Tan Qingsheng arrived in a burst of metal and fire. The resemblance to Tan Xiaoling was immediate. He had the same rough edge as her, and his lips curled into a familiar half-smirk. The changes to Tan Xiaoling’s physical appearance that had accompanied her advancement to Nascent Soul were more apparent in her uncle. His hair, while held back in the fashion of the empire, appeared rough and wild. Like his niece, Tan Qingsheng’s eyes shone with a soft light, like two molten pools of gold.

  Wang Xiaobo arrived a moment later. Upon landing he locked eyes with He Yu, and his expression was one of prideful contempt, undiluted by time. He still wore fine silk robes, and an ornate silver crown hairpin. His jian was the same one He Yu remembered. The only difference between their last meeting was Wang Xiaobo’s advancement. Like Xin Lu, he’d reached late Nascent Soul since their last meeting. And also, like Xin Lu, a shadow of Jin Xifeng’s power lurked within his spirit.

  A nine-ringed sword appeared in Tan Qingsheng’s hand as he stepped forward. He leveled his weapon at Tan Xiaoling and looked toward He Yu the others. “Leave me to this stain on the Tan family’s pride, and I will let you live.”

  Wang Xiaobo’s features twisted. Although his spirit flared briefly, he restrained himself from overt action. “We had a deal,” he said, voice tight.

  “The others are no concern of mine,” Tan Qingsheng said.

  “I’ll have my honor back no matter what he says,” Wang Xiaobo spat, shifting his attention back to He Yu.

  Only the prescience of the Peerless Judgment allowed He Yu to avoid Wang Xiaobo’s attack. He pulled himself back with the Sky Dragon’s Flight and deflected a thrust with the Spring Rain Mirror. The thousand gleaming blades of Wang Xiaobo’s primary technique ripped apart the ground He Yu had just escaped.

  “A fight it is, then!” Tan Qingsheng laughed. His Sixth Realm spirit crashed over them all. The black desert sun beat down on a land ripped apart by jagged iron spikes, burning under the relentless heat and dark light. Flames licked the length of his nine-ring sword as he threw himself, laughing, at his niece.

  The clash of the two immortals, both using the Tan family’s Golden Tiger Cultivation Law, met on the valley floor in a burst of power. Metal screamed and flames rushed along their weapons. That Tan Xiaoling stood firm against the first assault of an expert a full realm above her was a testament to her strength. Even so, He Yu clearly saw she was on the back foot already.

  The initial explosion of fire and metal ripped through what little remained of the valley floor. The Breath of the White Desert’s storm of metal razors leaped up around Tan Xiaoling. Tan Qingsheng called his own variation of the technique. Rather than a countless storm of tiny shards, Tan Qingsheng called seven larger blades, each the size of a sword. They flew around him in a looping pattern that was more controlled and precise than Tan Xioaling’s use of the technique.

  A flash of moonlit snow marked Li Heng’s arrival to assist the princess. A massive overhand strike from Tan Qingsheng’s nine-ring sword deflected off Li Heng’s ancestral jian, setting the smaller blade to glow with brilliant silver light. Although he’d turned the blow aside, he still stumbled under the attack’s sheer power.

  “Lu! Deal with the Li whelp,” Wang Xiaobo shouted.

  Xin Lu rushed forward in a burst of heaven and fire, forcing Li Heng back and away from Tan Xiaoling. His advance brought a sweeping series of strikes from his double halberd, each one crackling with heaven and trailing tongues of flame.

  He Yu rushed Wang Xiaobo, heaven coursing along the length of his guandao. “Chen Fei, help Tan Xiaoling! Yan Shirong, to Li Heng. I’ll deal with this one!” He Yu shouted.

  Although he wasn’t sure he could take Wang Xiaobo on his own, Tan Xiaoling certainly couldn’t handle her uncle by herself. Someone needed to help tie Xin Lu down, and Yan Shirong would be best for that. And if there was anyone among them who could assist Tan Xiaoling, it was Chen Fei and her barriers. She’d proved herself able to hold her ground against higher realm opponents more than enough times in the past.

  “Ah, the peasant thinks he’s a general now, does he?” Wang Xiaobo sneered as he launched another barrage of metal at He Yu. A hundred swords came from a hundred angles, each one gleaming with metal qi and killing intent.

  A formation of the Bracing Wind sent out a burst of wind and heaven, disrupting the greater part of Wang Xiaobo’s technique. The true attack, a powerful thrust from Wang Xiaobo’s jian, met the Spring Rain Mirror.

  He Yu said nothing. Wang Xiaobo had always been more experienced than he was, and he used that experience to good measure. Even with just this brief exchange, He Yu could tell Wang Xiaobo hadn’t been idle in the fifteen years since they’d last faced one another. Much like Xin Lu, he’d made some deal with Jin Xifeng as well. He Yu grit his teeth. This was a very different foe than the one he’d humiliated back at the sect. And worse, He Yu didn’t have the rules of the sect—such as they’d been—to protect him. Nor did he have the threat of Zhang Lifen’s vengeance.

  Nearby, Yan Shirong’s shadows rose to bind Xin Lu’s weapon and limbs. He burst with heaven and flame, the black metal of his double halberd gleaming a dull orange-red. Xin Lu ripped free from his bonds, scattering Yan Shirong’s nearby constructs with a swing of his halberd. With a thrust of his weapon, he sent a churning cyclone of heaven and flame at Yan Shirong.

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  “Ignore me at your peril,” Li Heng said softly, barely loud enough for He Yu to catch over the din of the clashing experts. For an instant the world went dark, and all He Yu could see was the taiji, slowly rotating above a darkened expanse of ice and snow. When the world returned, the telltale marks of the Darkmoon Strife’s frosted blade graced Xin Lu’s back.

  But this time, Li Heng wasn’t quick enough with his escape. Xin Lu slammed the butt of his double halberd into Li Heng’s chest, sending him stumbling back. In the gaze of the Peerless Judgment, He Yu sensed the looping patterns of qi as Li Heng cycled his movement technique, but the disruption was enough, and Xin Lu was a fraction too quick. He grabbed Li Heng by the throat and lifted him off his feet. As He Yu rushed to his friend’s aid, Wang Xiaobo appeared in his path with a movement technique.

  “You picked these matches, peasant general,” Wang Xiaobo said with obvious glee. “Now live with them.”

  The renewed assault took nearly all of He Yu’s attention to beat back. To his great relief, Yan Shirong managed to distract Xin Lu just long enough for Li Heng to reverse his grip on his jian and plunge the blade into Xin Lu’s chest. The older cultivator roared and dropped his prize. Then he turned his attention to breaking free of Yan Shirong’s shadows once again. As grievous a wound as he’d taken—more than enough to kill a mortal—He Yu knew full well that immortals weren’t so to take down. And although he’d no idea how much of Xin Lu’s qi reserves yet remained, healing from a wound like that would certainly cost him.

  In a burst of metal and flame, Tan Xiaoling crashed into the earth a few feet away from where He Yu desperately fought back Wang Xiaobo’s relentless attacks. The ground cracked and cratered under the impact. To her credit, she was back on her feet an instant later. Over one shoulder, the Mark of the Dark Sun formed the familiar spear of black flame.

  With a boisterous laugh, Tan Qingsheng did the same. “Did you forget? We cultivate the same arts, Xiaoling!”

  Five spears formed around Tan Qingsheng, faster and more completely than the one Tan Xiaoling still gathered about her. In a burst of fire qi, they streaked through the air, trailing black flames in their wake. He Yu had seen what a single formation of that technique could do more than enough times—he was far too close to their intended target.

  Pouring his cultivation base into the Sky Dragon’s Flight and the Empyrean Ninefold Body Tempering both, he hauled himself away from the explosion of black flame. When the aftermath of the attack cleared, Chen Fei stood in front of Tan Xiaoling. Her armor was cracked and several pieces looked about to fall off. The fading formation from her family’s Seventy-Two Blessed Symbols told enough of the story.

  “Pay attention, peasant,” Wang Xiaobo laughed. He appeared inside He Yu’s guard, his jian accompanied by a dozen metal echoes. Mists curled around him from the lingering effects of his movement technique. Had he attacked anyone else, he’d have ended the fight right there.

