On Qingdu River, an occasional giant koi leaped majestically from the water and crashed back into the current. About fifty or sixty martial artists, survivors of a recent calamity, remained silent even after seeing the white-robed swordsman and the gray-robed monk depart into the distance, fearing misfortune might strike from the sky. Only when a young Taoist priest turned and bowed deeply did the crowd finally respond with hurried reverence. Upon hearing the priest introduce himself as Li Yufu of Wudang, the group was awestruck. Li Yufu was the new abbot of Wudang, succeeding Wang Chonglou and Hong Xixiang. Wang Chonglou was recognized as a late bloomer, gradually advancing in the cultivation of heavenly Dao until achieving the Great Huangting. As for the immortal Hong Xixiang, his legendary feats—riding a crane down south, wielding a sword against Longhu Mountain, and charging straight out of Taian City—were so miraculous that even immortals would envy them. And now Li Yufu, the youngest abbot in Wudang’s history, who could say whether his future attainments might rival those of the celestial Tianmen? Li Yufu bore a refined appearance, possessed extraordinary spiritual roots, and treated others with approachability, in stark contrast to the haughty demeanor of the Longhu Mountain priests. As he conversed with others, Li Yufu suddenly broke into a smile, excused himself politely, and turned to greet a middle-aged Taoist priest who had silently appeared on the riverside. “How did Master Xiaowang come here?”
Wang Xiaoping, the swordsman known as the Sword Obsession, gazed eastward with a grave expression. “This mad monk radiates too much killing intent, reminding me of Liu Songtao, the martial cultivator of the Evil Sect that Senior Brother Song once spoke of. I came here to confirm it. If this really is him, Wang Xianzhi refuses to leave the city, Deng Tai’a has already sailed overseas in search of immortals, Cao Changqing is preoccupied with restoring the Xichu Kingdom, and Gu Jiantang, Chen Zhibao, and others, as loyal officials of the imperial court, will not intervene. Li Dangxin has already made one move and likely won’t act again. Ahead, two hundred and sixty li away, lies the Shangyin Academy—I had no choice but to come.”
Li Yufu replied with a sense of guilt, “It was my overestimation of my abilities that caused Master Xiaowang to worry.”
Wang Xiaoping, who usually kept people at arm’s length on the mountain, surprisingly smiled for the first time and began walking slowly along the riverside, speaking earnestly to the young abbot beside him. “It’s fine. This is what Wudang Mountain is about. My younger senior brother once said that ordinary martial cultivators strive for solitude, but we Taoist practitioners cultivate Dao like carrying a heavy load up a mountain. That’s how my younger senior brother could shoulder both martial cultivation and the Dao of Heaven. Your roots are strong, similar to his, and your temperament is naturally close to his. But you must deeply contemplate the true meaning of his words. Now, Wudang Mountain enjoys great popularity, reminiscent of centuries past. As abbot, you must not only look up to the heavens. Though your younger senior brother’s cultivation was indeed profound and unfathomable, how he attained it is even more important.”
Li Yufu replied gently, “I will remember Master Xiaowang’s words.”
A cool breeze blew across the river, lifting the ancient Taoist robe of Wang Xiaoping, who carried a sword on his back, making him appear even more like a swordsman immortal. The Sword Obsession stopped walking, smiled, and sighed, “If my younger senior brother heard my ramblings, he’d surely flatter me a bit to save face before sneaking into my bamboo grove to dig for winter bamboo shoots or cut bamboo to make fishing rods. Abbot, you still have much to learn from your Master Xiaowang’s carefree and cunning ways. Although the burden on Wudang Mountain is heavy, as long as you remain true to your heart, do what brings you peace. We, the uncles and elders, may not have great abilities, our hearts willing but our strength insufficient. We can only ask my younger senior brother and you to bear more of the burden. Although we may not speak of it, we have always felt guilty over the years.”
