Volume One: Turmoil in Yan and Yun Chapter Eighty-Nine: The Gale Reveals the Sturdiness of Grass (Part One)

In Red Huai City, opinions were deeply divided regarding whether to support Yan Yun, among both soldiers and civilians. One faction argued that, whether for strategic or emotional reasons, Yan Yun must not be lost; if it fell, all the spirit and vitality of Yanbei would vanish as well. The other side believed Yanbei was not merely a place but a culture—so long as its people survived, Yanbei endured. If, out of reckless passion, Yanbei were left with no path of retreat, it would be a disgrace to all its people and ancestors.

Yet in one matter, consensus was reached: the outcome of the current war depended solely on the battle between those at the realm of the Dao.

Where in the Divine Dynasty were such battles erupting?

The Divine Emperor and the Nether Emperor fought at Wuyang, where several Dao-level warriors from both the human and nether races were gathered. Despite being slightly outnumbered, the Divine Dynasty held the advantages of timing, terrain, and unity; defeat was unlikely, especially with the current Divine Emperor ranking among the foremost powers.

The battle within the Abyss of Dao had only just begun; from any perspective, victory could not be decided swiftly.

The Lord of the Soul Devouring Pavilion and Dou Xiao Tong remained at Kunlun. The Lord’s strength was perhaps a shade beneath Dou Xiao Tong’s, but Dou Xiao Tong’s mastery lay in formations—no matter how lethal his arrays, he could not quickly overcome the Lord, who excelled at delaying his foes.

Thus, it seemed the only one who could resolve the crisis of Yanbei was the Wind Divine Guard stationed at Shuntian.

At this moment, Shuntian had vanished from the Divine Dynasty's map. The city’s protective formation self-destructed with greater force than expected—even with Zisang Busou and the Wind Divine Guard suppressing it, a hundred-mile radius was razed to flat earth. Where Shuntian once stood, a fathomless black hole had been blasted into the ground, severing dozens of subterranean rivers and thousands of channels. The backward flow of broken waters sent tremors through the entire southern Yanbei.

Yang Fan had already withdrawn his army hundreds of miles. He had abandoned all hope of passing through Shuntian. According to his spies, the routes from Bohai to Yanbei had been blown apart by Feng Yang. The only option left was to detour through Jizhou to Red Huai, but Su Yuzhe’s recent forced passage with cavalry had alarmed Jizhou’s governor. Now the entire Gaoshan Camp was massed at the border, and a forceful entry would be unwise.

“We may not reach Yan Yun in time. Have you thought how you’ll explain this to the Prince?” he asked, gazing at the distant battlefield in the sky, then turning to Su Yuzhe.

Su Yuzhe’s wounds from Red Huai had not yet healed; his face looked pale and sallow. “How could I have guessed that little bastard would rush to Red Huai right after evacuating Shuntian? If not for him, how could the mere Wind Assault Sand have stopped me?”

Yang Fan shook his head, refusing to argue.

Su Yuzhe, feeling slighted, retorted angrily, “If not for me, you’d have led your troops by the back roads and been blown to bits by that little bastard Feng Yang!”

Yang Fan glanced at him. “You’d best pray that Master Zisang prevails.”

Su Yuzhe frowned. “Are you suggesting their victory or defeat is my fault?”

Yang Fan shook his head, speaking earnestly. “If Master Zisang does not win, you will die.”

Su Yuzhe was momentarily stunned, about to lash out, but then remembered the iron-blooded ways of the Prince of Bohai.

As an insider, he knew this situation was not as outsiders imagined; the Prince of Bohai was but a chess piece in the grand scheme. In truth, his own actions were crucial to the current predicament. If they failed to reach Yan Yun, leaving a gap in the plan, the Prince would not hesitate to sacrifice him as an example.

Thinking of this, Su Yuzhe shivered involuntarily, then looked to the distance, silently hoping that Master Zisang would not lose.

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When the savage winds raged, there were truly no clouds. The sky above Shuntian expanded outward for a hundred miles, utterly cloudless. Yet, strangely, sunlight did not reach the ground; not a single glimmer shone in the arena. Even the light itself seemed shattered by endless blades of wind—fissures in space proliferated across the sky. The Wind Divine Guard’s figure would intermittently burst from one such rift, slashing at Zisang Busou.

Final form of the Hidden Wind Art: Chaotic Wind Burial of Immortals.

Zisang Busou stood at the eye of the storm. His three-foot Severed Domain had been compressed by myriad wind blades to less than an inch. Had he not invoked the Transplanting Flowers and Trees technique, the Severed Domain might have been breached already.

Even so, his situation remained precarious—pure defense meant certain defeat.

No one could seize the initiative in the Wind Divine Guard’s battles, not even the old emperor in his prime; none could rival his speed.

Since none could be faster, and those at the Dao realm never suffered exhaustion, there were only three ways to defeat the Wind Divine Guard.

First: possess defense so strong that no wind blade could harm you, as the previous abbot of Zen did when manifesting his golden body, impervious to all techniques.

