Chapter 589: Hmph, a Man Standing Alone at the Pass

Even after realizing Wang Xianzhi’s intentions, Liu Songtao still blocked his path.

With a single descending sword move, countless Bodhisattva manifestations rained down, trapping Wang Xianzhi within.

These Bodhisattva forms varied in height and clarity—some vivid enough to reveal facial features, others hazy and indistinct. Among them, four stood tallest and most solemn, each guarding one cardinal direction: Avalokiteshvara, who removes suffering; Manjushri, pure and beneficial to all beings; Samantabhadra, unwavering in resolve; and Ksitigarbha, who vowed to save all sentient beings before attaining Buddhahood.

Of these, Samantabhadra appeared most vivid and approachable, a reflection of Wang Xiaoping’s undying sword spirit, which unknowingly resonated with Samantabhadra’s path.

As Wang Xianzhi landed, he suddenly unleashed both fists. Radiating outward from his position as the epicenter, a surge of energy powerful enough to dwarf the crashing waves at the gates of the Martial Emperor’s city surged forth. This force caused the Bodhisattva forms—whether already grounded or still airborne—to collapse, many crumbling entirely while others wavered on the verge of disintegration.

Only the four great Bodhisattvas remained unmoved. Manjushri even slightly parted his golden lips, reciting sutras, while faintly above his head, celestial maidens in flowing robes circled and danced.

Golden light overflowed across the heavens, glowing streams of radiance transforming the world into a paradisiacal Buddhist realm.

A century ago’s greatest martial artist faced today’s even more transcendent master. This battle’s grandeur and magnificence truly reached a level beyond what ancient texts could describe or modern minds could imagine!

Wang Xianzhi made no attempt to wield his energy into blades or swords. His figure blurred, striking outward toward each of the four directions. Before the afterimages could merge back into one, a streak of snow-white light curved around Manjushri’s form, rushing toward Liu Songtao, who sat in deep meditation.

Behind Liu Songtao, a wrathful Vajrapani Bodhisattva of Esoteric Buddhism emerged.

After being struck by Wang Xianzhi’s true form, Liu Songtao remained seated without shifting posture, though his position slid backward for over ten zhang. A second impact erupted like thunder, and the still-seated, palms-together Liu Songtao retreated further. Yet amidst the retreat of both man and manifestation, the immovable Vajrapani let out a deep, furious roar.

Those lost in delusion would awaken instantly. Demonic obstacles would flee in terror.

Unfortunately, the attacker was none other than Wang Xianzhi, a martial cultivator capable of rivaling the immortal Lü Dongxuan!

The third strike came as Wang Xianzhi, standing, drove a kick downward into Liu Songtao’s forehead.

The impact sent the old demon lord—who had laid down his weapons and cultivated Buddhism for a hundred years—plummeting into the earth. The Vajrapani manifestation sank underground with him, its fearsome face barely visible above the surface, already showing signs of dissolving.

At the same time, the four Bodhisattva forms in the distance transformed into earthly fireflies, slowly ascending into the sky and returning to the heavens.

Wang Xianzhi ceased his unstoppable assault, and for the first time, a rare flicker of anger crossed his aged face. He solemnly asked, “Do you know of someone’s great wish?”

Still underground, Liu Songtao stood, turned, clasped his palms in respect, and deliberately dissolved his final manifestation.

Then, slowly walking along a mud path sliced flat as if by a single sword stroke, he stood before Wang Xianzhi, nodded, and softly replied, “May every future generation wield swords to open the gates of heaven.”

Wang Xianzhi coldly said, “I’m merely an old man whose eyes see only the martial world.”

Liu Songtao pondered, then calmly responded, “You believe the rise and fall of nations is the burden of emperors, officials, and scholars. When they succeed, there is peace; when they fail, chaos reigns and lives become worthless. You, Wang Xianzhi, only carry the burden of the martial path. But while you have your thoughts, I have mine. Ultimately, our paths differ, hence our purposes diverge. The two dynasties of Liyang and Beimang, seeking to conquer the world, lacked funds and silver, so they launched campaigns against Buddhism under various banners. They sealed the gates of the Two Chan Temples, destroyed temples and scriptures without number, and sought to eradicate the transmission of Buddhist teachings. Liu Songtao, precisely at this time and place, insists on lighting one more incense stick for Buddhism! Not to flatter the young prince of Beiliang, but to offer a humble effort for the Buddhist path, to protect this last sanctuary inch by inch, even if it means merely preserving a foothold for a single monk.”

