Yan Fenghuang stopped directly in front of the Night Rain Bell. He turned slightly toward Zhi Xuan and gave a chilling smile. "Witness this, Silver Wolf. Do not even blink, for my Heavenly Eye shall show you the true meaning of dignity!"

  "Hurry up and strike, you talkative Phoenix!" Ling Huo shouted, having just regained consciousness. Her voice was weak but laced with venom. "Don't keep us waiting just to see you get thrown back like filth!"

  Yan Fenghuang burst into laughter, his voice triggering sparks that soared high into the air. "Thrown back? Little girl, you are about to see how true fire devours this silence!"

  HARGH!

  Yan Fenghuang stomped his foot onto the platform with a low roar. His pillar-like pupils ignited, and a spiritual tremor erupted instantly as he unleashed his full power. From the six cardinal directions, six Phoenixes roared with echoes that shook the heavens.

  These six Phoenixes, manifested from pure fire essence, circled Yan Fenghuang’s body, creating a fire vortex so intense that the air around the energy crater began to boil, forming a massive disk spanning across his back.

  Unlike Ling Huo’s wild and raw flames, Yan Fenghuang’s fire carried the authority of an ancient noble bloodline capable of suppressing the surrounding elements. Yan Fenghuang raised his hand, his Heavenly Eye flashing with a radiance that scorched his surroundings, as if the courtyard had become a world of ash.

  "Six-Path Phoenix: Descent of Heavenly Karma!"

  Yan Fenghuang’s first strike was not delivered by a physical blow, but by a mental command that sent the first Phoenix into a sharp dive.

  DANG!

  The first toll exploded like a volcanic eruption. The gray mist backlash that usually attacked the soul collided with the wall of blazing Phoenix fire. Yan Fenghuang stood firm, his Heavenly Eye pulsing wildly, dissecting every ripple of the counterattack's energy and redirecting it into the fire vortex surrounding him.

  DANG! DANG! DANG!

  The second, third, and fourth Phoenixes struck in rapid succession. Each impact sent a heatwave sweeping through the Square of Holy Light, forcing lower-level practitioners to retreat several paces.

  The Heavenly Night Rain Bell responded by releasing a screaming frequency capable of collapsing the Dao Heart of an ordinary cultivator. However, Yan Fenghuang only smirked; his Heavenly Eye had identified the weak points of the resonance before it could even touch his inner being.

  "Is this all?" Yan Fenghuang sneered. "Fifth Phoenix, rise!"

  DANG!

  The fifth impact brought a heavier toll. The bell began to emit a dense, blood-red light. The backlash this time transformed into thousands of corrosive soul daggers. These daggers pierced Yan Fenghuang’s fire shield, scarring the surface of his soul and leaving a burning agony.

  "Ugh!" Yan Fenghuang staggered, a drop of golden blood trickling from the corner of his eye—the price paid for using the Heavenly Eye to pry into the secrets of such a relic. Yet, the madness in his eyes only blazed brighter.

  DANG! DANG!

  Two subsequent tolls erupted as the sixth Phoenix struck twice with its wings and beak. Seven strikes had passed. The Heavenly Night Rain Bell seemed enraged; the faces carved on its surface began to fly out as gray spirits hungry for life essence.

  Yan Fenghuang did not retreat. He pressed his palms together in front of his chest, forcing the six Phoenixes to fuse into a single giant fire sword above his head.

  "Eighth strike!"

  DANG!

  The fire sword cleaved through the bell’s red mist, hitting the bronze surface with a force that could split an ocean. The bell’s backlash manifested as a black mace that slammed directly onto the crown of Yan Fenghuang’s head. The sound of a faint crack came from his neck, yet his Heavenly Eye remained locked on the target.

  DANG!

  Nine strikes! Yan Fenghuang now stood equal to the records of Gu Tao and Ling Huo. But he did not stop. He bit the tip of his thumb and smeared his blood across his forehead, right above his Heavenly Eye.

  "Heavenly Eye: Release of the Nine-Light Seal!"

  A blinding golden light exploded from his forehead, creating a vision that could pierce the veil of time. In Yan Fenghuang’s eyes, the bell was no longer an object, but a complex web of laws. He saw the gap between the tolls.

