Mo Yan Baoding cast a glance at the rumbling thunder sheathed at his side, somewhat surprised. Although martial cultivation is vast and boundless, filled with countless obscure and deviant paths, anything related to the art of Qi refinement is considered superior. The young pair behind him were even more familiar with such techniques. In the Northern Yan, there was a master of Qi refinement renowned for harvesting lightning. The greedy youth and gluttonous girl whispered together, especially the girl, smacking her lips and staring fixedly at the nine genuine purple thunderbolts. If she could swallow them and cultivate for a few years, surely she could beat that annoying fatso beside her into an unrecognizable pulp? Hong Jingyan remained expressionless throughout; at his level of martial cultivation, the only way to respond was with unwavering composure.
Xu Xiaonian unsheathed his blade, Guo He Zu, in an instant. The speed was so great that the scabbard flew from his hand and crashed into the palace wall. Following the arc technique of Wang Xiu, Xu Xiaonian swung his arm in a sweeping motion and cleaved downward. The nine thunders coiled around his blade, radiating a dazzling purple glow. Zhong Liang, without hesitation, reclaimed the iron spear Xu had discarded. Previously, he had held it in one hand, but now, finally gripping it with both, he gave it his full attention to counter the drawn blade. The spear arced sideways, and before the blinding edge of the sword could reach him, the spear tip had already aimed at Xu Xiaonian’s waist. Xu Xiaonian did not deliberately halt his attack to shift to defense. Instead, he flowed effortlessly with the blade, as if possessed by a deity, intuitively grasping the mysterious art of foreknowledge within the Zhi Xuan technique. The tip of his blade twisted sharply, accelerating downward, and his body was forcibly propelled forward several feet. It was still the rolling blade technique, but compared to the usual swordsmen, it carried far more profound secrets. The spear, unexpectedly missing its mark, caused Zhong Liang’s eyes to brighten. Using the arc of the spear’s momentum, his body followed the arc, and to onlookers, it seemed as though one followed the blade while the other chased the spear. Initially, Mo Yan Baoding smiled slightly, not particularly impressed by the youth’s rolling blade technique. But when Xu Xiaonian’s seemingly chaotic slashes struck precisely four feet from Zhong Liang’s face, the “half-faced Buddha” was genuinely surprised.
Zhong Liang, continuously evading, furrowed his brows—not out of anger at the youth’s retaliation for his earlier spearpoint aimed at his forehead, but because such a ridiculous rolling blade technique, like a child swinging wildly, was unheard of. Zhong Liang naturally did not know of an old swordsman from the Eastern Yue named Song Nianqing, who, on his final journey through the martial world, carried with him fourteen swords and fourteen techniques. The only sword with a tassel was named “Zhaodan,” symbolizing the act of holding a lantern to illuminate the gallbladder and observe the world. It was precisely this “sword-walking” technique that had carried him all the way, stumbling forward, to the side of the White Robe Luo Yang.
Each time Xu Xiaonian rolled his blade toward Zhong Liang’s face, a purple thunderbolt hovered in the air. After nine strikes, his free right hand suddenly clenched, and nine thunderbolts concealed nine hidden flying swords, forming a formation that trapped Zhong Liang within. Xu Xiaonian did not even bother to see how the demonic opponent would respond. With a single hand, he wildly struck downward, mimicking the eighteen beats of the Hu Jia song from the blind female musician in the rain-soaked alley. A single finger tapped the hilt of Guo He Zu, invoking the secret technique of the young female cultivator from Youyan Villa—“point the mountains to fill the sea.” Across the plaza, many discarded talisman swords left from earlier battles leapt from the ground with sudden vitality, twisting along sharp trajectories to pierce toward Zhong Liang. These joined the thunderous flying swords and the unpredictable rhythm of the Hu Jia beats, creating a magnificent spectacle. The arc technique, with three arcs forming a pattern, was now subtly adapted from Song Nianqing, Xue Songguan, and the cultivators of the Nanhai Sect. Though seemingly unrelated, these techniques had been fused together, hinting at the grand mastery of a true Grandmaster, as if swallowing ten thousand miles in a single breath.
Mo Yan Baoding chuckled softly, “It looks impressive and is quite practical, but it’s still a bit chaotic. He still has a way to go before reaching the realm of returning to simplicity.”
