This contest of power resembled a clash of opposites—like the timeless struggle between spear and shield.
In the water, none surpass the might of the dragon; on land, the elephant reigns supreme.
Xu Long Xiang, the only person in this world born directly into the Realm of the Adamantine (Diamond Body), is hailed as the unshakable shield of Northern Liang.
Yet he faced Huang Qing, whose sword alone chills the thirteen provinces of Northern Mang—a spear sharper than any in the land.
Even a mere three-inch draw of Huang Qing’s sword brought forth an awe-inspiring spectacle.
It was as if a celestial swordsman had snapped a string of prayer beads, scattering thousands of luminous pearls of sword qi into the air. Like pearls cascading onto jade trays, they rolled forward in a thunderous tide.
Xu Long Xiang responded by treating the desert sands as a drumhead, striking one mighty blow that summoned the image of an earth ox rising in revolt. The ground quaked, and towering whirlwinds of yellow sand spiraled skyward.
The azure pearls of sword qi shattered upon contact with the swirling sands, sending up clouds of dust that blotted out the sky and obscured all sight.
Though the earth-shaking force of Xu Long Xiang’s strike radiated invincibility, each pearl guided by sword intent carried its own spiritual vitality. Despite the majority being destroyed, over a hundred still evaded the sand whirlwinds and surged toward Xu Long Xiang.
With a blank expression, Xu Long Xiang took a single step forward and raised a swiftly flowing fan-shaped wall of sand. The pearls struck the barrier—some exploding in a blaze of mutual destruction, others shattering in futility like eggs against stone.
The scattered azure sword qi mingled with the surging sands.
At the moment when a single step from Huang Qing in his Blue Robe (green robe) closed the gap, he appeared soundlessly, his left hand resting on his sword.
With a casual motion, Huang Qing drew his sword from its sheath, then struck Xu Long Xiang’s chest with the hilt. The Calming the Storm (Calm Amidst Storms), which had barely emerged by three inches, was driven violently back into its scabbard.
Xu Long Xiang did not fly backward, his feet still rooted to the earth, but his body slid several zhang away. The boy slightly bent his waist, halting his retreat, and in an instant launched forward, rushing at the green-robed swordsman with a furious double punch.
Huang Qing flicked his wrist, holding his sword across his body, his left elbow braced against the scabbard, bracing for the impact of Xu Long Xiang’s fists.
The Calming the Storm, ranked sixth among the world’s famed blades, let out a piercing hum within its sheath, and the scabbard trembled violently.
Xu Long Xiang maintained his posture, driving forward relentlessly, while Huang Qing was pushed backward for over a dozen zhang.
Huang Qing, now hovering a foot above the ground, gently tapped his thumb and smiled, calm and composed, sliding the blade forward by an inch.
“Lyric of Parting, First Stanza.”
Xu Long Xiang paid no heed to the poetic name of the sword technique and struck again with both fists.
Two inches drawn—“Second Stanza.”
Three inches—“Third.”
With each punch, Xu Long Xiang struck the scabbard again. Though Huang Qing remained airborne and never relinquished his sword, he could not halt Xu Long Xiang’s charge. However, as the stanzas of the Lyric increased, the distance Huang Qing was pushed back with each blow grew shorter.
After the eighth punch, with “Lyric, Eighth Stanza,” Huang Qing finally stood firm, embodying the composure of a true master, unmoved even as mountains crumbled before him.
Huang Qing, his long sleeves billowing, gazed at the young boy before him. He spoke no words, but his eyes betrayed astonishment and admiration—alongside a faint trace of disappointment, as if the dust had finally settled.
To wield the legendary strength of eight dragons and eight elephants in a single punch was a rare and extraordinary feat. Yet Huang Qing still had the “Ninth Stanza,” and even beyond that, the final formation of the “Ten Peaks.” If this famed young warrior of Northern Mang were to halt here, Huang Qing would not dare claim victory without drawing his sword, but he could at least stand unshaken.
In truth, Huang Qing had long compared Xu Long Xiang to Murong Baoding, the famed “Stone Buddha” whose name was already etched in history. Years ago, Huang Qing had sparred with that influential royal relative, exchanging blows without intent to kill. In his youth, Huang Qing had vowed to shatter the “Diamond Meditation” of the White-Robed Monk of Liangchan Temple, a feat even Tuoba Pusa had failed to accomplish. Murong Baoding, with his unbreakable form, had seemed the perfect test. And the boy before him, who had cracked Murong Baoding’s golden body in Qingcang City, was even better.
Xu Long Xiang, expressionless, seemed to strike again with quiet indifference. The previous eight punches had built layer upon layer of The Power of Dragon and Elephant (Dragon-Elephant Might). Huang Qing’s Lyric had simply followed suit, adding stanza after stanza.