  DANG!

  The tenth strike was released through a projection of golden light beaming directly from his Heavenly Eye. This impact did not just touch the physical bell; it plunged directly into the core of the Laws that composed it. Instantly, the Heavenly Night Rain Bell reacted with a level of ferocity equal to its encounter with Mu Chen.

  The red mist enveloping the stage suddenly condensed, forming a black vortex that birthed thousands of devilish hands, dragging out the worst memories from Yan Fenghuang’s Phoenix bloodline. This backlash attacked his mind like poison creeping over a marble surface. Yan Fenghuang spat blood, his once arrogant face growing paler, yet his wide-open Heavenly Eye refused to go blind.

  "You think you can scare me with the shadows of fallen ancestors?!" Yan Fenghuang roared. He raised his fist, which was now shrouded in white fire—the highest level of Feng Mie’s fire essence.

  DANG!

  Eleven! The bell retaliated by vomiting echoes of despair that could crush consciousness. A giant sword shadow of gray energy manifested in the air, slashing directly at Yan Fenghuang’s Dao Heart.

  This shock was so brutal that the Heavenly Eye on his forehead wept blood even more profusely. The bones throughout his body creaked loudly, as if he were being crushed between two clashing sacred mountains.

  DANG!

  Twelve! Yan Fenghuang struck the bell with the full weight of his soul. The Night Rain Bell responded by releasing a shockwave of Soul Rain, consisting of thousands of drops of corrosive black liquid. Each drop that touched his protective aura made a harrowing hissing sound, eroding his spiritual essence as if he were a candle forced to melt in a god's furnace. Yan Fenghuang’s body trembled violently, the veins in his neck bulging, nearly bursting from the immense internal pressure.

  "Not... not enough!" Yan Fenghuang forced his feet to remain anchored to the floating stone stage, which was now beginning to crack and crumble.

  DANG!

  Thirteen! This toll was followed by thousands of faceless ghosts crawling from beneath the stage, clutching Yan Fenghuang’s legs and arms, trying to drag his soul into the energy crater below. This backlash carried the karmic burden of thousands of lives that had once perished under Phoenix fire. Yan Fenghuang felt his meridians begin to fracture; the pain surpassed mortal description—like thousands of hot needles being driven into his brain simultaneously.

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  DANG!

  Fourteen! Yan Fenghuang used the last of his strength to deliver a double-handed strike. The bell exploded with an ultrasonic frequency that instantly shattered his sense of hearing. A black dragon projection of death-mist shot from the bell’s opening, ramming into Yan Fenghuang’s chest and hurling him back until he almost fell into the abyss. However, with terrifying tenacity, he gripped the edge of the light bridge with his broken fingers.

  He crawled up, his Heavenly Eye now dimmed but still emitting the final embers of a furious light. He knew he could not lose to Mu Chen. He had to reach fifteen or die trying.

  "For... the dignity... of FENG MIE!"

  Yan Fenghuang burned his origin blood essence. His body was instantly enveloped in transparent flames that soared through the clouds. He launched himself, turning his entire frame into a living hammer.

  DANG!!!

  Fifteen! The toll resonated with Mu Chen’s previous fifteen, creating a spiritual tremor that momentarily plunged the entire Square of Holy Light into absolute silence. The bell retaliated with one final explosion of the purest and most destructive energy; a pillar of dense gray light that struck Yan Fenghuang squarely in the chest.

  BOOOOM!

  Yan Fenghuang’s body was flung away, trailing like a dying star, smashing into the cliff face in the distance with a thud that triggered a massive rockslide. He fell slumped, his Heavenly Eye tightly shut, and the fire in his body weakened, leaving behind a frame covered in burns and a soul that seemed on the verge of collapse.

  A harrowing silence gripped the entire arena. The number fifteen now hung in the air, level with Mu Chen’s score. The Feng Mie Plains now totaled thirty-three strikes, trailing narrowly by two behind Yao Gu.

  The silence that blanketed the Square of Holy Light after Yan Fenghuang’s fall was so thick it felt as though the air itself had turned into cold lead. Thousands of pairs of eyes stared at the shattered cliff, then shifted to the number fifteen glowing in the air—a sacred number acting as a silent witness to the thin line between a god and dust.

