Watching Jiang Hengchuan’s retreating figure, Meng Qi’s eyes darkened with an unreadable expression. Eventually, he shook his head with a faint smile, left the Hero’s Pavilion, and headed straight for Huangting Temple.
Since he had already been confirmed not to be a piece on the chessboard, he could now openly visit the other young martial artists to inquire about the matter without exposing his identity as a covert investigator. He was eager to see how the hidden adversary would respond.
In the game of Go, this was called a “probe move.”
Huangting Temple, located in the eastern part of the city, was bathed in morning light and moonlight, exuding a serene and elegant aura.
Qingyu was staying in the guest courtyard. As Meng Qi was led by a temple Taoist and pushed open the door, he happened to see Qingyu’s back facing him, bowing to the Celestial Emperor and performing his midday devotions.
Qingyu wore a dark blue Taoist robe and a purple-crowned headpiece. His movements were precise and solemn, unlike those of a young man. He seemed more like an aged hermit whose body had already been half-buried by time, yet his devotion was evident.
Meng Qi, having experienced the morning observation of the old statue, remained calm in both body and mind. He did not interrupt but instead sat down on a stone chair and waited patiently for Qingyu.
After a long while, Qingyu completed his devotions, slowly turned around, and walked toward Meng Qi, holding “Years,” his expression carrying a hard-to-interpret smile: “Last night was quite a performance.”
“A performance?” Meng Qi instinctively asked, but soon understood what Qingyu meant—the seemingly clichéd, suspiciously flawed conspiracy.
Qingyu’s smile faded, and he sat upright: “Master Su, what brings you here?”
“I wish to know why you came to Maoling,” Meng Qi asked directly, without any pretense.
Qingyu raised his eyebrows slightly and pursed his thin lips, then chuckled: “So you’re not.”
“I’m not,” Meng Qi replied without the slightest hint of shame.
Qingyu did not answer directly but instead ran his fingers along the starry blade of “Years”: “If you’re not, why should I tell you?”
“Because it’s related to the trap I stepped into last night,” Meng Qi’s lips twitched slightly.
Qingyu still did not respond, fixing Meng Qi with a steady gaze, as if to say, “You haven’t offered anything valuable, so I won’t speak.”
Meng Qi paused: “‘Shock the Hundred Li’ was drawn here due to family entanglements over a certain opportunity, and ‘Calculate All Beings’ came here to compete in schemes. Each young expert who came to Maoling was a piece on the board.”
Qingyu’s grip on “Years” tightened, his expression briefly shifting before turning cold: “Someone told me there’s an ancient ruin here in Maoling, and many young experts would come. I could challenge them all, so I came.”
“You came here just for sparring?” Meng Qi recalled Qingyu’s words on the Hero’s Pavilion and actually believed this explanation.
A trace of fanaticism flickered across Qingyu’s face: “Yes, to meet all the heroes under heaven.”
“May I ask who told you this?” Meng Qi cut straight to the point.
Qingyu shook his head: “I don’t know. Someone sent me a letter anonymously. Maoling is a major river hub with many martial experts. Petty villains wouldn’t dare cause trouble here, so I wouldn’t be in danger. I was bored, so I came. It turned out the letter was accurate. I didn’t expect to be used as a pawn…”
He gritted his teeth slightly as he said the last part.
“Actually, breaking free from this situation is quite simple,” Meng Qi said with a smile.
Qingyu relaxed his grip on the sword: “Please enlighten me.”
“Just leave Maoling, return to your respective sects. No matter what schemes or plots are in play, they’ll all fall apart.” As he said this, Meng Qi felt like he was persuading a runaway child to return home.
“Hmph. Do you think I’m a coward?” Qingyu’s voice was sharp. “Since someone dares to use me as a pawn, I’ll turn over their chessboard and see what they’re capable of!”
“Besides, the more they try to manipulate me, the more I look forward to meeting these young experts. How could I leave without facing them?”
Seeing Qingyu’s firm stance, Meng Qi gave up trying to persuade him further and said, “If you discover any clues in the future, please let me know.”