Li Yufu’s expression subtly changed. Taoist cultivation naturally pursued the understanding that a single falling leaf heralds autumn across the world, and a single sprout heralds spring throughout the heavens. Wang Xiaoping spoke directly: “Though our strength may be insufficient, we must still shoulder a portion of the burden with whatever strength we have. That is following the natural course. If the white-robed swordsman cannot stop the mad monk, there’s a high chance he will cross paths with that person. Since I promised my younger senior brother, I must go and intercept him. I have devoted my life to sword cultivation, yet I have never once felt the exhilaration of a truly unrestrained sword strike. Last time outside Shenwu City, when I launched three sword strikes, I gained much insight. Observing Xu Fengnian nurturing his sword intent at the bottom of the lake was also an invaluable lesson. This mad monk will serve as a whetstone for my sword Dao. If I fall short and meet my end with my sword shattered, Abbot, do not mourn. For Wang Xiaoping, dying in this way would be a fitting end.”
Li Yufu’s voice trembled slightly, “Master Xiaowang, may Yufu cast one divination?”
Wang Xiaoping let out a hearty laugh and vanished in a flash. “Today’s omen: Wang Xiaoping faces nine deaths to one life.”
Li Yufu slumped to the ground by the riverside. Even if Li Yufu could remain indifferent to his own life and death, he could not do the same for others. This was the true cage. The Rantuo Mountain’s self-imposed confinement and the Wujia Sword Grave’s withered swords shared a similar principle—both were about finding contentment within oneself. But Wudang Mountain had never been like that. The Buddhist hammer breaks attachments, yet being attached to breaking attachments itself is a form of clinging, descending into inferiority. Taoist practitioners cultivate the Dao, seek the Dao, and question the Dao. Li Yufu often asked himself: after transcending the Tianmen, what comes next? It is said that the human world is full of suffering, while immortals enjoy eternal bliss. Li Yufu’s expression turned sorrowful as he gazed at the yellowish, surging river. Throughout history, heroes and immortals—sages, saints, and enlightened beings—have all left their marks. A true man’s place in the world is where he can embrace family, nation, and the entire realm. The river wind rose, the water lapped against the shore, soaking the young Wudang abbot’s Taoist robe and shoes. In the distance, among the crowd of martial spectators, one swordsman, whose sword the mad monk Liu Songtao had borrowed, remained in a daze. Suddenly overcome with joy, he burst into tears and screamed loudly, desperate for the entire world to know that the eccentric monk had borrowed a single sword from him. With Liu Songtao’s unexpected borrowing of the sword, this swordsman’s status in the martial world skyrocketed overnight. Several senior martial elders approached him, offering warm, flattering words. Li Yufu ignored all of it. A bright red river carp leapt unexpectedly from the water and landed in the young Taoist’s arms, fulfilling the couplet from a small Wudang temple: “The fish carries celestial secrets, lively and free; the man, free of worldly worries, finds clarity.” Holding the carp in his arms, Li Yufu looked down at the lively koi, lost in thought, before suddenly smiling. “This humble Taoist, Li Yufu, shares great karma with you. I hope you won’t be tempted by bait and end up on someone’s dining plate. If indeed all things may cultivate, let us encourage each other and walk the Dao together.”
Li Yufu gently cupped the carp in both hands and tossed it back into the river. “I hope we may meet again in several hundred years.”
A mysterious and profound moment unfolded by Qingdu River, where a man and a carp made a pact spanning centuries. Thirty li away, however, a collision was brewing—one filled with bloodshed.
Luoyang, who had summoned a spiritual creature from the Qin Emperor’s tomb, made no attempt to stop anyone along the thirty-li stretch. She floated directly to a point thirty li beyond Qingdu River, fully intending to end the battle in one decisive strike. This arrogance marked her as the most feared figure in the Northern Desert. The mad monk staggered forward, running wildly. Occasionally, a few passersby heard the strange, seemingly off-key tune of the useless song, and when they looked up, the monk was already miles away. Luoyang stood proudly, while a long-bearded fish-dragon swam leisurely around her. Years ago, when the dragon walls flipped, she had been stabbed through the heart by that smug bastard, falling into the riverbed. Unbeknownst to him, Luoyang had turned back and returned to the tomb she had not seen for eight hundred years. Xu Fengnian had only glimpsed the outer layer of the imperial tomb and already found it magnificent and grand. He had no idea how Luoyang, with practiced ease, activated the mechanisms and descended deeper, revealing a hidden paradise. The walls bore countless talismans, masterpieces crafted by ancient alchemists with painstaking effort. Even the greatest contemporary cultivators would marvel at their harmony with the Dao of Heaven. Two fish-dragons had circled a coffin for nearly a thousand years.
