The first vibration from Ye Ming’s palm did not produce a grand explosion, but its resonance caused the distant marble to crack finely. Unlike the explosive Ling Huo, Ye Ming utilized the Union of Mountain and Earth technique, making his physical frame an anchor for his heavy soul.

  DANG! DANG! DANG!

  The first three strikes passed with a constant rhythm, like the unwavering heartbeat of the earth. Every time his palm touched the ancient bronze, the gray backlashes hitting his soul felt as though they were crashing into an impenetrable cliff. Ye Ming did not deflect the shocks; he swallowed them, storing them within his vast inner center.

  "Incredible... he shows no signs of pressure!" whispered an Elder of a Yao Gu faction, eyes narrowing with anxiety.

  DANG! DANG! DANG!

  However, at the fourth strike, his stoic face began to show bulging veins. The Heavenly Night Rain Bell began to react to Ye Ming's unnatural calm. The carved faces on the bell's surface now seemed to crawl, attempting to possess Ye Ming's shadow.

  "You wish to carry a burden?" a raspy voice echoed from within the bell, heard only by Ye Ming's spiritual sense. "Then carry the silence of a thousand collapsing mountains!"

  DANG!

  The fifth strike. Ye Ming’s knees trembled slightly, and a creaking sound emanated from his joints. The bell’s backlash this time was no longer a wave, but an immense gravitational soul pressure. In Ye Ming’s mind, he saw himself standing alone at the peak of a destroyed world, carrying a collapsing sky by himself.

  "Only... this much...?" Ye Ming growled. He stomped his foot, locking his body's position with dense laws of gravity. "Earth Law: Majesty of the Heaven-Shaking Earth!"

  Ye Ming’s body now radiated a dull gray glow, his skin texture turning hard like ancient black jade. He delivered the sixth and seventh strikes in a slow yet devastating sequence.

  DANG! DANG! DANG!

  The entire Square of Holy Light shook. Even Sage Qing Xuan, sitting on his cloud throne, had to reinforce his spiritual shield. Eleven strikes! Ye Ming had surpassed the achievements of both Gu Tao and Ling Huo.

  "Eight!" Ye Ming roared, his voice like the rumble of an avalanche. He slammed both palms simultaneously into the bell's belly.

  BOOOM!

  The sound produced this time was so powerful it shattered several lanterns in Yao Gu City miles away. A massive backlash hit Ye Ming, throwing him backward. However, unlike the others, Ye Ming did not tumble; he dragged his feet across the stage, leaving two deep trenches in the floating stone until he stopped exactly at the edge of the crater.

  He spat out thick, black blood, his breath whistling painfully, but his eyes remained focused. "Eight... Zhi Xuan..."

  Zhi Xuan nodded thinly, his eyes flashing with appreciation. With the current accumulation, Xing Luo was now trailing only slightly behind Yao Gu and Feng Mie. However, that victory felt fleeting, for Yao Gu still had Mu Chen, and Feng Mie still had Yan Fenghuang.

  "Eight strikes from one man..." Han Shanshan narrowed his eyes, anger creeping onto his arrogant face. "The Xing Luo Plains truly sent monsters for this competition."

  "Don't celebrate yet," Mu Chen interrupted as he stepped forward, his aura overflowing with a perfect combination of the five elements. "You only have one person left. Meanwhile, we still have the victor. I will show you that Yao Gu is something you will never be able to catch."

  Mu Chen walked with a grounded arrogance, every step on the light bridge leaving a glowing five-colored energy trail. His presence triggered deafening cheers from the Yao Gu practitioners; to them, Mu Chen was the embodiment of their plain's majesty, a genius untouched by the dust of failure.

  "Witness how the Heavens grant their blessing to those who walk the true path!" Mu Chen shouted, spreading his arms.

  Instantly, behind his back, five energy vortexes appeared representing Lightning, Wind, Water, Fire, and Earth. The five elements spun in perfect harmony, creating a resonance that seemed to merge with the frequency of the Heavenly Night Rain Bell.

  He raised his hand, and a fan appeared. Unlike other geniuses who used physical strength or techniques from studied scrolls, or even simple Laws from ordinary enlightenment, this was proof of his success in the Sacred Heaven Secret Realm.

  Mu Chen flicked his fan to paint in the air, each stroke forming golden lines like the patterns of a massive formation, emitting an arc disk that seemed to freeze the space around it. The arc disk did not stay still; it spun in the manifestation of a storm.

