Chương 66: Crouching Dragon

A blast of fire slammed into the shield conjured by the Crimson Parasol like a battering ram, nearly shattering it outright. Cracks spiderwebbed across its crimson surface, and worse, the flames lingered, flaring along those fractures and gnawing deeper into the barrier. With a grimace, Bai Ning dismissed the shield and immediately reformed it. The flames produced by the fragment of the Celestial Furnace Ming Tailong wielded were beyond her ability to extinguish.

Only by dispelling her barrier and recreating it anew could she stay one step ahead. High above the arena on her flying Paper Crane, Bai Ning twisted aside as another searing blast of red and gold roared past her. It hissed by her flank before smashing into the top of the scintillating dome enclosing the stage. The dome flared in protest as it struggled to contain the force of the attack, and the entire white stone ring shuddered in response.

Each of those fireballs, deceptively simple in appearance, carried terrifying power. It was only the speed and mobility granted by the Paper Crane that allowed Bai Ning to survive. If she were forced to block such attacks repeatedly, she would likely lose. Yet Ming Tailong was hardly faring better. Sweat streamed down his face in rivulets, his breath came in ragged gasps, as though he were climbing an impossibly steep mountain.

Most alarming of all, the hand wielding the Celestial Furnace was burning away inch by inch the longer he kept it summoned. It had begun with the tips of his fingers, blackened and scorched, but now the trail of charred flesh extended past his wrist. The pain must have been excruciating. Still, Ming Tailong forced himself onward, hurling another crimson-gold fireball at Bai Ning. She dodged again, this one passing perilously close, mere inches above her head. The heat of its passage scorched her skin like a brand.

The problem wasn't Ming Tailong himself; he simply wasn't fast enough to track her movements. It was the fireballs. Forged from the shattered remnant of a Nascent Soul cultivator's treasure, they carried a strange power: not only did they burn with terrifying intensity, they tore through the air far faster than they should have. That unnatural speed was the reason Bai Ning had already been hit twice, though thankfully, her barrier had shielded her from the worst of it both times.

It would be a rather unglamorous way to win, but outlasting Ming Tailong seemed like the best strategy available. However he was forcing himself to wield that treasure, the backlash was clearly painful and severe. He couldn't maintain it forever. As long as she continued to dodge and avoid the worst of his attacks, victory would come to her eventually. Moreover, Ming Tailong had barely moved since summoning the treasure at the start of the fight.

When Bai Ning had tried to exploit that weakness by striking with her Green Karma Sword, he had used the surrounding flames to form a barrier she couldn't cut through, but even then, he had remained rooted in place. She suspected that movement itself was difficult for him. In a way, it reminded her of Yue Shuangyi's cocoon technique, only this one was forged from fire instead of ice. And far more dangerous to its wielder.

Still, that was only to be expected: a fragment of a Nascent Soul cultivator's natal artifact was no simple thing to bend to one's will. Ming Tailong, straining and panting, shouted again, his voice hoarse, and cracking with effort. It was a wordless scream, as though he were hurling defiance at the world itself. As he did, another patch of skin along his forearm blackened. Bai Ning almost looked away as the flesh blistered and bubbled, but she forced herself to keep her gaze fixed on him.

This was a tournament fight; only a fool would avert their eyes out of a weak stomach. Another fireball took shape and hurled itself toward her. The Paper Crane swerved sharply, banking left in a wide arc to evade the blistering attack. Once again, it missed her by no more than a hair's breadth. The fireball slammed into the formation dome, sending tremors through the entire ring. A collective groan rose from the audience watching above, as though they had been hoping she would finally be struck. Maybe they had.

The crowd likely wanted an exciting fight, especially after Li Kang's surrender, and her cautious, evasive tactics were probably irritating them. Good. This was the same audience that had cheered for Jin Shihan, and more recently, Fu Zhan. She could forgive the former, even if it had been at her expense. The latter, however, was another matter entirely. Served them right. Ming Tailong finally paused, his entire bearing radiating deep-seated exhaustion.