Qingyu gripped the hilt of “Years,” his arrogance, stubbornness, and anger fading into a calm expression like still water: “You need to prove something first—that I’m not giving my clues to the wrong person. If I go through all the trouble to tell you something, and you end up dying in some dark corner, wouldn’t my effort be wasted?”
Understanding Qingyu’s meaning, Meng Qi bowed: “Please enlighten me.”
Qingyu did not immediately draw his blade but instead stared into Meng Qi’s eyes, speaking slowly and clearly: “The sword technique I practice is the ‘Five Emperors’ Sword’ from the ‘Celestial Emperor Jade Records.’ It has five forms, capable of infinite variations.”
As he spoke, his aura gradually rose—majestic and dignified, as if looking down upon all creation, the surrounding space subtly trembling, as if paying homage to a supreme ruler.
In ancient times, there were the Azure Emperor Dongwanggong, the Golden Emperor Xiwangmu, the Black Emperor Zhenwu, and the Flame Emperor Fengxi, collectively known as the “Five Emperors of the Five Directions,” all equal in status to the Celestial Emperor, though each slightly inferior. Thus, Qingyu’s phrase “the Celestial Emperor overshadowing the ancient emperors” was fitting.
Among them, the Flame Emperor Fengxi was a demon sovereign. After the fall of the Celestial Court and the disappearance of the Nine Heavens, with the Celestial Emperor perished and the other three emperors either vanishing or passing into oblivion, Fengxi rose to supremacy, wreaking havoc across the land.
As their auras clashed and their spirits dueled, Meng Qi’s aura transformed, harmonizing with the stone table and chairs, the green grass and trees, the smoke rising from Huangting Temple, and the swallows flying across the sky—blending seamlessly with the world, both immersed in worldly affairs and transcending them: “The sword technique I practice is ‘Ananda’s Broken Precepts Blade,’ where the red dust rolls, karma and retribution intertwine, and even immortals and mortals cannot escape.”
At this moment, the only sword technique he could openly declare was “Ananda’s Broken Precepts Blade.” He activated its inner cultivation method, his spirit extending outward, half-fused with the environment.
At the same time, Meng Qi subtly altered his outer muscle reactions and the flow of true energy on his skin using the Eight-Nine Mystical Arts, masking his own state from Qingyu and preventing Qingyu from easily probing him.
Qingyu slowly drew “Years,” his movements ancient and clumsy, exuding a strange, careful reverence, as if afraid of disturbing the passage of time, leaving behind only the marks of history, full of deep meaning.
A flash of blade light appeared, fleeting like the passage of time!
Drawn by the clash of energies, Meng Qi’s hand shot toward his blade, moving with incredible speed, almost like an illusion. As soon as Qingyu had the thought that Meng Qi would draw his sword, he saw a streak of silver lightning leap forth.
Life comes swiftly, death comes swiftly. Life is but a fleeting moment, yet within that instant lies infinite beauty and brilliance—the true joy of the mortal world.
Meng Qi’s mind had transformed, allowing him to draw his blade so swiftly, compressing countless movements into a single instant, unleashing them all at once, leaving an imprint upon time.
Of course, this was also due to the mutual stimulation of their auras, the pull of their energies pushing both to heights they had never before reached.
That was why so many martial experts sought equally matched opponents—beauties are easily found, but a worthy rival is rare. Without you, how could I ever hope to grasp the will of heaven with my solitary blade?
Qingyu’s movements were slow, filled with deep meaning, and his voice drifted like it came from the highest heavens:
“This is ‘Azure Emperor’s Annihilation of Immortality.'”
As the words fell, “Years” flashed like lightning from the heavens.
The blade’s trajectory was mysterious, indescribable. It made no sound, its force seemingly vanished, and the surrounding air remained still. Yet Meng Qi felt life itself slipping away, drawn toward “Years.”
The leaves lost their vitality, the stone table lost its vitality, and even his own vitality was fading!
If life itself was severed, what difference would dodging make?
Suddenly, a flash of silver-white lightning blazed, wild like writhing serpents, flickering like the minds of ghosts.
The blade’s light was ethereal, as if greedy, yet also transcendent.
Qingyu’s eyes widened slightly, his face flushed with excitement, and “Years” hesitated for a moment.
