Xu Fengnian, inheriting the physique of Gao Shulu, harnessed the momentum from Liu Haoshi’s city entry and the dying strike of Song Nianqing. His steps grew increasingly powerful, culminating in a single stride that crossed dozens of zhang, crashing fiercely toward Wang Xianzhi.
Wang Xianzhi advanced in great strides, seemingly without much subtlety, meeting the man and his sword with a single, simple punch—pure strength overwhelming myriad techniques.
The two immense forces collided before their bodies even met, unleashing a solemn and sublime resonance across the heavens and earth, like the grand tones of ancient bells.
In an instant, Xu Fengnian, embodying the sword itself, slammed his shoulder into Wang Xianzhi, while Wang struck Xu’s forehead with a single punch.
Year after year, Wang Xianzhi had withstood the mighty tides of the Eastern Sea, symbols of celestial power, remaining unmoved and unscathed. Yet this time, he was driven deep into the sand, sliding backward seventeen zhang.
Xu Fengnian also suffered, struck on the forehead. His feet, hovering a foot above the ground, staggered, yet he maintained his wind-riding stance, retreating a distance equal to Wang Xianzhi’s.
Neither waited to fully dissipate the residual force—the “embers” of their collision—before rushing at each other again for the second clash.
This time, their elbows struck first. Wang Xianzhi thrust his palm upward, striking Xu Fengnian’s chest. Xu Fengnian struck Wang’s head with a palm of his own.
Xu Fengnian soared backward, halting eight or nine zhang away, his robes gently swaying like a celestial being ascending to heaven. Wang Xianzhi did not retreat, but his knees sank into the sand. He lifted his head, gazing at the calm young man. The old man in the coarse robe said nothing. Since ascending to the peak of the mortal world, his heart had been as still as ancient waters. He had waited bitterly for so many years, and now no longer felt the mixture of surprise, joy, and relief he once did when he severed the wooden horse’s tail. That was a complex tangle of emotions, like savoring fine wine.
Wang Xianzhi flicked his sleeve and smiled without reason. At the pinnacle of martial cultivation, especially in the Realm of the Adamantine, battles between equals often became a process of unraveling each other’s defenses, stripping away protective energies before damaging the body. But this young man, like himself, was nearly arrogant in confidence—regardless of the opponent’s energy, he would strike directly at the root, seeking a decisive blow.
Gao Shulu once described the grandeur of the first-rate realm as “ Mists rise over the great marsh.， Shaking the Mighty City” (qi steaming great marshes, strength shaking mighty cities). Yet later martial artists became obsessed with the protection offered by vast energies, like officials seeking powerful patrons, forgetting the path of self-reliance. Whether it was the finger-pointing Dao of secret techniques or the communion with heaven of Celestial Phenomenon Realm, in Wang Xianzhi’s eyes, they had all strayed from the true path, doomed to be mere dogs under someone’s roof.
Among countless heroes of the past thousand years, why did Wang Xianzhi revere only Lü Dongxuan and Li Chungan? One laughed at the celestial gates and returned to the mortal world, the other scorned the gates of heaven, declaring he could open them himself!
Wang Xianzhi stood with both feet buried in the sand, while Xu Fengnian hovered above.
It seemed like a battle between heaven and earth.
The battlefield, deceptively calm, shifted the moment Wang Xianzhi lifted one foot and Xu Fengnian lowered one hand.
From the earth, a spear of earth shaped like a stone tablet erupted. Xu Fengnian tore a wisp of cloud to form a sword.
Wang Xianzhi leapt with the earthen spear, while Xu Fengnian grasped the cloud-sword, his body plunging downward.
The third clash was a direct confrontation—no tricks, no illusions. The earthen spear shattered inch by inch against Xu Fengnian’s chest, while the cloud-sword dissolved against Wang Xianzhi’s torso. When the dust settled and the mist cleared, the world’s number one and number six martial artists stood still, fists locked in a moment defying logic. Yet ripples spread across their robes, and their hands, once wielding swords, clenched into fists again, colliding with a shockwave that shook the ground for miles. Wang Xianzhi was driven back to the earth, where he swung his arm, unleashing unparalleled fist-force that tore yellow dragons from the ground, all lunging at Xu Fengnian!
Though Xu Fengnian possessed Gao Shulu’s body and the will to command finger-pointing sword qi, his incomplete soul prevented him from reaching Celestial Phenomenon Realm. He crossed his arms before his chest midair, relying on a body even superior to the Indestructible Body of Adamantine, to block the fist-force. Then, the yellow earth dragons surged forward. Xu Fengnian seized one with his left hand, crushing it into falling sand, and stomped on its head, driving it back into the earth, where its corpse—or rather, its lingering qi—collapsed like a slain serpent.
Wang Xianzhi pressed his advantage, marching forward and unleashing punches toward the sky. White fist-force and yellow dragons soared toward the young prince standing beneath the clouds.
Earth unleashed its killing intent, and dragons and snakes rose from the land!
Xu Fengnian inhaled deeply, the purple-gold mark on his brow glowing. He did not evade once, but instead sought out the white arcs of fist-force, shattering or intercepting them. His feet struck the rising yellow dragons, crushing them like treading on solid ground.
To an observer afar, the spectacle would be terrifying.
From the earth, white arcs pierced the sky, countless yellow dragons ascending like roaring at the celestial court.
Above, the white-robed figure seemed to defy the heavens, determined to slay every white arc and yellow dragon before they could ascend and transform into true dragons.
