A gentle breeze swept through, dissipating the dust along the thousand-feet-long straight line where Wang Xianzhi had retreated. Some higher earthen mounds had been directly split open by the old man’s back. Fortunately, the clash occurred in a remote wilderness, sparing any bystanders from witnessing this extraordinary scene. Wang Xianzhi shook his ankle and kicked off his worn-out straw sandals. His torn sleeves were ripped away, revealing bronze-toned, muscular arms as solid as rock, brimming with the power to shatter mountains and split cities.
Wudi City, built beside the sea to overlook the vast ocean, experiences towering white waves each year when summer and autumn meet, with surging tides stretching for a thousand miles, battering against the eastern city walls. Thirty years ago, whenever waterspouts rose from the sea, Wang Xianzhi would proudly stand atop the eastern wall, striking the waves with his arms. In the past three decades, two others have taken turns to “beat the tide,” but none matched the grandeur of Wang Xianzhi. Martial artists who rely on brute strength have long been looked down upon by the three major sects as inferior techniques against the natural Dao. It was Wang Xianzhi alone who changed this perception, turning the tide of public opinion. Especially with the achievements of Tuoba Pusa and Xuan Yuan Dapán, Wang Xianzhi, the pioneer of this martial path, has remained at his peak without decline.
Wang Xianzhi’s expression remained calm as he gazed into the distance, his internal energy surging like an ocean. In terms of inner force alone, among the top ten martial experts, Cao Changqing surpassed even the third-ranked Deng Tai’e, nearly matching Tuoba Pusa. Yet, even he admitted that he could not rival Wang Xianzhi. In terms of combat prowess, the Green-Robed Sword God before his sixtieth year and the old man in the sheepskin cloak who stood firm at Guangling River were roughly equal. However, Wang Xianzhi today far surpassed even his former self sixty years ago. That was why, in the battle at the East Sea, even against Li Chungan, who had returned to the peak of swordsmanship, the old eccentric Wang only used nine-tenths of his strength. Over the past five hundred years, six or seven individuals have been acknowledged as the top martial artist in the land. In the most recent century, Wang Xianzhi was confirmed as the ultimate pillar. And this old man who called himself the second strongest in the world was undoubtedly far more formidable than Liu Songtao, the demonic figure of Zhulu Mountain a hundred years ago.
In ancient times, Qi Xuanzhen, with the appearance of a young man despite his sixty years, stood at the Demon-Slaying Platform, guarding the Dao for Heaven, leaving no room for evil spirits to thrive. With the unshakable Wang Xianzhi as the stabilizing force in the martial world, no martial artist could rise above others, making it impossible for any new talent to stand out like a fresh tree in a forest.
Eighty years of ebb and flow transformed the original four grandmasters into a decade-by-decade martial ranking of ten. Experts came and went, but no one could fathom what this old monster was thinking.
A satisfied smile curved Wang Xianzhi’s lips. Finally, he had arrived.
The century-old man slightly bent his knees, extending his left hand forward with his palm open, his right shoulder low, and his right hand clenched into a fist. The uninvited guest had given him a gift of two punches, pushing him back a full thousand feet. Wang Xianzhi would never refuse to return the gesture.
This simple starting posture of the roughly clad old man did not stir the winds or clouds, nor did it raise dust or rolling stones. Wang Xianzhi withdrew his gaze and exhaled gently, his eardrums vibrating intensely. The figure who had passed through the Heavenly Gate did not press the attack after the two punches but paused briefly seven hundred feet away. Only after Wang Xianzhi steadied himself did the challenger begin the third assault—step by step, not treading on the ground but gliding through the air like a skipping stone, creating ripples of air pressure. Each step struck Wang Xianzhi’s heart like a heavy drumbeat, increasing the vibration of his eardrums and causing his temples to pulse in and out. Still, Wang Xianzhi did not throw a punch. When the challenger finally leaped forward, crossing a hundred feet in one step, his momentum reaching its peak, he swung his fist. At that moment, Wang Xianzhi’s eardrums and temples abruptly stilled—and then he struck back with a single punch!
The two fists collided.