Yet this time, Huang Qing, without warning, abandoned the “Ninth Stanza” and leapt directly to the “Ten Peaks.” Surrounded by six or seven arcs of azure light like divine guardians, he braced for impact—but the moment Xu Long Xiang’s ninth punch struck, the arcs shattered in an instant. The Calming the Storm bent alarmingly under the force, and Huang Qing was pushed back again and again, only halting after eighteen zhang. The sword scabbard finally steadied.
Unshaken, Huang Qing felt a flicker of admiration and joy. He shifted his stance from a horizontal sword grip to a vertical one, a more solemn posture, and in that fleeting moment of transition, he deftly dissipated the residual force upon the blade.
Huang Qing’s thumb brushed the hilt, his demeanor calm, the sword qi no longer spilling forth in arcs of blue. Yet the more restrained he became, the more oppressive the aura that gathered around him, like the calm before a storm.
Though Li Chungan has passed, the world still has the Peach Blossom Sword Sage.
Before returning to the mainland from his journey to sea, Deng Tai’a once lifted a single sword and split the ocean, drowning the Guanyin Sect in waves.
Huang Qing had only ever visited the Liyang Jianghu once, halting at Northern Liang. There, he met briefly with Li Yufu, the young Taoist master of Wudang Mountain, before swiftly returning to Northern Mang. Their meeting had been devoid of hostility or tension. Instead, Huang Qing had taken the opportunity to admire the majestic sight of eighty-one peaks bowing to the Great Summit, and at both dawn and dusk, he had watched the serene scene of hundreds practicing martial arts before the main palace of Wudang, accompanied by the sounds of morning bells and evening drums.
Though Huang Qing had not continued onward to the heart of the Central Plains, nor challenged the White-Robed Monk Li Dangxin or met Deng Tai’a, the new pinnacle of swordsmanship in the world, he had departed with satisfaction and returned with fulfillment. His brief exchange with Li Yufu had brought him profound insights into the Way of cultivation. Though he did not declare a victor in their philosophical discussions, he felt he had gained invaluable understanding in the art of martial cultivation.
Xu Long Xiang made no attempt to press the advantage. Huang Qing gently raised his ancient sword and smiled.
“I am Huang Qing of the Chess and Sword Music Bureau, known as the Sword Qi Approaching. My sword is the Calming the Storm. In my youth, I entered the Way of the Sword through the study of Go. At thirty, I returned to Go, believing that my final journey in swordsmanship would mark the end of my martial path. But I unexpectedly found a new road, reaching the third stage of my sect’s Three Realms of Go—the Realm of the Player Watching the Game. From this, I created a new sword technique. Originally, I had intended to test it against Deng Tai’a…”
The boy frowned, muttering under his breath, “If you’re going to fight, just fight. Why so many words?”
Huang Qing chuckled, yet still explained gently, “Though I call it a single sword, it may be a hundred, a thousand, or even ten thousand swords. To be precise, it is a game of swords.”
Xu Long Xiang wasted no words. He simply charged forward in a straight line at the chattering swordsman.
Huang Qing, like a scholar facing a soldier, merely smiled and grew solemn. He closed his eyes and drew in the vast and righteous energies of heaven and earth.
A mighty current surged through the skies.
As if from nowhere, a celestial Go board formed, its lines traced by the great rivers of the world, its pieces shaped from towering mountains.
A microcosm of the world unfolded.
Until now, Huang Qing’s sword techniques had only reached the level of Fingered Mystery, his intent no more than Heaven’s Will. Yet now, his bearing reached the realm of the Earthly Immortal.
No wonder Huang Qing had returned joyfully to Northern Mang after visiting Northern Liang.
He released the Calming the Storm, and the ancient sword floated before him, half-drawn.
With his right hand, Huang Qing mimicked the motion of placing a piece, and softly intoned, “Wudang Mountain. Top.”
“Top” is a Go term.
It precisely countered Xu Long Xiang’s seemingly weighty yet clumsy formation.
A sword qi surged forth.
Xu Long Xiang crashed his shoulder into the ethereal aura of the “Wudang Mountain” before him, shattering it.
Huang Qing continued placing pieces.
The adjustments were minute.
Hence the term, “Small Knight.”
Yet the sword qi was dense and solid.
The saying goes, “A small knight move never fails.” Huang Qing’s Go moves—or sword techniques—were orthodox and righteous. Yet in a normal game of Go, one stone follows another in turn. Here, however, Huang Qing’s game was a flurry of moves, defying all convention.
After “Small Knight” came “Tightening the Liberties,” followed by “Elephant Step,” then “Sealing and Suppressing,” and finally the “Thousand-Tiered Pagoda Formation.”
A solemn, divine radiance shone from Huang Qing’s refined face.
The fine sands, usually stirred by the slightest breeze, now stood utterly still, as if frozen in reverence. Only the boundless sword qi roamed freely.
I possess the mightiest sword qi in all the world.
One blade shall proclaim my name to heaven and earth.
For forty years, I have held back a storm of unspoken grievances.
Today, I must finally let it all pour forth.
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