Zhong Liang struggled within the formation, barely keeping up with the three arcs. The Hu Jia rhythm, though sudden, was manageable. Zhong Liang’s King Kong body could withstand a few blows without serious injury—merely superficial and a matter of pride. As for the dozen or so talisman swords, they were no great threat either. His mastery of the Zhi Xuan technique allowed him to evade them effortlessly. Normally, with his rare talent, he wouldn’t even need to dodge. But if he didn’t dodge, he would fall into a trap. Worse still, the flying swords wrapped in purple lightning, dressed like a “cloak,” no longer recognized him as their natural wielder. Each of the nine sword auras carried deadly intent—this was the true killing move. Zhong Liang’s iron spear, now stripped of its tip by the purple lightning, had not once allowed him to counterattack since Xu Xiaonian drew his blade. This was enough to truly provoke the fury of Zhong Liang, the second son of the Zhong family, whose strength ranked him among the top ten martial demons of the Northern Yan, even if his position among them was relatively low.
Among the pinnacle one-grade martial artists of the Northern Yan, open and unrestrained duels were far more common than in the Liyang realm. There was no tradition of polite, non-lethal contests between martial artists. If not for the old eccentric Wang Laoguai of the Wudi City serving as a whetstone for martial prowess, the number of martial artists ranked in the Liyang realm might not even match half of the Northern Yan’s. In the Northern Yan, heroes were judged solely by their merit—many who were unknown one day could become honored guests of a great general the next. Zhong Liang did not rise to prominence in the Northern Yan martial world because of his status as the younger brother of Zhong Shentong, but through countless hunts and being hunted. In his youth, he had incurred the wrath of the “Dragon King,” another of the top ten martial demons, and was pursued for nearly a month. It was during that life-threatening escape that Zhong Liang finally broke through to the one-grade realm. Zhong Liang had previously held back his strength, not only to humiliate the young prince but also because he disliked the youth’s pretentiousness—carrying a blade yet refusing to draw it. Who did he think he was, putting on airs in front of Zhong Liang? Now, however, he realized that the young Prince of Beiliang had studied a wide array of techniques, rivaling his own. The moment the blade was drawn, the momentum surged like a raging river. Zhong Liang could no longer afford to underestimate him and now regarded him as a worthy opponent. Zhong Liang knew full well that the young man standing five zhang away had more tricks up his sleeve—beyond the thunder-wrapped flying swords, there was certainly a deeper, more hidden technique. Zhong Liang suspected it was the second blade hanging at his right waist.
Zhong Liang had heard that Xu Xiaonian, who had once studied under Li Chungan, had used a single sleeve to cut down the colorful serpent demon beside Tuoba Chunsun on the grasslands. As he deflected the talisman swords that danced to the rhythm of the Hu Jia beats, and especially the more formidable formation of purple thunder swords, the exchanges between Xu Xiaonian’s attacks and Zhong Liang’s defenses seemed complex and prolonged, but in reality, it was over in the blink of an eye. The talisman swords shattered and fell to the ground, and Zhong Liang’s iron spear was reduced to half its length, now more like a long sword. Fortunately, Zhong Liang’s talent was so extraordinary that no matter what he learned, he surpassed even the lifelong studies of many renowned martial artists. With the broken spear in his hands, he struck the lightning-wrapped flying swords, the sound resonating like the clang of a thousand-pound bell, clearly audible even outside the Dragon Palace. Each time the spear met the sword, Zhong Liang gained a deeper understanding of the flying swords within the thunder.
When the expressionless young swordsman finally, subtly, moved his right hand, Zhong Liang’s pupils narrowed—knowing that the second blade was about to be unsheathed.
Onlookers Mo Yan Baoding and Hong Jingyan sighed almost simultaneously.
Xu Xiaonian’s hand indeed grasped the hilt of the Xiu Dong blade at his right waist.
But the blade that emerged was not Xiu Dong—it was Guo He Zu, now without its scabbard.
Xu Xiaonian’s tiger-mouth split, blood spattering.
Enough said about the speed of Guo He Zu—it was so fast that even Xu Xiaonian, the one wielding it, could no longer control it.
Outside Shenwu City, a lone swordsman borrowed a sword from Wudi City, and Xu Xiaonian decisively offered it, using it to kill Han Shengxuan in the final moment of life and death. Han, known as the invincible human cat below the realm of a land immortal, fell to that strike.
