Zhang Lifen pushed her concern for He Yu from her thoughts. Both she and Yi Xiurong had warned him, and he knew what he was getting into. Although it had taken some convincing to persuade Yi Xiurong, one point in He Yu’s favor from the beginning had been that she agreed with Zhang Lifen’s assessment. He Yu could handle himself. If he got a bit banged up? It would be a valuable lesson.

Now that she’d learned Kong Huizhong had advanced since their last clash, Zhang Lifen couldn’t spare a thought for anything but the coming battle. She knew this was dangerous for her, too. Yi Xiurong could handle him on her own, but how easily depended more on his demon core than anything else.

“Act as support,” Yi Xiurong said. “Allow me to deal with the brunt of his techniques.”

Zhang Lifen nodded, more than happy to oblige. She hadn’t yet forgotten the wounds suffered at his hands the last time they clashed. They may now stand in the same realm, but she wasn’t so foolish to believe herself his equal just yet. After all, she had some measure of humility, however small.

All three cultivators released their spirits at once. As was typical for battles of the higher realms, this was their first real exchange.

Zhang Lifen let go of her typical restraint. Her normally calm demeanor dropped away as she became like the deep black waters. Her spirit surged with power and violence. No longer was she the stream that gently flowed around the stone. She was the deluge, the flood. She swept away villages, carved out valleys, and drenched the land.

Into her presence, she released her killing intent. She was the silent black depths of the lake, the ocean. Her Wayborn Seed thrummed with the first nascent connections to her Dao of Grace. She was beauty, perfection. The perfect draw. The perfect release. The arrow that never missed.

She cycled the Frost Lotus Incantation. Her meridians surged with power, as her immortal strength doubled, then doubled again and again. She drew back her bow—a sacred treasure of ten-thousand year ebony and qilin horn. She formed the Heart Piercing Black Rain.

Her presence crashed against the four-armed giant that stood before her. Gouts of steam hissed away from Kong Huizhong as water met flame and molten iron. His bloody spirit fought against hers and her waters turned crimson. Four cleavers, each laden with his killing intent, gleamed under a red sun. The wrongness in his spirit—the mark of his demon core—howled in anticipation. He carried death. Not the silent, serene death that Zhang Lifen promised, but a bloody and violent one.

Kong Huizhong contained nothing but violence and rage. Possession, blood, and suffering. The metal-clad giant, slick with blood and dripping with gobs of molten iron, stepped forward. Four black arms raised four black cleavers. Red and gleaming with the desire to take lives borne from countless lives taken. Flames rolled over the hollow and the hills. Zhang Lifen shuddered involuntarily, and her stomach clenched at the feeling of Kong Huizhong’s spirit.

Finally, came Yi Xiurong. She brought a welcome reprieve from the promise of carnage that Kong Huizhong unleashed upon the field of battle. From atop her peacock feather, she stared down at them both. She was the personification of purity, of judgment. Brilliant radiant light burned away the water, the fire, the blood. Zhang Lifen’s spirit faltered, flickered. She nearly lost hold of the Frost Lotus Incantation.

Yi Xiurong was the brilliance of the empyrean. Fire and heaven combined into her aspect of radiance—perhaps one of the rarest and most difficult aspects to cultivate. Its rewards were proportional to the effort.

Her spirit slammed down on the world. Imposing the very essence of order upon Kong Huizhong and Zhang Lifen alike. In the brilliance of her light, the Emissary seemed to shrink back. One of his four arms lifted to shield his eyes. It was of no use.

“I am Yi Xiurong, First Disciple of the Shrouded Peaks Sect. Emissary of the Sunset Court, the will of heaven demands your death. Submit yourself to heaven’s judgment or be destroyed.”

The answer came in fire. Like a rising, bloody sun, Kong Huizhong met Yi Xiurong. Zhang Lifen had to pour qi into the Tidewalker Step to escape the explosion of power at their clash. Kong Huizhong fought with the fury and abandon possessed only by those fully pacted, only by those fully in control of their demon core.

It wasn’t enough.

Yi Xiurong’s face remained calm. She held her hands before her, spaced a foot apart, as if she cradled something invisible and delicate between them. A single golden disk floated before her, shining like a miniature sun. Eight additional disks floated above her in a semicircle. Each of them blazed with empyrean light. One disk met each of Kong Huizhong’s strikes, and each strike sounded a temple gong. The sound compounded and doubled. It rose to a crescendo and blasted the Emissary away from Yi Xiurong.

She spread her arms, and the ninth disk joined the rest. A stark light erased the world below. The scrubby vegetation in the hollow was simply obliterated. The hills leveled flat. Nothing escaped her radiance.

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It was but the first exchange of their battle against the emissary. Fires smoldered at the furthest edges of a blackened crater. Kong Huizhong stood in the center, yet unharmed and defiantly glaring up at Yi Xiurong. Zhang Lifen couldn’t fathom what sort of treasure he’d sacrificed to survive an attack of that level.

“If heaven demands my death, then it has sent a poor executioner,” he said. He didn’t need to raise his voice—all present could hear well enough.

He cycled his qi. Fire and blood settled upon the world. The blackened iron-clad giant rose again. Zhang Lifen drew her bow.

A gleaming black arrow of water qi condensed, completed the instant her bow reached a full draw. The bowstring thrummed as it had thousands of times before. One arrow became nine. The nine, each nine more. Eighty-one arrows, all bearing the weight of Zhang Lifen’s Way and her killing intent, fell upon the Emissary. Eighty-one arrows from eighty-one directions, all aimed at one point.

The Heart Piercing Black Rain was true to its name.

Yi Xiurong spread her arms once again, a gold disk appearing in each hand. Twin beams of light seared the sky, burned the earth. Radiance turned the world white. It was only the overwhelming sense of wrongness that accompanied the demon core that allowed Zhang Lifen to activate the Tidewalker Step in time. Two of Kong Huizhong’s cleavers slammed down onto the hill where she’d just stood. Fire and metal blasted the earth, forming another crater, leaving another scar upon the landscape.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you,” he said. His features were calm, and his voice devoid of emotion. “I won’t let you escape me a second time.”

Zhang Lifen released a parting shot as she flowed away from him. She didn’t bother to respond—she was too focused on simply surviving. There was no way she could go toe-to-toe with this one for more than an exchange or two. But she still had a few tricks he’d not yet seen. Shifting behind Kong Huizhong, she punched him in his left kidney and sent a spike of her water qi along with the strike.

Too many cultivators relied exclusively on their techniques. There was a lot one could do with a simple strike and a bit of qi. Kong Huizhong spun, swinging a backhand stroke with his cleaver, but she’d already faded to mist. By the time he realized his mistake, she was behind him again. She released another arrow, then two more in rapid succession, just for good measure. Her spiritual perception screamed a warning, and she flowed to safety.

She’d barely avoided Yi Xiurong’s attack. Nine pillars of light converged on Kong Huizhong. Within, Zhang Lifen could barely make out the figure of the Emissary, and the disintegrating land around him. She suppressed a shudder. The fact he could survive an attack like that from a Sixth Realm cultivator was a testament to the power of the Sunset Empress’s influence.

At least it seemed as though that last attack had gotten under his skin a bit. He let out a bestial roar, and his spirit surged with yet more of the demon core’s power. In much the same way that Sha Xiang had, a black, shadowy form laid itself over the Emissary. Kong Huizhong’s demon core took a form akin to his presence. It was like a suit of armor—four-armed and holding four cleavers.

Zhang Lifen backed off and withdrew her presence from the battle. She would be of the most use if she could act as Yi Xiurong had told her to—as support. Neither of them were so vain as to let their mutual dislike stand in the way of their mission and their duty to the sect. They may have their differences, but they were at least united in that respect.

Fading into the hills and the nearby underbrush, she took a moment to check on her disciple. He Yu’s presence was small, but discernible. A safe distance away, but close enough to still observe. Good. She turned her attention back to the battle.

Yi Xiurong had engaged Kong Huizhong in hand-to-hand combat now. Her disks served as both powerful attacks and defenses, and she used them now as the latter. They were, upon consideration, like a powered-up version of He Yu’s Spring Rain Mirror in that respect. Except instead of fading after a strike, they resonated like gongs, washing the battle with wave after wave of thunderous music as they turned each strike aside.

Zhang Lifen took what opportunities she could to launch techniques at the Emissary from cover. With the space her role as support provided, she also gathered some insights of her own. It was a rare treat to witness Yi Xiurong in battle.

One wouldn’t know it simply by looking at her, but she was a peerless martial artist, besides her many other talents. For each of Kong Huizhong’s sword forms, she met him with a punch or a kick that could fell mountains. It was shocking, then, that the Emissary’s cleaver could even turn aside her strikes. A testament to its construction.

As the fight wore on, Kong Huizhong flagged. His movements slowed. His strikes carried less power. His presence seemed to weaken. Even the demon core’s influence faded.

Zhang Lifen knew better than to let up, and so did Yi Xiurong. Together, they pressed whatever tiny advantage they could eke out against him. Each opening, each clear shot, Zhang Lifen took. By now, his robes were bloodied, and not from the aspect of his qi. The giant suit of armor in his presence showed dozens of cracks. Molten iron hardened to slag under Zhang Lifen’s assault. One of the four arms hung limp and useless.

Yi Xiurong stepped forward. Her fist slammed into Kong Huizhong’s chest, and one of her golden disks blasted him with stark radiance. He staggered back a step, and she kicked his thigh. He fell to one knee. Her elbow crashed down.

She missed.

He’d activated a technique, or talisman. Something. Zhang Lifen hadn’t been able to track it. He was several dozen yards away from Yi Xiurong and had regained his feet. Although he was unsteady and swayed slightly, his face was defiant.

“If I am to die,” he said softly.

An instant later, Zhang Lifen’s fears were realized. She drew back her bow, but she knew that the technique wouldn’t reach in time.

“Empress Jin!” he called, his voice the roar of a wildfire and the crash of shattered metal. “Grant your unworthy Emissary the strength to serve you in truth! I give you my all, so that you may defeat your enemies through me!”

Kong Huizhong’s spirit went wild. The demon core howled. Black and red veins shot through the Emissary, and his presence became more demonic, more wrong. A far-off echo, soft as a whisper and loud as thunder, rolled across the now-ruined battlefield.

“Mine.”