The light in the forest grew increasingly dim. Overhead, the canopy of ancient, towering trees interwoven into an airtight green dome, with only scattered sunlight filtering down like broken gold leaf onto the leaf-strewn ground.
Holding the pale blue token, Bai Qingxue could clearly feel it resonating with several other spiritual vein nodes.
Following this faint, ephemeral pull, Bai Qingxue continued deeper into the dense forest.
Along the way, she encountered two more stone platforms.
The first was completely deserted, with only the low hum of the wind passing through the treetops.
On the bluestone slab, only a shallow groove remained, its edges smooth. The token was long gone, and only the lingering ripples of spiritual power in the air proved that someone had beaten her to it not long ago.
The second was much noisier.
Several Falling Star Pavilion disciples had formed a perimeter, locked in combat with a Tier 2 spirit beast that resembled a rhinoceros, its body covered in rock-like scales.
The spirit beast was thick-skinned and fleshy, its roars shaking the leaves from the trees. Most of the starlight techniques cast by the Falling Star Pavilion disciples struck its back and vanished like clay oxen into the sea, kicking up only a few negligible sparks.
As the two sides fought intensely, their blood boiling, Bai Qingxue bypassed them like a silent, frost-colored stream of light. She glided past the edge of the forest, her robes fluttering without making the slightest sound of wind.
The Falling Star Pavilion disciples seemed to sense something and glanced over out of the corners of their eyes. However, they did not distract themselves to block her, allowing her figure to leap a few times and vanish once more into the shadows of the forest on the other side.
The further she walked inward, the more astonishing the concentration of spiritual energy in the air became, thickening until it was almost tangible.
The spiritual energy actually condensed into a thin layer of milky-white mist in the forest, wrapping around her ankles with a bone-chilling cold.
Bai Qingxue stopped and closed her eyes to focus.
Her powerful spiritual sense spread out in all directions like a tide, sweeping past layers of trees.
A moment later, Bai Qingxue opened her eyes, a flash of understanding crossing her pale pupils.
About two miles ahead, three thick streams of spiritual vein aura were converging like rivers, forming an unprecedentedly powerful vortex of energy.
The tokens of ordinary nodes were mere streams, but the one there could be called a lake.
“A spiritual vein convergence point...” Bai Qingxue murmured to herself.
The core token born in such a place would be entirely golden, containing more than three times the spiritual resonance of an ordinary token. It was a true battleground.
Immediately, Bai Qingxue tapped her toes lightly, her figure turning into a specter once more as she rapidly shuttled through the increasingly dense forest.
Her white hem brushed against the grass, making a soft rustling sound.
However, when she passed an open rocky area, Bai Qingxue's footsteps paused slightly.
Several fresh sword marks were left on the grayish-black rocks.
The cuts of those sword marks were smooth and flat, with a very fine, translucent layer of frost condensed on the edges, gleaming coldly under the thin sunlight. It was Lu Xueqing's unique sword qi trace, sharp and filled with the chill of ice and snow.
Not far away, near a broken stone monument covered in vines, there lingered a bone-chillingly cold fluctuation of spiritual power. Bai Qingxue was equally familiar with that aura; it was Ning Qinghan's characteristic freezing cold.
From the looks of it, the two of them had likely sensed this convergence point as well and had arrived ahead of her. Perhaps they were hiding somewhere, quietly watching and waiting.
At this thought, Bai Qingxue gathered her focus and stopped searching for their traces.
Instead, she reached out with her slender fingers and gently parted the last hanging vine blocking her path.
Instantly, her vision opened up, as if she had burst out of a dark tunnel into another world.
Before her was a massive circular valley, surrounded by towering cliffs. The steep rock walls rose almost vertically, cutting the sky overhead into a narrow, azure ribbon.
At the center of the valley floor, three ordinary spiritual vein stone platforms were arranged in a perfect equilateral triangle. The surfaces of the platforms were carved with ancient runes, emitting a faint blue glow.
And in the very center of their guard, a golden core token floated.
The token was only the size of a palm, yet it was entirely brilliant gold and radiant, emitting a pressure that slightly distorted the surrounding air.
Just looking at it, one could feel a majestic, vast spiritual power washing over them, shaking the soul.
Yet at this moment, the atmosphere in the valley was so heavy it could almost condense into water.
Three groups of people were already standing in the valley, facing each other in a tripartite confrontation, clearly demarcated.
On the east side, the disciples of the Northern Underworld Sword Sect were lined up, all in uniform black martial attire, exuding a menacing aura.
The leader stood with his hands behind his back, wearing an ink-black Daoist robe, his face cold and stern.
It was Zhao Yue.
He did not look at the golden token but kept his eyes lowered, seemingly examining his own scabbard. However, the restrained sword intent surrounding him made the temperature around them several degrees lower than the frost forest from earlier.
On the south side, the Falling Star Pavilion group was gathered behind a woman.
The woman wore a moon-white Daoist robe, her temperament gentle and elegant.
Bai Qingxue naturally recognized her as well; it was Han Muchun, whom she had met not long ago.
A bronze mirror floated before Han Muchun, its surface shifting to reflect every minute change in the valley.
And on the west side was the team from the Xuantian Sect.
The leader was the very disciple who had frequently glanced at her on the square. At this moment, his face was grave, his hand resting on his sword hilt, as his gaze swept back and forth between the Tianshu Peak's token and the other two groups.
The moment Bai Qingxue emerged from the forest and stepped onto the bluestone at the edge of the valley,
three completely different gazes shot over like sharp arrows.
Zhao Yue raised his head. His fathomless eyes fell upon Bai Qingxue, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, yet giving her the illusion of a sharp sword tip pressed against her.
The bronze mirror in Han Muchun's hand turned slightly, its light lingering for a moment on Bai Qingxue's frost-white Daoist robe, and a faint, enigmatic smile touched the corners of her lips.
As for the leading disciple of Tianshu Peak, the moment he clearly saw that the newcomer was Bai Qingxue, his eyes flickered, flashing with a complex and difficult-to-decipher emotion.
The few Tianshu Peak disciples beside him subconsciously gathered closer, forming a tighter defensive formation. They neither showed the warmth expected toward a fellow disciple nor did they respectfully call out “Senior Sister Bai” as they usually did.
Their attitude was ambiguous and unclear, like the mist shrouding the valley.
The entire valley was dead silent.
And all eyes were focused on the slender, aloof, frost-white figure walking out of the forest.
The wind swept through the valley, tossing Bai Qingxue's silver-white hair. Bai Qingxue's hand holding the Frost Moon Chant hung steadily at her side, as if the suffocating pressure around her was nothing more than a breeze brushing past the hem of her robe.
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