Chapter 70 — Standing Between Father and Son
The sky groaned.
Overhead, the abyss crack churned like a wound in the heavens, jagged light bleeding from its edges. The formation to stabilize it blazed faintly, but the ground below was still fracturing with low, stomach-churning rumbles. From the city streets came the shouts of frightened civilians, scrambling from collapsing houses.
On the formation platform, Sect Leader Jiang stood shoulder to shoulder with Tang Meilin, their spiritual power pouring into the talisman array. Tang Meilin's robes were soaked through with sweat, her sleeves heavy, yet her voice remained steady.
"Hold the lines," she commanded, "I'll shield the city. You—" she turned to Master Zhou— "go to Chen Xinyu. Now."
Master Zhou hesitated for only a heartbeat before nodding. Yan Zheng and Shen Yao fell in beside him without a word.
Tang Meilin pressed her qi outward, unfurling a golden barrier that shimmered over the streets below. Cries quieted as panicking townsfolk were shielded from falling debris. Sect Leader Jiang worked in silent tandem with her, forcing the formation to stabilize just enough that the abyss crack slowed its writhing.
Lan Xueyao and Lu Rourou cast quick glances toward their master. There was no need to speak—the urge to run to Xinyu was written in their eyes—but for now, they held their ground, feeding more power into the array.
Even so, the atmosphere grew darker. The clouds thickened until daylight was a memory, and the fissures in the earth yawned wider, showing nothing beneath but an endless void.
Elsewhere, Mochen's blade clashed against one guard's halberd, cutting him down in a single stroke. Another came from behind, and Mochen spun, slashing through his defenses without pause.
Too many.
They weren't here to kill him—he realized that quickly. Their formation was designed to corral him, to keep him far from a certain someone.
Separating me from Xinyu.
Mochen's eyes narrowed. He lunged forward, stepping over the fallen, determined to cut through. Even if it cost him his life, he would reach him.
But then—
A whip cracked through the air, snapping across his path.
Chi Ruyan.
She stood before him, leash coiled in both hands, a faint smile curving her lips.
"Ruyan?" Mochen's tone sharpened. "Out of the way."
She didn't move.
"Ruyan," his voice dropped, "don't make me fight you."
"Why not?" she asked lightly. "I'm ready." Her stance shifted, whip uncoiling with a hiss.
The first strike came fast. Mochen dodged, steel singing as he countered. Their weapons clashed—whip snapping, sword gleaming—each exchange quick, vicious, and without pause.
Finally they broke apart, both breathing hard.
Mochen's eyes were cold. "You hate him that much? You don't want anyone to save him?"
Ruyan's lips curved cruelly. "What if I do hate him? Doesn't matter anymore. He'd better vanish… or I'll make him disappear myself."
Meanwhile, Master Zhou's path was similarly blocked. More guards—too many, clearly placed here by design—barred the way. Shen Yao's sword was already wet with blood, Yan Zheng's qi heavy in the air, but the delay was enough.
And then—
On the cliff edge before the crack, Hua Mo stood. His black robes rippled with demonic aura, cold eyes fixed on the young man before him.
Chen Xinyu's breath caught at the sound of a familiar voice behind him.
"Hua Ling—"
A great winged beast landed, folding its wings as Hua Ling dismounted in a single step. His boots crunched against the cracked stone.
Hua Mo's gaze softened faintly. "Yes, son. Grab him, and bring him here."
Hua Ling moved forward. Hua Mo's eyes gleamed with satisfaction—until he realized his son wasn't coming toward him, but stepping to stand between him and Xinyu.
Xinyu stared at Hua Ling's back. His throat tightened. "Hua Ling, don't—"
"Xinyu," Hua Ling cut him off, voice low and firm. "You can't talk me out of this. Don't try."
Hua Mo's expression hardened. "Son? Which side are you on? Give him here. Now. What's the meaning of this?"
Hua Ling didn't move. His cold gaze never wavered.
"This is how you repay your father?" Hua Mo's tone sharpened. "I gave you the crown prince title. I put you above all my other children. I gave your mother everything she could want. And this is how you thank me?"
He laughed, harsh and humorless. "Good. Good! My ungrateful brat."
Hua Ling's jaw tightened. "Be grateful? For what, Father?"
He took a step forward, voice gaining weight. "For the cities you burned? For the people who fear your shadow more than death itself? For slaughter being the only thing that ever brought you joy? I've been sick of your greed and your bloodlust since the day I could think. I wish I hadn't been born your son."
His gaze was like a blade. "You've destroyed every person I've cared for—like you did to my mother. Don't forget how you locked her away because of a rumor from some petty courtiers. You broke her heart, took consorts year after year, and called yourself a good father. I won't let you touch Xinyu. Over my dead body."
Every word was sharp enough to draw blood. Xinyu, hearing them all, felt something twist painfully in his chest. Hua Ling, who rarely spoke more than a few words, had poured everything into this moment—and it was for him.
For him, despite the cold shoulders, the avoidance, the hurt.
His heart softened until it ached.
Above them, Hua Mo's demonic aura flared. Slowly, he rose into the air, power gathering in his palm. His voice was ice.
"Fine, my boy. If you won't give him to me… I'll take him by force."