Chapter Twenty-Nine: Pressed the Wrong Button

All the cultivators stood gazing upward, their eyes fixed on the colossal vessel looming in the sky beyond the city walls. It was so vast that it nearly blotted out the heavens, and the array of a hundred celestial spirit cannons alone was enough to make every onlooker feel suffocated.

“Who is it? Who the hell are you? Get down here this instant!” On the city wall, Qi Ming was still roaring in fury, his glare nearly devouring.

“Hello, hello... can you hear me?”

At that moment, a clear and melodious voice echoed from the warship’s broadcast, drifting down to the crowd below and causing a collective pause. That voice was unique, pleasant as the sound of jade, carrying a gentle detachment that brought with it a strange sense of calm.

Most striking, though, was that it sounded oddly familiar...

“Why does it sound a bit like Xu Zhe, the Heavenly Chosen Xu?” someone muttered in confusion.

In an instant, those around him seemed to awaken, exclaiming in surprise:

“Yes, that’s it! No wonder it sounded so familiar—it really is Xu the Heavenly Chosen’s voice!”

“It’s definitely him—and he’s calling for Qi Ming.”

“That can’t be right. Isn’t Xu Zhe supposed to be inside the Hall of the Chosen? Look, the window in his chamber is still lit.”

Up on the walls, the ranks of the Cold Crow Army were equally stunned. They had assumed some comrade had blundered and started the warship by accident. But on hearing that unfamiliar voice, everyone was dumbfounded. When they turned to look at their own General Qi, their expressions became stranger still—a blend of rage and shock.

“Hello, hello, is Qiuya there—no, wait, I mean Qi Ming? This is Xu Zhe. I’m on your warship right now, and I’ve run into a really, really difficult problem. Send someone up here to help me, will you? You know what I mean, right?”

Once again, Xu Zhe’s voice rang out over the ship’s broadcast.

At this, everyone’s mouth fell open.

There could be no doubt—it really was Xu Zhe, the Heaven’s Chosen!

But why did his voice now sound so irritating, so cheeky?

On the city wall, many in the Cold Crow Army wore faces of utter disbelief. They had been guarding the gate all along—no one had come or gone, and they had even secretly assigned men to watch Xu Zhe. That fellow hadn’t stepped outside the Hall of the Chosen, so how had he ended up on the warship?

“Xu Zhe...” At that moment, Qi Ming ground out the name through clenched teeth.

This was entirely beyond his expectation—a riddle he could not solve. No matter how he turned it over in his mind, he could not fathom how Xu Zhe had slipped out under the Cold Crow Army's watch, much less how he’d managed to launch the warship.

He had specifically stationed two guards at the boarding ramp. Even if someone tried to seize the ship, at such close range there should have been time to raise the alarm—how could there have been no reaction at all?

What’s more, to start the warship required at least two Foundation Establishment cultivators channeling spirit energy together to activate the conversion engine and burn the precious fuel.

How could Xu Zhe possibly have managed it?

But there was no time for further thought. The warship now hovered in the air, draining its fuel by the second. If this continued, there might not even be enough left to return to the Northern Continent.

“Xu Zhe, do you have any idea what you’re doing? Get down here at once!”

Qi Ming bellowed, wishing he could fly up to the warship that instant. But the skies above Tianhe City were sealed by an array; he’d have to leave the city before he could take to the air.

He had just turned to run down the steps when Xu Zhe’s voice sounded again.

“Don’t move. Take one more step and these cannons will open fire.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Qi Ming snarled, but still he froze where he was, glowering murderously at the warship.

“Try me and see if I dare!” Xu Zhe replied, his tone still calm and indifferent, yet now carrying a trace of icy menace.

Qi Ming’s heart suddenly skipped a beat, a fierce unease gripping him.

Inside the warship, Xu Zhe stood at the helm, one hand resting on the activation panel, channeling spirit energy into it. He was also studying the other controls.

He’d spent half a day tinkering and had only just figured out how to launch, activate the weapon systems, and lock on to targets.

Fortunately, each function was executed by a single button—just test them all one by one and, with luck, you’d discover their purpose.

But now he hesitated.

He wasn’t sure which button fired the cannons.

“Is what I’m doing really right? It feels a little underhanded. I told Qi Ming to stand still or I’d open fire, but he doesn’t know that, whether he moves or not, I’m going to fire soon anyway...

“Still, against villains like him, honor hardly matters.”

He muttered under his breath, continuing to test the controls.

Click!

He slammed his fist down on a large red button. It bore no label, but it was big enough—and looked just like the ones heroes in old films used to fire the guns.

