With a seemingly casual punch, the woman in purple was driven deep into the cliffside. Wang Xianzhi merely glanced at her, choosing not to pursue. Instead, he leapt back onto the ferry. The deck was still damp, and without a word from the old immortal, the boat resumed its journey. No one aboard dared approach him, whispering amongst themselves. Nowadays, the color purple had swept the Jianghu, and many young female martial artists favored wearing purple robes and skirts. Those familiar with the martial world hesitated to confirm whether the woman who had blocked the ferry was indeed the current Jianghu Alliance Leader. If the woman was indeed Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng, the master of Daxueping, then who else could the old man standing at the bow be but Wang Xianzhi himself?
Wang Xianzhi’s ferry drifted steadily forward. Before entering the gorge, it drew closer and closer to a newly built grave. The passengers, both martial artists and common folk, watched anxiously.
Wang Xianzhi remained focused ahead. From the cliffside came a faint sound of falling stones. That loose purple robe, like a living vine awakening after winter, sprang back to life like water overflowing, “seeping” from the stone crater. Threads of purple clung to the cliff face, sending chills down the spines of everyone aboard the ferry. Could this woman truly be an immortal dragon transformed from the Guangling River? The woman, wrapped in purple, floated slowly from the grave. She raised one hand to her lips, but crimson blood still seeped through her fingers.
Having entered the Tianxiang realm, named four hundred years ago by Gao Shulu, her energy surged and shifted rapidly. If Zhixuan was merely about “seeing” the “rules” of the universe’s movements and then striking with a finger to alter them, Tianxiang was about grasping the entire thread of energy and flowing with it, borrowing the laws of heaven and earth. Yet Gao Shulu once said that Tianxiang cultivators were like gatekeepers of a human courtyard, understanding the principle of “punishing the dog while respecting the master.” Ordinary Tianxiang experts inevitably attracted karmic repercussions when killing or saving lives. Han Shengxuan deliberately remained in Zhixuan throughout his life because as the “Human Cat,” he could kill Jianghu’s top experts without restraint.
Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng employed the unique method of the old master Xuan-Yuan Dapan from Guniu Jiang, absorbing others’ cultivation and life force to strengthen herself. The first wave of senior experts from Huishan mysteriously perished one by one. She would secretly descend the mountain once a month to seek out fresh sources of power. This was no longer a case of “not eating grass near the nest,” but rather a desperate situation where there was no grass left near the nest. Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng was like a female Pixiu, walking further and further down this crooked path.
Her graceful silhouette emerged from the broken cliffside. The freely fluttering purple robe did not diminish her elegance but instead enhanced the mysterious aura of the Jianghu Alliance Leader. Wang Xianzhi’s punch had shattered her “first breath.” During the ferry’s journey, she had seized the chance to “renew her breath.” In fact, while being chased by a green dragon from the depths of the Guangling River, Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng had already forced herself to maintain her energy. At that time, she had two choices: after breaking the dragon’s energy, she could avoid confrontation and hide quietly at the river bottom. Yet she chose to guide the iron chains out of the river and nearly withstand Wang Xianzhi’s punch head-on. Watching her drifting posture now, was she preparing for another battle? As expected, before the ferry entered the gorge, Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng turned her gaze toward Wang Xianzhi’s profile and extended one hand forward.
Wang Xianzhi, standing proudly at the bow, vanished in a flash. The ferry beneath his feet shot forward like an arrow, slicing through the river surface and rushing into the gorge. The passengers, thrown into disarray, had no chance to witness the ensuing peak martial battle of the Liyang Jianghu.
Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng pressed both hands downward, her figure rising along the cliffside for dozens of feet. Wang Xianzhi followed like a shadow. His foot first stepped lightly on the edge of the crater, then he strode forward as if walking on flat ground, chasing the purple figure “up the cliff.” Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng pulled both hands, and countless dark iron chains hidden beneath the cliffside clanked and rose, twisting together and wildly pursuing the old man’s back.