He lowered his burned arm, teeth clenched against the pain, even as the fragment of the Celestial Furnace continued to hover above his head. Frankly, he looked a single step away from collapsing to his knees under the strain. Bai Ning circled overhead warily, the hilt of the Green Karma Sword resting in her right hand, her barrier still active.

She had yet to be pressed hard enough to unleash it at full strength; the dragon-scale reinforcement woven into it was a surprise she intended to keep hidden for as long as possible. Even without that, however, it was more than sufficient to protect her from most threats. Was Ming Tailong feigning weakness, trying to lure her in? After nearly a full minute passed, it became clear that he wasn't. He was simply catching his breath, recovering what little qi he could.

Bai Ning narrowed her eyes and snapped her sword through the air, sending several arcs of green swordlight slashing toward him. A ring of red-gold flames flared to life around his body, dancing and twisting as they burned her attacks away the instant they made contact. So, his defenses were still active. Bai Ning pursed her lips, violet eyes sharpening as she assessed the situation. Above them, the crowd's boos grew louder as both combatants hesitated, neither pressing the attack.

Should she descend and try something? It wasn't the audience's displeasure that stirred the thought so much as her dislike of allowing her opponent to dictate the rhythm of the fight. If Ming Tailong continued like this, she was confident she could win using only what she had already revealed. Even the Divine Water Lightning Technique felt unnecessary, let alone the sword art she could deploy to cut through his defenses outright. But was that really how she wanted to win?

The Paper Crane circled lower and lower, Ming Tailong watching her warily, until at last it settled onto the ring opposite him. Bai Ning stepped down lightly, dismissed the crane, and raised her right hand. Her whip sword rippled through the air, snapping back toward her and coiling neatly at her feet. She drew a slow breath in, and let it out. Her mind sharpened. The world is something meant to be cut.

Everything around her came into focus: the way light danced along the edge of her blade, the faint breeze curling through the arena, the heat twisting into shimmering trails, even the soft rasp of dust skittering across the stone beneath her boots. In that moment, the world lay bare before her senses. She felt as though she could cut through anything. Not yet. She had to wait for the right moment. Until then… Maintaining her concentration, Bai Ning let part of her attention settle on Ming Tailong.

Splitting one's thoughts and performing multiple, unrelated tasks at once was the mark of any advanced cultivator. Holding a technique while engaging in conversation should be nearly effortless for her. She put on a broad, cheerful smile and infused qi into her voice, calling out loudly enough for the entire arena to hear. The crowd wanted a spectacle? Fine. She would give them one. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Fellow Daoist, that's a fragment of the Celestial Furnace, isn't it? I recognize it. It was displayed at the disastrous auction your family held not long ago." Ming Tailong twitched. He opened his mouth to retort, then forcibly snapped it shut. Through the ring of flames surrounding him, Bai Ning could see his expression darken, sweat streaming down his chin. She pressed on.

"I'm surprised to see it in your possession. The last I heard, it was taken by the new mistress of Jadeflame Island." Her smile didn't waver.

"I wonder, did she lend it to you out of pity? Or was it a bribe? After all, killing your family was one thing… but forcing you to fight in her name…" She let the words trail off, deliberate and precise, like a painter lifting their brush at exactly the right moment. The silence that followed was thick with implication. It was also too much for Ming Tailong. He glowered, his composure finally cracking.

"Shut your mouth, you villain. I am fighting of my own will. And what of the Ming family, huh? When they were alive, I was ignored and ostracized. Now, I stand poised to take over that old name." His chest heaved as he spoke, emotion spilling out unchecked.

"I'm glad they're dead. You hear me? Glad." Even Bai Ning was taken aback by the force of it. The rawness in his voice, and his words themselves, were more than she had expected. Ming Tailong seemed to realize it as well. The crowd erupted, half in approval, half in sheer excitement. His jaw tightened as he turned his glare back on her.

