Chapter 299 — Past Every Record

CHAPTER 299

Past Every Record

The seventh bolt was not white.

It was gold. It came down slowly, almost politely, and the air in front of it screamed. Shi Feng opened his eyes and saw it fall and thought, That one is different.

Then it hit him.

Everything went silent. He felt his skin split along both forearms. His ribs creaked. A taste of blood and iron filled his mouth, and the stone under his seat melted into glass.

He wanted to fall, but he forced himself upright. The melted stone beneath him gave no safe place to move. He had to endure where he sat.

Shi Feng thought, The Thunder-Marrow can't hold this much alone. The bones will have to.

His physique drew in more of the strike. Gold light spread beneath the skin of his arms, legs, and spine. Shi Feng shook with pain as the bones absorbed what the Thunder-Marrow couldn’t hold. It hurt even after the bolt faded.

“Seven!” He Zhen shouted. His voice cracked in the middle. “Seven! Everyone, did you see that colour?”

“Gold,” somebody said hoarsely.

“The first bolts were white!”

“I've never heard of a gold one at any level...”

“What does that make him?”

“Alive,” Gongsun Ce said, and shut his book. “For now. Dead, in about one more bolt, by the arithmetic.”

“You bet against him!” a girl hissed.

“And I’d rather lose,” Gongsun Ce said, gripping the closed book. “Stop talking about my bet and look at him. He’s still alive.”

On the cliff, steam rose from the black marks on Shi Feng's arms. They were closing up already, slowly, from the inside.

[Devoured: Heavenly lightning residue ×7 | Note: gold strike, off the scale]

He wiped the blood from his chin with the back of his hand.

Eighth, he thought. Come on.

The cloud above him was changing.

It had been purple. Now the purple was draining out of the centre, leaving a ring of black that spun faster and faster. The thunder had stopped. All along the slope, the grass lay flat.

“Why is it so quiet?” a boy whispered.

“Because it's saving up,” Elder He Zhen said. His face was grey. “Nobody breathe loudly.”

The eighth bolt took a long time to arrive.

When it came, it was nearly as wide as the cliff itself. It was a column of white and gold twisted together like rope, and it fell without any sound at all. The tiles on every roof in the sect jumped. The river, ten li away, turned white and ran backwards for a heartbeat.

It struck the cliff top.

“Eight,” He Zhen said. Nobody heard it. The roar came a moment later and swallowed everything.

When the dust cleared, a hole in the rock was steaming, and a man was sitting in the middle of it.

His robe was gone. His hair stood on end. Black cracks ran across his chest and shoulders, deep enough to see through, and gold light leaked from every crack. He swayed. He did not fall.

“He's alive,” someone breathed.

“How?”

“That isn't possible.”

“A Nascent Soul’s tribulation,” He Zhen said, dropping his brush case. “Look at the width! That’s what a Nascent Soul cultivator faces, not a boy still trying to form his Golden Core. It shouldn’t be coming down on him! That is an ox-cleaver to kill a chicken!”

“Maybe the heavens made a mistake,” Elder Tian Luo said slowly.

“The heavens don't make mistakes,” He Zhen said. “They hold grudges.”

“Elder, we've got one more bolt...”

“I know how to count!” He Zhen said.

At the back of the crowd, Li Changyuan said nothing. His broom had stopped moving. His eyes were fixed on the sky above the cliff, and for the first time that day, they looked awake.

On the cliff top, Shi Feng pushed himself upright with both hands. His arms shook. He laughed once, a short dry sound, and tasted blood.

So heavy, he thought. If one more is like that...

Then he stopped, and the thought died halfway.

Something was looking at him.

Shi Feng slowly raised his head. The clouds had opened into a dark ring, with another layer behind them. It wasn’t blue sky. There was no clear shape in the blackness, but he knew something was looking at him.

Shi Feng felt it settle on him the way a hand settles on a cup before lifting it. It didn't hate him. It didn't threaten him. It simply measured him, slowly, from head to foot, the way a merchant measures cloth.

Every man, woman and child on the slope felt it too. Nobody knew what it was. Two hundred and ninety voices went silent at the same moment.

“What... is that?” Zhu Liu whispered.

“Don't look at it,” Lin Langtian said quietly, and for once he did not smile. “Don't look at it, little receipt. Just count.”

Nobody counted.

Shi Feng looked back at the dark layer and thought, Well. At least it's paying attention.

The ninth bolt began to fall.