Chapter Thirty-Two: When You Meet Me, There Is No Life

“To witness the Ruined Wastes, one can only bow in submission—your reputation is truly deserved.” Meng Ningsi gazed calmly at Li Ruoyu, an uncanny serenity flickering in her eyes.

“You lured me here on purpose?” Li Ruoyu frowned slightly, watching Meng Ningsi intently.

“You can orchestrate a trap, but so can I. The opportunity to obtain the Extreme Cold Ice Marrow is rare enough to justify any risk.” Meng Ningsi’s confidence was unshakable. Even as she spoke, another lotus wreathed in primordial mist blossomed behind her.

“A twin lotus…”

Li Ruoyu hadn’t expected Meng Ningsi to have cultivated her Chaos Lotus to the stage of Twin Lotus. One of the lotuses behind her surged forward, piercing the black snow and striking at the tombstone. The characters on the tombstone flared with divine radiance, halting the oncoming, chaos-laden lotus.

But passivity was not in Li Ruoyu’s nature. He turned defense into attack, commanding the tombstone to suppress Meng Ningsi. The inscriptions shone with divine light, pressing her down. Seizing the advantage, he unleashed the Fist Across Ages once more, lashing out at Meng Ningsi.

A formidable foe indeed—Meng Ningsi, with her Chaos Lotus Physique, had not hesitated to sacrifice loyal followers, luring Li Ruoyu into her snare for the sake of monopolizing the Extreme Cold Ice Marrow. Such cunning was truly terrifying. If possible, Li Ruoyu intended to kill her here.

In Meng Ningsi’s hands, a massive sword of ancient sandalwood danced with supernatural mastery, surpassing its previous prowess. Relentlessly, she pressed the attack—slashing and thrusting with cruel, unpredictable moves. Li Ruoyu dared not act carelessly, responding to each assault with utmost vigilance.

“Cleave the Azure Sea!”

After her Cleave the Seasons, Meng Ningsi unleashed another secret art. This time, her blade cleaved the sea and severed the ages, more ferocious than before. Where sandalwood met bone, divine light exploded, and the force hurled both combatants backward, scattering sand across the desert in waves.

Suddenly, as Li Ruoyu was flung through the air, a sword appeared abruptly nearby, thrusting straight for him. Its wielder was none other than Dao Feiyan, the eldest outer disciple of the Grand Unity Sect. Dao Feiyan bore a unique and unfathomable presence—one look and any onlooker would sense his extraordinariness. His long black hair fell in waves down his back, unable to hide the sharp gleam of the sword he carried. Now, that very sword was in his grip, and he struck at Li Ruoyu like an immortal from beyond the heavens.

When the other leaders of the various factions realized Li Ruoyu was unstoppable and fled, Dao Feiyan had instead lain in secret ambush, waiting for this very moment. His mind was as bold as it was meticulous—he chose the perfect instant, striking while Li Ruoyu was at his weakest. Sensing danger, Li Ruoyu dodged to the side. The sword missed his throat, but bit into his shoulder.

The wound bled freely, crimson drops falling onto the sand with a crisp patter, while the sword gleamed coldly in the sun.

“To witness the Ruined Wastes is to bow in submission,” Dao Feiyan sneered at Li Ruoyu.

Li Ruoyu eyed his wounded shoulder with calm as still water, yet cold sweat beaded his brow. Staring at Dao Feiyan, his killing intent was not fierce, but utterly pure.

“To witness the Ruined Wastes is to bow in submission. To witness me is to find no life,” Li Ruoyu intoned, gripping the bone sword. His steps were slow, but as he walked through the air toward Dao Feiyan, it was as if he pressed down on the man’s very heart, his pace matching Dao Feiyan’s racing pulse.

He sheathed the Great Soul Banner, strapped the sword case to his back, and advanced with his ancient sword in hand.

Cold sweat trickled down Dao Feiyan’s face. He felt as though the man before him had transformed utterly—plain and unremarkable on the surface, yet exuding a killing intent both faint and suffocating. It was as if his fate had been sealed, his path cut off. Around Li Ruoyu, fierce winds began to whip the desert, swirling outward in concentric circles, carrying sand in their wake.

“Meng Ningsi, act now! Or we’ll both die here!” Clearly, Dao Feiyan and Meng Ningsi had plotted to ambush Li Ruoyu beforehand, or Dao Feiyan would never have struck that blow.

Li Ruoyu advanced step by step, his momentum building. His sword strike was simple, ordinary, without any dramatic flourish, but it seemed more powerful than any other attack. The blade thrust toward Dao Feiyan. Behind him, a spectral river appeared—swaying in the wind.

“The Soul River!”

Legend tells that beneath the Bridge of Forgetfulness in the Netherworld flows the Soul River, filled with endless wandering spirits. Dao Feiyan’s own path was that of the Soul River. It is said the living must not approach the Netherworld, and so the legend remains. Yet Dao Feiyan’s manifestation seemed to prove the Netherworld was real, not mere myth.

The Soul River exuded a chilling, sinister aura, surging toward Li Ruoyu. But with a single sword strike, Li Ruoyu broke the Soul River, his sword undeterred, pressing the attack.

