Chapter 690: A Sword That Spawns Buddhas

The sword aura was like mountains and abysses, like rivers and streams, like fish and dragons.

Within a radius of two miles, the young swordsman’s aura surged ceaselessly. No matter how recklessly Xu Longxiang charged, he could not approach Huang Qing and the half-drawn sword, Calming Tempest. Instead, he was repeatedly thrown back by the overwhelming sword energy. Before he could steady himself, he was struck again by an unending barrage of follow-up attacks, leaving him swaying like a boat in a storm.

One side fought like a trapped beast, while the other remained unmoved. How could a piece on the board rival the hand that moved it? The superiority seemed obvious. Yet what was even more terrifying was that Huang Qing’s “new sword” did not wane after the initial surge, but instead grew stronger and more fluid with each move. The deeper the Fantasy ambience of the sword path became, the more ferociously Xu Longxiang struggled with his formidable King Kong physique, the more refined and seamless Huang Qing’s sword techniques became. It seemed as if this swordsman, determined to uphold the sword path of the Northern Wilderness, was using Xu Longxiang as a whetstone. The harder the stone, the sharper the blade. Even the most untrained eyes could see that once the sword was fully drawn, its might would be such that even a golden-bodied Bodhisattva could not withstand a single strike.

The youth on the Go board was struck by a sword aura as thick as a man’s arm, slamming into his shoulder. His frail body tumbled through the air in wide spirals, and after landing, he slid backward for seven or eight feet, carving twin furrows into the sand. Only the sword aura kept the dust from rising more than an inch before it was crushed back down. A subtle sign of great power—though Xu Longxiang stood still and did not provoke Huang Qing’s counterattack, merely being on the board meant he was constantly resisting the encompassing sword intent spanning three miles. Yet even so, Xu Longxiang charged again and again without showing the slightest fatigue. The phrase “boundless strength” fit him perfectly.

Xu Longxiang lifted his head, gazing at the green-robed swordsman in the distance. His eyes gleamed with a faint golden glow as he charged forward again—but this time, not in a straight line.

His figure left behind a long string of frozen afterimages on the sand, traces of his erratic path. Though his movements seemed chaotic over short distances, when viewed as a whole, they formed a crescent arc. Each afterimage was swiftly destroyed by the crushing sword aura. When the final afterimage, just ten zhang from Huang Qing, vanished, the swordsman known as Sword Aura Near raised his arm, fingers together, as if placing a piece on the board. He paused three times, each pause intensifying the sword aura before him. After three crushing strikes, the tension between them surged, sharp and fierce. Huang Qing’s formation grew even stronger, like adding three oversized pieces to the board—against the rules. Xu Longxiang charged three times, each impact louder than the last, until the final blow cracked the sword aura, causing his previously unstoppable momentum to falter for the first time.

Huang Qing smiled faintly, twisted his wrist, and shifted pressure into an upward strike. A sword aura erupted from the earth, arcing upward to strike an unseen point in the air, like a waiting trap. Xu Longxiang, appearing suddenly, was struck and sent flying.

The *Xiang* says: *The earth is vast and bears all things.* Thus, Huang Qing’s sword was drawn from the earth itself, a single breath rising from the land.

Xu Longxiang, sent airborne, had no time to react before another wave of sword auras erupted from the ground, slamming into him like yellow dragons. Even after crashing back to the earth, the assault did not cease. He drove his hands and feet into the sand, trying to halt his retreat, but the force was too great. Clouds of dust exploded from his body with each impact. When a blade of sword aura struck his left shoulder, his body lurched downward, nearly pressing his chest to the ground. As he slammed his left palm and lifted his shoulder to block, the second, third, and fourth waves struck in succession, each wrapped in swirling sand.

Inch by inch, the youth’s body sank lower, his fingers clawing into the earth.

The Great Chu once had a King who could lift cauldrons. But even if Xu Longxiang possessed divine strength, could he bear the weight of heaven and earth?