Wang Xianzhi waved his hand, “I still have a journey ahead. I don’t wish to waste words with you.”

Liu Songtao’s aura, tinged with purple and gold, flickered unstably. He suddenly smiled and asked, “Wang Xianzhi, how much strength did you truly exert?”

Wang Xianzhi gave no answer, instead countering, “Will you block me or not?”

Liu Songtao stepped aside, extended a hand, and said, “Liu Songtao of Zhulu Mountain has nothing more to seek and has already let go. Besides, removing one’s robes does not mean ceasing to be a monk. I still cannot die just yet. Moreover, you may not truly be able to kill that person.”

Wang Xianzhi remained silent, then walked past Liu Songtao.

In the end, Liu Songtao never discovered whether Wang Xianzhi had truly given his all, nor did he expect to, thinking that even ten parts out of a hundred would suffice.

A century later, this martial world had risen far above past levels. He arrived somewhat late, but still not too late.

Liu Songtao reached the bank of the Guangling River, scooped up a handful of muddy water, and roughly washed away the bloodstains. He thought of going to retrieve Wang Xiaoping of Wudang, whose paths differed yet could still align. But he stumbled, sitting heavily on a damp pile of stones, sighed, struggled to rise, and gazed southward, “Unfortunately, that fabled Peach Blossom Sword Sage, known only by name, likely will not come.”

Suppressing the pain, Liu Songtao leapt forward, found Wang Xiaoping, bent down, and lifted the Wudang Daoist who could have stood atop the sword world after Deng Tai’a. Straightening up, he softly said, “With Gaoshulu’s physique, your peachwood sword, and my dwindling Buddhist aura, the odds of victory remain slim.”

Liu Songtao smiled bitterly, “Is it misfortune or fortune to have such an old man suppressing the martial world? We may manage, but that prince is certainly in grave misfortune.”

Across the river, Zhao Huangchao had vanished without a trace.

At the riverbed’s bottom, a woman who had narrowly survived the battle and passed through that trial still remained.

Liu Songtao stared blankly at the endless eastward flow, silent and sorrowful. Recalling the past, she had once laughed, speaking of partridges further south of Jiangnan, repeatedly exclaiming, “It cannot be done!”

Liu Songtao closed his eyes, silently recited “Amitabha Buddha,” then strode forward with renewed determination.

※※※

Wang Xianzhi’s fist aura, like a rainbow, struck the Ziyi of Huishan Mountain into the riverbed. He then blocked Wang Xiaoping’s dying sword strike and resolutely removed Liu Songtao, the former demon master turned Buddhist, from his path. In a single day, he fought three top martial experts without much concern, yet the undisputed number one of the era, the Martial Emperor City’s ruler, was nearly driven to fury by an unknown, reckless, and tireless young girl.

The first inexplicable ambush occurred at the end of the Guangling River’s tributary, Songxian River. At that time, Wang Xianzhi was surprised that he had not sensed her presence before she leapt from the water’s surface. He was merely curious, regarding her fierce hand strike more as a senior appreciating a junior’s skill than feeling any anger. After dodging, he did not pursue her, watching as the girl disappeared into the distance, running like a nimble fox—swift and agile. Her sudden appearances and disappearances, barely disturbing the flow of energy, were particularly rare. At that moment, Wang Xianzhi recalled a widely circulated saying in the Martial Emperor City: once, the eleventh-ranked martial artist under heaven, Wang Mingyin, was assassinated by a young female swordsman using a treacherous hand strike that pierced his chest. At the time, Wang Xianzhi had not paid much attention, until later receiving a confirmed secret report, which made him truly remember the assassin—she had killed Liu Haoshi, the Tianxiang-level guardian of the Tai’an City gates!

Surely, she was the girl now coming to be the fourth stone in his path.