  "Heavenly Pen: Ink Painting of the Nine Storms," Mu Chen’s voice sounded calm, as if he were submerged in silence, painting without a canvas where the Sky was his masterpiece.

  DANG!

  The first strike produced by Mu Chen's golden ink painting was not crude, but a measured symphony of power. As soon as his energy brushstrokes touched the bronze surface, the bell vibrated in a harmonious frequency, as if welcoming a ruler rather than a challenger.

  DANG! DANG! DANG!

  The initial three tolls echoed with heart-clinching elegance. Mu Chen did not receive damaging backlashes; instead, the storm formation he painted acted as a divine filter, letting the soul attacks from the bell enter his five-element vortex and be purified into essence that reinforced his aura.

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  "Look! Mu Chen is using his innate technique; he isn't giving anyone a chance, he's using his strongest power!" a cultivator roared with joy and pride.

  The golden ink strokes in the air grew more complex, forming formation nets that seemed to seal fate upon the floating stage. Mu Chen danced with his fan, his movements as smooth as silk yet containing the sharpness of a thousand essence daggers.

  DANG! DANG! DANG! DANG!

  Two more tolls boomed without pause. He had landed six strikes as if plucking leaves in a few breaths. The Yao Gu spectators stood in unison, their cheers like thunder trying to rival the bell. They watched a man taming an ancient executioner with the grace of a heavenly noble.

  However, as Mu Chen prepared for the seventh strike, the bell suddenly stopped vibrating harmoniously. The ancient bronze let out a painful creak, and the carved faces began to emit a blood-red light. The bell seemed offended; it refused to be painted by the arrogance of a mortal.

  "You try to dictate my laws with mortal ink?" an ancient, heavy echo struck Mu Chen's consciousness, making his fan-holding hand tremble.

  DANG!

  The seventh strike landed. This time, the backlash was no longer a filterable wave. A black soul-chain shot out from the bell's navel, piercing through Mu Chen’s storm formation and whipping directly at his inner being.

  "Ugh!" Mu Chen staggered, a drop of cold sweat running down his temple. The five element vortexes at his back began to spin in chaotic directions.

  The soul-chain did not stop; it wrapped around Mu Chen and slammed him onto the platform mercilessly. Hundreds of headless warriors emerged from the Heavenly Bell, darting sharply toward Mu Chen. Every strike passed accumulated until it spat out a sharp backlash, responding to Mu Chen’s grand Dao Heart.

  Mu Chen did not let his mortal frame touch the cold marble floor. Before his knees landed, he snapped his fan against the air, creating a ripple of water energy that froze instantly, serving as a temporary foothold. His handsome face now showed extreme sharpness; there was no fear, only the calm to prove he was the true son of heaven.

  "Only illusions of soul remnants?" Mu Chen hissed coldly. "Before my five-element harmony, you are but dust blown by the wind!"

  He leapt into the air, his robes billowing into a halo of light. With hand movements so fast they left shadows, he spun his fan. The five element vortexes behind him suddenly condensed into a single point of blinding white light at the tip of his fan.

  DANG!

  The eighth strike. As the blow landed, the hundreds of headless warriors rushing toward him instantly shattered into shards of light. But the bell retaliated more cruelly.

  The screams of thousands of tortured spirits exploded inside Mu Chen’s eardrums, trying to collapse his Dao Heart from within. Blood began to seep from the gaps in his fingers gripping the fan, yet his grip only tightened.

  "Nine!" Mu Chen roared, his voice carrying an authority capable of shaking weak souls.

  DANG!

  This ninth hantaman created an echo that split the clouds above the Square of Holy Light. The backlash from the bell manifested into a giant palm of black mist that slammed into Mu Chen’s chest.

  The sound of cracking ribs was faintly heard, but Mu Chen actually laughed. He used the momentum of the strike to spin in the air; his golden ink painting now transformed into a golden dragon coiling around the bell.

  "Ten!"

  DANG!

  The world seemed to lose its color for a moment. These ten tolls carried a weight of karma so heavy that lower-level spectators spat blood, unable to endure the deafening sound.

  The Heavenly Night Rain Bell vibrated violently, emitting a red mist that enveloped the entire stage. Inside the mist, Mu Chen stood tall despite his torn robes and pale face. He felt his soul being pulled from his body by the bell, a sensation of immense emptiness trying to devour his existence.

