Chapter 79

Chapter 79

Rong Baichuan seemed to have reached his limit—his eyes tightly shut, his face pale and ashen, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He lay limp and feeble in Rong Yu’s arms. Panicked, Rong Yu reached out to check his breathing.

Lu Shitu hurried over, took Rong Baichuan from him, and steadily hoisted him onto his back. Frowning calmly, he said, “It’s the backlash from the formation. Master, stay calm. Let’s bring Senior Brother back first.”

Rong Yu nodded, then suddenly snapped to attention. He turned and boarded the MountainBreaker Sword, swiftly heading to Qingxu Peak to fetch the Medical Cultivator and bring him back to Poshang Peak.

After the diagnosis, the Medical Cultivator wore a grave expression. “This isn’t ordinary backlash. The formation that harmed him is deeply sinister—seemingly a remnant from ancient times… The backlash has severely damaged his organs and meridians. It’s no minor injury, and I’m not overly confident either. I’ll return immediately to brew the necessary elixirs and send them over. For the first seven days, he must take the medicine exactly as prescribed—and beyond that…”

He hesitated briefly before continuing, “Someone must continuously channel spiritual energy into his body to augment the medicine’s effects. This must not be interrupted for even a single moment during those seven days. If he remains stable after seven days, his life will be saved.”

Rong Yu’s expression darkened, yet he agreed without hesitation. “Understood. I’ll leave it to you.”

The Medical Cultivator glanced at him, sighed, and hurried off to refine the pills.

Rong Yu sat beside the bed, watching Rong Baichuan, his heart clenched. Even though he knew channeling spiritual energy now would be futile, he still reached out, took Rong Baichuan’s hand, and began guiding spiritual energy into him.

Lu Shitu rested a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly, “The Medical Cultivator sounded somewhat confident. Senior Brother will surely recover.”

Rong Yu gazed blankly at Rong Baichuan for a moment before speaking. “Back then… it was Senior Brother who saved us. Had he not forcibly shattered the barrier, we might truly have fallen into it.”

As he spoke, Rong Yu recalled the Twelve Floors and glanced down at it.

The world-renowned divine artifact—capable of plunging the world into chaos—the Twelve Floors—was, in reality, merely… an exceptionally ordinary large cleaver. Its material was undoubtedly extraordinary, yet its design was rough and crude, appearing perfectly suited for chopping firewood. Only the two jade rings embedded along the blade’s spine lent it a faintly ethereal, divine aura.

Yet, for some inexplicable reason, the moment Rong Yu laid eyes on it, he felt a subtle, indescribable sensation—as if some special connection existed between him and this object.

Not long before, standing atop that mountain peak, Rong Yu had asked Lu Shitu what happened when he attempted to draw forth the Twelve Floors back then.

Lu Shitu’s reply: he couldn’t draw it out at all—only managing to grasp the hilt. Yet with that hilt alone, he descended into the Changhen Abyss and used this invisible blade to tear open a rift between two realms, bringing Rong Yu back.

Clearly, he hadn’t been able to fully wield the Twelve Floors—which explained why something went awry, such as their subsequent memory loss.

Rong Yu hesitated a moment, then stepped forward to try it himself. Again, he managed only to pull out the hilt—and moments later, it flew back on its own, clanging as it re-embedded itself into the mountaintop.

Later, Rong Yu proposed a bold idea: both of them could locate the path to the Twelve Floors, both could enter safely, both could grasp the hilt, and both held a fragment of the Twelve Floors.

Perhaps both were destined ones—and neither could succeed alone.

So they gripped the hilt together, exerted force simultaneously, and finally pulled out the Twelve Floors. In that instant, the jade rings they carried seemed drawn to it, instantly attaching themselves to the blade and merging seamlessly with it.

At the same time, atop the mountain, a middle-aged man seated cross-legged suddenly appeared before them. He was small and withered, his head crowned with an odd knot-like hairstyle, clad in a white robe of unusual cut.

The middle-aged man exhaled in evident relief, stood up, stretched, and remarked emotionally, “You’ve arrived. It seems a great catastrophe has struck this world.”

Rong Yu: …

Why had the plot suddenly veered into incomprehensible territory?

“And you are…?”

