Chapter Forty-Seven: Dancing Through the Formation

The little flower turtle gave a sly grin and explained, “Well, well, who wouldn’t be upset to wake up with a blade hovering over their head? You’re certainly no ordinary person. You not only know how to enter the array’s core, but you’re also aware that the array spirit within it won’t attack or kill. Tell me, are you from my sect, sent to help me stage a comeback?”

“Help your sister!” Wuyun cursed, “How many creatures have perished in your formation here in Qianluo Space? You lured immortals, immortal beasts—even mere passersby—down from the lower realms into your array to be slain! Still pretending to be innocent?”

The little flower turtle replied with perfect composure, “When you’re hungry, you eat to regain your strength. That’s the cycle of heaven. I eat them; they eat our descendants! There is no cause and effect, no true killing.”

“Hmph!” Wuyun wiped the sticky liquid from his body. The sharp-eyed Long Yi’s heart skipped a beat as he realized the dragon-shaped Buddhist prayer beads were missing.

“You’re doomed! You’re doomed!” Long Yi, unable to keep the secret, blurted out, his gaze sweeping over Wuyun’s barely concealed smile before erupting into laughter—wild, uncontrollable laughter.

His laughter infected everyone else, who joined in despite not knowing why. The little flower turtle felt utterly baffled, licking its tongue as a mysterious notion drifted up—memories of the Severed Blade in the Divine Realm.

Only a fragment returned: its birth, an earth-shattering event with divine artifacts flying everywhere. Each crafted treasure left the little flower turtle muttering, “So this is the Divine Realm, these are divine artifacts—my heavens…”

Excitement shone on the little flower turtle’s face. It had just turned, ready to whole-heartedly absorb these wonders, when it froze.

A dragon, at some point, had wrapped itself around the Severed Blade’s spirit, and there was even a faint sign of fusion.

The very divine artifact it had been unable to break down, forced to slowly erode, was being claimed by another! The little flower turtle’s form twisted with horror; the world spun, countless illusions and tangible phenomena surged forth. But every time it aimed, instinctively, all its attacks veered off target.

No matter how it adjusted, the result was the same!

At last, it understood the fool’s manic laughter—it was mockery, ridicule at its own expense!

“Heaven and earth, illusion upon illusion, five heads, ten faces!” The little flower turtle braced itself, raising its state to the peak. A torrent of spiritual energy, mingled with immortal force, even a trace of tribulation lightning leaked from a spatial rift.

Originally, its shell bore only one head, but after unleashing its magic, five heads appeared, ten faces in all—no matter how it turned, each face confronted the same turtle visage.

“Even if I cannot kill within the array’s core, I can trap you all with illusions. That doesn’t violate the array’s laws!” The little flower turtle was quite pleased with this loophole; the last elite left by its sect had perished here, worn down by such means.

The array spirit could not be controlled; it had broken free, roaming far and wide!

But when the illusory formation was released, the turtle was stunned. The entire grand array constrained it.

What was this constraint? Whenever the array spirit violated the array’s rules and threatened the lives within the core, punishment ensued. The feeling of being sanctioned after tens of thousands of years returned—layer upon layer of dark-gold material wrapped around the little flower turtle. The array lost its power and plunged into darkness.

When the Immortal of Grace designed this array, this point had been considered. To prevent the array spirit from turning on its masters and causing unnecessary casualties, a rule was set: in the array’s core, no attack could harm anyone. Friend or foe, the core was absolute safety.

It was a protective mechanism, yet the little flower turtle had always searched for loopholes, slowly prying free.

But why could the array judge that the turtle’s actions against the lives in its core constituted a fatal threat?

Everyone was unharmed—save for the two snowy-feathered eaglets in Little Eagle’s hands. They trembled uncontrollably, unable to distinguish friend from foe amidst the illusions, their cries desperate—they were close to death from terror.

Imagine: how much survival ability could two fledgling eagles possess? The unknown alone could crush them with fear, and such panic was easily detected by the array. With Wuyun amplifying the effect, the prohibition activated, binding the array spirit.

At this moment, the array’s final control mechanism manifested. It might be a line of text, a test of blood, or a particular technique.

On the dark shell of the turtle, fireflies appeared, fluttering in a beautiful dance before fading away.

A circular halo then emerged, waiting quietly.

“What just happened? Was that a dance? A technique? Words from the Immortal Realm?” Even Long Yi, with his experience as an Immortal King, stood dumbfounded.

“It looked like a dance!” Liu Ruyan tried imitating the gestures, jumping for a while but finding nothing.

Bear Third tried mimicking the movements with his lips, the Battle King gestured with his hands, and Little Eagle tilted his head, drawing circles—none of them understood.

All eyes turned to Wuyun. This was the most awkward moment for him, for he truly had no idea what the dance meant. Still, he braced himself and stepped into the halo.

After repeating the dance, a closed door appeared ahead. When the gestures failed to match, the door slowly shut again.

The circle, as if ignited, began to fade, giving them three incense sticks’ time before vanishing completely.