With a thunderous boom.
Between their fists, a fan-shaped “lake” of surging energy burst outward. This thin, twisted lake of air roared across the wilderness, shaking the skies. A few winter birds flying low accidentally struck the invisible wall and were torn apart, reduced to unrecognizable fragments.
Wang Xianzhi’s youthful-looking face rippled like water disturbed by a breeze, the fine lines gradually smoothing out before returning to calm.
Both men’s arms swung backward simultaneously after the punch, then they switched hands and struck again—another deafening clash that echoed across the plains.
Wang Xianzhi smiled faintly and drew back his hand.
The challenger shook his arm slightly but did not press further.
Neither moved, yet the distance between them grew steadily wider.
The earth split open, forming a widening and lengthening trench.
Wang Xianzhi slowly asked, “Should I call you the Prince of Beiliang or the Great Emperor Zhenwu?”
A young man with radiant golden eyes laughed and replied, “Just call me Xu Fengnian.”
Wang Xianzhi gazed at the young man’s gradually dimming eyes, his own aura stretching out like a rainbow behind him. With a hint of regret, he said, “So it was only a moment’s glory. I wonder who made these rules. How dull.”
Xu Fengnian sneered, “If you want excitement, why not fight immortals in the heavens?”
Wang Xianzhi laughed, “Even if there were immortals who ascended to heaven, they might not be anything good. As the saying goes, rotting grass becomes fireflies. Even if there are celestial immortals, they may not be worth much.”
Xu Fengnian asked, “Are you waiting to lose a fight on earth before you willingly cross the Heavenly Gate?”
Wang Xianzhi shook his head and said loudly, “To live as a human and die as a ghost—that is the most genuine truth. As for immortals, in my view, they are nothing more than cowards who fear death. Thieves who steal hooks are punished, those who steal kingdoms become lords, and those who steal life become immortals. Therefore, when it comes to ghosts and spirits, I only believe half of it.”
Xu Fengnian waved his hand dismissively, “Enough of that nonsense. You could kill me easily now. What’s your answer?”
Wang Xianzhi smiled and asked, “Do you have any chance of regaining that previous state?”
Xu Fengnian sighed helplessly, “It’s difficult.”
Wang Xianzhi nodded and said, “As long as there’s a chance, I’ll wait for you at the East Sea next time.”
As the old man turned to leave, Xu Fengnian called after him, “Didn’t you fight with Sui Xiegǔ?”
Wang Xianzhi kept walking away without looking back.
Xu Fengnian spat out a mouthful of blood and limped away.
At the place where the sword had split the heavens, Jiang Ni drew out the Da Liang Longque sword, hesitating.
Nearby, the white-clad Luoyang crouched on the ground, holding a handful of soil, gazing into the distance.
Jiang Ni raised her hand, summoned the purple sandalwood sword case, placed the Da Liang Longque inside, and slung it onto her back.
Luoyang stood up, dusted off her hands, and turned to face the woman who had truly toppled a kingdom eight hundred years ago. She sneered coldly, “Still that naturally pitiable beauty that makes men yearn. But now, compared to before, you’ve become more human—with a heart and lungs.”
Jiang Ni was confused by her words but instinctively disliked this white-clad woman, glaring and snapping, “Mind your own business!”
Without warning, Luoyang raised her hand in a drinking gesture, laughing heartily, and asked, “Aren’t you thirsty?”
Jiang Ni didn’t want to stoop to the level of this madwoman. Catching sight of an approaching figure in her peripheral vision, she bit her lip and turned away resolutely.
Xu Fengnian stopped walking, closed his eyes.
That year, golden wheat stretched endlessly across the fields. A woman, chosen as tribute and named Fox, timidly followed behind him and the Queen of the Great Qin, not yet having drunk the cup of poisoned wine.
Xu Fengnian opened his eyes, rubbed his face, and continued forward, walking beside Luoyang.
As for Liu Haoshi, whom Xu Fengnian had mistakenly believed would flee all the way back to Taian City, his head had already been severed by a single hand strike and was now being kicked along the ground, rolling forward one kick at a time.
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