Hearing this, the middle-aged man paused, studied Rong Yu and Lu Shitu for a moment, then sighed—somewhat disappointed. “Is it truly that difficult to deduce? I am the one who forged the Twelve Floors.”

If one were to describe the expression on the middle-aged man’s face, it could be summed up as: *These are the destined ones I’ve been waiting for?*

Rong Yu felt vaguely insulted by his dismissive gaze—but remained profoundly shocked: Could this truly be the legendary ancient master?

The middle-aged man waved his hand impatiently, gesturing for them to listen. “Since childhood, I’ve loved forging artifacts. I devoted my entire life to it—and without exaggeration, I excelled in this art; no one in my era could match me. Later, perhaps because I reached the pinnacle of my research, I began to faintly perceive the Mandate of Heaven.”

At this, he looked again at Rong Yu and Lu Shitu, his expression complex. “I foresaw that millions of years hence, the continent’s spiritual energy would decline—and by then, this world would inevitably face a great calamity. Within the Mandate of Heaven, I saw that any change would hinge upon forces from beyond this world—two individuals would bring light here. So I exhausted every effort, gathering all my lifelong knowledge to forge the Twelve Floors—solely to summon those from beyond and alter this world’s fate. But this artifact defied heaven too greatly, and I suffered heavenly punishment, trapped in this accursed place.”

*From beyond this world?* Rong Yu pondered the words, deeply shaken.

Lu Shitu tightened his grip on Rong Yu’s hand, silently observing the middle-aged man.

“Fortunately, you’ve arrived—and I’m finally free. This place is about to collapse, so I’ll make this brief. There is one thing you must know: the Twelve Floors’ power is profoundly heaven-defying. It possesses spatial divine authority—it can connect to worlds beyond and even rip open passages between realms. Yet it can only be used once before losing all power. As for this world teetering on destruction… *sigh*,” he paused here, glancing at Rong Yu and Lu Shitu with little confidence, “I leave it to you. If it works, it works; if not, then so be it. I’ve done all I possibly could.”

Rong Yu: …

Lu Shitu asked, “Senior, I’ve already used it once before—but at that time, I only possessed the hilt—it was incomplete. Can it never be used again after this?”

The middle-aged man exclaimed, frowned, and stared at him oddly. “That worked? This…”

As he spoke, the surrounding space began to tremble—signaling imminent collapse.

The middle-aged man hesitated for a long while before finally saying, “I don’t know. Perhaps it can be used half a time? Take care of yourselves…”

A sea of clouds gradually rose, lifting the two upward. Just before they were expelled from this place, Rong Yu suddenly remembered something and turned back to ask, “So—the legend that the Twelve Floors can enable direct ascension—is it true?”

The middle-aged man’s voice echoed distantly: “I made that up… and people actually believed it…”

Rong Yu snapped out of his reverie, recalling those final words—and couldn’t help but think of the sect leader, and every generation of sect leaders since the founding ancestor, who had desperately sought the Twelve Floors.

With a complicated expression, he absently rubbed the jade rings embedded in the Twelve Floors.

Then, he suddenly recalled Jiang Ziliu—whom he’d seen earlier on Taixu Mountain—and his face darkened. “Tch… that kid got away.”

In their current situation, he couldn’t pursue him yet.

Lu Shitu replied, “Master, don’t worry. I placed a tracking talisman on him. Once Senior Brother recovers, we can go after him. It won’t be too late.”

Rong Yu looked up at him, incredulous: Had this person recently learned mind-reading? And how had he even thought to place a tracking talisman on Jiang Ziliu?

“Back then, I noticed you watching him—and he’s always been suspicious. Considering past events, I suspected his involvement, so I placed the talisman.” Lu Shitu once again anticipated Rong Yu’s thoughts, explaining calmly.

Rong Yu felt relieved—and praised Lu Shitu with a couple of affectionate pats on the head. He couldn’t help but feel… ever since their memories returned, for some reason, Lu Shitu often seemed to intuit his thoughts.

As for Jiang Ziliu…

Rong Yu recalled Jiang Ziliu’s appearance earlier. That figure had seemed neither human nor ghost—likely because, during the last Sect Tournament, he’d pushed himself too far, damaging his spiritual veins and foundation, worsening his already mediocre talent. With poor aptitude, injured spiritual veins, unsuitable cultivation techniques, and an unacknowledged spirit sword, Jiang Ziliu’s cultivation path was essentially hopeless. No wonder he’d deteriorated like this.

