The Crimson Robe Severed at the Waist
With a single slash from a sleeve, the illustrious fate of a grandmaster of the Evil Path—sixty years of life and death, honor and disgrace—was cut in two.
As that radiant arc swept through the air, Tuoba Chunsun instinctively narrowed his eyes, much like an ordinary man squinting against the glare of the sun. When this young Tuoba, who had always enjoyed smooth sailing in life, opened his eyes again, all he saw was a corpse sliced clean at the waist—and that accursed youth who had finally unleashed his blade. The young man’s short sword had somehow already returned to its sheath. With both hands braced upon the hilt, he slowly straightened his back, rising to face Tuoba Chunsun and Duanbo Huihui.
Tuoba Chunsun stood as immovable as a mountain, silently weighing his odds. If he had been the one facing that strike, sword in hand, he was certain he wouldn’t have been so easily cleaved at the waist. As for defeating Duanbo Huihui, that was likely the cunning plan of this young martial artist, whose skills were a patchwork of various schools. Ever since he had knocked Tuoba from his horse, he must have realized that capturing the leader first was no longer feasible. Thus, he had targeted the Brocade-Sleeved Lord, who was accustomed to riding a colorful serpent into battle. What a meticulously orchestrated act of feigned weakness!
Gnashing his teeth in fury, Duanbo Huihui growled, “Young master, this man was struck in the chest by my final punch, his internal energy now disrupted. He can’t even summon the strength to wield a blade, let alone control a sword. Allow me to finish him off!”
Tuoba Chunsun rolled his eyes and replied, “If you can finish him, so much the better. Just don’t end up finishing me instead.”
Duanbo Huihui, now too enraged for flattery, twisted his face into a snarl. Since parting ways with Li Chun’gang, Xu Fengnian had been painstakingly cultivating his sword intent in accordance with the old man’s teachings. Nurtured by the ethereal energies drawn from the sky and the golden essence stored within, the evolution of the “Azure Snake from Two Sleeves” into the “Azure Snake from One Sleeve” had finally unleashed an astonishing ferocity. Yet this had drained nearly all of his spiritual essence, like a bow drawn to its limit, threatening to snap its string.
After Spring Thunder returned to its sheath, Xu Fengnian couldn’t help but tremble, his hands especially unsteady. The brutal fight with Duanbo Huihui had left him grievously wounded, and the final punch had caused blood to seep from all seven orifices. He had merely suppressed it until now, when it began to trickle out, staining his face. At first, when he first encountered Tuoba Chunsun and the serpent-riding Brocade-Sleeved Lord, Xu had neither feared nor sought to flee. Tuoba had wished to hone his skills in battle, using Xu as a training post—but had Xu not harbored the same intention? Yet fate had intervened, and the unexpected presence of Duanbo Huihui had dragged him into a quagmire from which even escape was now impossible.
When he first heard of Li the Sword Sage’s cultivation of sword intent, Xu had his doubts. If one must wait until one’s strike is guaranteed to kill before drawing the sword, otherwise risking the erosion of one’s intent, wouldn’t that make one seem cowardly, picking only easy targets? When facing an opponent of higher cultivation, should one draw the sword or not? If not, then what was the point of learning such skills if there were no dragons to slay? But Li Chun’gang had left him hanging with a riddle, offering no answer, only saying, “When you reach the mountain’s foot, you’ll know the Five Great Peaks.”
Now, as Xu once again entered that tranquil, emotionless state of the canyon, in that fleeting moment, Spring Thunder ceased its trembling. Xu slowly closed his eyes, and within the confines of the scabbard’s chamber, where peaks and valleys of sword and blade intent lay, Spring Thunder pulsed with vibrant life.
The divine will that had surged forth from Spring Thunder, like a river flowing to the sea and returning anew, even defied the current, climbing higher and higher.
At the brink of life and death, great enlightenment arises. This clarity, impossible to gain from reading countless martial arts secrets, felt like seeing the light of a lamp firsthand—the so-called wisdom of climbing a mountain for sixty years only to discover a lantern atop the Kunlun peak.
Tuoba Chunsun dared not take reckless risks. A plan formed in his mind, and he turned his gaze toward Xiti Qin Chare, whom he regarded as no more than an ant. He gestured with a smile to the cavalry, already trembling with fear, and said, “Go, distribute twenty swords to the herdsmen. Tell them, if they wish to live, they must strike down this youth. Whether they kill him or not, as long as they raise their blades, I, Tuoba Chunsun, promise them a thousand taels of gold and ten thousand heads of livestock.”
Qin Chare, though mediocre in martial prowess, knew well that the swordsman was no easy opponent. Yet he excelled at bullying the weak. Leading over twenty riders, he galloped forward and tossed more than twenty swords to the herdsmen, his voice cold and sinister: “Did you hear clearly? Our young master, the son of the Northern March’s martial deity, says that if you raise your blades against this Southern fugitive, you’ll receive a thousand taels of gold and ten thousand heads of livestock! And I, Qin Chare, the eagle king of this grassland, promise you this lake and this pasture as well! But if you refuse to cooperate…”
Qin Chare dared not overstep, so he carefully turned to glance at Tuoba Chunsun, who gave a gesture of a blade across the throat. With his orders confirmed, Qin Chare’s demeanor shifted instantly, his voice barking out: “Then you die!”
The son of Tuoba Bosa?
Hu Yanbao’s heart sank into despair. As he watched one young herdsman step forward to pick up a sword, he glared in fury and roared, “Dare you?!”