"Forget it. I won't be baited. Monologue all you like, villain. I'm still going to win." Bai Ning, ready with a reply, found her mouth falling open. She – the villain? Except… she had been monologuing. She had been trying to provoke him. The realization struck harder than she expected. It was deeply unsettling to find herself standing on the opposite side of a role she usually occupied. Her lips parted, but no words came. Ming Tailong had, entirely unintentionally, defeated her in that exchange.

She could argue back, but being painted as a villain, and not being entirely wrong about it, was something she struggled to confront. So, she remained silent, feeling the heat of embarrassment crawl up her cheeks. Still, whatever her feelings, her words had accomplished something. Ming Tailong was moving. His anger was obvious now, impatience written into every line of his posture. She had tipped him over the edge after all.

He raised his right hand again, teeth gritted as the fragment of metal hovering above him gleamed like molten fire. The burns along his flesh reignited, spreading as the flames surged higher. Ming Tailong screamed, the firestorm around him flaring violently in response. Bai Ning, momentarily off-balance, forced out a sharp breath and steadied herself. Embarrassment, doubt; she set them aside. Her mind closed around the edge of her sword technique once more, cold and precise. This one she wasn't planning to dodge.

Besides, if Ming Tailong truly supported Song Shaoyue of his own free will, then that made him her enemy. Bai Ning seized the thought and drew it inward, compressing it, sharpening it, until the heat of her embarrassment was no longer a distraction, but an edge. Something clean and lethal. Ming Tailong bared his teeth, his face half-lost behind the writhing curtain of flame.

"Go to hell," he screamed, and hurled the most monstrous fireball he had yet summoned straight at her. Bai Ning saw it and closed her eyes. She could feel it coming. Deeper than heat, deeper than qi, beyond even her cultivated senses: a blade aimed at her heart. Her hand rose on instinct. The Green Karma Sword snapped up, and then, with a motion so smooth it bordered on tenderness, Bai Ning swept it sideways. There was no force in that motion.

It was just a guiding arc, as though she were redirecting something that had already agreed to be moved. In her mind's eye, the image was perfect: a sword meeting another blade, sliding along its edge, and sending it away. The world broke around her. Sound crashed in like a tidal wave. Heat and wind exploded outward, and light flared so violently it bled through her closed eyelids, turning everything white. The arena screamed as the air itself was torn apart. Then, silence. Bai Ning opened her eyes.

The fireball was gone from her path, torn away and flung aside. It slammed into the formation dome enclosing the ring, detonating in a storm of flame. The dome blazed, talismanic characters igniting one after another on its surface as it fought to contain the impact, and the entire arena shuddered as though struck by a giant's fist. The stone floor before her was ruined.

A massive trench had been carved straight through the ring, its edges melted smooth into glass, its center glowing molten red, heat rolling off it in shimmering waves. The air above it wavered and bent, distorted by lingering fire. At the head of that trench, Ming Tailong stared at her. His eyes were wide, and disbelieving. He had collapsed to one knee, flames sputtering unevenly around him. His right arm was burned to the elbow, flesh destroyed, blackened and split, oozing ruin where skin should have been.

His chest heaved as he gasped for breath, pain etched deep into his face. Bai Ning lowered her arm. She had successfully parried his attack. The crowd erupted in a wave of cheering, finally seeing something they liked. By contrast, the arena was silent: Ming Tailong unable to form any words, and Bai Ning choosing not to speak. The feeling she had summoned lingered. Her sense of the cutting technique had not faded.

It was something she had observed before: once she slipped into the correct mindset, it was easier to maintain over the course of a fight, so natural that she always felt she had mastered it in the moment. But after the fight, reclaiming that equilibrium took time. Right now, she felt that mindset as if it were second nature, as if she would not struggle to find it again. Still, she knew that once the technique ended, rebuilding it would require effort.

