CHAPTER 241: CHAPTER 210: BREAKING THE SPEAR AGAIN

Beneath the throat, blood surged incessantly, only to halt against the pitch-black blade of the sword.

Qin Qingluo tried her utmost to draw a breath, yet that one gasp stubbornly eluded her.

Her limbs gradually weakened, and that larger-than-life frame seemed to sink ever so slowly.

Her vision, drenched in crimson, still bore witness to Chen Yi snapping the Purple Electric Gun with his own hands.

Amidst the thunder and lightning of battle, she had sought to vent her pent-up frustration, wielding her gun in the brash fashion of a solitary hero, rendering her movements uncoordinated and defensive gaps exploitable.

The way of the spear lies in measured advance and retreat, striking a balance, much like a nobleman who would never risk himself beneath a dangerous beam.

Blades and swords, on the other hand, know no measured retreat, only the unyielding charge, leaving no room to turn back—a hero’s way.

And so, she lost.

A sword pierced through her throat.

Chen Yi advanced fearlessly, trading wounds for mortality, while she faltered, unable to control her movements.

The king of all weapons met its end beneath the hero’s sword, a disgrace unworthy of nobility.

It all seemed to confirm his words aloud:

Her hands wield a spear, but her heart lacks one!

This was less a slaughter,

and more a contest of martial intent: could the short conquer the long?

"Utterly convinced..."

Qin Qingluo managed a forced smile, her lips moving silently, the words spoken only in the shape of her mouth.

To lose is to die.

Oftentimes, it’s not about whose martial arts are stronger but about who can hold on to life longer.

Death had never been so near. Qin Qingluo’s towering body involuntarily quivered, blood gushing unceasingly, dripping to the ground and dyeing her cloth shoes red.

She felt no regret over her imminent demise. Even as the sword pierced her throat, the conviction of her loss was without bitterness. She was simply... burdened by some lingering regrets.

Her life had been fraught with hardship: her father, betrayed by the An family, rendered incapable and dying unguarded; her mother, in a desperate gambit to safeguard the throne, brought her to power through reckless means, only to alienate nearly all allies. Though she tenuously secured her position, she never knew when a blade in the shadows might end her life.

Staring at the bloodied cloth shoes, she thought of that woman in red—the one dearer to her than even her mother. She vividly remembered Aunt Zhu, sewing by the candlelight, her face filled with warmth as she worked on the cloth shoes for her niece, carefully measuring against her broad feet. So many years had passed, and the shoes still hadn’t worn out.

This time, besieging the Capital City, she had meant to execute a swift and decisive campaign, only for it to be riddled with missteps. Yet Aunt Zhu never blamed her, always meeting her with a calm smile, sometimes gentle, sometimes teasing.

They were Princess and Prince in title only, bound more closely by a loyalty stronger than any romance spun in tales.

In her daze, Qin Qingluo felt a pang of guilt.

For years, she repeatedly courted danger, gambling her life again and again—was it all just to meet such an unceremonious death?

Staring at her now blood-soaked shoes, she suddenly wished she hadn’t walked this perilous path, hadn’t made deals with tigers or handled snakes. Life could’ve been simpler, so much simpler.

That faint guilt grew and expanded, swelling until it consumed her entirely. And then, in a sudden epiphany, it all came to her.

She understood.

It was precisely because she had no attachments that she had lost her balance.

Now, her guilt gave birth to attachment—and with it, her heart finally held a spear!

At this moment, a sliver of light appeared in Qin Qingluo’s vision, pure and pristine as a shard of glazed glass.

Eternal life,

never to suffer calamity again!

Qin Qingluo smiled, and the shimmering light of glazed glass enveloped her in an instant, shifting her fate from curses to blessings and granting her clarity from chaos.

In that moment, she gained insight into her own intent.

The woman in red had always been her intent.

Her mind reached toward that sliver of glazed light.

And the glazed light blazed into splendor.