Second: react and counterattack fast enough to break the Wind Divine Guard’s Severed Domain at the moment of assault.

Third: forcefully shatter the self-contained world of his technique with absolute power—a feat so difficult that even Wei Sanmu failed to achieve it.

The first and third could be disregarded for now; Zisang Busou knew he was no match for the Zen abbot or Wei Sanmu. He could only wait for a chance to counter the Wind Divine Guard; fortunately, with the aid of Transplanting Flowers and Trees, his Severed Domain remained around an inch, not yet destroyed.

Thousands upon thousands of wind blades appeared and vanished incessantly; in the blink of an eye, tens of thousands slashed toward Zisang Busou, only to dissipate within the Severed Domain.

Noticing Zisang Busou’s resilience, the Wind Divine Guard’s gaze grew more focused. Though this man’s time in the Dao was brief, his mastery of natural forces was no less than others. Transplanting Flowers and Trees seemed alive in his hands, channeling much of the wind blades’ force into the sky, letting heaven bear the brunt of the Chaotic Wind Burial.

Even Zisang Bumou in his day had not managed such a feat.

Thinking of Zisang Bumou, and sensing faint echoes from the battles at Dao Abyss and Wuyang, the Wind Divine Guard frowned.

The wind blades dispersed.

No—they didn’t disperse, but stopped.

Countless blades froze in midair, then swiftly coalesced. Within moments, all the air within hundreds of miles gathered as one, forming a sword, which the Wind Divine Guard gripped in his right hand.

Gazing at the sky-covering sword of wind, Zisang Busou raised his brows.

He pressed his palms together and closed his eyes.

To the Wind Divine Guard’s senses, Zisang Busou seemed to merge with heaven and earth.

With a thought, the Wind Divine Guard compressed the already solid sword, shrinking it to the size of an ordinary longsword. It vibrated, emitting a slicing sound.

Zisang Busou’s body trembled, but he did not open his eyes.

Such confidence?

The Wind Divine Guard flashed to Zisang Busou, slashing downward.

A piercing sound split the heavens; in the distance, ninety-nine percent of the Bohai army collapsed, their eyes shut, blood streaming from their orifices. If not for the protection of formations, many would have died instantly.

In a blink, the three-foot Severed Domain was breached to two feet nine inches.

But the last inch held firm against the wind sword.

The wind howled fiercer.

The Wind Divine Guard raised a brow and uttered a Dao cry.

The wind sword advanced three millimeters.

Zisang Busou’s tremors grew more pronounced; beads of sweat appeared on his brow.

The Wind Divine Guard, surprised, gripped the sword tighter, veins bulging.

The wind sword pressed another three millimeters.

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...

Zisang Busou still did not open his eyes, but his Severed Domain was riddled with cracks, and sweat had turned to droplets of blood.

The Severed Domain represented the deepest understanding of “Dao” among those at this level; to be so breached meant Zisang Busou’s Dao was on the brink. Had his will not been so tenacious, the domain might have shattered on its own.

“Do you know? A sword should be held with both hands,” the Wind Divine Guard said softly, narrowing his eyes. He placed his left hand upon the hilt and gave another Dao cry.

The wind sword advanced three more millimeters, its aura nearly lifting Zisang Busou’s skull.

Zisang Busou abruptly opened his eyes, palms striking out as he twisted aside from the Wind Divine Guard’s blow.

Two gaping wounds appeared through the Wind Divine Guard’s chest.

Zisang Busou lost half his body.

From Kaifeng to the Sand River, the earth bore a straight sword scar stretching thousands of miles, bottomless.

The Wind Divine Guard looked at the blood holes in his chest, grimacing in pain.

Zisang Busou was missing his left arm, leg, and half his organs—including his heart—yet his expression remained emotionless.

As Dao realm beings, their “Dao” was acknowledged by heaven and earth. As long as their sea of consciousness endured and their Severed Domain remained, any injury could be healed.

Losing the heart was fatal for those below the Dao realm, but for these masters, it merely cost them some vital blood.

Of course, if their vital blood were exhausted, their Dao source would vanish—at best, they would fall from the realm; at worst, they would perish. Thus, Dao-level beings seldom used their vital blood unless necessary.

“Was it worth it?” the Wind Divine Guard asked.

In the blink of an eye, the wounds in his chest vanished; if not for the holes and blood on his clothes, few could connect him to the gravely wounded figure moments before.

“It was acceptable,” Zisang Busou replied, his body recovering almost simultaneously, though clearly in worse shape than his opponent.

“My task is to delay any Dao-level adversaries. Now that you’re here, I must fight you with all my strength,” he added.

Task?

The Wind Divine Guard said, “Is Zisang Bumou so trustworthy? I never knew.”

“Though my brother is admirable, what I do is unrelated to him,” Zisang Busou replied.

“Then why?”

“Because of my master,” Zisang Busou explained. “Because my master died—died in disgrace.”

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