After leaving the Qin Emperor’s tomb beneath the Yellow River, Luoyang secretly traveled to the northern ice plains, just in time for the transformation of the Bei Ming fish into a Peng bird. Tuoba Pusa had waited for decades, but Luoyang still managed to spoil most of his plans.
Tuoba Pusa had once spoken in secret with the Northern Desert Empress. When he obtained the weapon, it would be the day his thirty thousand elite cavalry marched southward. Naturally, Tuoba was furious, and even the Empress, who had once favored Luoyang, was enraged. Li Mibi deployed his entire web of agents—the hundred Dragonfly Catchers, the thirty Butterfly Snatchers, and all the Six Fishing Rods and Dual Cocoons, except for Yijie Liu. He personally oversaw every detail of the hunt for Luoyang, determined to kill her. Unfortunately for them, Luoyang had once slaughtered her way to the Northern Desert capital, and on that occasion, she had even taken a detour to catch a distant glimpse of Li Mibi, surrounded by heavily armored cavalry. Compared to Liu Songtao’s journey a hundred years ago, Luoyang’s actions were even more extreme. But this secret history remained unknown to the martial world of Liyang.
Liu Songtao did not carry his sword; instead, the ordinary longsword floated beside him as they walked side by side.
One day, he would ascend to the rank of a terrestrial sword immortal, claiming that anything in the world could be used as a sword. Yet, when he actually held a sword—whether bamboo, wooden, or iron—the aura was entirely different. Especially in battles between equals, the presence or absence of a sword made an immense difference. Swords are spiritual objects; otherwise, the essence of the Wu family’s sword cultivation would not lie in the Ruyi Sword Embryo. Skilled sword forgers consider the sword embryo only the first layer—the sword Fetus is the crucial key. An elder once joked that swordsmen dueling is like two women in silk robes fighting, each trying to tear the other’s clothes. But silk robes are tightly woven and durable, made from countless threads. That is why swordsmen have remained a prestigious profession in the martial world for centuries—it’s like giving the women scissors, making it much easier to tear clothes. Without a weapon, one would have to punch and break the tightly woven silk, loosening the threads one by one.
Fu Jiang Hong Jia, one of the previous Four Great Masters, was not part of the Three Teachings, yet he possessed the physical form of the Great Vajra and the perception of the Heaven Manifestation. Wearing talisman armor was like wearing the thickest garment in the world. The ferocity of Han Diaosi, the Human Cat, came from his ability to unravel threads, not only capable of tearing apart the Great Vajra body but also severing the resonance between Heaven Manifestation cultivators and the heavens. For martial cultivators outside the Three Teachings, the four levels of the First Rank are unquestionably ascending in order. The gap between the Heaven Manifestation and the Finger Mystery is far greater than that between the Vajra and the Finger Mystery. There are many cases of Vajra and Finger Mystery cultivators killing each other. Han Diaosi’s ability to kill a Heaven Manifestation practitioner with the Finger Mystery made him comparable to Deng Tai’a’s mastery of the same level. Unfortunately, after Han Diaosi died outside Shenwu City, his cultivation method was never inherited, becoming a lost art. Regardless of his morality, he was regarded as a great loss to the world of the Finger Mystery.
Top martial experts, especially those of the First Rank, often display a sense of caution, with sparring far more common than life-or-death duels.
