Chapter 1: Who is the Butcher, and Who is the Meat?

"Yuanjun! Since you have arrived at the Cloud-Peak Celestial Palace, why not pay a visit to the Lingjue Palace? Coming to such a remote dungeon just to reminisce is truly a mood-killer!"

Zhuohua lifted his eyes toward the source of the voice. On a nearby hillock, Song Xiang stood smiling and waving at him. Behind him, Doumuxie wore an inscrutable expression, while Kuimulang looked sullen and utterly stoic.

The moment Zhuoyun saw Song Xiang, she began to tremble with fear. Yet, instead of hiding behind Zhuohua, she spread her arms wide, shielding him. Though paralyzed by terror and unable to speak, she bit her lip tightly, her eyes filled with resolve and determination.

It was not only Zhuoyun who stood before Zhuohua; Su Xin and Qin Ying moved in front of her, and Lan Sheng and Lin Bo stepped in front of them. In this manner, a human wall quickly formed between Zhuohua and Song Xiang, creating an unbridgeable chasm on either side.

"You are still so accustomed to being protected by others, so used to taking it for granted," Song Xiang said with disdain.

Zhuohua did not reply. He simply pushed past the crowd to walk forward. Zhuoyun grabbed his hand desperately, shaking her head and crying, "Don't go! Please, don't go!"

Zhuohua smiled to comfort her. "Little Fish, it is alright. I shall return shortly. Do not worry." With that, he gently lowered her hand.

"Lord Yuan, this old wretch’s methods are sinister. Last time, I was caught off guard when he suddenly turned water into ice; that was how he trapped me. You must be careful!" Lin Bo hurriedly warned.

"Do not worry, Old Jiao. When I return, we shall have a drink together." Zhuohua patted the shoulder of Jiao Mujiao, then suddenly launched himself into the air, swooping toward Song Xiang.

Yan Ruojun, who had always been gentle, refined, and guided by courtesy before force, no longer wished to speak a single word to his enemies, for he was now Zhuohua Yuanjun.

The crafty and treacherous Song Xiang was clearly unprepared for this sudden assault. He and Doumuxie had expected Zhuohua to launch into a moral crusade, questioning their deceit and opportunistic timing. Song Xiang had even mentally rehearsed the scene, imagining Zhuohua’s furious expression and impassioned accusations.

He had not expected that this time, Zhuohua would offer neither words nor warnings, but would charge straight at them without a moment's hesitation.

They, of course, could not understand that the taste of being repeatedly deceived and betrayed by those he trusted had stripped him of his last shred of mercy.

"I offered you the warmth of a fire, yet you repaid me with biting ice. If that is the case, then let me kill to my heart's content, until the heavens and earth are shaken," Zhuohua thought to himself.

For Yan Ruojun was already dead.

Though they were an arrow’s flight apart, within two or three breaths, Zhuohua’s first wave of energy reached Song Xiang.

The attack was fierce. Song Xiang dared not be careless; he gathered his internal energy, driving the Dingqi Pearl to manifest a massive surge of true energy, which he rapidly concentrated into his fists.

A thunderous boom erupted as the two forces collided. Song Xiang was forced back two or three steps by the sheer power of the blow. Those of weaker cultivation beside him appeared disheveled just from resisting the shockwaves.

Song Xiang and Doumuxie exchanged a glance, thinking simultaneously: "This one is not to be trifled with."

But Zhuohua gave them no time to catch their breath. His second move was already upon them.

Four ethereal blades of energy were unleashed in rapid succession—two toward Song Xiang, and two toward Doumuxie.

Neither dared to be negligent. Song Xiang threw punch after punch, dissipating the incoming blades in mid-air. Doumuxie, meanwhile, dodged and weaved, neither parrying nor using protective energy to meet the blows head-on, avoiding the lethal strikes with agile footwork.

Yet, they did not realize that the previous attack was merely a feint. The true killing blow lay in the several rays of cold light that followed—for the Qinghe Sword had been unsheathed.

When Qinghe is unsheathed, spirits scatter and demons perish. Like a dragon rising or a phoenix soaring, it flashed with purple electricity and cold frost.

Zhuohua wielded Qinghe, striking three times in an instant, aiming directly for Song Xiang’s vital points.

Having just neutralized the previous attack, Song Xiang’s internal energy was depleted, and he knew he could not risk a direct clash. He kicked hard against the ground, rolling his body rapidly to the side.

Zhuohua’s three strikes missed. Seeing the old man rolling through the air and landing three zhang away, he did not pause. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the spinning Qinghe Sword toward Song Xiang, infusing it with a potent, mellow surge of energy.

The flying sword, fueled by Zhuohua’s power, rushed toward Song Xiang like a whirlwind. It whipped up sand and stones, creating a dizzying blur that made it impossible to distinguish how many swords were actually striking.

Three zhang is a distance that would take an ordinary person ten breaths to cover, but the Qinghe Sword reached its target in a single heartbeat. Behind Song Xiang stood a massive boulder over ten feet tall; retreating was no longer an option.