But that time, the borrowed sword was given to the old sword-devouring ancestor, the old man named Sui. This time, the return was to the scabbard of Guo He Zu. Otherwise, with Xu Xiaonian’s already profound cultivation, capable of nurturing a sleeve of green dragons, he would not have resorted to the rolling blade technique derived from Song Nianqing’s “Zhaodan” swordplay to fight Zhong Liang. All of it was a devious ruse, a mere prelude to this final return of the blade. The heart-stopping trap outside Shenwu City, where the famous sword Spring and Autumn had nearly pierced the human cat’s heart, was such that the farther the sword was borrowed from, the greater its momentum. But Zhong Liang was no Han Shengxuan, who used the Zhi Xuan technique to kill a Tian Xiang opponent. This return of the blade still pierced straight through the chest of this Northern Yan demon, though not killing him outright. Just as the previous three attendants had pulled the iron spear from their bodies, Zhong Liang directly used the scabbard of Guo He Zu to crash through the palace wall and escape. Xu Xiaonian did not pursue. He merely glanced at the fallen spy of Beiliang, avenging the old man’s spear wound.
Mo Yan Baoding lamented, “Originally, with Zhong Liang’s abilities, if he had given his all from the start, he wouldn’t have ended up in such a sorry state. His talent is truly extraordinary—he was the fastest to ascend from the Diamond Body to the Zhi Xuan realm in Northern Yan, even faster than Li Chungan of Liyang in his time. That’s a great blessing, but also a considerable drawback. His Diamond Body isn’t as flawless as those who have lingered in that realm for years. Zhong Liang’s fortune was that, as a natural sword embryo, he sensed the danger of that returning blade before it pierced his heart, thus narrowly avoiding a fatal strike. His misfortune, however, was that having barely escaped that blade, he would never evade the coming of Xu Yanbing, who now wielded the Momentary Spear.”
Hong Jingyan hesitated, then took a step forward.
Mo Yan Baoding chuckled softly, “Have you made up your mind? Do you really want to save Zhong Liang from Xu Yanbing’s hands, just to curry favor with my sister? Don’t regret it.”
Hong Jingyan countered, “Hong Jingyan can conceal the secret of the Jie Shi’s southern advance from the Emperor. Can’t the Jie Shi wait for Hong Jingyan’s calculated move?”
Mo Yan Baoding did not respond, merely shaking his head.
The two parted ways.
As Hong Jingyan leapt out of the Dragon Palace, Mo Yan Baoding murmured to himself, “No daring to gamble, how can one dare to win?”
Raising his voice slightly, Mo Yan Baoding smiled at Xu Xiaonian, “This Hong Jingyan, though his martial cultivation is high, is actually far inferior to you in my eyes. Just now, I even promised him and you would each take a seat as Northern and Southern Court Grand Marshals. Now, I see that I was insulting you, Xu Xiaonian.”
Xu Xiaonian inhaled deeply, drawing in the nine purple thunders, then summoned the now-sheathed Guo He Zu back into his hand. He casually shook it, flicking off Zhong Liang’s blood from the scabbard, and smiled, “If you, Mo Yan Baoding, faced that strike, what would your outcome have been?”
There was no tension between them, no swords drawn.
Mo Yan Baoding lazily sat on the steps, laughing, “I can foresee that strike, but I probably couldn’t dodge it. Even if your blade struck my heart, it wouldn’t pierce through. Not that I underestimate you, but in this world, only Wang Xianzhi and Toba Bosa could achieve that with their bare hands. Deng Ta’ao’s sword could do it too. As for others, it would be quite difficult. Oh, right—there’s also Li Dangxin, the Diamond Wrath. So even if Hong Jingyan lost his mind and turned to kill me, I wouldn’t take it too seriously. I’d just slowly return to Northern Yan. Maybe I could even chat with you folks along the way.”
The martial ranking compiled in the Northern Yan stated that if Wang Xianzhi were willing to join forces with Toba Bosa, they could eliminate all eight behind them. No one could know what those eight thought, but now, in the Dragon Palace, two of them stood: the sixth and the eighth in the world. During their southern journey, they had once shared a drink and a chat. Hong Jingyan, who stood slightly higher, admitted this point, while Mo Yan Baoding disagreed—not out of arrogance, but because he believed that Deng Ta’ao, who had borrowed a sword and gone to sea seeking immortals, might, with a great opportunity, surpass even Toba Bosa and stand equal with Wang Xianzhi.
