Chapter Thirty: The Supreme Transformation Technique

“You’ve finally arrived...” Qin Yi smiled as he gazed at the golden fist mere inches from him, and at the astonished cultivator before him.

The Nascent Soul cultivator’s surprise lasted only a split second before he regained his composure and thrust his golden fist forward without hesitation. Yet, in the very next moment, he realized his fist had stopped right in front of Qin Yi’s smiling face, unable to move an inch further.

Staring into Qin Yi’s smile, he felt a chill run through his body. He tried to pull his fist back, only to discover he couldn’t even retract his own hand. In shock, he looked at Qin Yi’s smile and then saw lines winding through the air like coiling dragons—rain lines twisting and turning with a serpentine grace. Staring at those rain lines, he cried out in alarm, “Runes...?!”

“You guessed right, so there’s a reward,” Qin Yi replied with a smile. Then, expressionless, he picked up the Feixue sword from the ground and, with a cold voice, said, “The reward is that I’ll help you lose an arm,” as he brought the blade down on the cultivator’s arm.

The Nascent Soul cultivator struggled desperately to pull his hand away, but it was futile—he could only watch as the keen sword edge of Feixue cleaved down on his arm.

“Aaagh—!” In the next instant, a heart-wrenching scream echoed through Chaoyang Street, and an arm fell to the ground.

Wu Bo didn’t have a chance to look back, but he could tell from the cry that it wasn’t Qin Yi who screamed, and he let out a long sigh of relief.

In the wine cellar, Zhang Chen too sensed the commotion outside. Realizing what had happened, he was relieved.

Jiang Yao watched the scene and smiled. It seemed he was still himself—there was no need for her to worry, only for him to worry about her.

At this moment, the four Nascent Soul cultivators blocked by the Wu brothers suddenly pressed forward, quickly pushing back Wu Bo and Wu Lang, who had been struggling to hold them off. They went to the side of the fallen cultivator, staunched the bleeding at his severed arm, and helped him up.

“Ahh...” Even though the bleeding had stopped, the Nascent Soul cultivator continued to howl in pain. After all, he was still human, not some celestial immortal. No matter his cultivation, he was still flesh and blood—how could he bear the agony of a severed limb? If he’d been an ordinary person rather than a cultivator, he’d likely have passed out on the spot.

“Cut off his arms and legs for me!” The cultivator, his eyes bloodshot, pointed a trembling finger at Qin Yi and screamed hoarsely.

The four other Nascent Soul cultivators exchanged glances, then sat cross-legged around their wounded companion, preparing to once again conjure the Grand Dao Golden Spear. Yet this spear was not quite the same as the last.

The Wu brothers came to stand beside Qin Yi. Wu Bo smiled and said, “I didn’t expect Brother Qin to be a master of talismans as well. Your attainment in the art is nearly on par with Brother Zhang.”

Zhang Chen, still in the wine cellar, was indignant when he heard this and protested, “His skill in talismans? Nearly as good as mine? I...”

Wu Bo’s praise made Qin Yi smile. “You flatter me, Brother Wu. I’ve simply dabbled in a bit of everything.” Indeed, he had learned a great many arts, and not just superficially—he had delved deep into them. After all, he was born with a supreme Dao body.

Some people like to claim that cultivation relies not on talent, but who would really believe that? Such words are uttered far and wide these days, but among all those who say it and remain unchallenged, only the Martial Emperor of West Sea’s Martial Emperor City stands apart.

“This time the Grand Dao Golden Spear is far stronger than before,” Qin Yi observed, shifting the subject as he gazed at the five Nascent Soul cultivators of the Wang clan atop their heads, where a new spear, even more radiant than the last, was taking shape. His eyes grew solemn.

In the next moment, he spread his hands to either side, palms up. The rain that had been falling around him instantly halted in midair, then began to swirl and flow, as if the parched earth were suddenly blessed by a torrential downpour—vitality blooming everywhere.

