By now Wei Zhao had come to within five paces of him. Xue Jianming had already resolved to give him a proper lesson in suffering, and stung into fury, he drew his snow-sword without a moment's hesitation. A flash of sword-light, and the blade was already pressed to Wei Zhao's throat—the scene an exact copy of how he had dealt with Bing Wushuang before.

Leng Leng and Bing Wushuang both felt their eyelids twitch at the sight. One thing had to be admitted: after this creature's breakthrough to the peak of the early Nascent Soul stage, his sword speed really had grown absurdly fast. True, there were still flaws aplenty—an unsteady sword tip, insufficient force, and the like—but judged purely by speed alone, it was genuinely terrifying.

Once speed passes a certain threshold, it becomes a problem with no solution in itself. Xue Jianming's strike may not yet have been fast to the absolute limit, but by the standards of this little jianghu of the Grand Antiquity, it was unquestionably the limit already. The fellow was, after all, something of a genius; his natural gifts were not counterfeit.

Xue Jianming had never intended to finish Wei Zhao with a single stroke. This was merely a test—he wanted Wei Zhao to taste what it felt like to brush past the grim reaper, to make a public fool of him. As far as he was concerned, the real show was only just beginning.

But alas, the show he had envisioned had only just begun—or more precisely, had not yet begun at all—when it was already over.

Xue Jianming's sword was fast, but Wei Zhao's soul-hooking hand was faster. In the very instant the blade left its sheath, a hand wreathed in black qi had already appeared above his head, and his entire primordial spirit was seized beyond any shadow of doubt, then slowly drawn out of his flesh.

After all, even Chen Jiu—the very source of the specimen—had possessed no power of resistance before Wei Zhao's soul-hooking hand, let alone a peak early-Nascent Soul expert like Xue Jianming, cobbled together entirely from borrowed means. Before the soul-hooking hand, he was less than nothing.

Thud! Before his primordial spirit could be fully torn from his body, Xue Jianming hurriedly dropped to his knees—without a moment's hesitation. Before death, face and resentment alike are empty things; begging for mercy is the only hard truth.

"..."

The whole assembly was speechless.

By now Hong Qingyuan and the others had long since rushed over at the news, but Xue Jianming's affair was one they could not interfere in, and never had they imagined that a man of Xue Jianming's strength could come to harm. That it should end like this—that Xue Jianming would actually kneel—was utterly beyond them.

Every gaze fixed on Wei Zhao carried boundless shock and bewilderment. Just who in the world was this man?

In truth, even Bing Wushuang was stunned at this moment. He had thought Wei Zhao capable of dealing with Xue Jianming—otherwise, lacking sufficient confidence, a man of Wei Zhao's style would never have stepped forward so rashly—but to force Xue Jianming to his knees so effortlessly, this scene genuinely overturned Bing Wushuang's worldview. Was their leader not simply too outrageously strong?

"Heh, at the brink of life and death you're quite sensible after all." Wei Zhao smiled at the sight. Seeing that Xue Jianming had been scared witless, he released his primordial spirit and let him escape the calamity.

This was Xue Jianming's territory, after all. Even for Leng Leng's sake, Wei Zhao could not simply kill Xue Jianming the moment he arrived—and besides, the unfathomable Center was implicated behind all this. Wei Zhao had no intention of firing the first shot just yet, and naturally would not let his rhythm be thrown off over a mere Xue Jianming.

Once the primordial spirit returned to its flesh, Xue Jianming's face went ashen. Though at first glance he seemed unharmed, the forcible extraction of a primordial spirit from the body is in fact desperately draining to one's vitality—and Xue Jianming, being an expert propped up by the Center's technology, was utterly deficient in this regard, which made the damage all the greater.

Without several months, Xue Jianming had no hope of recovering to his peak.

"I was blind and failed to see your greatness—be magnanimous and spare me, I will never dare commit such folly again, never again!" Xue Jianming begged tremblingly, his head nearly buried in the ground.

He was no fool, after all. Never mind that Wei Zhao had released his primordial spirit—with the means Wei Zhao had just displayed, destroying him would have been a mere thought. To save his life, he had no choice but to beg.

"Is that so? But I seem to recall teaching you a lesson just a few months ago, and now you don't even recognize me. What if you go back on your word again later? I can't trust a creature with a record like yours." Wei Zhao looked down on him with contempt.

"That..." Xue Jianming, prostrate on the ground, broke out in a sweat. He had no chance even to argue; he could only keep begging: "Please believe me! I truly will never dare again! Never again..."

"If Elder Xue has given offense in any way, I beg the senior to be magnanimous. On behalf of every disciple of the Snow Sword Sect, we are endlessly grateful!" Hong Qingyuan stepped forward with the other elders to plead as well. However one looked at it, Xue Jianming was still one of the Snow Sword Sect's own—above all, a Nascent Soul monster on whom their future depended. If he were lost to Wei Zhao just like that, it would be an enormous loss for the entire sect, one they could not afford.

Wei Zhao glanced at them, then jerked his chin toward Xue Jianming on the ground: "They're pleading for you. That's a ladder down. Aren't you going to show some sincerity yourself?"

"Show some sincerity?" Xue Jianming was taken aback.

"Obviously. You double-crossed me and set yourself against me—you think I'll let you go without paying a price? Do you really take me for a fool? Or do you think I'm incapable of killing?" Wei Zhao gave a cold snort.

Sensing the killing intent gradually seeping from the other man, Xue Jianming couldn't help shrinking his neck. At such a moment of life and death, a man's mind always turns remarkably fast; he grasped Wei Zhao's meaning at once. Last time Wei Zhao had spared him because he had handed over half a stalk of Spirit-Consciousness Grass. So clearly, to survive this time as well, he would have to pay a sufficient price.

"But... I don't have any Spirit-Consciousness Grass left..." Xue Jianming said with a bitter face.

"Then find something else. If you've nothing worthy to offer, then cripple one of your own arms as a lesson—it'll do you good to remember." Wei Zhao spoke casually.

"I..." Xue Jianming's face soured. To satisfy Wei Zhao, it would have to be a treasure on the order of Spirit-Consciousness Grass at the very least—where was he to produce such a thing on the spot?

"I never say a thing a third time. If you can't produce something worthy, cripple your own arm. Otherwise, if I have to do it myself, you won't get off so easily." Wei Zhao's tone was indifferent.

Hong Qingyuan and the others could only exchange looks. Wei Zhao had already taken a step back by saying even this much; they dared not push their luck further. After all, this was a being who could crush even a peak early-Nascent Soul expert with ease. Standing up to plead once was the absolute limit—any more and they would be fools inviting fire upon themselves.