So Xu Zhe pressed it with gusto, full of dramatic flair.

Boom!

The warship shuddered, gears grinding and turning with a deep metallic rumble.

Xu Zhe immediately looked out the porthole, but the cannons lining the hull didn’t so much as twitch. Instead, he heard a faint sloshing noise from the rear of the ship.

“Xu Zhe, what the hell are you trying to do?” Outside the ship, Qi Ming’s voice rose in a hoarse, furious scream.

On the wall, the Cold Crow Army could only stare in shock as the rear fuel hatch flew open and a torrent of green fuel gushed out, cascading down to the ground.

That was fuel crafted from spirit stones and rare materials—not only did it power the ship, it supplied the celestial spirit cannons with energy.

These cannons used no ordinary shells; they were driven by this fuel, which was compressed into high-intensity spirit blasts capable of devastation on par with the mightiest Golden Core cultivators.

Such power was precious—so precious that even the Cold Crow Army, only because they had been dispatched to Tianhe City to reinforce the seal, had been assigned a single warship and fully refueled.

They’d been frugal all the way, shutting down the engines the moment they landed outside the city, not daring to waste a drop.

And now, Xu Zhe was dumping it all over the ground! What was he playing at?

“Stop! Sergeant, close the fuel hatch! What exactly do you want from me?” Qi Ming was nearly frantic, his voice rising to a note of pleading.

He was terrified—if the fuel was lost, the ship couldn’t fly; the blood essence generator wouldn’t work, and the city’s seal couldn’t be reinforced. They’d never get the ship back to the Northern Continent, and disgrace would follow: the army’s reputation in tatters, the Four Continents Council’s wrath descending, and the Northern Lord would mete out harsh punishment—unthinkable consequences.

But at this moment, before ten thousand cultivators, his dignity was already slipping away.

All eyes turned to Qi Ming in disbelief. This general, famed for ruthless cunning and mastery over every situation, was actually panicking?

More than that—he seemed to be yielding to Xu the Heavenly Chosen?

At the foot of the city wall, several cultivators who had been preparing to storm the gates exchanged looks.

“Perhaps... Senior Brother Li was wrong. This Xu the Chosen might not be like the others.”

“Let’s hope so.”

They all lifted their heads to watch the warship.

“Ahem, sorry, wrong button. Qi Ming, send someone up here,” Xu Zhe’s voice came again over the broadcast.

But the fuel hatch remained open, and the fuel kept pouring out.

“Send someone? For what? Just close the damn hatch, I’m begging you!” Qi Ming clenched his fists, shouting desperately.

“Open the city gates, let the people go, and send someone who knows the ship up here. You may not believe me, but I pressed the button too hard and now it’s stuck,” Xu Zhe drawled, lying on the control panel and picking at the wedged button with a fingernail. It was completely jammed.

Outside, Qi Ming nearly spat blood in rage at the sound of that lazy voice.

“Hurry—Deputy, send someone to fix it—no, block the fuel hatch first!” He dared not waste another moment and barked frantic orders.

“Release the captives first, then send your mechanic up,” Xu Zhe’s voice floated out.

“Fine!” Qi Ming snarled through his teeth.

Release them? That was no issue. Where could they run? Tianjiao Valley had long been sealed—they were doomed regardless. None of today’s events would ever be reported outside.

“Open the gates, let them out!” Qi Ming shouted to his men.

The crowd of cultivators cheered, relief flooding their hearts.

It was thanks to Xu the Chosen that they were saved—otherwise, who dared imagine the outcome?

Everyone’s eyes turned to the gates, ready to bolt the moment they opened, freedom within reach at last.

But just then, a thunderous boom split the air.

Everyone looked up to see the warship twisting in the sky, its black sails snapping violently as the stern, along with half the ship’s length, swung toward the city wall.

“Huh? Why is the ship moving? Oh, so this button doesn’t fire the cannons either... Qi Ming, how do you stop this thing?” Xu Zhe’s voice echoed from the broadcast.

The ship spun in midair, its stern and half the hull sweeping across the city, looming directly above Qi Ming, the Cold Crow Army, and the condemned cultivators.

Suddenly, a web of brilliant lines flashed into existence, forming a radiance that surged with destructive power.

“No—!”

Qi Ming’s face drained of color as he howled.

A deafening explosion rocked the heavens.

Half the warship, suspended above the city wall, was obliterated in a titanic blast. Howling shockwaves tore outward, hurling fragments in all directions—each one streaking like a shooting star toward Qi Ming, the Cold Crow Army, and the countless cultivators below.

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