Chapter 81

Chapter 81: Old Blessings Awaken

After Zhuo Gong Qing swallowed the spider’s core, strange, eerie patterns crept from his arms up to his neck. His aura surged violently—yet unlike Tu Mian, whose power had flared outward, Zhuo Gong Qing’s strength seemed to fold inward instead, as though he had hidden every trace of spiritual force inside his body. Only the frantic churn of blood and qi betrayed what was happening beneath his skin.

Du Fan Zhi felt it most keenly. If Zhuo Gong Qing had only possessed late Foundation Establishment strength moments ago, then now—after consuming his natal gu—he could rival a half-step Essence Condensation cultivator.

And that was with his natal gu already grievously wounded.

Zhuo Gong Qing knew what that meant. This match could not be lost.

Ren Yang Cult’s Inner-Birth Art devoured both the natal gu and the cultivator’s own reserves. Once activated, it required a long time to nourish and recover. A lotus seat that merely restored stamina would never let him fight again afterward. Even if he won, he would stop here.

“This is about the struggle between our two sects…” Zhuo Gong Qing’s voice shook, half with rage and half with strain. “I… can’t let you go!”

Du Fan Zhi flicked his wrist. The mirror rose into the air. Mysterious script spilled down like light, forming ring upon ring around him until he stood inside a layered, gleaming barrier.

Zhuo Gong Qing’s pupils contracted. Du Fan Zhi suddenly looked unreal—hazy, intangible—and Zhuo Gong Qing’s own senses dulled, as if someone had sliced them in half.

“What is this?”

From his seat, a Ren Yang elder whispered the name as if speaking it might summon a ghost. “Miaohua Guiming Dharma Mirror…” Then he shook his head hard. “Impossible. That treasure was shattered during the last assault. Is it a counterfeit?”

On Ling Zhen’s side, Qiu Jian Ying lowered her gaze, thoughtful. “So Elder Wu found a way.”

“He’s studied this for years,” Li Shu said with a quiet, satisfied smile. “It’s only right he finally saw results.”

The younger disciples, however, remained completely lost.

This was a story they had never been told.

Back when Ling Zhen’s twelve Profound Division cultivators departed for the Upper Realm, each left behind a treasure for the sect—some a Spirit-Gathering Grand Array, some a flying vessel, some even transforming into blessed lands to feed future generations. Three of them left behind Profound-grade artifacts.

The Miaohua Guiming Dharma Mirror was one of those.

It contained countless array patterns within, a supreme defensive treasure. Yet a thousand years ago, in the war between Ling Zhen and Ren Yang Cult, Ren Yang’s leader shattered it with a single strike—paying a price as well. His natal gu shattered, and he died on the spot.

The fragments of the mirror were collected and stored in the sect treasury. Only later, when they fell into Wu Yun Zhang’s hands, were they reforged into a new mirror.

But a Profound-grade artifact was forged by a Profound-grade artificer. Wu Yun Zhang was only Yellow-grade. He could not refine the original materials; he could only search for similar ones to patch the gaps. Even so, the remade mirror had dropped to Yellow-grade upper-tier.

“Even if it’s no longer the legendary treasure that could cover the wilds and cast an array canopy over the heavens,” Li Shu murmured, watching the arena, “it’s more than enough against a late Foundation Establishment nobody.”

The repaired mirror had been granted to him by the Sect Master. He had passed it to Du Fan Zhi. And the enemy facing it was still Ren Yang Cult—just like in the old bloodshed.

Zhuo Gong Qing didn’t know any of that. He only believed in crushing force.

His blood surged. The writhing patterns on his skin grew more active, as if alive. Deep-blue light erupted in his hands—and when the light sharpened, it revealed itself as countless rice-grain-sized, glowing poison spiders.

With a furious shout, he sent them flooding forward.

They poured toward Du Fan Zhi like a rolling tide, threatening to swallow him whole.

Du Fan Zhi didn’t move a single step. He stood proudly within the rings of light. The poison spiders that reached him—blue mist made solid—were instantly corroded by the golden patterns into foul liquid that splattered onto the ground.

Zhuo Gong Qing stared, stunned, then roared, “What trick is this?!”

The spiders didn’t stop. They continued to condense and surge.

Du Fan Zhi’s gaze remained cold. “The method that will defeat you.”

He understood Ren Yang Cult’s Inner-Birth Art too well. Every breath in that state devoured the natal gu’s blood, feeding it back into the host. Once Zhuo Gong Qing’s reserves dropped to a tenth, he would be forced out of the state—and then he would be helpless.

The question was whether Du Fan Zhi could endure long enough.

This mirror was Yellow-grade upper-tier. The higher the artifact, the heavier the burden on its wielder. Both Foundation Establishment and Essence Condensation cultivators used Yellow-grade artifacts, but the former usually relied on low-tier and mid-tier pieces. Upper-tier and peak-tier were far more common in Essence Condensation.

The gap looked small on paper. In truth, it was immense.

If Du Fan Zhi poured all his true qi into defense alone, he would be drained dry within half an hour. If he attacked as well, he’d have even less time.

He couldn’t afford to drag this out.

With the mirror shielding him, Du Fan Zhi formed seals and condensed three golden arrows, launching them straight for Zhuo Gong Qing’s vital point.

Metal qi was the sharpest of the five elements. The moment it pierced Zhuo Gong Qing, it was like thousands of blades shredding through his organs. He let out a strangled cry, pain splitting him open from within.

In his dantian, the natal gu shrieked and reflexively diverted blood and qi to heal the host’s damage. In an instant, Zhuo Gong Qing’s already thin reserves plunged even lower.

This was one of the Inner-Birth Art’s greatest flaws: the natal gu was alive. It had its own instincts, its own will. If the host was badly wounded and the cultivator couldn’t suppress that will, the gu would choose what it believed was best.

Zhuo Gong Qing wanted victory.

The natal gu wanted survival.

As the patterns on Zhuo Gong Qing’s skin faded, his body seemed to collapse in on itself. His cheeks hollowed. His face turned paper-white. He fell to the arena floor like something drained of all vitality.

Only then did Du Fan Zhi lower the mirror. His own reserves were nearly empty—he had strength for perhaps one more strike at most. This win had been razor-thin.

“Ling Zhen Sect Du Fan Zhi wins!”

The judging disciple declared it, and at once a massive hand swept Zhuo Gong Qing back to his lotus seat. Zhuo Gong Qing lay there with eyes shut, unable even to sit up and regulate his breathing. Anyone could tell he had no strength left for another match.

As challenges continued and he failed to answer them, his ranking tumbled until it settled at 60. It was a bitter outcome—paying an enormous price only to fall.

Du Fan Zhi returned to his lotus seat, and the crowd’s wariness shifted toward him. After seeing that mirror, later challengers would rather aim higher than face him head-on.