Every time she thought she had mastered it, another layer revealed itself. None of that mattered right now. Ming Tailong, shocked and disbelieving, dragged himself to his feet and screamed once more. This time, Bai Ning felt something new in his roar. The very act of defiance, the sheer will to burn himself for power, seemed to resonate with the fragment of the artifact he wielded. His arm blistered further, the burns spreading past his elbow, creeping toward his bicep.

The edges of his sleeves, draping across his shoulders, began to smolder. Wisps of smoke rose, curling and twisting like some grand, fiery omen. An image flickered in the air before her: a vast sun, molten and immense, its surface alive with red and gold currents. Bai Ning could almost feel the restrained heat of it, enough to reduce the island, and even the cloud ring overhead to ash. This was a power beyond comprehension, beyond anything she could hope to contend with.

And yet, it was only a fragment; the true sun had shattered long ago. The fireball forming in front of Ming Tailong bore no resemblance to a typical attack. It looked like a miniature sun, the same grand image she had glimpsed, shrunk and suspended in a moment of raw, concentrated power. Ming Tailong screamed again, his burns flaring outward, until his shoulder blackened and blistered, his skin beginning to slough away in molten ruin. His head hung low; his qi flickered like a candle about to be snuffed.

Every ounce of his remaining strength and focus was poured into that single, final attack. Final not because it would end the fight, but because it would leave him incapable of fighting afterward. Bai Ning's sword rose. The flexible steel spun languidly through the air as her mind sank deeper into its edge. The Crimson Parasol hovering behind her deactivated, ignored, as she funneled all her attention into the blade. Instantly, the heat of the arena struck her.

Her skin darkened under its intensity, her throat parched, her eyes stinging as if the very air scorched them. It was a wall of heat and force, sapping strength by mere presence, daring her to falter. She tightened her grip on the hilt. The heat pressed against her like a living thing; each breath tasted of smoke and ash. The miniature sun hovered before her, suspended as if the air itself feared it.

Its molten surface shimmered in red and gold, waves of light bending around her, painting the arena in fiery patterns. Even the newly revealed characters on the formation dome flickered in response, their magic straining to contain the heat. Ming Tailong let it loose. Her whip sword flicked, spinning in a controlled arc, edges catching the fiery light. She could feel the collision before it happened, like a pulse in the world, or a shiver through the air. This time, she didn't close her eyes.

Her sword swept from the side, intercepting the miniature sun. The edge met molten power with a resonant clang, a ringing sound cutting through the roar of heat. Sparks erupted, colliding with invisible forces as the sun quivered, its shape wobbling under pressure. There was nothing graceful or effortless about this; this time, the attack resisted her technique. She pushed, struggling against it. The heat slammed against her like a battering ram, staggering her an inch, then another.

Sweat ran down her face, stinging her eyes. Her throat burned, her lungs fought for every controlled breath. The arena trembled. The stone beneath her boots vibrated, as light exploded outward from the point of contact. She could see Ming Tailong's twisted form kneeling in the distance, his burned arm useless at his side. Even the cloud ring overhead seemed to waver under the intensity of the collision. For a heartbeat, time stretched. Heat, light, and energy clashed around her.'

Cut the sunrise,' she whispered to herself, and, like redirecting a stone with the river's current, the sun shifted. It ricocheted off her blade, a storm of molten fire forced aside. The globe slammed into the side of the formation dome, scorching and cracking it while sending shockwaves through the ring. Smoke and heat surged, blinding the audience for a moment, before they erupted into a chaotic roar of cheering and shouting. Bai Ning lowered her sword, panting, sweat slicking her body.

The heat still burned, but the worst had passed. Ming Tailong's final, desperate attack had been met and deflected. As the smoke and light began to clear, the announcer's voice rang out, sharp and unmistakable: "Victor, Bai Ning."