Volume One: The Celestial Palace Amidst the Clouds Chapter Twenty-Four: Battle with the Sky Spirit

Chapter Twenty-Four: Battle with Fei Ling

A flash of silver light shot to Zhou Hao’s eyes in an instant, as swift as lightning. The surrounding disciples tensed up, let alone Zhou Hao in the midst of the arena. But Zhou Hao was no fool; ever since Fei Ling stepped out from the Celestial Maidens, he had been on guard. The flying blade, wrapped in blazing electric arcs, pierced straight through Zhou Hao’s chest—but the next moment, Zhou Hao burst into a puff of mist with a pop. It was merely a clone.

“A fake—a clone?”

“Incredible! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Idiot, do you think you have his speed?”

The disciples outside breathed a collective sigh of relief, clearly shaken by the intensity of the scene.

Fei Ling snapped his head around. Zhou Hao was standing before him, separated by a mere meter.

“So, you do have some skill,” said the handsome youth with silver hair, even his eyes shimmered silver. Zhou Hao could sense the extraordinary nature of the person before him, far stronger than the four brothers he had faced earlier.

“A disciple who uses hidden weapons—this is a first for me,” Zhou Hao slowly drew his celestial sword.

“A disciple of Yun Fang... you chose the wrong master,” Fei Ling replied coldly.

Clang!

Zhou Hao swept his sword in attack, Fei Ling parried with his flying blade. One long, one short, they fought fiercely atop the plaza stage. Each clash of celestial weapons sent dazzling bursts of light, shockwaves rippling out for hundreds of meters.

The battlefield shifted; Zhou Hao and Fei Ling battled high in the sky, atop the highest peak. Clouds billowed and mist swirled, and as they ascended, it was as if they walked among the clouds—until the mist parted.

More precisely, the clouds were cleaved apart. Zhou Hao’s cultivation had soared; with every swing, hundreds of sword shadows erupted in simultaneous assault. Yet Fei Ling was unmatched in speed, leaving only streaks of afterimages in the clouds, his footwork unpredictable, his body seeming insubstantial. For a moment, Zhou Hao’s sword shadows could not touch him.

Whoosh!

The electric flying blade struck again, but this time three blades came at once. The pristine clouds were shattered by the rush of wind, as if a mountain had collapsed. Then, with two metallic clangs, the blades were blocked.

Suspended above the clouds, Zhou Hao stood with his sword, but blood dripped from his right hand. A delicate flying blade was lodged in his arm, the fabric scorched, flesh mangled.

“Is that... Zhou Hao injured? Did Fei Ling’s blade strike him?”

“Has Zhou Hao lost?”

...

The disciples below cried out in alarm. They had only glimpsed flashes of light in the clouds and heard the clang of weapons and the roar of celestial arts. Both fighters were shrouded in mist, unseen, but now Zhou Hao’s appearance worried them.

On the other side, Fei Ling emerged, silver hair flying, ethereal as ever. He stood atop the clouds, untouched, as if ready to ride the wind.

“You have lost!” Fei Ling’s cold voice echoed across the plaza, stirring a storm among the disciples.

“Yes, Fei Ling’s strength is beyond doubt. Zhou Hao has cultivated in the Immortal Way for only twenty years—how could he win?”

“Hmph, ignorant newcomer, dreaming of defeating a seasoned master.”

“Still, Zhou Hao is strong. The vice master Ao Xiu’s four sons seldom meet their match, and now Zhou Hao is among the top ten disciples of Yunmiao.”

The disciples voiced their opinions—some pitied Zhou Hao, some mocked him, others remained neutral.

“Your flying blades are indeed swift, and I respect that. But to say I’ve lost? That’s a bit premature,” Zhou Hao said with a smile.

“You still wish to fight?” Fei Ling replied.

“As long as neither of us has fallen, the duel is not over!” Zhou Hao insisted.

Fei Ling glanced at Zhou Hao’s wounded arm, frowned, and spoke again: “I don’t believe you have the strength to defeat me. Go back and heal; Yunmiao will need you in ten years.”

Zhou Hao laughed heartily at this. The crowd below watched, baffled, wondering if Zhou Hao was simply a sore loser or a fool.

“Let me ask you—are you pursuing Yu Nan?” Zhou Hao suddenly said.

“No,” Fei Ling replied curtly.

“Then why do you stand with her?” Zhou Hao smiled.

“What nonsense is this?” Fei Ling retorted coldly.

“I just wanted to confirm something. I heard you are not Yu Nan’s match, and since your reason for standing with the Celestial Maidens isn’t admiration, then it can only mean you’ve dueled her and lost. Isn’t that right?” Zhou Hao said.

“You...” Fei Ling was momentarily speechless, staring at Zhou Hao, unable to fathom him.

“Yu Nan said she wanted to fight me, yet she ignores the Celestial Maidens. It means I’m not even qualified to challenge her. If I lose today, won’t she be even more arrogant? So I cannot lose to you—I must win!” Zhou Hao declared earnestly.

Zheng!

On the cloud’s edge, a thousand sword shadows rippled. Zhou Hao appeared as if wielding a king among swords, all shadows trembling under the sword’s aura, locking onto Fei Ling.

“Then I shall make you taste defeat!” Fei Ling responded, unleashing seven flying blades, vanishing in a blink atop the clouds, his body merging with the mist.

Hundreds of sword shadows surged, their cries piercing the heavens, obliterating the clouds into honeycomb. The sky was cleared, leaving only blue without a trace of white.

Below, cries of astonishment rang out. They had thought the battle was over, not realizing the true storm was only beginning.

Seven flying blades trailed radiant tails, leaving silver traces across the sky. Yet as the sword shadows swept the field, all were knocked aside, for even the quadruplets’ black hammers had been cleaved by Zhou Hao.

Beneath the blue sky, Fei Ling appeared, encircled by a halo of silver light. The sword shadows could not pierce it. Zhou Hao struck again, descending from even higher, his left hand forming a fist, gathering all his strength. That fist erupted in dazzling golden light, like the hand of the sun.

Fei Ling advanced instead of retreating; his right arm glowed with brilliant silver. His footwork reached its peak, and within mere breaths, he stood before Zhou Hao. With a thunderous clash, they collided in midair.

A colossal energy storm exploded outward, the two figures colliding like meteors, shockwaves erasing the clouds. Fire appeared at the horizon, burning the void, melting the clouds.

In the resplendent Yunmiao Immortal Hall, the three masters were stunned by the spectacle. None had expected a newcomer of only a few years to possess such mastery, matching Fei Ling blow for blow.

“What a fine disciple Zhou Hao is! With such strength, Yunmiao Immortal Hall has gained another treasure,” the chief master smiled.

“We must summon Yun Fang later and ask about his methods. His disciple defeated even my four sons—I’m quite curious how he trains them,” said the burly vice master Ao Xiu, unwilling to accept defeat.

“The training method must have sent Zhou Hao deep into the earth veins, where a year’s cultivation equals five. That means Zhou Hao has at least a hundred years of practice. Yet even so, defeating your sons is no easy feat. The real key is that child’s talent and fortune,” Cao Mengda mused, eyes narrowed.

In the sky, two figures plummeted—Zhou Hao and Fei Ling. Their last strike had been so shocking that the disciples below trembled. Who among them could battle to such heights?

As they fell, Zhou Hao’s body was stained half in blood—his own and Fei Ling’s. His left arm was convulsed, the bones shattered, his hand a mass of blood. Fei Ling fared no better—his snowy robes were ruined, blood-soaked, his right palm split open to the elbow, ribs broken, chest caved in by Zhou Hao’s punch.

With twin crashes, they landed simultaneously on the plaza stage. Fortunately, the blue stone floor was sturdy enough to resist even the full force of a golden immortal; otherwise, it would have been smashed through.

“Brother!”

Cao Shuang shouted, wanting to check on Zhou Hao, but ultimately did not step forward—the two seemed still conscious.

In the crowd, Su Qing was a vision in white. She gazed at Zhou Hao lying on the floor, worry flickering in her beautiful eyes. Even she found it strange—a new disciple she’d met only a few times, exchanged barely a handful of words, yet he stirred such emotion in her.

The other, Yu Nan, the stunning maiden in a crimson battle dress, thought otherwise. She watched Zhou Hao lying on the ground and smirked silently, thinking this “brother-killer’s” disciple looked better prone than standing. Yet soon she realized the battle hadn’t gone as expected. When she fought Fei Ling, they had contended fiercely, but she defeated him with only minor injuries—Fei Ling hadn’t suffered nearly as much as now!

Yet now, a mere newcomer had left Fei Ling in such a state. Though Zhou Hao himself was battered, it proved his strength. From now on, none could halt his rise.

“No, I cannot fall—not yet,” Zhou Hao spat blood, his right cheek pressed to the blue stone floor.

His body felt shattered, pain beyond measure, dizzying agony in his mind, but Zhou Hao persisted. He wanted to stand.

His mangled hand pressed to the floor, and he slowly rose, every movement sending waves of pain through his wounds, pain so intense it felt worse than death.

But he endured, and before all, trembling, he stood, his gaze unwavering.

“Next—Yu Nan, I challenge you!”