Dead.
Xuan Yuanjingxuan inside the house was undeniably dead. Even the fabled terrestrial immortal, whose sea of qi had exploded and meridians shattered throughout his body, could not survive such devastation.
Outside, the woman stood motionless, staring at the shattered Crystal Vat scattered across the ground. Dozens of red carp lay hidden among the lotus leaves’ emerald branches. Moments ago, two figures had passed through in an instant, slicing through the massive vat as cleanly as a blade. Thousands of jin of water had poured forth, soaking her silk-embroidered shoes. The autumn wind was cool, the autumn mood chill, and the autumn cold crept from the soles of her feet, freezing her entire body.
Xuan Yuanqingfeng slumped weakly against the door. Even she, always praised by elders for maintaining composure in times of crisis, had lost her ability to think. Her mind was blank. Uncle Xuan Yuanjingxuan, regardless of his misconduct, had been an authentic top-tier martial artist. Over decades of steady cultivation, he had forged a diamond-hard physique. In Mount Hui, he was acknowledged as second only to the Patriarch and “San Chi Qingfeng, who embraced celestial aura”—Xuan Yuan Guoqi. He had even claimed to have entered the profound and mysterious realm of Zhixuan. Even if he had only just stepped into Zhixuan, and his foundation was still unstable, Zhixuan was Zhixuan! In the martial world, reaching Zhixuan meant becoming a towering tree standing firm in the Jianghu. Daoist immortals could aspire to transcendence, Buddhist living Buddhas could transform into relics, and martial artists outside the three major sects were even more fierce and dominant, attaining the Dao through sheer force, relying on nothing external, and confronting the heavenly tribulations with pure physical might alone. Just thinking about it was enough to set one’s blood ablaze.
How could he die in the blink of an eye?
Restricted by her mediocre talent and constitution, Xuan Yuanqingfeng was unsuited for martial arts. Yet, having read countless secret manuals since childhood and grown up watching experts spar, especially with a photographic memory, her discerning eye had become extremely sharp. She could see that during the confrontation, after an instant of hesitation, Xuan Yuanjingxuan had quickly tried to strike a decisive blow. But his opponent had given him no such chance. There could hardly be a more humiliating death for a Zhixuan expert—being effortlessly approached face-to-face and struck down in one move. In that instant, Xuan Yuanqingfeng glimpsed some hidden truths. Xuan Yuanjingxuan possessed a diamond-hard body akin to a Buddhist guardian deity. Though still two levels short of the Tianxiang realm, where one’s inner world harmonizes with the heavens and earth, at the very least, his internal energy had already formed a mighty, self-contained cosmos. That it had been shattered in one strike seemed to be because his opponent had seized his throat and, using an overwhelmingly brutal technique, guided his own energy against itself, like the entwined tortoise and snake of the Northern Xuanwu, ultimately causing his meridians to explode inch by inch.
Xuan Yuanqingfeng hesitated, lips trembling, realizing she had no words to speak. When she saw her mother turn to step into the house, she finally found the courage to ask, “Mother, are we really not going to Niulou Peak?”
The woman turned her head and asked, “To watch how Xuan Jingcheng chooses death?”
Xuan Yuanqingfeng muttered to herself, “If Father could kill Xuan Yuanjingxuan, he might yet…”
She stepped over the threshold, not even glancing at the bloodied corpse, and laughed bitterly, “So what? If Xuan Jingcheng isn’t the Xuan Jingcheng we know, should I regret until my heart breaks, cry with tears like pear blossoms in the rain, and beg him to change his mind? Then live together in mutual respect and grow old together on Mount Hui?”
Tears streaming down her face, Xuan Yuanqingfeng said, “Mother, truly, not a trace of sorrow in your heart?”
She smiled faintly and said, “Ah, I’ve long forgotten what it feels like to have a heart. If you wish to go, go to Niulou Peak. I just want to be alone for a while.”
An elderly nurse who had watched Xuan Yuanqingfeng grow up hurried over, bowing respectfully and saying, “Madam, Miss, Master has gone to Niulou Peak alone for reasons unknown. Someone from the foot of the mountain claims to have been invited by the Master to be a guest at Niulougang. It seems to be none other than the arrogant Beiliang Crown Prince, who has brought a hundred armed attendants with knives and crossbows. They have already begun climbing the mountain and will soon arrive at the Ritual Gate. Those who tried to stop them were torn apart by an unremarkable young man, whose methods were extremely ruthless. There are rumors that the legendary sword immortal Li Chungan, who once humiliated our Xuan family, is among them. Second Master has already led men to intercept them.”
Climbing Niulougang, there was a jade-paved path of three hundred steps, with a grand archway marking the entrance to the Xuan family of Mount Hui. Inscribed upon it were the four characters “Deng Feng Zao Ji” (Reaching the Peak). Beneath it, the secondary plaque bore the audacious words “Martial Dao Unites with Kunlun.” The neighboring Longhushan had a similar structure, where even officials and generals had to dismount upon seeing the monument, to show reverence to the Daoist ancestral shrine. Here at Mount Hui, it served as a reminder for all visiting martial artists to voluntarily remove their swords and knives before entering. For centuries, there had been many proud martial artists who refused to follow this rule, yet few had succeeded like Li Chungan. Most had been thrown down from Niulougang.
Xu Longxiang, pale and gaunt, was killing with abandon, utterly unstoppable.
