword echoing from dawn into dusk.

A full moon hung in the sky. Xu Chen stood atop the ruined wall, blade in hand, while behind him a faint, sacred ape’s silhouette shimmered.

The woman, sword at the ready, hid in the shadows of the rubble, with a lingering mist of frost swirling behind her.

They regarded one another in silence.

“What is your name?” she asked, her voice as cold as ever.

“In a single day, I can earn at least a hundred points—twenty thousand spirit coins, if converted,” Xu Chen replied.

“In the Blood Energy Realm of our sect, to find someone like you… Who is your master?” she pressed.

“If I move faster, I could earn two hundred points. That’s forty thousand spirit coins,” he mused aloud.

Each spoke their own mind, heedless of the other.

Her eyes frosted over, and she became a blur, hurtling toward him once more.

By now, Xu Chen’s temper was rising. To suffer so many losses, and still be met with such a cold face—he recalled the detestable nature of the Sacred Ape’s Sixfold Split-Shadow, always so aggravating.

“Come on, then!” Xu Chen drew a deep breath, and the sacred ape’s phantom behind him grew more solid.

They battled from daylight deep into the night, then from night until sunrise. The ruins where they fought were now cleared by the force of their clash, a wide expanse laid bare by their power.

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During this time, many other disciples tried to take advantage and sneak in, but both Xu Chen and the woman dealt with them effortlessly.

On the third day, in the final two hours, Xu Chen’s body bore several wounds so deep that bone was visible. The woman’s blue-patterned mask was shattered, revealing a stunning yet pale face, blood at the corner of her lips—a clear sign of serious internal injury.

“With such a beautiful face, you ought to smile more,” Xu Chen remarked, glancing at his Thousand-Forge Blade, which now showed nicks along its edge.

As the woman tried to speak, she coughed up blood.

“I’ve lost,” she said, and withdrew from the battlefield with agile steps.

Watching her retreating figure, Xu Chen hobbled to the base of a ruined wall and slowly sat down.

“What damned luck!”

In his eyes, he had inexplicably lost tens of thousands of spirit coins—a loss so painful it made his very liver tremble.

She had been wounded by his internal force, yet his own injuries were grave, the cuts deep enough to harm his meridians.

Their battle ended with both sides suffering.

“There are still many places where I need spirit coins. I’ll have to find another way,” he sighed.

The two hours passed swiftly. Then a great bell tolled overhead.

All the disciples in the illusory world felt their minds blur. When they regained their senses, they found themselves back in their physical bodies.

Xu Chen slowly stood and looked around.

“Where’s Brother Niu? Could he have been eliminated?”

Even after leaving Illusory Valley, Xu Chen saw no sign of Niu Dali.

He flew home, only to find Niu Dali calmly cultivating.

“Brother Niu, who eliminated you?” Xu Chen asked, curious.

“A female disciple, wore a blue-flowered mask. She defeated me in just three moves.”

“She reminded me of the one we met at the end of the first Illusory Trial,” Niu Dali replied, his face full of frustration.

At that moment, Little Fox Moon stopped her cultivation and ran over.

“Brother Niu has been sulking for three days,” she said. “Big Brother Xu, help him loosen up.”

She patted Niu Dali’s calf, which was thicker than her own waist.

“There’s a saying back home: if your skills fall short, you must accept it.”

“If you’re weak, you must train more!”

“Brother Niu, come! Let’s spar!” Xu Chen called, striking at Niu Dali with his palm.

“You’re right, Xu,” Niu Dali replied. “If I’m weak, I must train more!”

And so, as they began their sparring, Niu Dali put on his mask of misery.

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He grimaced through the exchange with Xu Chen, while Little Fox Moon watched with delight.

After their practice, Xu Chen turned his focus to cultivating the Wind-Stepping Technique.

That night, after dinner with Little Fox Moon, Xu Chen returned home and entered the Sacred White Space.

First, he forged iron. Then he practiced alchemy. Only afterward did he seek out the Twelvefold Wave’s clone for another round of punishment.

But he endured only one beating before resuming his cultivation of the Wind-Stepping Technique within the Sacred White Space.

Above the Great Brook Sect, on a floating island, a woman sat cross-legged in a small training ground, contemplating her battles in the illusion.

“Sister, Master is going to visit friends in the Divine Wood Continent tomorrow. Will you go?” A young boy in Daoist robes, barely over ten, entered the yard.

“No,” she replied coolly.

“How many points did you get in the trial?” he asked.

“I scored sixty,” he pouted. “Master still said my combat power was low for my realm.”

“I only got eighty. Then I met a master and we fought for two days and nights,” she replied, a swirling mist forming behind her.

“Who could fight you for two days and nights? Didn’t our little ancestor go to the Emperor’s Road Continent?” he exclaimed in astonishment.

“You think too much. If it were our little ancestor, I wouldn’t have lasted three moves,” she said, casting him a sidelong glance through the mist.

“I must find that disciple,” she declared, her eyes shining. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed such an exhilarating fight.

“Shouldn’t be too hard. Whoever matches you in strength must have scored high. If you ask around Illusory Valley, you might find out who it was,” the boy said, stroking his chin, feigning wisdom.

“Clever, aren’t you,” she replied.

At dawn, Xu Chen trained in the Wind-Stepping Technique in the small square outside his house.

He hadn’t expected the results from cultivating in the Sacred White Space to be so effective.

Feeling the surging vitality in his legs, he sensed he was one step closer to mastery.

Just then, his disciple token began to vibrate.

“A new task,” he murmured.

He took out the token from his pouch, and a message appeared in his mind.

“A sparring partner?”

Illusory Valley, aside from the main formation, was filled with smaller ones designed for groups.

Xu Chen followed the token’s instructions to a small formation within Illusory Valley.

A swirl of purple mist appeared. Xu Chen, well-practiced, took a deep breath.

His vision blurred, and he found himself standing in a training ground.