Chapter 68 – The Sky Cracks, the World Trembles
The winter sky was wrong.
From the moment Chen Xinyu stepped out of his courtyard, a weight pressed down on his chest. The wind carried an icy bite, but beneath it ran something heavier—an invisible pull, like the air itself was being drawn upward. When he tilted his head, the breath caught in his throat.
Above the Verdant Sect, the heavens were no longer whole.
A jagged fissure split the expanse from horizon to horizon, black as ink, its edges rimmed with a dim violet glow. The light writhed like veins, and from deep within came a low, unearthly hum that set teeth on edge. It was not a sound so much as a vibration, gnawing at the bones.
The entire sect had gathered in the open square, every face turned upward. Sect Leader Jiang's voice, deep and carrying, rang out:
"All disciples—formation! We must stabilize the breach before it widens!"
No one needed to be told twice. In an instant, the outer sect disciples surged into position, robes snapping in the wind, while inner sect seniors leapt to their appointed stations along the perimeter.
Xinyu, however, did not move toward the formation. His gaze was fixed elsewhere—past the square, past the crack in the sky, toward a direction he alone seemed intent on. Without a word, he stepped out of the ranks and began walking swiftly down the eastern path.
From across the chaos, Mochen spotted him.
The ground shook as a sudden pull from the sky took several young disciples off their feet—screams tore the air as they were dragged upward toward the abyss. Yan Zheng reacted first, his voice sharp with command. Hands flying in practiced seals, he slammed a palm toward the heavens, a wave of spiritual power anchoring three of them back to the ground. Shen Yao was at his side in an instant, lending power without a word.
On another side, Lan Xueyao's arrows glimmered with sealing runes, each shot a tether anchoring the trembling sky. Lu Rourou's chants wove through the storm, strengthening the wards. Still, the crack spread, and from its widening mouth spilled shapes—long-limbed, twisted things with faces like masks and claws that could shear stone.
Evil spirits.
In the city beyond the sect walls, the reaction was immediate. People slammed their doors, dragged children inside. Those who were too slow screamed once, then not again. A haze of blood and panic rose over the rooftops.
Mochen cut through the crowd, searching for the pale figure he had seen. There—at the edge of the main path, Xinyu's white robes fluttered once before he disappeared behind a pavilion wall. Mochen's jaw tightened. Xinyu wasn't heading for the formation. He was heading… toward Hua Ling's pavilion?
The crack's pull grew stronger. A low-level disciple near Mochen stumbled and was sucked into the air, spinning helplessly toward the dark rift until a whip of spiritual rope caught his ankle—Lan Xueyao, expression taut with strain, yanked him back down.
Above the roar of wind and spirits, a slow, unhurried footstep sounded from the western approach. The noise alone seemed to clear the immediate area, like predators slinking back from a greater beast.
The Demon Monarch, Hua Mo, strolled into the chaos as if it were a spring outing. His black robes barely stirred in the gale; no wind dared touch him. Even the evil spirits parted in his path.
Sect Leader Jiang's face darkened. "Mo Jun, if you have any shred of conscience left—help us close the breach!"
Hua Mo laughed, low and rich, the sound carrying unnaturally far. "Should I?" His gaze lingered lazily on the twisting crack overhead. "Sect Leader Jiang, what would you give me in return?"
Jiang's hand tightened on his sword hilt. "Name your price."
"Anything?"
"Yes."
The Demon Monarch smiled—not warm, not kind, but slow and deliberate. "Then I want one of your disciples."
The square went still.
Even as the wind screamed overhead, Sect Leader Jiang's voice was cold. "Who?"
Hua Mo's answer was soft enough to be almost lost in the noise, but everyone heard it.
"Chen Xinyu."
The words hit like a thunderclap.
Master Zhou arrived in time to hear them, and his expression changed instantly. "Hua Mo, you dare—"
"Dare? I always dare." The Demon Monarch's gaze sharpened for a moment, cold steel under the lazy veneer. "Agree, and I will lend a hand to save your precious city. Refuse, and…" His eyes flicked toward the widening rift, where three more disciples screamed as they were dragged into its darkness. "…well, I'll simply stand here and watch."
Master Zhou's refusal was immediate, his voice like a blade. "You can't have him."
Hua Mo's smirk deepened. "Then I'll take him without your permission."
He turned and walked away, vanishing into the chaos.
On the far side of the sect, Xinyu's path was abruptly blocked. Black-armored guards closed in from all directions, blades gleaming with an oily light.
The first came at him without a word. Xinyu's sword flashed in a clean arc, sending the man's weapon spinning before he pivoted and drove a palm strike into his chest. A muffled crack—ribs. The guard went down.
Two more charged from the sides. Xinyu spun low, sweeping one off his feet and stabbing backward at the other in the same motion. His breath was steady, eyes cold—these were not sparring partners, these were enemies here to take his life.
From behind, another guard lunged—only to be blown back by a burst of golden spiritual energy.
Mochen landed beside Xinyu, blade already in motion. "Yu'ge," he said without looking at him, "save the questions for later."
Back to back, they cut through the encircling guards. Xinyu's strikes were precise, aimed to incapacitate; Mochen's were ruthless, severing weapons and limbs alike.
When the last fell, Mochen turned. "Why are they after you? Those were Hua Mo's men."
Xinyu's gaze didn't waver. "Long story. You don't need to know."
Mochen's jaw tightened. I already know, he thought, but didn't say.
They moved again, only for Mochen to grab his wrist. "Don't go to Hua Mo. He shows no mercy."
Xinyu wrenched free. "Don't worry, Shidi. I know what I'm doing. This time, he dies by my hand."
Mochen stared after him, unsettled by the quiet certainty in his voice.
From the rooftops, Chi Ruyan watched the exchange. Her eyes narrowed, and with a subtle hand signal, more guards moved to intercept from ahead.
Far from the square, in the shadow of the northern mountains, Hua Ling stirred from where he had been recovering. The cold seeped into his bones, but the moment he sensed Xinyu's qi signature, a rush of heat burned it away.
If you disappear before me… I won't keep living.
He mounted his spiritual beast and spurred it toward the sect at full speed, eyes red with resolve.