  While Wang Xiaobo hadn’t stood still in the past fifteen years, neither had He Yu. The Spring Rain Mirror manifested and turned aside the strike from Wang Xiaobo’s jian. But the metal echoes from his sword technique found their mark. Pain spiked in He Yu’s side. Several red stains spread over his robes.

  “I hope you remember this,” He Yu said as he curled his fist. “You’re not the only one to have advanced since we last fought.”

  The clouds opened, and a long serpentine body uncoiled. A dragon’s head layered itself over He Yu’s fist, its horns sparking. The tiny arcs of heaven that crawled along He Yu’s robes, weapon, and skin rushed into his still-imperfect and yet unnamed technique. The dragon’s scales reached up his arm, past his elbow. They glinted and sparked with heaven.

  He Yu struck.

  All the power he’d gathered into his fist surged into Wang Xiaobo, flooding his meridians and his dantian. His cultivation base went wild. He brought it under control far more quickly than he had the last time He Yu struck at his cultivation base directly. That he’d since formed his Wayborn Seed came as no surprise—he’d never have reached Nascent Soul if he hadn’t. Still, the strike did its job.

  “You haven’t changed,” Wang Xiaobo spat. “Still the same peasant coward you always were.” He attacked, his strikes less controlled, less precise than they’d been moments before.

  The Peerless Judgment showed He Yu the shape of the incoming assault, and he beat back one strike after another. The winds and the rain churned at the surface of Wang Xiaobo’s spirit. Once placid waters, still and bright like a silver mirror, rippled. The disturbance expanded through his spirit, causing even the sword hanging above the lake to tremble. If He Yu had learned one thing in his time at the sect, it was that a cultivator’s pride was far too easy to injure.

  As the clash of presences continued to rip apart the now-ruined valley floor, a surge of darkness enveloped Xin Lu. A hundred pairs of eyes peered out from that darkness as a single gleam of silver bloomed within. The moment Li Heng struck once again with the Darkmoon Strife, Yan Shirong launched dozens upon dozens of poison-tipped daggers.

  Xin Lu had been fighting for the longest of their opponents, and much of that time he’d been alone. Even at the late stage of Nascent Soul, a five to one advantage was hard to overcome. And at long last, the strain caught up. The older cultivator pitched forward, stumbling to his knees. An instant later, Wang Xiaobo was at his side. A barrage of metal qi pushed back Li Heng and Yan Shirong at once.

  He Yu charged, carried by the Sky Dragon’s Flight. The Empyrean Ninefold Body Tempering sent heaven qi crackling over his robes and toward the ground in great arcs. Wind and rain howled with him, as Heaven’s Descending Blade reached for Wang Xiaobo, carried by a formation of the Rushing Wind. Wang Xiaobo looked He Yu in the eyes, and stood his ground, planting himself before his sworn brother. Li Heng and Yan Shirong hit Wang Xiaobo at the same time He Yu did. Heaven, shadow, and ice crashed over the sword hanging above the glass-still lake—and the sword trembled.

  “Cowards,” Wang Xiaobo growled. “You have to face me three to one to have any hope, and while I defend my brother? Your shame is without limits.” Wang Xiaobo hauled Xin Lu to his feet. A paper talisman appeared in his free hand, and in a flash of qi, the both of them disappeared.

  “Shame,” Yan Shirong sniffed. “I’d hoped we could finish them off for good.”

  “We still need to help Xiaoling,” Li Heng shouted. With a flash of the White Hair Dance, he joined the fight against the Sixth Realm cultivator.

  “He’s right,” He Yu said, shooting a worried glance after Li Heng. Chen Fei was in bad shape. One of her arms was slick and red with blood, and her spirit felt noticeably weaker than it normally did.

  Tan Xiaoling didn’t look to be in much better shape. “This is our best chance to deal with Tan Qingsheng.”

  Not that he thought they had a chance against him. Tan Qingsheng was early Soul Refining, and for all He Yu could tell, still had plenty of qi left. Now that He Yu could turn his full attention to him, he looked like he’d not even been trying. Insurmountable or no, He Yu had promised Tan Xiaoling he’d help her with this. So that’s what he’d do.

  Calling the storm once again, He Yu charged into the fray.