  However, Mu Chen bit his tongue, letting physical pain serve as an anchor for his consciousness. He stomped his foot, calming himself for a second. He crossed his legs, sitting in mid-air with a shivering calm.

  "Dragon Prison: Nine Grand Sacred Dragons!"

  Nine golden dragons manifested from the ink paintings floating in the air, each carrying a different elemental essence, roaring with a frequency capable of crushing practitioners' mentalities. Mu Chen, sitting cross-legged in the sky, looked like a painter of fate finishing his masterpiece upon the altar of death.

  "Eleven!" Mu Chen moved his finger, commanding the earth-element dragon to strike the bronze surface.

  DANG!

  The bell tolled with a very heavy sound, as if a continent had fallen into the ocean. The bell's backlash appeared in the form of a lethal forced vibration, pressing Mu Chen's body until he was forced to spit a mouthful of fresh blood. Yet, his expression remained cold, showing a tenacity of Dao Heart that had reached an extreme level of refinement.

  "Twelve!" The water-element dragon shot forward, wrapping the bell in immense pressure before exploding on its surface.

  DANG!

  The backlash this time turned into thousands of soul-ice needles piercing directly toward Mu Chen’s central meridians. Mu Chen did not dodge; he used his five-element vortexes to swallow the needles, though his breath grew shorter and his skin began to emit blood-vapor.

  "Thirteen!" The fire-element dragon struck with a temperature capable of melting meteorite steel.

  DANG!

  The Heavenly Night Rain Bell seemed enraged. The red mist surrounding it condensed into a giant shadow figure—the manifestation of the bell’s guardian—which swung a mist-axe toward Mu Chen’s soul. A crack sounded from within Mu Chen’s spirit; small fissures began to appear on his soul foundation. He staggered in the air, but his hands still danced to form painting seals.

  "Fourteen!" The wind and lightning dragons joined, creating a storm spear that split the square's silence.

  DANG!

  This strike was so powerful that the floating stone stage beneath it cracked in two. The backlash Mu Chen received was an echo of despair from thousands of years of Yao Gu history. Shadows of death and emptiness entered his eyes, making the glow in his pupils momentarily dim.

  "Mu Chen! Hold on!" cried a Yao Gu disciple anxiously.

  Mu Chen gnashed his teeth until his gums bled. He knew fourteen was a lethal limit, but his ego as a son of heaven refused to fall. He squeezed every drop of spiritual essence from his bone marrow, forcing the final golden dragon—the light dragon—to launch.

  "Fifteen! FALL!" Mu Chen roared, his voice breaking under the incredible pressure.

  DANG!!!

  The fifteenth toll was the peak. The sound surpassed human hearing—a pure vibration that destroyed all the golden ink paintings around it. The bell released a pitch-black shockwave that surged into the sky.

  Elder Qing He and Sage Qing Xuan immediately formed their own protective shields, not to protect themselves, but to contain the impact of the fifteen strikes hitting the surroundings, calmly silencing the wave.

  Mu Chen was flung like a kite with a broken string. His body hit the marble floor of the square hard, creating a small crater. He lay still, his breath gasping, and his fan had shattered into ordinary wood splinters.

  "Fifteen! Only one remains to surpass the Yao Gu predecessor!"

  "Mu Chen is truly a grand genius. He is unmatched!"

  The voices of those who had seen with their own eyes how fifteen strikes tolled—carrying a weight nearly equal to the record of sixteen from the predecessor—placed Mu Chen in the hearts of many cultivators. Even the Elders of Feng Mie and Xing Luo acknowledged it.

  "Accumulation for Yao Gu: Thirty-five strikes!" shouted the arena spokesperson, his voice shaking the entire Square of Holy Light. "Next, Yan Fenghuang of the Feng Mie Plains! Step forward to prove your fire!"

  Yan Fenghuang laughed shortly—a dry laugh full of suppressed killing intent. He glanced at Zhi Xuan, who still stood silent, then at Mu Chen’s body being carried away by healers. "Fifteen? Quite sweet for a painter. But my Heavenly Eye is simply bored of that painting."

  He stepped onto the bridge, his eyes fixed on the bell. "Mu Chen provoked the bell's anger. I will simply consume it."