Previously, hundreds of golden-armored knights charged forward with a majestic aura, like the rising sun over Tai’an City.
Then, the founding ancestor of Longhu Mountain inscribed immortal talismans upon the ancient sword Yulei, akin to the first glow of moonlight.
Those martial arts masters fortunate enough to approach the Imperial Astronomical Observatory were left in awe. However, most of the hidden masters of the Liyang martial world adopted a cautious stance toward this inexplicable upheaval, unwilling to venture too close. Some, sensing imminent danger, even began retreating, fearing collateral damage. After all, decades ago at Longhu Mountain, during the legendary ascension of the Great Perfected Being Qi Xuanzhen, countless experts had their vital energies shattered and their martial paths irreparably damaged—a memory still vivid among the older generation.
Compared to the Demon-Slaying Platform of the Celestial Master’s residence, the Imperial Astronomical Observatory was a first-tier imperial stronghold. Most martial artists were barred by the heavily guarded inner-city imperial troops, who, under urgent orders from the Ministry of War, galloped freely between the imperial and inner cities to prevent outsiders from approaching. The few remaining elite enforcers of the Ministry of Justice, bearing bronze fish pouches, also mobilized in full force, persuading—or outright threatening—prominent martial figures to withdraw. Those who refused were branded as “disruptors of imperial order” and faced imprisonment.
Despite this, twenty or thirty lesser masters managed to slip close enough to the Observatory, where they could clearly see the legendary figures—Deng Tai’a, Cao Changqing, and Luo Yang—standing atop the distant high walls. At this point, the armored imperial guards and Ministry of Justice enforcers ceased interference, having orders only to record names and affiliations for later expulsion from Tai’an City.
Watching a spectacle for free was enjoyable, but few dared to linger near the emperor’s seat.
Of the thirty or so martial leaders who remained, a dozen had already left, while eight or nine unfortunate souls collapsed under the Observatory’s overwhelming aura. The rest stood firm on rooftops and walls, their energies surging like turbulent rivers, their expressions grim. None dared to cheer or comment—both out of dignity and the sheer difficulty of maintaining their footing under the Observatory’s oppressive presence.
Chai Qingshan of Dongyue Sword Pool, accompanied by his two disciples, tossed the unconscious stragglers to safety before settling on a tavern rooftop. The white-robed girl beside him, already exuding an immortal’s grace, carried an array of swords like a merchant. The longsword-wielding youth, Song Tinglu, grumbled after hauling a burly man to the imperial guards: “Why risk decades of cultivation for a glimpse of this? If not for us, they’d be dead!”
Chai Qingshan chuckled. “Foolish as it seems, this recklessness follows martial world logic. Boasting about witnessing the Northland King’s battle up close will earn them glory. Reputation, sometimes, outweighs raw strength.”
Song Tinglu scoffed, pointing at the distant Observatory. “Close? They’re nearly two li away! Even the three grandmasters wouldn’t claim that!”
His words drew no reaction from the seasoned masters nearby, their composure unshaken.
Chai Qingshan sighed, patting the boy’s head. “Youth speaks without knowing the cost. One day, you’ll lead Dongyue Sword Pool and realize how precious such words are.”
Song Tinglu glanced at his mischievous sister, who declared, “I’d rather roam the jianghu like Xu Fengnian, visiting every place he’s been!”
The boy fell silent, unable to retort.
Behind every lovestruck junior sister, does there always stand a silently pining senior brother?
Chai Qingshan suddenly gripped both disciples’ hands. “Observing this battle isn’t just for prestige—it’s a chance to refine your martial path. If any of the three grandmasters strike, watch closely. Especially Deng Tai’a’s swordplay—it may be a once-in-a-lifetime sight.”
The girl grinned, unconcerned. “Master, will he win?”
Chai Qingshan gazed at the cloudless sky. “Heaven knows.”
Song Tinglu counted Xu Fengnian’s victories in his head—against Han Shengxuan, Wang Xianzhi, Sui Xiegu, Qi Jiajie, Cao Changqing, Deng Tai’a—never once defeated.
A pang of injustice struck him. His idol, the wooden-sword wanderer, had never won in Tai’an.
—
The founding ancestor of Longhu Mountain painted talismans effortlessly, the young prince making no move to interfere.
As the battle neared its end, victory seemed assured for Longhu Mountain. Yet the lotus-crowned elder grew increasingly uneasy—an unfamiliar sensation for a being of his transcendence.
A Daoist cultivates purity, not stagnation. True serenity lies in undisturbed calm amid ripples, akin to the Buddhist parable of the flag and the mind.
A tainted immortal form doesn’t necessarily shake the Dao heart, but a fractured heart inevitably stains the form.
Realizing this, the elder decided to act. An immortal’s will aligns with heaven’s.
No longer content as a fish beneath the bridge, he leaped upward to meet the cosmos.
As he rose, the young prince mirrored him, his dull saber still held horizontally.
At the height of the observatory’s beam, the elder flicked his sleeve and pressed a jade-like palm downward, laughing: “By the seal’s light, evil disperses!”
Not only the prince before him but hundreds of his clones across the plaza vanished like ghosts at dawn.
The elder scanned the area—no trace of Xu Fengnian!
A spark of insight struck. He raised his hands.
The Dao ascends a foot, the demon a yard.
Xu Fengnian materialized above, his saber descending.
The elder sneered. “Petty illusions can’t deceive heaven’s gaze!”
Four more elders appeared around him, each assuming a golden lotus form—one palm blooming a lotus, two fingers unleashing sword energy, another gripping a sky-piercing spear.
Yet five “Xu Fengnians” flickered in and out of existence.
The true elder frowned, his eyes blazing gold.
“At last.”
The sword-wielding ancestor chuckled, tapping Yulei’s tip and exhaling: “Seal!”
A single word, resonant as a temple bell, echoed over the observatory.
The sword remained still, but a three-foot golden light shot forth, swirling around him like New Year’s couplets pasted by devout children.
Where the light touched—earth split, rain ceased, plants withered, birds fell, dragons and tigers submitted.
Between the two immortals, talismans hung like curtains, intermittently exploding into golden sparks that scarred the plaza below.
The lotus-crowned elder gazed down, laughing: “Appear, fiend!”
Simultaneously, the swordsman flicked his blade toward the observatory: “Now!”
The scholar Xie Guanying, hitherto observing coldly from afar, finally acted. With a flick of his sleeves, he declared: “The world’s winds, borne in my sleeves! This fair land, shouldered by me! Eight Seals, arise!”
Eight imperial jade seals materialized above the observatory.
The sword-wielding ancestor gripped Yulei’s hilt and pulled back.
The lotus-crowned elder heaved as if lifting a great weight.
From their hands emerged a golden rope, thick as a spear shaft—a condensed version of the celestial threads used to fish mortal fortunes.
This rope pierced straight through Xu Fengnian’s shoulder, pinning him midair.
Blood soaked the cord.
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