The herdsman hesitated for a moment, but when he saw others from his clan stepping forward, his wavering resolve solidified. In silence, they all picked up the gleaming swords. The wives and children of the herdsmen turned their heads away, unable to watch. Aobaoji rushed out from his tent, throwing himself between the cavalry and the sword-wielding herdsmen, his young face streaked with tears. The elderly chieftain closed his eyes, tears streaming down his aged cheeks. In this moment of life and death, these two faces—old and young—could do nothing to change the course of fate.
Hu Yan Guanyin sprinted toward Aobaoji, throwing her arms around him and rolling aside just in time to avoid the furious charge of Qin Chare’s horse. As Xiti, he was the undisputed ruler of this grassland. His fury surged, and though he might be but a chicken in the eyes of the Tuoba clan, he was no one the herdsmen could defy. Drawing a specially forged, oversized sword, he leaned low in his saddle and struck down viciously. Hu Yan Guanyin’s arm was slashed open, the wound deep enough to reveal bone.
Xu Fengnian straightened from his crouch, Spring Thunder spinning in his hand. He stood with his back to the advancing herdsmen, his heart calm as still water. He had seen too much of humanity’s cruelty to be surprised anymore. And for the sake of their tribes and loved ones, whether to raise the blade or refuse—it was all understandable. With one hand gripping Spring Thunder and the other raised, a sudden rupture tore through the earth behind him, forming a deep ravine. The herdsmen’s charge faltered, their courage wavering. From afar, they had seen only dust and chaos, but now, with the earth splitting before them like a line of death, their a fluke mentality vanished, and their bravery crumbled.
Fixing his gaze on Tuoba Chunsun, Xu Fengnian smoothed the blood-soaked folds of his robe with a smile: “Without the Brocade-Sleeved Lord to hinder me, it won’t be so easy to stop me now. How about we hunt each other instead?”
Tuoba Chunsun laughed maniacally, his handsome face contorted with glee: “There’s an old saying from the Central Plains: ‘The last of a strong crossbow cannot pierce even the thinnest silk. The final gust of a storm cannot lift even a feather.’ In your half-dead state, you still dare to bargain? Don’t you feel pain in your lungs with every breath? Do you think Duanbo’s punch was just embroidery?”
Xu Fengnian replied, “How many swords can I wield? Could you have guessed before? By the same token, if there can be a first strike, why not a second or third? Killing one more wouldn’t be impossible. Killing a sixth-tier Evil Path master like Duanbo seems less valuable than killing the son of a martial deity.”
Tuoba Chunsun wagged a finger with a confident smirk: “Don’t try to scare me. I was raised by my father’s beatings and scoldings, not by fear. I know your nature—you kill without hesitation, but now you talk too much. That means you’ve nearly exhausted your tricks. Ah, ‘exhausted tricks’—what a fine phrase! As a noble scion of the Southern Court, you must understand its meaning. Or are you weaving another subtle trap in the shadows? I’ll be watching. Duanbo, move! His limbs are yours, his head is mine!”
Tuoba Chunsun closed his eyes in delight: “I never knew before, but meeting you has made me realize how poetic it is to kill while quoting lines from books. It adds such charm.”
Facing Duanbo Huihui, Xu Fengnian exhaled gently.
A golden light shot from his sleeve.
Tuoba Chunsun chuckled, “Trifling tricks. Your swordsmanship pales in comparison to one of my father’s old defeated rivals—the Sword Qi Approaching from the Chess and Sword Music Bureau. You’re still leagues behind!”
Though his expression was playful, his eyes were sharp. This hidden sword, unseen until now, surpassed all eight previous floating swords in both speed and qi.
Jinlou—the near-complete sword fetus.
Tuoba Chunsun did not draw his blade, but matched wits with the golden sword’s cunning trajectory, like a flirtatious man courting a maiden in spring. The dance between man and sword was mesmerizing.
Xu Fengnian now faced the charging Duanbo Huihui, who grew fiercer with every strike. His attacks were merciless, his power shaking mountains and splitting earth. Xu’s weakening state was no mere pretense. From a distance, he countered with kicks and sweeps; up close, he struck with elbows and shoulders. Duanbo, his form loose yet his intent taut, struck like a hammer, his hands like hooked poles. Though his elbows barely left his ribs, the explosive force was terrifying. His massive frame moved like a serpent, his hands twisting and drilling in endless succession. Xu, already battered, now had to divide his focus between two tasks. At last, Duanbo seized an opening. With a brutal knee strike to Xu’s head, he sent the young swordsman flying backward.
Xu whispered softly, “Lend me three thousand qi, and I shall sever your head.”
The golden light flared.
The hidden sword, long restrained, now surged forward with the momentum of a life-risked gamble. Its speed multiplied, and in an instant, it shot like fire toward Tuoba Chunsun’s forehead!
A moment of peril.
With no time to dodge, Tuoba raised his palm to intercept the strike, tilting his head. The golden sword pierced through his hand, leaving a gash across his face.
Sensing the danger, Duanbo Huihui’s heart pounded. He abandoned pursuit of the youth whose tricks seemed endless and rushed to his young master’s side, fearing another strike from the sword. If Tuoba Chunsun, the general’s most promising heir, were to die in Longyao Prefecture, not even Duanbo himself, let alone the entire Northern March Evil Path, would be enough to atone.
Tuoba Chunsun did not glance at his wounded hand. Instead, he slapped Duanbo Huihui’s face with a furious roar: “Go kill him! Now!”
Jinlou curved in a half-circle, retreating into Xu’s sleeve. Xu Fengnian, his face pale as gold foil, staggered upon landing, swallowing the blood rising in his throat before lunging forward. Several cavalrymen blocking his path were cleaved in two, horse and rider alike.
Duanbo Huihui turned and sprinted after him.
Tuoba Chunsun curled his fingers into a claw, throwing his head back in a howl: “If I do not kill you, I shall no longer bear the Tuoba name!”
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