Huang Qing truly wished to see.

Since the initial intent of sharpening his new sword on Xu Longxiang had run its course, Huang Qing now sought to test the boy’s prodigious talent against that of the White-Robed Monk, laying the groundwork for a future clash.

When thought arises, so does qi. From a single inch, the heavens and earth unfold. This was Huang Qing’s unique path, one that refused to bow beneath others. Unlike Li Chungan, who believed all matters could be resolved with a single sword, or Deng Ta’a, who saw the peak of swordsmanship as the Dao itself.

Even with only half the sword drawn, Calming Tempest already exuded such might. Huang Qing might well have reached the threshold of a Land Immortal swordsman.

Longhu Mountain’s Qi Xuanzhen once joked: *Finger-Mystic is but a bowing servant, Heaven-Omen a begging beggar, only the Land Immortal may sit cross-legged. This meant that even a master of the Finger-Mystic realm was but a servant to Heaven, and one who reached the Heaven-Omen was but a beggar grasping at fate. Only a Land Immortal could sit freely, though still beneath the Heavenly Dao.*

It was said that an unknown sage once asked Qi Xuanzhen: *If that is so, where do you stand?* Qi, the Great Immortal, merely laughed and replied: *Let this poor Daoist stretch his legs a while.*

No wonder he was said to be the reincarnation of Master Lü.

Qi Xuanzhen also spoke a cryptic prophecy: *Land Immortals may die or live, but none are superior or inferior.*

Whether Huang Qing stood or sat, once he reached the realm of wielding heaven and earth’s power as his own, and with him outside the Three Teachings, he would be called *Invincible.*

Huang Qing gazed at the youth, nearly flattened on the ground, with a look of pity—part sorrow for the boy’s wasted talent, part bitter self-mockery. The *Taiping Edict* once said: *Where serpents dwell, antidotes grow.* This was the natural law of mutual restraint. The tighter the net of heaven, the harder the dragon’s ascent, the more certain its fall. A century ago, Liu Songtao was unmatched until a nameless wandering Daoist sealed his mountain. Li Chungan’s sword path was said to rival heaven itself, opening the Heavenly Gate at will—yet even he was restrained by Wang Xianzhi, who in turn fell to Xu Fengnian. So now, as Huang Qing, a martial cultivator outside the Three Teachings, stepped across the threshold of Land Immortal, who would be his destined nemesis?

Huang Qing gathered his thoughts. Before him, Xu Longxiang had been driven into a massive crater by countless sword auras. Within hundreds of zhang of his vision, yellow dragon-like sword auras erupted like blooming flowers, unceasingly striking the youth’s back, allowing him not a moment’s respite. After all, even the might of a thousand elephants could not rival the vastness of heaven and earth. Though Huang Qing regretted that the boy had not forced him to unleash his ultimate sword, he admired the youth’s endurance in holding out so long with sheer physical might alone. He had no wish to slaughter Xu Longxiang needlessly—not out fear of the young Northern Liang King’s vengeance, but because Huang Qing’s current status as a Grandmaster of the Sword Path came with a commensurate breadth of spirit.

Huang Qing extended his hand and pressed down on Calming Tempest, then suddenly sheathed it.

“Move to the Center.”

At the same time, a terrifying sword aura, as thick as a mountain’s base, fell from the sky.

The sword aura exploded into the earth, as if a famous sword had returned to its sheath.

The aura was so dense it seemed to flow like water, spilling wildly from the crater, surging outward for several zhang, soaking the sand.

Huang Qing sighed softly and turned to leave for Gusei Prefecture.

But the Calming Tempest in his hand trembled, and the vibration grew stronger.

Frowning, Huang Qing turned back to the crater.

No trace of life could be sensed—but precisely because of that, the sound of a beastlike, cackling laugh rising from a throat was all the more terrifying.

A ragged, emaciated figure slowly climbed the crater’s slope, hunched over, arms dangling low.

