Chapter 29

Chapter 29: Black Cicada

Zhao Chun twisted aside.

Only then did she see what had attacked.

A cicada—black, fist-sized, otherwise similar to an ordinary one, except for the mouthparts. They were long and needle-sharp, shining with a cold, dark gleam that made her skin crawl.

A scream tore through the cave.

The cicada flashed past Tu Cun Chan. He tried to dodge but was too slow. The mouthparts pierced straight through his left hand. The poison was vicious, spreading from the wound almost instantly and crawling up his arm.

Tu Cun Chan staggered back, face draining white as he fought to stay on his feet. “Be careful, Fellow Daoist! It’s extremely fast—and highly toxic. Don’t let it get close!”

Zhao Chun snapped out a flying knife. It struck the cicada’s shell with a sharp metallic clang.

So hard?

Her expression darkened. She lunged with Serpent-Form Step, trying to seize the initiative, but the cicada was even quicker. It flicked aside, and an ear-piercing chirr filled the cave.

Irritation surged in Zhao Chun’s chest, sudden and inexplicable, like a spark in dry grass.

This isn’t mine.

It was the creature’s cry—an influence, a provocation.

Zhao Chun forced herself steady and shifted her stance. Her steps began to follow the blade in a precise rhythm—the sword-swinging form she’d realized after the Swift-Stride Sword Method reached minor mastery.

Back in the Zhao Family, Instructor Zheng had praised her sword talent, saying she could have entered the martial path by the sword if not for her body’s limitations.

Now, on the immortal path, those shackles were gone. All the brutal, repetitive training of her past had become a foundation. In her hands, the blade felt natural—like something she’d been meant to wield from the start.

Footwork drove the strike. Qi gathered at the edge. Sword Light Realm burst out in a clean, killing arc.

It landed on the black shell—

And left only a pale mark.

Even her strongest strike hadn’t truly harmed it.

Zhao Chun didn’t waste time forcing the impossible. She withdrew immediately, refusing to be dragged into a futile exchange.

“Family Head Tu!” she called. “Hold it for a moment!”

Before he could respond, she sprinted to the demon moth’s corpse, severed its head with one swift motion, and sealed it into the lacquered case she’d brought for evidence.

Then she turned and shouted, “This thing is beyond the two of us! Stop fighting it—we leave now!”

Tu Cun Chan understood at once. With his remaining hand, he snapped the banner up and drove the cicada back just enough for them to move. They rushed toward the cave entrance—

And the cicada released a long cry.

This time it wasn’t sharp. It was low and heavy, like a drumbeat buried underground.

The ground trembled.

Zhao Chun’s heart dropped. She grabbed Tu Cun Chan and stopped short.

With a thunderous roar, the soil wall collapsed. Huge chunks of rock rolled down and sealed the exit completely.

They were trapped.

Zhao Chun faced the cicada. Its mouthparts bobbed as it hovered, absurdly like a sneer.

“Family Head Tu,” she said tightly, “will your slowing technique work on it?”

Tu Cun Chan’s face was drained of color. With only one arm left, he still forced himself upright. “A little,” he panted. “Not much. One breath, at most.”

“One breath is enough,” Zhao Chun said.

She inhaled slowly, then spoke without hesitation. “Support me from the side. The moment I go in, cast it.”

Tu Cun Chan nodded and tightened his grip on the banner. It was life or death now. Neither of them could afford the smallest lapse.

Zhao Chun knew the truth: only her minor-mastery swift swordplay could match the cicada’s speed. But it devoured qi. If she dragged this out, she would run dry before the creature did.

Quick. Clean. End it.

She struck again with the sword-swinging form.

Another pale mark.

Brute force wouldn’t break it.

Then she remembered her spiritual roots—how they swallowed qi during cultivation, how they could transform it. Zhao Chun poured qi into them, drew it out as golden-fire qi, and infused the blade.

She slashed.

The cicada didn’t dodge, expecting the same useless strike. This time, golden-fire qi scorched its shell.

The creature shrieked and spun wildly, flying as if it had lost its mind.

It worked.

Relief flared—and was instantly smothered by urgency. That golden-fire qi burned through her reserves. At her current cultivation, she could do it only twice more.

She needed its weak point.

As she moved, she studied it. The shell was smooth as jade, seamless, as if cast from a single piece. No gaps. No joints.

But the mouthparts… where they connected to the head, the color turned faintly milky, softer, like flesh.

Lower down, diamond-shaped plates wrapped the plump abdomen, flexing with each beat of its wings.

A plan formed.

Zhao Chun split her golden-fire qi—one stream on the blade, one condensed in her palm.

When the cicada darted at her again, she met it head-on. With her qi-wrapped hand, she seized the mouthparts.

A violent sizzle sounded as poison burned against her qi barrier.

The toxin couldn’t enter her body, but the vapor rising from it was agony, searing her skin and lungs. Zhao Chun’s vision swam for a heartbeat.

She didn’t let go.

With her other hand, she drove the Crimson Edge Dagger upward—straight through the abdomen.

The cicada shrieked. Purple-black fluid and a spray of eggs burst out and splattered over Zhao Chun’s hands.

She held fast until the creature went limp and truly died, then flung the corpse aside.

Only then did she look down.

The skin on both her hands had been eaten away, leaving raw red flesh exposed.

Tu Cun Chan stared at her as if he’d never truly seen her before. At this age—this judgment, this strength, and the ruthlessness to do what had to be done. If she didn’t die young, she would surely walk far on the Great Dao.

Zhao Chun didn’t know his thoughts. The pain in her hands was nothing compared to what she’d endured before. She could bear it.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled antidote pills and bandages from her storage bag.

She swallowed the pills, and the pain eased slightly. Then she wrapped both hands, each movement a fresh spike of fire, until the bleeding was contained.

Only then did she turn to Tu Cun Chan, who lay badly injured nearby, and began to deal with his wounds.