  "Fifteen... fifteen again!" whispered a practitioner, their voice trembling as if they had just seen the end of the world. "Is the number sixteen a curse? Even the Heavenly Eye of Feng Mie had to pay such a high price just to match Mu Chen!"

  "This is insane... absolutely insane!" replied the cultivator beside them, their face deathly pale. "The two brightest geniuses of the plains have staked everything, yet the bell remains standing tall, untouched by absolute victory. No one can surpass the ancestors!"

  In the air, Han Shanshan clenched his fist until the blue veins bulged on the back of his hand. His sea-trench eyes watched the helpless Yan Fenghuang with a mix of disgust and respect. "Fifteen... the same number. It’s as if the Yao Gu Heavens deliberately locked their fates at that point. Yan Fenghuang, you were arrogant, but your courage to burn your origin blood essence is something I must acknowledge."

  "But look at the cost," Hua Tianming interrupted, his voice sounding like the cold scrape of a sword. "His eye is momentarily blind, his meridians are fractured, and his soul is now like a candle in a storm. Sixteen strikes... that is no longer just a number; it is the boundary between a mortal frame and the path to divinity. Not one of them truly managed to tame the Night Rain Bell."

  Zhu Yanghai nodded heavily, his eyes glancing at the floating stage, which was now half-destroyed. "Thirty-five for Yao Gu, thirty-three for Feng Mie. An incredibly thin margin. But look at their condition... Mu Chen and Yan Fenghuang are broken. This is no longer a competition; it is a massacre of geniuses."

  On the other side, the Elders of the Feng Mie Plains had already rushed toward Yan Fenghuang, their faces etched with deep anxiety. "Quick! Administer the Soul Purifying Pill! His Dao Heart is severely shaken!"

  "Dammit!" roared one of the Feng Mie Elders at the calmly seated Sage Qing Xuan. "This bell... the intensity of its backlash is many times more vicious than it was hundreds of years ago! Does Yao Gu intentionally wish to destroy our finest seeds?!"

  Sage Qing Xuan merely raised an eyebrow, his face as flat as the surface of a frozen lake. "Heavenly Law has never known mercy, Elder. Yan Fenghuang and Mu Chen touched the limits they set for themselves. The bell only reflects what is within their spirits. If they wish to touch the number sixteen, they must be prepared to offer their lives as the stake."

  "Talk is easy for an old man just sitting there!" shouted a Yao Gu core disciple, defending Mu Chen. "Brother Mu Chen gave everything! It is impossible for anyone else to do better than fifteen strikes!"

  "Exactly!" cheered the rest of the Yao Gu crowd. "The two strongest geniuses have fallen at the same number! This proves that fifteen is the peak of human strength in this generation! Xing Luo won't even be able to touch ten with their one remaining person!"

  Elder Qing He of the Heavenly Leaf Pavilion suddenly spoke, her smooth voice cutting through the clamor. "Do not be so quick to wallow in arrogance. You are all too focused on the fallen bodies that you have forgotten the one figure who has been standing in silence this whole time."

  The Elder’s gaze was fixed straight on Zhi Xuan. Instantly, the attention of the entire courtyard shifted.

  "Him?" a disciple from a minor sect laughed mockingly. "That silver-haired guy from Xing Luo? His teammates only contributed nine and eight strikes. Their total is only seventeen! He needs eighteen strikes alone just to match Yao Gu! Eighteen! Even Mu Chen and Yan Fenghuang collapsed at fifteen!"

  "Hahaha! A pipe dream!" jeered another practitioner. "Maybe he's thinking of how to crawl down from the stage without embarrassing himself!"

  Zhi Xuan remained standing like a statue. The night wind, carrying the ash from the remnants of Yan Fenghuang’s fire, brushed against his robes, yet he did not budge an inch. He did not hear their mockery, nor did he care about the numbers hanging in the air. His sapphire eyes were locked on the Night Rain Bell, catching the increasingly ravenous vibration from the ancient bronze.