Sliding along the cliffside, Wang Xianzhi ignored the mass of black iron chains behind him. Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng struck the cliff wall with both arms, her fingers drilling into the stone like a purple gecko clinging to the wall. Her purple robe slammed against the cliff face, suddenly spreading wide and enveloping her like a tightly sealed cocoon. Threads of silk shot forth, using the iron chains to force Wang Xianzhi’s energy to surge outward, while the silk sought to trace his unique energy flow. Red silk and black chains crossed rapidly, attempting to crush Wang Xianzhi within.
This was a sky-obscuring trap, yet Wang Xianzhi strolled through it as if in a garden. With each step, the silk and chains shifted, causing rocks to explode and tumble into the river, creating waves. Wang Xianzhi showed no signs of his energy spilling outward like ordinary experts, yet countless Entanglement silk and chains could not approach him. Instead, he suppressed most of his aura, allowing the web to tightly grasp his body, reputed to be as unbreakable as a Buddhist Invincible Diamond body, leaving only his head exposed.
Among the four realms of martial cultivation, Wang Xianzhi was not the fastest to cross them. Even now, despite being the undisputed number one for sixty years as the City Lord of Wudi, he had never been the first to reach the first three realms. The Realm of the Indestructible was claimed by the white-robed monk Li Dangxin, Zhixuan by Deng Tai’a, and Tianxiang by Cao Changqing. Even without the Peach Blossom Sword God, Han Shengxuan still held the Zhixuan realm. Yet this did not prevent Wang Xianzhi from ultimately becoming the sole pinnacle of martial cultivation over the past five centuries. Thus, when Wang Xianzhi deliberately concealed his energy, allowing Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng to succeed, the purple-robed mountain master immediately abandoned the idea of strangling the old monster. She decisively broke free from the cocoon, continuing her ascent. At the same time, the silk and chains exploded, scattering purple and black dust. The entire cliffside shook violently under the massive impact.
Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng’s purple robe was no longer so intensely purple. The garment, once crafted with more seamless skill than the finest artisans in the imperial weaving bureau, had faded by several shades.
Wang Xianzhi continued walking up the cliffside at a steady pace, not fast or slow, just slightly faster than Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng’s ascent. Surprisingly, Wang Xianzhi even found time for a casual conversation, his tone calm, “Martial cultivation in the world is divided into techniques and paths. Master Lü bore the heavens upon his shoulders, and I hold him in genuine admiration. After Li Chungan, sword cultivation has seen a decline in talent. Deng Tai’a’s path of techniques is worthy of my respect. The burden of the Dao once rested on Cao Changqing’s shoulders, and in recent years, none have managed to escape the shadow of the ancients.”
“Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng, your cultivation, neither technique nor Dao, is nothing more than a mirage. It will vanish with even a strong breeze, and can only intimidate ordinary cultivators. I originally pitied you as a woman, knowing the difficulty of martial cultivation for one of your gender…”
The purple figure abruptly halted and retreated, shouting fiercely, “Woman? What of a woman?!”
Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng also planted her feet on the cliffside, facing Wang Xianzhi like a mirror image. She charged forward.
Her fists slammed down, but Wang Xianzhi, with one hand behind his back, allowed the blows to land on his shoulder. He lightly tapped a finger to her forehead. Wang Xianzhi remained unmoved, while Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng only swayed slightly backward. The greatest movement came from the cliffside beneath their feet, which tore open into an ever-widening crack. As Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng shook her head, her sleeves were shredded, revealing two wrists as pink and tender as lotus roots. But this pale, rosy hue was not the natural beauty of a woman, but rather a sickly sight. Beneath her snow-white skin, blood flowed visibly in a disturbing manner. She had no bones! Gains came with losses. The master of Huishan had sharpened her “blade” too far, sacrificing her own body to become a living crucible, melting both others and herself to absorb their inner energy and withstand the backlash of those she had killed.
