After standing up, Meng Qi realized that the old man was tall and imposing. Despite his old age, he still appeared robust and extraordinary. He turned around, revealing a face marked by the ravages of time, with age spots and deep wrinkles. However, his bright, spirited eyes were unlike those of a typical elderly person—clear enough to reflect Meng Qi’s and Ruan Yushu’s figures.
His hand drawing the sword was steady without the slightest tremor, as if repeating a motion honed through countless trials. Every moment captured in stillness, aside from the differing distances, was identical, an astonishing sight.
Sensing this, Meng Qi’s expression grew increasingly solemn. This was the strongest opponent he had faced since his martial cultivation matured. Compared to An Guoxie and You Huanduo, this opponent might not surpass them in physique, internal energy, or technique, but his realm was far superior, lacking none of the harmony and lawfulness in every movement and stillness.
Meng Qi had a vague realization: this old man was only a hair’s breadth away from opening his Third Eye. Once he did, his internal and external worlds would merge instantly, meaning he could directly surpass the Half-Step Exteriors realm.
Was he the National Preceptor or the Sword Emperor?
He took a deep breath, forcing his focus and spirit to converge. If he hadn’t sensed no killing intent from the old man, he would have already unleashed the Red Dust, Yama Scroll, Sacrifice Formula, and Sever Purity in sequence to ensure his escape.
Even so, he couldn’t afford the slightest carelessness, as such a person could easily conceal their killing intent.
Meng Qi gripped his sword with his right hand and slightly gestured beside the hilt with his left, signaling Ruan Yushu to jump off the stone bridge and dive into the river to escape once he attacked.
Facing an opponent of this realm, he couldn’t possibly split his attention!
Ruan Yushu remained expressionless, neither startled nor fearful, her intentions unknown.
The old man stepped forward slowly, swinging his sword casually. The move appeared simple, yet it seemed to constantly shift, with openings that moved unpredictably, impossible to grasp.
Meng Qi focused entirely on this strike, his mind flooded with phrases from the Zong Jue Shi (General Sword Formula) and Po Jian Shi (Sword-Breaking Formula), deconstructing and recombining them.
There!
Meng Qi advanced instead of retreating, thrusting his sword in an ordinary manner, targeting seven inches to the left of the old man’s blade.
The shifting sword strike collapsed, yet suddenly split into yin and yang, the sword swiftly slicing left and right. Yin and yang clashed, creating a vortex that abruptly trapped Meng Qi’s blade!
Was this a trap? The real opening—the only opening—was actually a trap!
Suppressing his shock, Meng Qi flicked his wrist, letting his sword follow the vortex’s rotation, accelerating through it directly toward the old man’s chest.
Yet at this moment, the tip of the old man’s sword lay along the side path of Meng Qi’s thrust, bypassing the blade as if Meng Qi were willingly driving his own wrist onto it!
Another trap?
Meng Qi leaned forward, forcing a change in technique, lifting his sword upward, dodging the tip, and aiming diagonally at the old man’s throat.
The old man remained calm, slightly sidestepping to evade Meng Qi’s strike. His sword, however, remained in place, and Meng Qi was now actively offering his chest and abdomen to it.
The real trap?
Countless thoughts raced through Meng Qi’s mind, but he finally withdrew his sword to avoid the strike.
The old man seized the advantage relentlessly, unfurling his swordplay into countless variations, as if weaving a spider’s web, layer upon layer. Openings became traps, and traps became openings, leaving Meng Qi dazzled.
Meng Qi spotted several obvious openings but dared not attack rashly, fearing a repeat of the earlier trap—perhaps even this strike itself was part of the previous trap’s final snare.
A strong feeling arose in him: every strike he made, seemingly from his own will, was actually influenced by the old man’s variations and situations, leading him to respond exactly as the old man wished, falling into his scheme, ensnared in a net of swordplay.
Meng Qi struggled to counter, yet felt the net of the old man’s swordplay tightening, as if his own resistance only deepened his entrapment.
Sweat gradually beaded on his forehead. Even when facing the Evil Monarch, he could sense his opponent’s energy and anticipate their next move through his muscle reactions and energy flow. His own Lone-Fox Nine Swords had never felt this desperate—like being led by the nose, breaking through attacks only to fall into even graver danger.
Yet at this moment, without certainty, Meng Qi dared not completely defy his instincts. Doing so would leave him wide open, offering his head willingly.
Clang!
The sound of flowing water and a zither’s melody entered Meng Qi’s ears, instantly calming his mind. The words of Zong Jue Shi and Po Jian Shi reappeared in his thoughts, along with all his accumulated experiences over this time.
In his eyes, the infinite variations of swordplay vanished, no longer clouding his mind. What he now saw were the simplest strikes—chopping, thrusting, sweeping, parrying, slicing, and lifting—each stroke filling his vision.
No matter how they combined or changed, they always followed fundamental principles, unchanging at their core!
Meng Qi gained sudden insight, his spirit drawn to it, and instantly brought his sword horizontally across his chest.
Ding!
The sky of sword shadows vanished, and for the first time in their clash, their blades met.
Joy surged in Meng Qi’s heart, and he was about to counterattack, when the old man withdrew his sword, standing calmly and saying, “You have returned your sword to defense.”
Meng Qi felt as if struck by lightning, stunned. Had his recent insight itself been part of the opponent’s swordplay trap?