Wuyun shut his eyes in pain, sifting through his mind: one dimension, one space, one world, one system—comparing them all. After matching over a thousand techniques, his eyes lit up, and he asked Long Yi, “What was the name you just mentioned?”

“The Immortal of Grace, from the Zuo Ming Immortal Realm…”

“Grace!”

Wuyun’s eyes shone brighter. Among the thousands of similar techniques, he narrowed the possibilities down to a hundred and eleven, all related to the word “Grace.”

He began to dance!

Wuyun danced with abandon, leaving Bear Third and the others gaping—each time he reached the end, the door in the darkness remained closed, yet the time it stayed bright grew longer and longer.

Finally, as the circle was about to disappear, Wuyun spun like a breakdancer, and after three turns, the radiant door swung wide. A cloud of vapor flew out, manipulated by Wuyun, then returned through the door and vanished.

In an instant, the world returned to normal. The little flower turtle twisted its head, utterly at a loss about what had just happened. It declared, “Hmph! Even if I harmed a life in the core, you’d be helpless. The Immortal of Grace’s sect has long been extinct—everything lost to the river of time. Even if their founder were reborn…”

“The founder!” The little flower turtle stared at the ground, its five heads bowed low. Then its magic faded, returning to a single head, as if submitting, unmoving beneath its shell.

“Impossible. I’ve forgotten most of this array—unless the founder himself returned, no one could know. The day he fell was the day I fled!”

It shuddered at the memory: the founder, carrying it on an adventure, was beset by enemies. Defeated, he tore open space, hoping the turtle would return to the sect and protect it. But by misfortune, a spatial storm swept it away, and it was battered by tribulation lightning, left to wander the lower realms.

The core disciples who followed tried to control it and return to the Immortal Realm, but not one among hundreds understood the array. In the end, all were lost to the rifts in space.

“I was wrong!” The little flower turtle begged for mercy, but Wuyun was merciless. The highest-level restriction was activated; the array spirit began to unravel!

“Without me, the grand array’s power will be halved. You can’t kill me—I’m of great use!” The turtle pleaded desperately, but Wuyun was unmoved. He sighed, “I fear that when we face that demon cat, you’ll turn on us, and we’ll be doomed. You’ve gained sentience—good brings life, evil brings death. Such is the array’s judgment! Farewell!”

The little flower turtle faded away, unwilling but powerless. A dragon with a flirtatious smile slowly emerged from the Severed Blade’s spirit, leering, shifting expressions, calling Wuyun “senior” with a shiver-inducing tone, then transforming into a small dragon to perch on Wuyun’s shoulder.

The little bug on his right shoulder was displeased—this old loach had no shame!

With the turtle gone, the Grand Array of the Black Tortoise lost its spirit, and the Ancestor Dragon of Six Talents took its place, glaring smugly at Long Yi with menace.

“Little Long Yi, the core is safe, but outside, anything can happen!” the Ancestor Dragon threatened its descendant, then, at Wuyun’s command, transformed and merged back into the Severed Blade’s spirit.

Now, as the array was activated, a spatial rift opened. The Severed Blade’s spirit faded, helping the array repair itself, while visions of the Divine Realm appeared.

In the Divine Realm, birds sang and flowers bloomed—each flower a world, each stone a space, all things with souls.

This blade was once called the Blade of Astonishment. It was not crafted by Qiao Ling, but by Han Guang Yumuo, a native of the Divine Realm, born with the body and cultivation of an Immortal King, able to command wind and rain, omnipotent.

As he grew, he joined a mysterious force; this Blade of Astonishment was bestowed by them, sending him to the lower realms in search of a divine prophecy.

The images were blurred, but the entire space felt oppressed, as if eyes in the rift were watching. Any attempt to divulge the secrets would bring instant destruction.

The group watched, enthralled, as an invisible aura of great fortune settled over them. Yet a foreboding darkness settled over Wuyun, as if some misfortune was about to befall him.

“Noah Bay, the Dead Map…”

Wuyun spoke in the divine tongue, calling repeatedly into the rift that released tribulation lightning, finally uttering the name of the Primordial Chaos Lightning.

Like a fighter calling for a backer, the moment the name was spoken, the watching eyes vanished.

Wuyun, drenched in sweat, saw the others engrossed in the vision and called Little Eagle over to massage his back. After a while, seeing Little Eagle’s clumsy efforts, Liu Ruyan took over, her touch gentle.

“Yes, right there—it hurts!” Wuyun had just begun to relax when Liu Ruyan cried out in alarm, startling him as he thought some powerful enemy had appeared.

But as everyone turned to stare at him, he resignedly asked, “Is it my forehead? My brow darkening, shrouded in ominous clouds and deathly qi?”

Everyone nodded; the signs were unmistakable.

“When the vision of the Divine Realm appeared, it alerted something lurking in the spatial rift. It glanced at me; I debated with it, and only when I revealed my backing did it depart. We escaped death by a hair’s breadth!”