But this ancient demon, who had survived countless demonic wars, the War of Antiquity, and the Neighboring War, was not a creature to be captured by a few simple tricks.

Since he could not avoid it, he would seize the initiative.

Song Xiang leaped, vaulting two or three zhang into the air, narrowly escaping the sword’s strike.

The Qinghe Sword missed him and slammed into the boulder. It did not stop upon impact; instead, it spun even more violently, boring a massive hole through the stone and emerging from the other side.

This boulder had stood there since the dawn of time, harming no one. Who could have imagined that today, a hole a zhang wide would be punched through its base? Unable to withstand the damage, the rock began to collapse from the bottom up.

This collapse spelled disaster for Song Xiang. As he was still in mid-air, having not yet cleared the top of the boulder, the sudden rain of falling debris struck him from behind, knocking him straight out of the sky.

In an instant, the mountains shook and stones flew everywhere. Song Xiang was hammered into the ground along with the rubble, and the collapsing boulders buried the old python deep beneath the wreckage.

Dust filled the air like a rising tide, accompanied by a gale that made it impossible to open one's eyes.

Zhuohua reached out, and the Qinghe Sword whistled back from the pile of rubble. He caught it in mid-air, traced two elegant arcs with the blade, and sheathed it on his back.

The rebel soldiers of the Cloud Palace stared blankly at the grave-like mound of stones, wondering if old Song Xiang had been killed.

Suddenly, the pile exploded from the center. Song Xiang surged out, shrouded in flying debris, and lunged straight at Zhuohua.

In mid-air, he struck out with four or five palms, his fierce, malicious energy shifting its path constantly.

Zhuohua remained expressionless. He drew Qinghe, rapidly carving sword-flowers in front of him. As the tip of the blade touched the incoming energy, it shattered the strikes into nothingness.

Song Xiang knew his previous moves would not suffice to finish Zhuohua. Catching Zhuohua in the moment his sword retracted, he unleashed a move called "Giant Python Exits the Den." The pure energy he had been using suddenly transformed into two streams of biting, frigid cold as it reached Zhuohua.

Zhuohua instinctively raised the Qinghe Sword to block, but the moment the blade touched the icy energy, it froze solid. Zhuohua tossed the sword into the air, his internal energy rapidly reversing as he activated the "Swallowing the Galaxy" technique.

Zhuohua had only mastered the fifth level of this technique, and reversing one's energy was not an instantaneous process. At first, it seemed as if nothing had happened.

Song Xiang’s two icy palm strikes hit Zhuohua squarely. He staggered, barely managing to steady himself.

"Oh no! The old villain’s cold poison has struck Lord Yuan!" Old Jiao shouted, stomping his feet.

"How is this possible? Why did Lord Yuan’s protective energy not block it?" Lan Sheng asked, bewildered.

"It’s been shattered! It’s been shattered! Save Yuanjun!" At Jiao Mujiao’s cry, the others snapped out of their shock and rushed forward, intending to rescue Zhuohua.

"Stay back!" Zhuohua commanded.

Everyone froze, stopping in their tracks and looking at one another in confusion.

At that moment, Zhuohua’s arms, locked in a palm-clash with Song Xiang, were encased in frost, gradually turning a deep, ghostly blue.

Song Xiang sneered, "Didn't expect this, did you, boy! I spent all those years rotting in that frigid pool, and by a stroke of fortune, I mastered this technique of turning energy into ice. Once you are dead, I can rightfully claim the position of Cloud Palace Yuanjun."

"Back in the War of Antiquity, Lanling and I protected your Python Clan, ensuring your bloodline survived within the Cloud Palace. Yet, you repay kindness with such treachery."

"You call it protection? It was imprisonment! You feared the Python Clan would dominate the mortal realm again, so you trapped us in this Cloud-Peak Celestial Palace, never allowed to take even a half-step away. We are both demon-kind—why is it that Kuang Qingfeng can come and go from the Cloud Heaven Stele as he pleases, while I must rot in that sunless, cold pool, guarding that broken urn day after day?"

Song Xiang roared, his voice filled with hysterical, uncontrollable rage.

"If that is how you feel, there is nothing more to say. You have brought this upon yourself." With that, Zhuohua accelerated the reversal of his internal energy, drawing the cold air from his palms into his body and circulating it through his meridians. In the speed of that rotation, the cold energy was utterly dissipated.

Song Xiang, oblivious, continued to pour his freezing energy into Zhuohua. He sneered, "Don't worry! Dying this way is painless, and you will remain in one piece. I suppose that is the least I can do for you."

"Oh? Then by all means, pour more cold air into me. Look, the ice on my hands is already melting." Zhuohua smiled, gesturing to his hands where the frost was rapidly vanishing.

"How can this be? Impossible! That is absolutely impossible!" Song Xiang began to panic. He redoubled his efforts, but the cold energy flowed into Zhuohua like a stream into an endless ocean, failing to stir even a ripple.

After the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, Zhuohua lowered his right hand, keeping only his left palm pressed against Song Xiang’s.

Song Xiang’s face was now a map of deep, frantic wrinkles. He shook his head, muttering incessantly, "How can this be... how can this be?"