The sonorous chant of Sanskrit resounded, rolling like a vast tide, spreading outward in perfection, like sacred, unsullied luminescence.

The sword lodged in her throat—the Hou Kang Sword of Chen Yi—seemed to be forced back inch by inch, no matter how tightly Chen Yi gripped it, compelled by the brilliance of the glazed light.

Chen Yi shifted his movements, summoning his crimson Shariputra relic, which gleamed with Buddha Light, only for the light to flicker briefly before being devoured entirely, as insignificant as fireflies before the full moon.

The resplendent glazed light erupted from Qin Qingluo’s frame, swallowing Chen Yi whole.

All around them, the heavens and stars seemed to shift, transforming incessantly.

Mist gathered and scattered. When Chen Yi came to his senses, he saw Qin Qingluo sitting among the clouds, gazing down at him from above, with a faint smile on her lips.

Chen Yi glanced at his hands, unharmed and intact, realizing he had arrived here in spiritual form.

And if Zhou Yitang’s words were true, this place was within that sliver of glazed light.

This was why she had said he only had a thirty percent chance of victory.

"Chen Yi,"

Qin Qingluo spoke at last, her serpentine pupils shimmering with gold that seemed to dominate the earth.

"You truly are... a fine whetstone."

Chen Yi narrowed his eyes. "It seems you’re truly not dead."

Qin Qingluo, however, replied irrelevantly:

"You were right. Intent must be realized on one’s own; if aided by external forces, it would never truly be yours.

But now, I have grasped... my own intent."

With that, she turned her face away. Where her thoughts directed, the cloud sea parted, revealing an image—the Medicine Temple.

In the image, the tall woman’s pierced throat was slowly mending, while Chen Yi’s figure still stood before her.

Chen Yi understood—Qin Qingluo was waiting for her body to heal.

Once their spirits returned, his gravely injured state would inevitably lead to death under her spear.

Yet he made no sudden move.

Qin Qingluo turned her head back, glancing at him askance with measured approval.

"Not acting rashly. Not bad."

The man stood there in silence.

Qin Qingluo casually stroked the cloud sea, her tone unhurried:

"If not for you, I wouldn’t have grasped that sliver of intent. Truth be told, I owe you my thanks."

Mists gathered and dispersed, coiling around in all directions.

"I once entertained the thought of recruiting you, but fate had other plans,"

Qin Qingluo sighed faintly, as one lamenting the loss of a great general,

"After your death, I’ll erect a cenotaph in your honor."

Chen Yi remained silent.

Qin Qingluo merely smirked. People say that a man’s dying words are honest, but apparently, that’s not always true. No matter—it didn’t bother her. He, after all, was destined to die and had indeed served excellently as a whetstone. The final reward surpassed all prior expectations.

"You’re already as good as dead now. But until the moment comes, we have time... would you share a drink?"

With a simple wave of her hand, the mists condensed, forming two goblets that landed between them.

"Why not speak a little more of intent?"

She noticed that he didn’t refuse, accepting the goblet before him.

Hovering on the thin edge of life and death, Chen Yi lowered his eyes, unaffectedly unhurried:

"Does this wine contain intent?"

"It does," Qin Qingluo replied with a smile, raising the goblet before her.

"Why does the wine contain intent?"

"Because intent exists everywhere."

"Everywhere?"

"Everywhere, just like the Way can be found even in filth."

Saying this, Qin Qingluo tipped the goblet back, finishing the wine in a single gulp.

Chen Yi followed with another question: "Do you possess intent?"

Qin Qingluo paused in thoughtful silence before replying, "No."

Chen Yi’s expression shifted slightly. "Intent exists everywhere, yet you do not possess it?"

Qin Qingluo answered, "Because I am not intent."

"Then how did you comprehend intent? Have you seen it?"

"No."

"Have you touched it?"

"No."