One must understand that Mount Hui boasted nearly a thousand martial elites. The Xuan family’s dominance in the southeast was roughly divided into several groups. The first group, naturally, were the direct lineage of the Xuan clan, primarily the three branches of Mount Hui. Under the family head, Xuan Yuan Guoqi, whose sword bore celestial aura, stood Xuan Yuan Jingyi and Xuan Yuan Jingxuan, who upheld the family’s structure. Alongside them were the talented in-laws and those who had married into the family, forming the sprawling branches of this mighty martial tree in the imperial southeast. These individuals enjoyed the advantage of proximity, and according to their blood relation and martial talent, they could access secret manuals in the Wenshan Pavilion. Next came the Hound of the Falcon employed by the Xuan family through secret manuals and wealth. This group was further divided into two: those of noble status who served as honored guests, receiving high treatment on Mount Hui, and those of humble origins, whose survival depended on their martial prowess. They performed dangerous, bloody tasks to earn their keep. Yuan Tingshan, without his connection to Xuan Yuanqingfeng, belonged to this latter group, having to earn what he desired through sheer skill. The final group was the Xuan family’s elite private forces, divided into two main units. One consisted of two hundred riders—fifty heavily armored cavalry at great expense, and one hundred and fifty lighter cavalry at a lower cost. The other unit comprised loyal Deathblade, whose identities were complex. Some were martial artists or wanderers who had fled to Mount Hui for refuge, but most were assassins and killers cultivated from childhood as pawns. Few of this latter group lived to see thirty, a testament to the Xuan family’s dominance in the martial world of the southeast.
The Crown Prince and Huang Man’er stood together beneath the Ritual Gate.
Beside them stood the old man in sheepskin, and Qingniao held the Shana spear.
Behind them were General Ning Emei and a hundred White Horse Righteous Cavalry.
Near the second gate, a dense crowd gathered, packed tightly, with every weapon from swords to spears present. Xuan Yuan Jingyi stood grim-faced on the steps, with nearly a hundred archers with powerful arms occupying the high ground, ready to unleash a storm of arrows.
More than thirty honored guests had gathered, all seasoned martial experts renowned in the Jianghu.
Xu Fengnian sighed, “What a mighty gathering of martial artists.”
The sky above was already dark with clouds, hinting at an impending storm.
Decades later, the old Li, now one-armed and swordless, stood dozing silently.
Xu Fengnian turned and asked, “How far is it now to that den of thieves, Niulougang?”
The old swordsman opened a slit of an eye lazily and replied, “Not too far. Outside Niulougang lies a large flat area known as Niulou Peak. Unless something unexpected occurs, Xuan Jingcheng will fight Xuan Dapán to the death there—it’s truly a fine place to die.”
Xu Fengnian frowned, “With so many top and second-tier martial experts gathered here, plus hundreds of Deathblade, how do we get through?”
Li Chungan replied impatiently, “For me, it would be easy to pass through alone. As for you, if you insist on charging headlong into battle, you’ll end up leaving your corpse here. Do you think a family with centuries of foundation built its power on vegetarian meals?”
Xu Fengnian whispered, “What about capturing the leader first?”
The old swordsman pondered and said, “You mean taking down Xuan Yuan Jingyi?”
Xu Fengnian nodded with a smile, eager.
The old swordsman rubbed his chin and squinted, “If I take the lead, it’s simple enough. But I won’t do all the work while you watch. First, let Huang Man’er charge forward and show them a warning by tearing apart a few. Then have this girl with the Shana spear stand ready. As for when I step in—it’ll be according to my mood. Don’t worry, I won’t keep you waiting long. I’m also curious to see just how far Xuan Jingcheng can ascend by trading his life for power. It’s not unusual for two Tianxiang experts to fight each other to the death, but when they’re locked in a battle that cannot end until one is utterly destroyed, that’s when it gets interesting. If half a Celestial Immortal of the Earth emerges, we’ll be in for a rare spectacle. You may not be good at much, but you do have a knack for picking up techniques.”
Watching Huang Man’er stride forward, the old swordsman murmured with slight melancholy, “All my efforts were in vain. Finally, a Xuan Jingcheng emerged, only to turn against his own. This mighty tree, hollowed out from within by Xuan Dapán, will inevitably fall.”
Niulou Peak.
A middle-aged scholar walked slowly against the wind, his sleeves fluttering, standing apart from the crowd.
After twenty years of restraint, this was the moment he would finally reveal his true strength.
All along the way, he had been coughing, blood seeping through his lips. No one had ever truly understood Xuan Jingcheng’s thoughts—his regrets and hopes, his honors and humiliations, his rises and falls.
Xuan Jingcheng halted his steps, gazing toward the towering figure at the far end of Niulou Peak, murmuring, “At last, I have come this far.”
The figure was abnormally imposing.
An old man who had preserved his youth, his hair had turned white twenty years ago, yet now was black and lustrous again. He stood solemnly at the entrance of the Niulougang mansion, a lone guardian at the pass, exuding mighty and majestic qi.
The only ancestor of Mount Hui who could claim to enjoy the solitude of a terrestrial immortal, his eyes were sharp, his voice like thunder: “Jingcheng, have you read enough to resonate with heaven and earth?”
His deep voice reverberated across Niulou Peak.
Under the eaves of the Niulougang mansion hung a string of wind chimes, which, blown by the mountain winds atop the summit, had rung continuously throughout the years.
Yet now, they were silent.
Like a dying man whose throat had been clutched.
Xuan Jingcheng calmly replied, “Whether I have reached Tianxiang or not, let us find out.”
The elder, who had spoken with absolute authority in the Xuan family for six decades and had, in the past twenty years, returned to his youthful vigor, roared with laughter, “Let me see if you, a disobedient descendant, can even survive a hundred moves!”
No longer needing to suppress his cultivation, Xuan Jingcheng raised his hand in a single motion.
His right foot stepped forward, his left slightly bent at the knee.
One hand reached outward, the other drew inward.
Marvelous beyond words.
In an instant, the dark clouds above swirled like a dragon’s vortex, descending rapidly.
Xuan Jingcheng whispered softly, “I shake Kunlun.”
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