Had the old man laid all those traps, each a real and unique opening, merely to induce Meng Qi to bring his sword back in defense?
If he had truly attacked with full force, what would have happened?
Most likely, he would have had no choice but to charge forward with Golden Bell Cover, unleashing Red Dust, Yama Scroll, Sacrifice Formula, and Sever Purity in a desperate bid to escape, displaying the full ferocity of the Thunder Saber and Crazy Vajra monks.
“This is one of the core principles of my sword path. That you could block it means you’ve already touched the sword path, gaining some insight. For someone your age, this is indeed extraordinary. When I was your age, I had barely reached the level of freely controlling internal energy and sword techniques.” The old man sheathed his sword and stood with his hands behind his back.
Meng Qi felt slightly better. It seemed that without even a little insight into the sword path, he might not have even managed to bring his sword back in defense before being defeated.
The old man didn’t mention why he had blocked the way, continuing instead to speak of swordplay: “The path of swordplay boils down to two approaches. One is simplification from complexity—each move embodying the ultimate principles of swordplay, effortlessly dissecting and neutralizing an opponent’s strikes. The other is complexity from simplicity—diversifying into myriad techniques, exhausting all variations, layering calculations, leaving the opponent overwhelmed and unable to escape or break free.”
“These two approaches are not divergent; they are the yin and yang of the sword path, complementing each other.”
His clear gaze fixed on Meng Qi: “But whether simplifying or complicating, swordplay ultimately centers on the self, not the opponent. I admire your talent, hence this warning.”
Suddenly, a bolt of lightning flashed in Meng Qi’s mind, illuminating his accumulated knowledge and dispelling layers of shadows.
He sheathed his sword and bowed: “Thank you, senior, for your guidance.”
This insight not only benefited his understanding of the Lone-Fox Nine Swords, but also helped him avoid missteps in his sword techniques. Moreover, it gave him a new perspective on the “Heavenly Saber.”
The old man glanced aside, not paying attention to Meng Qi’s bow, and said with some emotion: “You have great talent, but you must still progress step by step in swordplay. For example, I only resumed swordplay eight years ago, earning the title ‘Sword Emperor.’”
So it really was the Sword Emperor… Meng Qi wasn’t surprised, but asked curiously, “Senior, did you abandon the sword before?”
“No. I simply reached a state of forgetting both sword and self.” The Sword Emperor said calmly. “When the sword is forgotten in the heart, the sword remains in the hand; when the sword is absent from the hand, it remains in the heart. Not bound by physical objects, grass, trees, or all things become my sword. The sword is me, and I am the sword. Only after transcending all these stages of ‘sword is sword’ and ‘self is self’ did I pick up this sword again. It is still the same sword. Only then did I truly grasp the sword path.”
A stirring arose in Meng Qi’s heart, and he blurted out: “Seeing mountains as mountains, water as water; seeing mountains not as mountains, water not as water; seeing mountains again as mountains, water again as water?”
The Sword Emperor nodded slightly: “Understanding is good, but such things must be personally experienced to truly enter the path.”
He turned and walked away slowly, covering great distances with small steps, vanishing into the darkness, leaving only one sentence behind:
“Tell Lu Guan: whoever becomes emperor must expel the Western invaders. He will be needed eventually. Just wait patiently and don’t rush to pledge allegiance.”
Meng Qi exhaled deeply. Fortunately, the Sword Emperor bore no hostility, or he and Ruan Yushu would have been in serious trouble.
“For now, staying neutral is best.” Ruan Yushu suddenly spoke, standing silently beside him.
Meng Qi looked at her, slightly moved. She had not chosen to escape on her own just now: “Yes, that’s my view too. Luo Shengyi wanting to support the Third Prince is his own affair, unrelated to me.”
In such matters, Luo Shengyi made decisions without hesitation, which frustrated Meng Qi.
However, his choice wasn’t based on frustration, but on careful judgment. His goal was to ensure Lu Guan’s appointment as general, not to determine which prince would ascend the throne!
Therefore, no matter how frustrated he felt, it wouldn’t stop him from meeting the Third Prince tomorrow—at least he needed to personally observe the prince to gather information for his final decision.
“We lack experience in the treacherous politics of the court. We must ask Lu Guan.” Ruan Yushu said coldly as always.
“That’s right.” Meng Qi nodded slightly. They needed to consult an “expert.” After all, he had no experience in such matters.
…
Inside the inn, after hearing Meng Qi’s account of the current situation in the capital and the Sword Emperor’s message, Lu Guan smiled bitterly: “All I have is the fickle support of the Tie Shan army. How can I possibly intervene in the struggle for the throne? I will soon request an audience with the Right Chancellor and firmly support whichever prince ascends the throne.”
He hesitated slightly before continuing: “Actually, not every prince who ascends will need me. If any prince has secretly negotiated peace with the Western invaders and the situation eases, I may be sidelined again. But perhaps that’s not a bad thing either. If it spares the people from war, I can accept it, as long as we don’t concede too much.”
Meng Qi frowned slightly. Indeed, under normal circumstances, the struggle for the throne would be a matter between the princes and their factions. But now, with the Western invaders stationed upstream along the Pei River, ready to advance southward at any moment, their choices would also influence the throne’s succession.
Where were the Western invaders’ envoys negotiating peace in the capital? And with whom were they secretly colluding? Meng Qi abruptly stood up, deciding to investigate under cover of night.
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