Wang Xianzhi naturally recognized the foundation of this madwoman long ago and felt no pity. Seeing her foolishness, he suddenly increased the force of his forehead tap, sending the laughingstock of an Alliance Leader flying backward dozens of feet. He then leapt in one step to face Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng, gripping her slender neck, which was delicate even by male standards. Keeping one hand behind his back, Wang Xianzhi seized her body, rotated slightly to build momentum, then released his grip, hurling the woman in purple to a height of dozens of feet above the gorge’s peak. Wang Xianzhi continued his ascent, his hand behind his back forming a fist. A column of water forcefully surged from the river, which future generations might call the Guangling Sword, with the Guangling River as its scabbard and river water as its blade. Wang Xianzhi’s Azure Dragon sleeve had no fixed form, but at this moment, the old man intended to use this water sword soaring overhead to pierce through the woman’s body, pinning her lifeless in the air. This fresh and public death would be fitting for her current status and her audacity to challenge him in battle.
The water sword surged forward, swiftly ascending the cliffside and indeed striking the purple-robed woman, whose energy had mostly dissipated. However, this water sword, as thick as a well’s mouth, did not pierce Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng’s body but was blocked by a hazy mist of ivory white. The mist spread fan-like, and the water sword struck like a needle against a bronze mirror. The mist gradually dissipated, but Wang Xianzhi, still climbing the cliffside, had no patience for this. He raised one hand, and the water column instantly expanded from the size of a well’s mouth to the size of a courtyard entrance in the Jiangnan water towns. This was no longer a needle pricking a mirror but a hammer smashing it. This was not all; several water columns of the same scale were drawn out of the river by Wang Xianzhi’s effortless manipulation of energy, surging into the sky to strike down. Each emerging water dragon contained Wang Xianzhi’s abundant energy, curving around the cliffside like a half-circle, precisely hitting the misty barrier.
Wang Xianzhi reached the cliff’s summit, looking up with a silent, scornful laugh. No wonder this woman could act so brazenly; someone had gifted or lent her a portion of the nation’s fortune.
Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng, on the brink of death, did not surrender. With great difficulty, she rose to her feet on the mirror-like surface, her hands forming a sword grip, the blade pointing downward, directly at Wang Xianzhi’s head!
The imperial fortune transferred to her began to rotate, drawing from the mirror surface and condensing in her “hands,” on her “sword.”
Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng roared.
Both hands pressed downward.
The first water dragon sword shattered instantly. The water columns that had been striking the mirror were dragged along, turning against their original target and joining the invisible sword qi to strike Wang Xianzhi’s head.
Wang Xianzhi let out a soft snort. How could a mere glimmer of imperial fortune dare to rival the sun and moon?
The martial artist no longer kept his hands behind his back. Both hands formed hooks, and one foot slid forward a few inches on the cliff’s surface, knees slightly bent.
This was likely the first truly meaningful move by the City Lord of Wudi.
After that single sword strike, Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng had exhausted all her resources, maintaining that strange sword-holding posture, left only to await death.
Wang Xianzhi instantly leapt up, the entire cliff summit sinking several feet under his pressure. Before the sound of the impact at the cliff’s base could reach, the immense energy pouring down from above had already repelled the Guangling waves crashing against the cliffside.
Whether sword qi or water columns, neither was blocked nor shattered but instead seemed to lose their target, randomly crashing onto the already precarious cliff summit.
Yet Wang Xianzhi had already arrived above the purple-robed woman, delivering a punch that sent her plummeting from the mountaintop, falling far toward the river below.
It seemed like a single punch, but Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng’s body halted several times in the air before finally falling into the Guangling River. Following each pause came a thunderous boom, and the purple aura dissipated again and again, fading further and further.
Wang Xianzhi seemed unsatisfied with the dying struggle expected of someone at the Tianxiang level.
The old man raised his left palm, suspending the purple-robed woman mid-air just before she plunged into the river. With his right hand, he delivered another heavy punch toward the tiny, distant figure.
A mighty fist wind, nearly like a white rainbow tearing through the sky, struck the now motionless, dying woman in purple.
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