He crumbled like sand. Starting from his feet, he shattered upward bit by bit. First his feet, then his legs, then his waist, and then his chest. The fragments drifted through the air like dandelions scattered by the wind, like melting snowflakes.
The last to vanish were those eyes—the eyes from his prime, before he went blind. Those eyes were bright and clean, like the first snow of winter in the Northern Border. Those eyes cast a single glance at Jiang Ci.
Just a single glance.
And then, there was nothing.
The jade tablet shattered. The fragments fell to the ground with a crisp clinking sound. Clink.
Panting heavily, Bai Cen stood in the center of the Heavenly Punishment Platform. His robes were singed with several holes from the lightning, his hair was disheveled, blood stained the corner of his mouth, and a large dent marred his cauldron. Yet his eyes were bright—terrifyingly bright.
He had won.
He walked over to Jiang Ci.
She was unconscious, unaware of what had just transpired. Her aura was still climbing—ninth stage of the Golden Core realm, half-step Nascent Soul. The threshold of the Nascent Soul realm was right before her, and she could cross it at any moment. If she were given just fifteen more minutes—no, even half of that—she would become a true Nascent Soul cultivator.
But she would not get that chance.
Bai Cen knelt down and looked at her. Her face was as pale as paper, her lips blue, and the wound on her temple was still oozing blood. Her long eyelashes trembled slightly, as if she were dreaming. What was she dreaming of? The Northern Border? The Sword Sect? That phantom?
“Little Martial Niece, oh, Little Martial Niece.”
Bai Cen's voice was very soft and gentle, as if he were coaxing a child to sleep.
“Do not blame your Martial Uncle Bai for being ruthless. If you must blame anyone, blame the fact that this Sword Heart grew inside you. Hahaha—”
He laughed. He laughed brightly, wantonly, like a child. His laughter echoed over the Heavenly Punishment Platform, lingering for a long time.
Bai Cen curved his right hand into a claw, his five fingers hooked. Spiritual energy condensed at his fingertips, making them as sharp as daggers. He thrust his hand violently into the chest of the unconscious Jiang Ci.
Squelch.
The sound of tearing flesh. The sound of snapping bones. She could not even scream—she was unconscious, unable to feel a thing. Yet her body convulsed, as if resisting by instinct, as if saying, “No,” “It hurts,” “Someone save me.”
Bai Cen's fingers wrapped around the beating heart. Warm, soft, and powerful. This was the Glass Sword Heart. This was what she had been born with, the source of all her talent, and the reason she had become the “Azure Cloud Sword Heir.” This was her heart.
He ripped it out with force.
Blood splattered everywhere. It sprayed across his face, his body, and onto the bluestone slabs of the Heavenly Punishment Platform. The warm blood trickled down his face, dripping onto the ground and pooling into a small puddle.
Bai Cen did not care in the slightest. He wiped his face, his hands, face, and robes completely drenched in blood. Holding the still-twitching heart, he lifted it toward the sun.
The sunlight pierced through the glass, refracting into a rainbow of colors. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. The light shone upon his face, mottled and kaleidoscopic, like an abstract painting.
“My, my, truly beautiful.”
Bai Cen squinted as he admired it. The heart was still twitching, still beating. It was still alive. It had left her body, yet it lived on. A faint halo of light shimmered on the glass-like surface, like a living entity making its final struggle.
“What a pity I cannot stay to watch you die.”
Bai Cen held the heart higher, letting the sunlight penetrate it fully. The colorful light refracted by the glass shone upon his face, in his eyes, and across the brilliant smile on his lips.
He glanced at the purple streak of light flying in from the distance. It was drawing closer and closer; he could even make out the livid face of Sword Venerable Zixiao. He was coming so fast.
“However—since you have provided me with such an excellent ingredient, I shall let you slowly enjoy the ultimate bliss of your life fading away.”
Bai Cen looked down and spoke to the unconscious Jiang Ci. A fist-sized hole gaped in her chest. Blood welled from the wound, staining her white robes, the ground, and the blade of the Qinghan sword. All color had drained from her face, her lips had turned purple, and her breathing was so faint it seemed ready to stop at any moment.
“Hahaha—”
Bai Cen's laughter drifted into the horizon.
He executed an escape technique, his figure turning into a streak of light that vanished into the sky above the Heavenly Punishment Platform. His laughter still drifted on the wind, like a dull knife scraping against the ears of everyone present.
It was heard perfectly by the two approaching figures, one purple and one green.
“Bai Cen—!!”
Zixiao's voice was filled with resentment and regret. His sword was already unsheathed, his sword intent soaring to the heavens, and his sword qi swept across the area; he was like a drawn blade himself. But he was too late. He had wanted that Sword Heart for a long time—ever since he first saw Jiang Ci and first sensed the aura of the Glass Sword Heart, he had craved it. But he had been waiting, waiting for the right opportunity, waiting for an excuse that would not leave him open to criticism.
Now, the opportunity was gone. There was no need to look for an excuse anymore. Bai Cen had beaten him to it.
Zixiao's face was livid. He clenched his fists so hard they creaked, his nails digging into his flesh until blood began to seep out.
As for Jiang Ci, who had lost her heart—
She could only lie on the Heavenly Punishment Platform, her blood staining the entire platform as she slowly grew cold.
A gaping hole hollowed her chest. Her heart was gone. The blood kept flowing, welling from the wound and trickling down her body, soaking her robes, her hair, and the bluestone slabs beneath her. The cracks between the bricks of the Heavenly Punishment Platform were filled with blood—dark red, warm, and still seeping.
Her eyes were closed. Her eyelashes no longer trembled. Her breathing was so weak it was almost imperceptible. Her fingers still rested on the hilt of the Qinghan sword, but she no longer had the strength to grip it. The cracks on the blade were exceptionally glaring under the sunlight, mirroring her current fate.
Only the wind remained on the Heavenly Punishment Platform. The wind, the blood, and the woman lying on the ground, slowly turning cold.
In the distance, Zixiao and Qingwei stood. One gritted his teeth, the other trembled. Neither of them spoke.
The wind was howling, blowing her hair across her face.
Zixiao's furious voice echoed across the Heavenly Punishment Platform, shaking the rubble until it bounced.
He had spared Jiang Ci's life precisely so he could obtain this once-in-a-millennium Glass Sword Heart in the future. Who would have thought that merely letting Bai Cen administer the punishment to avoid suspicion would allow that shameless wretch to take advantage of the situation?
These kinds of schemes were always carried out in the shadows; no one would bring them to light. Now that someone had beaten him to the punch, even if it was a disciple of his own sect, he could only swallow the bitter pill in silence.
“Ah—!”
Sword qi erupted from Zixiao, spraying uncontrollably in all directions and tearing through the air with ear-piercing shrieks. The sharp, violent purple sword qi was like countless invisible blades cutting, tearing, and rampaging across the Heavenly Punishment Platform. Deep grooves were sliced into the bluestone slabs on the ground, and shattered stones flew everywhere, striking the surrounding pillars with a barrage of rapid clatters.
A stray strand of sword qi grazed Qingwei's Daoist robe, tearing the fabric from his shoulder to his cuff, revealing the gray inner lining. The torn fabric swirled in the air, carried away by the wind.
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