Chapter Sixty-Two: Deadlock

This was the moment Qingquan had been waiting for!

The crowd, who just moments before had been fierce and threatening, now seemed lost, wandering aimlessly as if their souls had fled and their sense of direction vanished.

With a flick of his wrist, Qingquan produced several long hemp ropes from who knows where, weaving swiftly among the dazed people. In an instant, he’d bound their hands and feet and stacked them on the ground like a pile of children, leaving them utterly unable to move.

Cui Yue wasn’t idle either; he snatched up a mop and, seizing his chance, jabbed it at the fox demon’s back.

The fox demon was fully focused, both hands pushing forward, countering the two blue flames that hovered before her. The force in her palms pressed hard, and gradually the blue flames shrank a circle.

Jiao Na sensed danger and turned her head just as Cui Yue’s mop appeared before her eyes. With a swift movement of her palm—like a blade—she chopped off the mop head completely. Her eyes flashed with rage as she glared fiercely at Cui Yue.

Cui Yue stared at the bare mop handle, thinking to himself, “Does this demoness have eyes on her back? She always manages to dodge.”

Jiao Na turned away, focusing again on the blue flames, but before she could act, Cui Yue swung the mop stick wildly, disrupting her, determined not to give her a chance.

“If I can’t beat you, I’ll entangle you to death. Let’s see what you can do about it,” he muttered.

Jiao Na, seeing this annoying pest like a piece of sticky tape, wished she could grab him and drain him dry. She opened her mouth and blew out a cloud of purple smoke, which sped straight toward Cui Yue.

“Damn it! The fox witch is using her sorcery again!”

Cui Yue had encountered this trick before and knew how dangerous it was. He had no intention of ending up like Zhang Hao, so he ran for his life.

Jiao Na watched Cui Yue flee and smirked sarcastically, “If you’re so brave, why don’t you stop running?”

With a twist of her wrist, a golden silk scarf shot from her sleeve, wrapping around the two blue flames with a whoosh.

With a few sharp pops, the blue flames finally extinguished, fading into a wisp of smoke.

Jiao Na relaxed as the flames died out, letting out a silent sigh of relief.

Suddenly, a shadow flashed by, and a cold glint slashed toward her. Jiao Na quickly retreated, narrowly avoiding the attack—her heart pounding with fear.

She looked down to see only a tear in her purple gauze dress.

“Well, filthy priest, when did you learn to sneak attack? Truly worthy of your master’s reputation!”

Qingquan stood in the center, gripping a steel pen whose tip gleamed coldly. He calmly brushed the dust from his sleeve, his expression serene.

“Any method that banishes demons is a good method,” he replied.

“You!” Jiao Na snapped, fury in her voice. “Let’s see who’s stronger!”

Jiao Na let out a fierce cry, her hatred for Qingquan deepening—today would be his death.

Her energy erupted, her form grew more ethereal, and her hair—like a waterfall—shot skyward. Her figure flickered between light and shadow, sharp fangs protruding slowly from her mouth, and her once-beautiful face twisted into terrifying ferocity.

“Not good, the fox witch is going all out!” Qingquan thought, alarmed by her transformation. Her cultivation had risen far faster than he imagined. He dared not be careless now, and his hand formed a spell. Golden light radiated around him as he channeled all his strength, pushing the Divine Power Spell to its limit.

Jiao Na’s face contorted, her fangs bared, and she roared furiously at Qingquan. With a sweep of her arm, a massive purple shadow slammed toward him.

Roaring echoed through the hall.

With a thunderous crash, the purple shadow collided with Qingquan’s protective golden light, driving him back several steps and shaking his body violently. Much of the golden light dissipated.

“This can’t be! How could this demon be so powerful?” Qingquan reeled from the blow, his qi and blood surging, unable to believe what was happening.

Cui Yue ran frantically, nearly out of breath, chased relentlessly by the purple smoke that seemed to have eyes—tracking him everywhere, more sensitive than a hound’s nose.

Panting, his legs felt like jelly; he could barely run. The cursed thing was relentless—dead foxes were indeed trouble, even their tricks stank! The thought of being controlled by this fox, turning into a snarling beast, sent shivers down his spine.

What to do? Run!

Cui Yue finally scrambled onto the iron rack in the projection room, but the purple smoke clung to him like a shadow, drifting closer.

“Oh, mother, I can’t run anymore. Please, almighty purple smoke, spare me!” Cui Yue stood trembling on the high rack, nowhere left to retreat, tears nearly welling in his eyes as the sinister smoke floated toward him.

If those beautiful eyes saw his plight now, she’d laugh until she cried. “I don’t want you dead, I just want to see you cry!”

In this moment of peril, Cui Yue’s right hand brushed against something in the darkness—a switch. Looking up, he saw the giant exhaust fan used for ventilation in the movie hall, slowly spinning with the airflow.

A miracle!

A lifeline!

Take this, cursed purple smoke—my Super Invincible Fire-Wheel Attack!

Without hesitation, Cui Yue flipped the switch to its highest setting.

The fan’s massive blades whirred rapidly, growing ever faster, the rush of air so strong that Cui Yue could barely keep his eyes open. He clung tightly to the rack to avoid being swept away.

The purple smoke had no chance to linger; it was sucked into the vortex and scattered, driven out of the hall in a single gust.

Disheveled like a nest of straw, Cui Yue was full of pride.

“How’s that? Now you know how tough I am!”

Qingquan was deeply alarmed, but his hands remained steady. His face grew solemn as he jabbed the steel pen tip into his finger, letting a drop of blood seep out. The strange pen greedily drank it in, its tip glowing faintly red.

Before he could act, another wall of purple light crashed toward him, vast as a tidal wave.

Qingquan smirked coldly, wielding the pen as a sword. With a swift motion, he transformed into a streaking meteor, plunging straight into the purple wall. Man and sword became one, slicing through the once-impenetrable shadow like torn cloth, cleaving it cleanly in two.

At the end of the purple wall, Qingquan glimpsed a hazy figure. He spun, and a blood-red beam slashed through the air, leaving a long streak trailing behind.