White-robed Luoyang was clearly an exception, someone who seemed to disregard the hard-earned cultivation levels. She fought Tuoba Pusa under the very nose of the Northern Desert Empress, battled Deng Tai’a outside Dunhuang, faced the former fourth strongest cultivator in the world, Hong Jingyan, at the Music and Sword Bureau, and fought Tuoba Pusa again on the back of the Bei Ming fish in the northern ice plains. In every case, she forced her opponents into life-or-death struggles.
This time was no different.
The two clashed.
Luoyang allowed Liu Songtao’s sword to pierce through her palm and struck him on the forehead.
Both retreated several zhang.
Luoyang’s arm, used to block the sword, hung limply, dripping blood.
Liu Songtao bled from the seven orifices, suffering badly.
The sword shattered, and one of Luoyang’s fish-dragons also lost its spiritual energy.
Luoyang glanced at the now-sober middle-aged monk and retreated, saying calmly, “I’ll take your next sword strike a hundred li from here.”
Liu Songtao inhaled sharply through his teeth, blood flowing back into his body like a sword returning to its sheath.
He strode forward, stepping over the scattered fragments of broken swords, which reassembled into a whole blade. This time, he gripped the sword in his hand.
A hundred li away stood a city. White-robed Luoyang stood beneath the western city wall.
As the person came, so did the sword.
A thick sword qi, as massive as a mountain.
When Luoyang stopped, she was already outside the eastern wall.
The city had been split in two by the sword qi and Luoyang’s force, the walls torn apart. A shopkeeper selling cosmetics and powders stared in disbelief at his shop, now split into two halves. A group of friends in a private courtyard, pretending to be refined while drinking wine and admiring the lake, watched as the lake water surged, the courtyard walls collapsed, and the pavilion behind them crumbled with a thunderous crash. Their fur hats were blown off by the wind, and they stared at each other in shock. A young nobleman, riding his horse with attendants, fell into the newly formed chasm, crying out in terror. His servants thought they had seen a ghost in broad daylight and were too frightened to rescue him.
Outside the western wall, Liu Songtao laughed loudly, running along the crack in the wall. “One sword to destroy a city? That’s not enough! Let’s destroy a nation with another!”
Luoyang gently stroked the newly appeared fish-dragon beside her and smiled slightly.
Then she re-entered the city.
“Get out!”
With one kick, she sent Liu Songtao flying back outside the western wall.
Luoyang stood in the center of the town, her white robes fluttering.
Liu Songtao, outside the western wall, bent like a bow, then slowly straightened up. His eyes were hazy again, like a jar of aged white liquor that had been shaken violently, stirring up the sediment at the bottom.
Liu Songtao shook his head and rushed into the city again, arriving at a north-south street that had been cut in half by the previous strike. Near the bottomless chasm sat an ordinary-looking woman. Startled, she looked around and found a small hairpin that had fallen from her bun. She was about to bend down to pick it up when she suddenly saw a hand reach out and retrieve it for her. Looking up, she saw a monk with a gentle face, wearing tattered robes and no shoes. Shy and timid, she blushed and stood awkwardly. The refined monk smiled, handed her the hairpin, and murmured, “Back then, she placed her hairpin in my bun, teasing me, ‘A small hairpin adorns my hair so gracefully.’”
The woman, puzzled by the monk’s odd behavior, stood up, dazed. “Unfortunately, you are not her, and I am no longer me.”
Liu Songtao exhaled deeply, looking down at his empty hands.
Back then, when he saw her too late, he had wrapped her naked body in his robe and carried her back to Zhulu.
Liu Songtao tore off a sleeve, flicked his wrist, and a sword made from his robe appeared in his hand.
He smiled at the woman. “Let me show you this sword strike for her.”
The woman, inexperienced in such terrifying scenes, nodded blankly, tears welling in her eyes.
Liu Songtao wept, his voice hoarse with laughter. “Back then, the three of us roamed the martial world freely. Zhao Huangchao betrayed no one but the Rivers and mountains, you betrayed Liu Songtao. Liu Songtao betrayed Zhulu Mountain but never betrayed you.”
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