When he lifted his head, Huang Qing saw a pair of golden eyes.

Those eyes held no emotion—neither sorrow nor joy, neither grief nor delight.

In the blink of an eye, Huang Qing summoned sword aura behind him, erecting six towering walls of green-hued light. But the youth, now stripped of all human warmth, instantly appeared behind Huang Qing’s former position. He charged forward, shattering all six walls in a single breath, his speed increasing rather than slowing. At two zhang away, he leapt high, lunging to kill.

Huang Qing’s grip slid down the sword sheath, grasping its end, and with a swift motion, struck the youth’s throat with the hilt.

Huang Qing intoned coldly: “Banish!”

Sword aura surged, piercing the heavens.

A brilliant burst of swordlight erupted from the youth’s chest.

But to Huang Qing’s astonishment, the boy’s head snapped back, then lunged forward again with even greater speed, shattering the sword aura and nearly knocking the sword from Huang Qing’s hand.

Huang Qing retreated several steps. During this, his fingers briefly loosened as the hilt rebounded into his palm, but he gripped it again just in time—barely avoiding disgrace. Otherwise, the mighty Sword Aura Near would have been disarmed by a boy’s throat.

Yet blood seeped from Huang Qing’s palm.

With a flick of his wrist, the sword barely emerged an inch before the youth, twisting mid-air after landing, slammed one hand onto the hilt and “gently” pushed Huang Qing’s chest.

Not only was Calming Tempest forced back into its sheath, but Huang Qing himself was sent flying backward for over ten zhang.

Flying backward, Huang Qing’s feet danced like a dragonfly skimming water, leaving behind a long trail of ripples like those on a pond. As the ripples expanded and touched one another, sword auras bloomed like lotuses from the “water,” rising to over two dozen adult-height green lotuses, blocking the youth’s path of pursuit.

The golden-eyed boy, locked onto Huang Qing, grinned silently during his charge, tearing effortlessly through each obstructing green lotus.

Huang Qing stepped forward half a pace with his left foot, burying it in the sand, then traced an arc with his right foot and retreated half a step. The sand behind him, pulled by the qi, formed a crescent-shaped sand Dragon over ten zhang long.

This move was not drawing the sword—but drawing the sheath.

It pierced toward the youth’s heart.

Since ancient times, swords had become shorter. Qin swords were over twenty-two cun, while Great Feng swords were nineteen and six-tenths cun. During the Spring and Autumn period, each kingdom’s swords varied in length, but none exceeded the imperial standard. Yet Calming Tempest, one of the world’s greatest swords forged merely twenty years ago, rivaled the ancient Qin blades at twenty-one and three-tenths cun. The meaning was clear: *Long swords reach far.* Perhaps this was the wish of the one who gifted it to Huang Qing all those years ago.

After drawing the sheath but not the blade, Huang Qing murmured: “Sixteen Contemplations!”

The sheath hovered sixteen cun from the blade tip. Each cun birthed a vision.

One vision, one form. In the air, sixteen visions appeared.

First, a faint, green-robed figure sat cross-legged on the blade’s tip, facing west, beneath a rising sun like a suspended drum. Whether the eyes were open or closed, the sun remained.

After the Sun Contemplation came the Water Contemplation, where ice gleamed like crystal.

Then came the King Kong Seven-Treasure Golden Canopy, radiant and splendid.

Precious trees, pools, and lotuses arose. Heavenly maidens scattered flowers to celestial music.

Huang Qing’s half-drawn sword.

A sword that gave birth to the Buddha.

Xu Longxiang’s chest was struck—not by blade, but by sheath. His body remained in a forward lunge, yet abruptly froze in midair.

Huang Qing stepped forward slowly, pushing the sword back into its sheath. With each inch, one vision faded, and the youth took a step back.

Standing sixteen steps away, Huang Qing gazed at the youth and murmured: “They say ghosts and gods protect treasures, but who knew even dragons and elephants turn to dust?”