Xu Xiaonian asked, “Not even Xu Yanbing’s Momentary Spear could do it?”
Mo Yan Baoding pondered for a moment, “First, I don’t know his true depth. Second, if I say he can’t, you’ll think I’m just bragging.”
Xu Xiaonian smiled, “Xu Yanbing won’t fight you, but there will be someone else.”
Mo Yan Baoding’s voice turned grave, “No room for negotiation? Must it come to bloodshed?”
Xu Xiaonian shook his head, “My father, Xu Xiao, never cared for you. I won’t do business with Northern Yan in this life.”
Mo Yan Baoding stood with a look of regret, stretching his arms, “You’re a lot more foolish than I imagined.”
Xu Xiaonian smiled, “That remark is returned to you.”
※※※
The head of Qingcang’s spies was actually a pawn planted by the Northern Yan. After deceiving Zhou Junchen with false reports, he vanished without a trace. He claimed that Xu Xiaonian had entered the refugee lands alone, with no large Beiliang forces following. In truth, he was only half-right. Alongside the young Prince of Beiliang, who should have remained in safety like a noble son, a thousand riders had entered the region. Yet fewer than a hundred of them wore armor fit for royal protection. The remaining eight or nine hundred were all clad in saffron robes, their bald heads unmistakable—a grand procession of monks heading west. There was only one carriage, with a massive black tiger prowling nearby, occasionally pausing to wait for the carriage. On either side, a hundred riders in heavy armor and iron-clad horses were unmistakable—this was the Longxiang Cavalry, the elite of Beiliang’s elite! It was the three thousand Longxiang riders who had torn through half of Gusei Province, leaving the Southern Court of Northern Yan trembling in fear of that black-robed youth’s invincibility in battle.
Beiliang had always been close to Buddhism, especially after the Liyang court’s persecution of monks. Countless monks had fled to Beiliang, the last peaceful sanctuary in the world.
Then, the new Prince of Beiliang suddenly issued an order: all monks in Liangzhou were to preach in the refugee lands, with iron-clad cavalry as escorts. Most foreign monks feared they were merely trading one wolf’s den for another tiger’s lair and hesitated. Fortunately, the Prince did not force them, only commanding six hundred local monks to “head west,” forbidding resistance. However, over three hundred foreign monks still clung to the idea of “who will go to hell if not me?” and set out from Liangzhou, even rushing from Youling and Liangzhou. Many monks who had chosen to remain behind regretted their decision when they learned that the black tiger, once a disciple of the great immortal Qi Xuanzhen, was among the riders.
Many monks, well-versed in worldly matters, tried to secretly follow the caravan but were driven back by the border cavalry.
The Northern Yan spy Qing Huai Daoren, who had long hidden in Qingrong Temple, was killed by Beiliang’s hawks. At that time, the old monk Huang Deng Chan Shi, originally from Jiangnan, had witnessed the old Taoist’s death. Now, the old Chan Master had become the new abbot of Qingrong Temple. When the new Prince of Beiliang ordered the monks to head west into the refugee lands, the elderly Chan Master was among the first to volunteer, and was the most renowned among them. Thus, Huang Deng Chan Shi was specially permitted to ride in the carriage, a rare honor. However, the old Chan Master seemed restless throughout the journey—not because an old monk would bow to power. Even when preaching in Jiangnan, facing noble officials from aristocratic families, he treated them no differently than commoners. The reason for his unease was that inside the carriage sat the Prince’s younger brother—the same Xu Longxiang who had slaughtered a city and buried alive surrendered soldiers at the border last year! If that were not enough to unsettle a holy man, the prince was no longer barefoot and clad in black robes, but instead encased in a bizarrely terrifying crimson armor, revealing only his eyes!
The killing intent filled the carriage.
Poor Huang Deng Chan Shi, known for his aura of Buddhist serenity.
Still some distance from Qingcang City, a falcon circled low overhead.
Upon hearing the sound, Fu Jia suddenly stood up, leaving the carriage. The armored youth began to run wildly.
This red armor, before entering the westernmost Dragon Palace, had already shattered the entire Qingcang City in a straight line.
A clash of Diamond Bodies against Diamond Bodies!
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage