Chapter 50

Chapter 50: Black Clouds Blot Out the Sun, Surviving the Chaos

Fang Xun Zuo was terrified that if he handed over the treasure, he wouldn’t be rewarded at all—he’d be silenced instead. In his panic, he picked a fight with a disciple of the Fen Yu Sect and turned the whole thing into a spectacle. By nightfall, the news that there was a Purple Luo Jade Branch aboard had spread across the ship.

Chi Song saw through the man’s little scheme. A flicker of irritation rose in him, only for the spirit treasure’s soothing influence to smooth it away.

Most of the passengers were only at the Qi Refining Stage or the Foundation Establishment Stage. Dealing with them would be easy. Chi Song formed a seal and cast a technique that covered the entire ship, locking it down so no one could send word outside.

That night, a Foundation Establishment disciple tried to contact their sect elders. Chi Song caught him red-handed and, in full view of everyone, smashed his dantian to pieces and threw him overboard.

Kill one to warn the rest.

Zhao Chun’s breathing hitched. She hadn’t expected methods so cold and decisive. But when she thought it through, she understood: if word got out and sect elders came to intercept the ship, the one most likely to lose his life would be Chi Song himself.

Struggles between cultivators had always been life-or-death affairs. No wonder Chi Song was so cautious.

Even so, a new problem loomed over her and Meng Han.

“I asked the boatman,” Meng Han said as he slipped into her cabin and shut the door behind him. With Chi Song’s eyes and ears everywhere, they didn’t dare speak openly on deck. “Both Cloud Ladders have been locked. That man intends to have the ship sail straight into the Eastern Domain.”

He poured himself a bowl of tea and took a quick drink. “Judging by our route, we’ll pass Fang Jing Mountain. If we keep going, we’ll hit a rogue cultivator city. That man must be someone from there.”

“It’s a nuisance for us,” he added, setting the bowl down. “We’ll have to loop back from the Eastern Domain and lose several days for no reason.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Zhao Chun said. “As long as nothing changes and we can both get off the ship safely.”

What she feared was Chi Song’s temper turning murderous—him deciding to silence every passenger along the way. That would be disaster out of nowhere.

Meng Han nodded grimly. With how vicious Chi Song was, it wasn’t impossible. If the worst happened, what could they do? One of them was mid Qi Refining, the other at Foundation Establishment. How could they resist an Essence Condensation cultivator’s methods?

All they could do was hope the ship moved quickly, reached the Eastern Domain soon, and let them leave.

The next morning, the boatman announced their progress: they had already passed Fang Jing Mountain. The moment the news spread, countless thoughts churned behind tight lips, and the atmosphere grew heavier still.

Whether by coincidence or cruel fate, the Cloud Sea shifted violently that afternoon. White clouds were swallowed by dense fog. The ship slowed, and Chi Song’s impatience only sharpened.

Zhao Chun’s cabin was along the railing. She pushed open the window, but instead of the endless Cloud Sea she’d expected, she saw black clouds pressing down, and felt a thin drizzle spatter her outstretched arm.

She couldn’t see into the distance at all. Only intermittent flashes pulsed deep within the clouds.

A thunderstorm.

Zhao Chun’s heart sank.

The first thunderclap struck the top of the ship—deafening, yet leaving no visible bolt.

If Chi Song wanted to keep the ship moving swiftly through the storm, he could. But he feared an ambush. He didn’t dare split his focus, so he stayed in his cabin, conserving his strength.

Rain followed the thunder. It never actually touched the deck. It hammered against the barrier shrouding the ship, drumming up a harsh, chaotic roar.

Outside was the menace of the storm; inside was the threat of an Essence Condensation cultivator. Trapped in the belly of the ship, the passengers’ restlessness turned to panic.

Zhao Chun closed her door and refused to listen for gossip. She sat cross-legged on her cushion and silently recited the Calming Mantra.

She didn’t know how long passed before a thunderclap tore the sky apart and the ship lurched violently. Zhao Chun sprang to her feet and rushed outside—just as Meng Han strode out with his saber in hand. They exchanged one look and headed for the deck together.

On the deck, someone shouted, “What happened?”

The boatman yelled back, “Lightning! It snapped one of the masts!”

The nine-sailed ship had three masts. Losing one meant losing a third of their power. The ship would slow even more. Zhao Chun frowned—

Then her thoughts snapped into focus.

Something was wrong.

With an Essence Condensation cultivator’s techniques shielding the ship, how could lightning strike through the barrier?

She and Meng Han had only taken a few steps when a white beam dropped from the heavens and blasted straight through the deck.

Cultivators nearby didn’t even have time to react. The beam swept across them, and blood and flesh burst into the air.

“Which cowardly dog dares cause trouble here?”

Wind shrieked. A figure hovered in the storm above them.

It was Chi Song—the man who had taken the Purple Luo Jade Branch.

The spirit treasure’s existence should have been airtight. Chi Song’s expression was as still as water, but dark suspicion surfaced in his eyes. Had this attacker come for the treasure… or for revenge?

“I am the Enshrined Elder stationed at Immortal City!” he shouted. “If you dare break the rules in front of me, you’d better weigh your own ability!”

A thin laugh drifted from the clouds, distant at first, then close enough to prickle the skin. Fog parted, and a slender figure emerged.

His face was delicate, almost beautiful—like a youth of seventeen or eighteen. Yet the illusion shattered the moment Zhao Chun saw the age spots on his neck and the oversized hands sliding from his sleeves. Those were unmistakably an old man’s hands.

“I weighed it,” he said softly, voice light and fine. “That’s why I came.”

He smiled as if confiding a secret. “I chose the moment you were injured…”

Chi Song didn’t recognize him.

Meng Han did. His voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s him!”

Zhao Chun turned her head. “Senior Brother knows him?”

Meng Han’s face tightened. “I’ve seen him once from far away. I don’t know his name. People call him the Skinmask Daoist. They say he loves handsome youths most—peels off their faces and refines them into masks for himself. That’s how he got the name.”

An evil cultivator.

In Heng Yun, righteous cultivators held the mainstream. Evil cultivators relied on vile, brutal methods and couldn’t walk the righteous path. Worse, they harmed mortals and stained themselves with the karma of the Heavenly Dao. Their reputations were so foul that “anyone may kill them” was hardly an exaggeration.

Chi Song had cultivated for years and made enemies beyond counting. He saw no greed in the Skinmask Daoist’s eyes—only hatred. So this wasn’t for the treasure.

It was revenge.

For the first time, Chi Song seemed to relax. The Skinmask Daoist’s aura wavered faintly—unstable.

Then Chi Song’s fury surged hot. Mid Essence Condensation… and the man still dared to come at him?

“So you’ve weighed it?” Chi Song’s voice cut like steel. “Then I’ll make you understand. Even mid Essence Condensation is no more than an ant in my eyes!”

When immortals fought, mortals paid the price.

The two clashed in the sky, and the pressure of their shockwaves alone threatened to tip the ship over.

They were thousands of meters above the ground. If the ship shattered, Foundation Establishment cultivators might survive. Those at the Qi Refining Stage would be dead for certain.

The Skinmask Daoist was weaker, but he fought like a man with nothing left to lose. He wanted Chi Song to die here.

Chi Song had only just obtained the spirit treasure and couldn’t act freely. For a time, he actually found himself on the back foot. The longer the fight dragged on, the more his humiliation festered into rage. At first, he’d still spared a thought for the disciples and attendants aboard.

Now he spared no one.

Techniques erupted one after another. The sky darkened with the violence of it.

“The ship is splitting!” someone screamed.

Zhao Chun could barely see anymore. The deck had become a storm of bodies—people crying out, wailing, scrambling.

A thunderous crack sounded. The remaining two masts snapped and toppled. Wind poured in from every direction. Qi Refining cultivators couldn’t even keep their footing. Meng Han seized Zhao Chun and braced them against the railing, keeping her from being flung into the void.

“Junior Sister Zhao!” he shouted over the gale. “Those two are fighting to the death—they won’t have time to watch us. This is our chance to escape!”

Zhao Chun’s voice was sharp. “Do you have a way?”

Meng Han hooked one arm around the railing and pulled out a talisman, grinning like a man who’d been waiting for this moment. “I’ve got a good thing.”

The talisman was pitch-black, strange, and worn-looking.

Before Zhao Chun could ask more, Meng Han yanked her hard to the side. A cultivator tumbled past them, flung by the wind, and vanished into the clouds below. At that cultivation… there was little hope.

“We can’t hesitate!” Meng Han roared.

He threw the talisman outward.

A hazy black light unfurled and wrapped around Zhao Chun in an instant. The moment it closed, Meng Han dragged her into the air—off the ship.

They had barely cleared the deck when the entire hull shattered behind them, exploding into splinters and debris as it broke apart in midair.