That moment! “Heaven’s Wound” shot forth like lightning, piercing the blade force of “Azure Emperor’s Annihilation of Immortality,” seizing a glimmer of vitality!
Clang! The blades met with a crisp, clear sound, like a bell ringing.
“Excellent swordplay!” Qingyu sheathed his blade and praised him without hesitation, his face filled with the exhilaration of battle.
“‘Azure Emperor’s Annihilation of Immortality’ is nearly flawless, but the one wielding the blade is not the Azure Emperor himself. He still carries the heart of the mortal world,” Meng Qi praised in his own way.
Experiencing yet another wondrous sword technique filled him with joy, and he longed to return and study it carefully, enriching his sword techniques and perfecting the essence of sword cultivation.
“Upholding precepts and breaking precepts—two sides of one heart. Truly a supreme masterpiece of sword cultivation,” Qingyu paused and continued, “After receiving the letter, I used my sect’s resources to search for the hidden adversary, but found little. I did, however, discover traces of two lost cultivation techniques.”
“What techniques?” Meng Qi’s spirits lifted. It seemed Qingyu wasn’t as arrogant as he appeared—he had investigated before coming.
Qingyu smiled: “Others might not recognize them, but my sect is a lineage of the Celestial Emperor. Naturally, we can identify them. One is the ‘Nine Flames Heaven-Sealing Manual’ of the Flame Star Sovereign, and the other is the ‘Returning and Hiding All Things Cultivation’ of the Literary Star Sovereign.”
“Lost techniques of the Celestial Court…” Meng Qi’s mind raced. He couldn’t pinpoint which faction was behind it. It could be the Demon Girl, or it might be the “Myth” organization that adopted the title of “Ancient Deities.”
Qingyu patted “Years,” his sleeves fluttering, his expression bright:
“Today’s sparring ends here. Next time we meet, I shall demonstrate ‘Flame Emperor’s Scorching the Heavens.'”
“Very well.” Meng Qi was more than happy.
Both had used external projection sword techniques, and wary of the hidden adversary, neither wished to further exhaust their strength.
…
After leaving Huangting Temple, Meng Qi immediately heightened his vigilance. He had made a move—how would the hidden adversary respond?
The other young experts had not yet surfaced, and Meng Qi had no idea who else might be involved. For now, he could only keep a low profile and wait for developments.
Returning to the courtyard he had rented, Meng Qi saw that Jiang Hengchuan had already taken the coffin. The courtyard was empty. He cleared his mind and began cultivating the Golden Bell Cover and the Eight-Nine Mystical Arts—his foundation, never to be forgotten.
Dong, dong, dong.
At dusk, a knock startled the birds, pulling Meng Qi from his cultivation.
Before opening the door, he had already sensed the visitor’s identity through their aura and movements—it was “Shock the Hundred Li,” Jiang Hengchuan.
“Any clues?” Meng Qi opened the courtyard gate with a creak.
Jiang Hengchuan’s face was slightly grim: “None. The wooden carving had distinct features, so I found the craftsman, but many people came and went that day. All the carvings looked similar, so he couldn’t remember which customer bought which carving. I used some techniques to confirm he wasn’t lying or hiding anything. As for the note, there’s no clue at all.”
A wooden carving with “distinct features” meant that if it was handcrafted, different artisans would have different styles and characteristics. A knowledgeable person could easily distinguish them. But when he said the carvings “looked similar,” he meant that carvings from the same artisan, while not identical, were indistinguishable to the artisan himself unless the carving was particularly perfect or flawed. The hidden adversary would not have chosen such a distinctive carving.
“I’ll study the carving, the note, and the crumpled paper again,” Meng Qi frowned slightly. “By the way, which craftsman was it?”
“Master Li from Yellow Flower Alley. He makes them himself and sells them on the street,” Jiang Hengchuan returned the three items to Meng Qi and took his leave, planning to investigate other clues from the Listening Wind Pavilion.
Meng Qi first examined the note with the words “Crazy Blade” Su Meng written on it. He noticed that the ink at the edges of the note was slightly blurred, as if the writer had touched it.
Then he picked up the wooden carving and left directly.
If others couldn’t get answers, he might!
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