“The Taiyi Transformation Art!” From not far off, Wang Weixue cried out in astonishment as he watched the rain swirling around Qin Yi. This time, he was truly shocked. Never could he have imagined that a disciple of Taiyi Mountain, who had entered the Nascent Soul stage only minutes ago—a youth of no more than seventeen—could have mastered both the “Three Strikes of Taiyi” and the “Taiyi Transformation Art,” two of Taiyi Mountain’s three supreme techniques.

Suddenly, Wang Weixue remembered something and asked himself in surprise, “He just said his name is Qin Yi—could it be that Qin Yi?”

“Are you by chance a disciple of Immortal Master Zixuan of Taiyi Mountain, young friend?” Driven by curiosity, Wang Weixue called out to Qin Yi.

Qin Yi turned and smiled. “Has senior heard tales of my master’s renown?”

Instead of answering, Wang Weixue countered, “Then you must be the fourth disciple of Immortal Master Zixuan?”

With his back to him, Qin Yi shook his head. “Not quite. I am Qin Yi of Fish-Dragon Fort, the fifth disciple of Immortal Master Zixuan.”

“How can that be?” Wang Weixue muttered, but soon fell silent. After all, the facts before him confirmed that this was not the Qin Yi he had imagined.

“Qin Yi, you know the Taiyi Transformation Art as well!” Wu Bo and Wu Lang exclaimed together. They had already been astonished when Qin Yi displayed the “Three Strikes of Taiyi,” one of Taiyi Mountain’s three supreme techniques. But to find he could also wield the “Taiyi Transformation Art”—they were left speechless. Even though Wu Bo himself had been a Nascent Soul cultivator for some time, he hadn’t been taught the highest martial arts of their West River Martial Hall. It wasn’t just because the elders were unwilling to teach—such secret arts, the pride of Lingzhou, were not so easily learned.

Take, for instance, the Opening River Fist he used against Jiang Yao a few days ago. That was but one move from the “Emperor River Canon,” and he was far from capable of unleashing its full power. But Qin Yi’s “Three Strikes of Taiyi” and “Taiyi Transformation Art” were both complete.

Neither Jiang Yao nor Zhang Chen were too surprised, for each knew Qin Yi to some extent. They were more worried whether Qin Yi would be able to bear it; after all, at his current cultivation, using such powerful techniques as the “Three Strikes of Taiyi” and the “Taiyi Transformation Art” would surely not be without risk.

“Could this kid actually be one of those old monsters from Taiyi Mountain, masquerading as a youngster to toy with us?” One of the five Nascent Soul cultivators from the Wang clan of East Ridge roared in anger. After all, anyone who encountered someone like Qin Yi would find it hard to believe he’d only cultivated for four years and was still a seventeen-year-old youth. This was reminiscent of the southern noble who once presented himself at the Dao Palace as the Holy Sage’s disciple. Everyone knew who the Holy Sage was—the backbone of humanity after the ancient war, fallen for millennia. Yet no one dared deny the noble’s claim, for he had attained the Dao upon coming of age—a feat unmatched in all history, human or divine.

A moment later, the five cultivators roared in unison: “Whoever he is, we have no choice. Old monster or not, we’ll soon find out.”

“Grand Dao Golden Spear!”

The golden spear solidified in an instant, broke free from the Wang clan’s control, and shot toward Qin Yi at blinding speed.

Qin Yi watched its approach as the rain droplets around him surged and churned like boiling water.

The golden spear arrived, its tip piercing each raindrop as though striking an invisible wall—each time, it paused momentarily before pushing on, but the force and speed of the spear gradually diminished.

The spear’s progress slowed until its tip was but inches from Qin Yi’s brow. Yet at that point, it had spent all its strength and hung motionless in midair, refusing to fall.

Drip...

Suddenly, a raindrop fell upon the golden spear with a clear sound.

In the next instant, the golden spear disintegrated into dust before Qin Yi’s eyes.