“What is this power? Why—?” Dao Feiyan’s confusion was cut short as the sword, unstoppable and unyielding, pierced his chest, ending his life.

“The road ends here. Farewell,” Li Ruoyu murmured, a trace of emotion in his voice. He recalled his years in the Valley of Fallen Demons—every step fraught with peril. A single misstep, and he would have been nothing but dust by now.

With a single sword stroke, he felled his foe, then turned and struck at Meng Ningsi. Whether it was the mighty sandalwood sword or the primordial lotus, all were shattered by this unremarkable sword. With one cut, he severed her head. Meng Ningsi’s corpse collapsed in the sand, her eyes filled with disbelief and puzzlement. The yellow sand swept over her, half-burying her remains, as if the world itself were laying her to rest.

“People ought to have ties and beliefs,” Li Ruoyu murmured softly. He collected Meng Ningsi’s great sandalwood sword and gazed at the desolate desert. So many had come and gone, so many buried their bones here—dying far from home, wasn’t that its own tragedy? “Is this the path? Once stepped upon, there’s no turning back; hesitate, and you become another bleached skeleton in the sand.” Silent and pensive, Li Ruoyu looked at the three hundred or so corpses scattered in the dunes, a trace of confusion clouding his heart.

Looking out across the wasteland, Li Ruoyu was the sole survivor of the massacre—over three hundred enemies slain, with only a handful of faction leaders like Su Qingyi of Heavenly Reliance Gate managing to escape. Li Ruoyu searched each corpse for valuables, reaping many fine treasures—rare medicines, several Herb Kings, and various items for refining and cultivation.

He walked slowly across the desert, planning to traverse it entirely, using the ordeal to temper himself. By day, the blazing sun and scalding sand tormented his flesh and spirit; by night, he endured bone-chilling cold, regulating his breath to withstand the desert’s shifting extremes. He traveled by day to strengthen his body and cultivated the Celestial Burial Art at night, merging treasures and weapons into his Dao Image to absorb their divine essence. Step by step, his eyes shone with unwavering resolve.

Three months, five months, a year passed—Li Ruoyu pressed steadily eastward, toward the far end of the Valley of Fallen Demons. Walking barefoot, his feet grew calloused—not old and hardened, but enough to mark each step of his journey. His cultivation advanced rapidly, nearing the mid-stage of the Dao Physique. By the second year, he had come to relish this way of life. At last, in the third year, he reached the end of the desert, shrouded in white mist, just as he had seen when he first entered the valley.

Li Ruoyu then headed westward. It had taken him three years to come, but far less time to return. Midway, he discovered a pit about sixty feet across, sand swirling into it like an hourglass. From its depths, two beams of black-red light shot skyward.

“Could it be a treasure?” Li Ruoyu wondered. He approached the light, but suddenly his senses screamed of mortal danger, making his hair stand on end. Without hesitation, he darted aside. No sooner had he moved than a giant burst out of the sandpit, soaring skyward—the black-red beams from the giant’s eyes. It stood over ninety feet tall, with two chains shackling its wrists—crafted from Heaven-cut Purple Gold, reaching deep beneath the desert.

Watching from a distance, Li Ruoyu was stunned. In ancient times, there was a race known as the Human Demons—Great Demons of enormous size. That one still lived in the Valley of Fallen Demons, though bound by the Heaven-cut Purple Gold. Li Ruoyu sped away eastward, unease gnawing at him. It was only a matter of time before the demon broke free, and when it did, catastrophe would follow.

This valley was full of strangeness. First, the white-haired youth in the cave who didn’t belong to this era; now, the awakening of an ancient Great Demon. Li Ruoyu could not shake the feeling that some great event would soon unfold here.

Five months later, Li Ruoyu reached the western border of the valley, where wetlands prevailed. He treated these lands as another trial, encountering poisonous snakes lurking in the waters, strange beasts attacking from above, and ambushes from fellow travelers—all of whom he defeated. After crossing these perils, he returned to the central glacier world of the valley and secluded himself in cultivation.

One year, then two, passed. With half a year remaining before the ten-year deadline, Li Ruoyu emerged from seclusion, standing in the sky as the clouds of tribulation gathered above. Before the clouds could fully form, he charged into them, eager to see the nine figures he had glimpsed before. Deep in the Heavenly Tribulation, he had once seen nine figures—each standing upon a path stretching into infinity, growing ever more distant, their backs to all living things. Occasionally, one would turn, revealing a face etched with desolation, solitude, and indescribable emotion—pity, sorrow, anguish.

Thunderbolts crashed down on Li Ruoyu, one after another. He summoned his Dao Image, unleashed the Fist Across Ages, and met the tribulation head-on, forging himself in lightning and fire. As he battled ever deeper into the storm, the bolts grew ever stronger, each more ferocious than the last, some carrying artifacts—perhaps even resembling the Stone of Three Lives—striking at him, piercing his Dao Image, and leaving him bloodied. Not only had the power of the tribulation increased dramatically, but the artifacts within it were far more formidable than before.