The weight in Chen Yi’s face deepened. "You neither saw nor touched it—how, then, did you comprehend intent?"

Qin Qingluo smiled faintly. "Because it’s unseen and untouchable, it is said: ’Fundamentally, there is nothing; from where, then, could dust alight?’"

Chen Yi’s pupils contracted.

Neither real nor illusory, neither presence nor absence—this is intent.

This time,

her hands held no spear, but her heart wielded one!

Qin Qingluo, already towering in stature, seemed even more imposing amidst the sea of clouds, her presence bearing down on Chen Yi as if to crush him.

By contrast, Chen Yi was reduced to a mere child in her shadow.

The rich aroma of wine lingered in the cloud sea, entering Chen Yi’s nostrils, stirring his soul, tempting him to drain the goblet in hand.

When the goblet reached his lips, Chen Yi hesitated and stopped.

Qin Qingluo noticed this and, shaking her head with a soft laugh, remarked:

"Even condemned men facing execution will proactively ask for one last good drink, shouting that sixteen years later, they’ll be a hero again.

"Even common folk can let go with such ease—why do you persist in struggling?"

Chen Yi, swirling the wine in his goblet, replied lightly:

"Because I never thought of dying."

"Oh?"

Qin Qingluo was genuinely amused. She was curious now, eager to see what Chen Yi intended to attempt.

Would he erupt into action here within the cloud sea, or wait to reenter his body before springing his next move?

But no matter his plans, as long as this sliver of glazed light existed, it promised eternal life, free from calamity.

Enrobed in luminous haze, Qin Qingluo’s aura soared, vast and boundless.

Chen Yi suddenly asked:

"Do you know why I once offered incense to the Medicine Temple’s Bodhisattva?"

"To pray for blessings?"

Qin Qingluo raised a brow. This intrigued her. She knew a fragment of the story, aware of Chen Yi’s tangled ties with that Purity Saintess.

"Wrong. I was negotiating with the Bodhisattva," Chen Yi said airily.

Qin Qingluo remained composed, unmoved.

Until Chen Yi spoke his next words:

"Negotiating over the Demon Sect Saintess."

The Prince, in her moment of realization, felt a chilling shiver run through every fiber of her being as the cloud sea violently surged.

Chen Yi curled his lips into a faint smile.

If her hands no longer held a spear, but her heart did...

Then,

break the spear once more.

...............

Time turned back, to just moments ago.

Having used divination techniques, the woman in red, her body frail and tired, retreated to pace herself, ascending into a teahouse.

On the second floor by the window, she ordered a pot of tea and propped her face against her hand, gazing out at the Medicine Temple as though waiting for her husband’s return.

"Husband? What nonsense..."

Zhu E laughed softly to herself. She and Qin Qingluo had always been Prince and Princess in title, no lovers’ bond between them, let alone any fondness for "mirror polishing."

They simply held immense importance to one another. To Zhu E as the Demon Sect Saintess, Qin Qingluo meant more than anyone—second only to the Bright Venerable written of in sacred texts.

"I still remember when she was small, such a tiny thing. Later, the next I saw her, she was taller and stronger than most men."

Zhu E’s mind seemed adrift in reminiscence, quietly murmuring to herself.

Behind her, soft footsteps slowly climbed the stairs.

As the Demon Sect Saintess—at a fifth-grade level in martial ability—Zhu E naturally heard the footsteps rise upon the steps long before they drew near, yet she gave them no particular attention. Only when the tread drew closer did she slightly turn her head, and words slipped involuntarily from her lips:

"I wonder who it... Purity Saintess?"

The woman in red widened her eyes. The young girl walking toward her was none other than Yin Tingxue, the Purity Saintess herself.

Yin Tingxue approached carefully, gently bowing toward the woman in red.

Zhu E’s hands trembled visibly.

The girl’s soft voice spoke:

"The Great Ming Venerate Buddha has emerged to restore the World of Ignorance..."