Four. Homophonic with “death.” Little girl, that’s not very auspicious.

Initially, Wang Xianzhi found the girl quite interesting. If they met, he might even chat with her briefly for amusement.

Half a ten-day period later, their second encounter occurred on a post road near Hezhou. Wang Xianzhi was leisurely walking beneath the willow shade when a merchant caravan approached. As the last horse passed him, the girl assassin suddenly sprang from beneath the horse’s belly, skimming the ground before leaping upward, delivering another hand strike aimed at Wang Xianzhi’s heart.

Wang Xianzhi seized her wrist and hurled her away. Her fragile body crashed through a willow tree as thick as a blue-and-white porcelain bowl.

Wang Xianzhi thought that three times should suffice, and the girl should understand the gravity of the situation. But that night, an ambush followed.

Wang Xianzhi was meditating in a secluded wilderness, sitting in stillness for three whole hours until midnight, when the girl emerged from the ground just a zhang away. Wang Xianzhi had no idea how she guessed he would rest there, for no matter how advanced the techniques of concealment, none should escape his notice.

This time, Wang Xianzhi, indifferent to whether he was awake or asleep, still barely managed to turn his head to evade the girl’s hand strike aimed at his eye. From their first encounter, Wang Xianzhi had already confirmed that the girl’s hand strike was peculiar—an unfamiliar technique he had never heard of before. It was clean and efficient, adept at breaking through energy shields. Even the Realm of the Indestructible body of an ordinary martial artist might not withstand it. The girl’s energy concealment was nearly self-torturous, allowing her to unleash a uniquely ingenious finger technique at the moment of attack, akin to the “Skinning Cat” Han Shengxuan’s method of peeling skin and extracting tendons. In short, her hand strike could easily kill martial experts below the first rank, but its original purpose was even more terrifying—targeting the Tianxiang and Earth Immortal levels of the first rank.

Who in the world could train such an unreasonable assassin?

Thus, during their third encounter, while remaining seated cross-legged, Wang Xianzhi not only dodged the hand strike by turning his head but also grabbed her ankle, slamming her back onto the ground before him, asking, “What is your name?”

The girl leapt from the crater her body had created, said nothing, and vanished instantly.

Wang Xianzhi merely felt the helplessness of playing music to a cow, with no intention of chasing her. He mostly regarded her as a stubborn, mischievous child.

Soon, his helplessness turned to irritation. The girl assassin simply did not know when to stop. Only three days later, as Wang Xianzhi entered the Hezhou territory near Beiliang, she launched another clever ambush.

Wang Xianzhi was drawing water from a deep well when the girl slid silently down the well wall, aiming her hand strike at his neck.

Annoyed by her recklessness, Wang Xianzhi struck her head with his elbow, sending her plummeting into the well with a splash.

This time, Wang Xianzhi held back less. Even a first-rank Realm of the Indestructible expert would likely need a year or two to recover from such a blow.

But.

The girl assassin, now pale and bloodless, still launched her fifth assassination attempt!

Wang Xianzhi walked through a bustling market when the ragged girl burst from a dark, narrow alley. This time, Wang Xianzhi directly struck her head with a fist.

Her head snapped backward, crashing into a tavern, shattering a wall and several tables, before she slumped against the tavern’s inner wall.

Wang Xianzhi coldly warned, “Next time, you will truly die.”

The stubborn girl strained her frail back against the wall, her toes desperately gripping the ground, trying to use it as leverage to stand. Yet each time she rose halfway, she would collapse again.

Again and again, without success.

Half a ten-day period later.

The final time.

Wang Xianzhi walked along a post road at the border of two provinces, already seeing the boundary stone marking the confluence of You and He provinces.

Beside the tall boundary stone stood a girl. Despite the northern summer heat, she still wore a fur hat askew on her head and carried a sunflower, simply standing there.

She seemed foolishly determined to stand alone against him.

She snorted.

She no longer had the strength to ambush or assassinate anyone.

She could only stand here openly.

Then she raised her arm, wiping away blood seeping from her nose or mouth, gently placing the sunflower on the boundary stone. Carefully removing her fur hat, she took out an old hairpin and placed it alongside the sunflower, which had not yet turned golden.