Even with immense luck on his side, Jiang Ziliu was beyond saving. Such an opponent wasn’t worth worrying about.

Rong Yu’s thoughts churned chaotically—while beside him, Lu Shitu lowered his gaze to the Twelve Floors, lost in his own reflections.

Seven days later.

The Medical Cultivator nodded, stood up, and let out a sigh. “This should at least ensure his life is no longer in danger.”

Rong Yu reached out to smooth a wrinkle in Rong Baichuan’s blanket, his voice hoarse. “Then… when will Senior Brother wake up?”

The Medical Cultivator fell silent for a moment before shaking his head. Rong Yu’s expression froze instantly.

The Medical Cultivator said, “Though his life is no longer in danger now… I dare not promise anything else. It’s in fate’s hands now. Elder… no, Senior Rong—I must depart as well.”

Rong Yu, still staring at Rong Baichuan, asked absently, “Where are you going?”

The Medical Cultivator packed up his medical kit as he replied, “An old friend of mine is at the Yunshan Sect and has invited me to join them. I’ve already accepted.”

Rong Yu murmured blankly, "Ah... congratulations." Having stayed on Mount Po Shan these past few days, he hadn’t fully grasped the reality that "the Taixu Sword Sect has truly fallen." Only upon hearing that people had already started seeking their own paths did he realize that he had, with a single strike, cut off the sect's lineage.

"By the way..." Rong Yu thought for a moment and still asked, "What about the Sect Leader? And the other elders and disciples?"

"After the day the Mountain Protection Formation was destroyed, no one has seen the Sect Leader again... ah, no, Shangguan. But he was already seriously ill, and that day he suffered a severe backlash—it’s likely he... doesn’t have many days left. Some say he returned to his hometown to recuperate, to a small village near the Hundred Thousand Mountains, but... even if that’s true, whether he can make it back is questionable. As for the other elders and disciples, some have entered secular life, some have joined other sects—each has their own plans."

"Oh, and Ling Xiao didn’t leave. He also suffered severe backlash, seemingly from using dark arts. Their kind of backlash is different from your senior brother Bingzhen’s—even if they survive, their bodies are ruined. Now that the sect has collapsed, his disciples were quick to disperse, and he no longer has endless supplies of elixirs and spiritual herbs. A couple of days ago, I heard he went mad from the pain and fled into the untamed forest behind the sect’s rear mountain. No one actually went looking for him, and no one knows what’s become of him."

The Medical Cultivator’s expression was indifferent, clearly holding no fondness for Ling Xiao. From his words, Rong Yu could tell just how poor Elder Lingxiao’s reputation had been within the sect. With a severely injured mortal body, entering such wild terrain—even if he were lucky enough not to be killed by spiritual beasts, the precipitous terrain meant a single misstep could be fatal.

The Medical Cultivator bid farewell to Rong Yu and descended the mountain alone. Rong Yu returned to his senses and turned his gaze back to Rong Baichuan lying on the bed.

Rong Baichuan had gentle, scholarly features, giving him the appearance of an elegant, refined middle-aged man. But now, lying weakly on the bed, he looked gaunt and frail, his complexion having turned from ivory to a sickly pallor, a sight that wrenched the heart.

When Rong Baichuan was alive and kicking, Rong Yu would feel uneasy at the mere sight of him, dreading being subjected to his grating voice and wishing he would just keep his mouth shut—or better yet, have it sewn up.

But now, after staying by Rong Baichuan’s side for so long, in such quiet surroundings, Rong Yu felt not relief but an inexplicable emptiness in his heart.

"Senior brother," Rong Yu murmured distractedly, his voice tinged with helplessness, "if... if you wake up, you can scold me as much as you want. Alright?"

"Please wake up... senior brother."

Rong Baichuan remained motionless. Rong Yu lowered his head, feeling a stinging sensation in his eyes.

Lu Shitu placed a hand on his shoulder, gently soothing him. Rong Yu blinked, stood up, and said, "Let’s go. It’s about time to settle accounts."

The two walked side by side out of the room.

Just then, a faint, almost inaudible voice came from the room: "Really...?"

Rong Yu whirled around.