The realization hit Feng Yun’ai like a thunderclap. The Lonely Heart Sword unsheathed with a sharp ring, moving like a dragon’s tail—a flash of silver as fast as a bolt of lightning.
The tip of the blade swept through the crowd, not harming a soul, striking with pinpoint accuracy toward the Yelan Gate Master.
To everyone’s surprise, the Yelan Gate Master showed no fear. His expression didn’t change at all. Like a puppet on strings, he suddenly leaped into the air, narrowly avoiding the strike.
The crowd gasped in horror, especially the disciples of the Yelan Gate. They realized that the martial arts he was using weren’t from their sect at all. It was…
The Nightmare Art!
Feng Yun’ai couldn’t see, but she could hear clearly.
Thousands of nightmare threads converged on the Yelan Gate Master. As the threads vibrated, they made a tsing sound, stretching all the way back toward Snow-Top Peak.
Instead of cutting the threads, she relied on her increasingly sharp hearing to locate them. She thrust her sword forward, twisting it to wrap a length of the thread around her blade.
The nightmare threads were nearly invisible. Even those with perfect sight couldn’t tell the Yelan Gate Master had been under the Nightmare Art’s control. This was especially true in the darkness of night, where the threads vanished completely. During the day, the blinding glare of the snow would have masked them just as effectively.
As the Lonely Heart Sword caught the threads, Feng Yun’ai felt a tug, as if a pair of hands were trying to wrestle the sword from her grasp.
Ordinary nightmare threads were tough and hard to break, but these were even more resilient.
Feng Yun’ai said coldly, “If you all are tired, please go down the mountain and get some rest.”
“It must have happened yesterday!” someone cried out. “The Yelan Gate Master was blown halfway down the cliff by the Sorrowful Wind Fan and got separated from us. That must be when he fell under the Guiyuan Sect’s Nightmare Art!”
Feng Yun’ai flew forward, following the nightmare threads wrapped around her sword. With every inch she gained toward Snow-Top Peak, she spun her blade, winding more of the thread around it.
Sang Chencao narrowed her eyes and called out, “Yu Lao, please take the seniors down the mountain to recover. Don’t give the Guiyuan Sect another opening.”
The Nightmare Art was incredibly insidious. With everyone exhausted, it was the perfect time for the Guiyuan Sect to strike.
Yu Lao immediately responded, “You two take care as well! Don’t get reckless!”
“It’s fine,” Sang Chencao said with a light smirk as she chased after Feng Yun’ai. She pulled the bug whistle from her waist and pressed it to her lips.
The sound of the whistle was sharper and louder than the howling mountain winds, sounding like the roar of a wild beast.
The sound rippled through the wind without being muffled. In an instant, strange leaping insects buried beneath the snow—large and small, soft-bodied and hard-shelled—erupted from the ground.
The white snow was suddenly riddled with tiny holes as they emerged.
The insects leaped onto the nightmare threads. With practiced precision, they formed lines and began scurrying along the invisible strands.
The previously invisible threads were suddenly outlined by the insects, stretching straight toward Snow-Top Peak until they vanished into the distance.
Feng Yun’ai continued to wind the threads around her sword. She glanced back at Sang Chencao. “Your techniques are the perfect counter to that Sorrowful Wind Fan.”
“The Lonely Heart Sword Technique is the best in the world. I’ll help you up the mountain,” Sang Chencao said with a smile.
The two figures blurred across Cold Cicada Ridge, moving faster than the wind and snow. The insects crawling along the threads, bolstered by Sang Chencao’s inner qi, kept pace effortlessly.
The threads did indeed lead all the way to Snow-Top Peak. As they neared the summit, a freezing wind laden with inner qi slammed into them—a murderous gust powerful enough to upend the heavens.
Sang Chencao stepped forward, her wrist snapping. Solitary Gall flew from its scabbard.
In the moonlight, the blade glowed with an eerie purple light. It spiraled with her inner qi as if it possessed a mind of its own, letting out a sharp whistle as it met the wind, forcibly tearing through the Sorrowful Wind Fan’s pressure.
Feng Yun’ai saw her opening. The Lonely Heart Sword was now wrapped in countless layers of thread. She hadn’t noticed earlier, but now the sword was shrouded in a brilliant white, like a silkworm’s cocoon, revealing just how fine and translucent the nightmare threads truly were.
She spun her blade once more, but this time, it wasn’t to wind the thread. It was to sever it.
A flash of silver light erupted, and the nightmare threads fell like rain—visible now, yet colorless.
“Xiuxiu, up the mountain,” Sang Chencao said.