  "Look at his gaze! Does he think that by standing still like a statue, the Night Rain Bell will feel pity for him?" shouted a disciple from the Cloud Sword Sect, pointing at Zhi Xuan with a finger trembling from the lingering tension. "Brother Mu Chen provided a perfect five-element painting, yet he was still thrown back. And this Xing Luo person, he doesn't even have the aura of a noble!"

  "Precisely!" added a cultivator from the Feng Mie Plains who, despite tending to his comrade's wounds, still found time for a cynical glare. "Our Yan Fenghuang possesses a pure Phoenix bloodline and a Heavenly Eye capable of dissecting fate, yet he had to burn his blood essence just to touch fifteen. What does this silver one have? An old sword? Hair that turned white from fear?"

  On the honors platform, the tension between the clan leaders began to peak. An elder from the Ancient Han Clan stood up, his blue robes emitting a pressing cold aura. "Sage Qing Xuan, I suggest this competition be stopped here. Mu Chen and Yan Fenghuang have set the highest standard. Allowing a youth from a barren plain like Xing Luo to step forward will only soil the sanctity of this Heavenly Bell. Besides, who believes he can achieve eighteen strikes alone? It is an insult to cultivation!"

  "An insult?" Hua Tianming interrupted, his calm voice carrying a threat far more terrifying than the shouts of the masses. He stood up, letting his golden energy flash at his fingertips. "The Ancient Han Clan seems to have spent too much time above water and forgotten what it feels like to walk the earth. If our envoy has not yet stepped forward, then this stage is not closed. Why are you so afraid? Does the number eighteen sound like a death knell for your pride?"

  "Enough!" Sage Qing Xuan’s voice boomed, dampening the heating debate. However, his own eyes narrowed as he stared at Zhi Xuan. "Xing Luo still has one turn. By the rules, they are entitled to it. But let us speak honestly... in Yao Gu's history over the last three thousand years, only two people have ever touched the number sixteen. They were ancestors who have now become legends. For one person from Xing Luo to chase a gap of eighteen strikes... that is no longer just impossible. It is a madness that defies Heavenly Law."

  "The Sage is right," muttered an old healer treating a disciple's burns. "Every strike after the number ten, the intensity of the backlash increases. If fifteen was enough to destroy the Dao Heart of a Heavenly Eye owner, then eighteen will turn a person's soul into dust that can no longer reincarnate. That youth... he isn't heading toward victory; he is heading toward an execution."

  "Look! He’s starting to move!" someone from the crowd shouted, instantly silencing all conversation.

  Zhu Yanghai took a deep breath, his eyes watching Zhi Xuan’s back with a deeply hidden anxiety. "Zhi Xuan... the entire burden of Xing Luo is now on your shoulders. Not just victory, but your very life."

  "Hahaha, look at that!" mocked an elder from a minor sect in the corner of the courtyard. "He’s walking so slowly! Maybe his legs are weak after hearing how terrifying the bell’s backlash is. Hey, kid! If you're scared, go back to Xing Luo and just milk goats!"

  Mocking laughter erupted again, but in the middle of the hubbub, the Holy Woman of Yao Gu suddenly stood up from her seat. Her graceful yet sudden movement made Sage Qing Xuan turn.

  "What is it, Sister?" the Sage asked.

  The Holy Woman did not answer directly, her slender fingers gripping the edge of her jade throne. "This atmosphere... something is wrong," she whispered, her voice audible only to the Sage. "You all laugh at him because he lacks a grand aura. But look at his shadow under that torchlight. His shadow does not move with the wind, and the red mist from the bell... the mist is moving away from him. The bell is not waiting for him to prey... the bell seems to be... wary."

  Hearing that whisper, Sage Qing Xuan looked back at Zhi Xuan with a much more serious gaze. "Wary? Of a youth in the Half-Step Soul Transformation realm? That’s impossible, Sister. Perhaps it’s just the lingering pressure from Mu Chen’s technique."

  "I hope you’re right," the Holy Woman replied, but her eyes did not leave the blue cloth wrapping Zhi Xuan’s left hand. "Because if not, tonight Yao Gu will not be celebrating a victory... but witnessing the birth of something that will tear apart the entire order we pride ourselves on."