This grand scene lasted a full incense stick’s time, pushing the battlefield ten miles onward.
Wang Xianzhi’s path left devastation in its wake.
In the sky, clouds and sand merged, then fell together in a drizzle. Men often spoke of the vast difference between clouds and earth, but now, the two were indistinguishable.
Huang Longshi carried a young girl far away, avoiding the deadly qi, occasionally glancing back. The old man carried a sunflower for his daughter, sighing as the unconscious Jia Jia clung to her mink hat, the golden hairpin hidden within.
Huang Longshi did not stop walking but kept gazing at the human-made scroll unfolding across the world, its end uncertain.
“Zhang Julu in the court, Wang Xianzhi in the martial world—two immovable figures. One an unshakable official, the other an undying martial artist. How can others hope to rise? Standing behind them, one can only feel despair. In the spring of Yonghui, the ministers and generals—Lu Shengxiang of Guangling, the frustrated aristocrats. In the martial world, Deng Ta’a’s sword, Gu Jiantang’s blade, Cao Changqing’s scholar’s spirit. In any other era, each would be a shining star.”
Huang Longshi turned his gaze, muttering, “The fall of Qin foretells the fall of Liyang. Bi Yan is Liyang’s ‘deer,’ knowing his fate, he has no retreat and has begun arranging his legacy. If he survives without retreating, the scholars of the realm will see no future.”
“But Wang refuses to retreat, seeking to rise even higher. One the pinnacle of officials, one the peak of martial artists. Though their status seems equal, their paths are vastly different. The division between civil and martial is indeed real.”
“I once accelerated the martial world’s qi, pulling it up by its roots. That should have been correct.”
“I’ve read too many stories, planned meticulously, yet in the end, I may have erred.”
Huang Longshi turned for the last time, half an incense stick after the battle began. Instead of chaos, the heavens and earth were clear.
He sighed.
The boy had likely lost the first half of the battle.
Indeed, as Huang Sanjia predicted, even with Gao Shulu’s body and techniques from Murong Baoding, Xue Songguan, and Wudang, Xu Fengnian barely survived the endless onslaught.
In half an incense stick’s time, Xu Fengnian shattered over a hundred fist-forces and killed over four hundred dragons.
This was all part of Xu Fengnian’s “one breath” strategy.
Before the first clash, he had already begun his breathless strike, with no pause.
Even as he prepared for a second breath, Wang Xianzhi found an opening—not perfect, but enough to unleash a crushing force greater than his attack on Wang Xiaoping at the Guangling River.
As earth unleashed its killing intent, heaven joined in!
Together, they crushed Xu Fengnian.
The clouds Xu Fengnian had controlled turned against him. In an instant, dark clouds gathered like stars shifting, enough to shatter his fragile balance.
Xu Fengnian sensed Wang’s hidden move but expected half an incense stick before heaven joined earth. He had a seventy percent chance of being trapped, leading to Wang’s final “human killing intent.”
This slight imbalance from his incomplete soul was enough to bring great peril.
Wang Xianzhi raised his elbow, palm inward, twisting it sharply.
What could be easier than “turning the palm”?
Wang Xianzhi smirked, waiting.
Killing a Xu Fengnian with only Gao Shulu’s body was no challenge.
Human killing intent overturned heaven and earth.
From Xu Fengnian’s position, the heavens and earth truly flipped!
Earth above, sky below.
Xu Fengnian was unfortunate to have no remaining energy, yet fortunate, for even a great Celestial Phenomenon Realm like Xuan Qingfeng or Liu Haoshi would be reduced to dust.
When Wang Xianzhi struck Wang Xiaoping, he had barely begun. This technique was meant for Qi Xuanzhen, capable of overturning fate itself. The higher the cultivation, the greater the damage.
Xu Fengnian adjusted with the shifting world.
Man stands between heaven and earth, to be upright.
If that is an unreachable ideal, then Xu Fengnian had no such ambition. He only believed that no matter who you are, standing in a position means bearing some responsibility.
A commoner bears the duty of caring for parents. A noble bears the family’s legacy. A minister bears the fate of the realm.
Xu Fengnian remembered his promise to Xu Xiao on the journey north beyond the pass—he would carry the burden his father left behind.
He could bear it.
Xu Fengnian bore the weight of heaven and earth from Wang Xianzhi.
His knees bent as he stood upside down.
For the first time, the young prince with Gao Shulu’s body showed signs of defeat, blood trickling from his brow.
Wang Xianzhi’s smirk deepened. As Xu Fengnian neared breaking, Wang vanished.
In an instant, Wang Xianzhi entered the prison, seizing Xu Fengnian’s neck and hurling him down.
Breaking the prison’s edge, Xu Fengnian crashed into the ground like a comet.
The earth cracked into an abyssal pit.
Wang Xianzhi interlaced his fingers, forming a single fist.
With a roar, his mighty body descended.
A sword pierced the sky.
From the peak of Lianhua on Wudang Mountain in Beiliang.
A swordsman rode the sword and the wind.
The sword and its wielder struck Wang Xianzhi mid-descent.
Wang Xianzhi was thrown dozens of zhang.
Xu Fengnian leapt from the pit, blood still flowing from his brow, blurring his eyes and face.
A swordsman, like a celestial being, descended in an arc beside him.
Two Xu Fengnians stood side by side.
Wang Xianzhi halted midair, eyes narrowing, gazing down.
The new Xu Fengnian smiled: “I have a sword to travel six thousand li.”
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