Tuoba Pusa was sent flying out of the city by the earth-dragon-rolling sword strike, and Xu Fengnian followed suit, temporarily seizing the initiative. It was akin to a battle between Liang and Mang—Tuoba Pusa attacking the city, Xu Fengnian defending it.
In the end, Xu Fengnian still forgot to bring two jugs of wine.
Of the thousand swords in the city, only a hundred or so remained after once again forcing Tuoba Pusa beyond the walls. They coiled around Xu Fengnian like two serpents biting their own tails, forming two parallel circles. If Tuoba Pusa wanted to close the distance for melee combat, he would first have to cross these two turbulent “moats” of sword energy.
After steadying himself, Tuoba Pusa didn’t rush to reclaim the advantage. Instead, his gaze followed the two sword circles as they rotated gently. He dusted off his chest and, moments later, took a step forward. At the same time, the sword river at Xu Fengnian’s waist instantly expanded outward. But Xu Fengnian looked upward, and the second sword river, level with his chest, tilted to shield him.
In the next instant, Tuoba Pusa indeed appeared above Xu Fengnian, his fingers spread wide as he precisely seized a key longsword serving as the eye of the formation amidst the surging sword energy. The moment the river of swords faltered slightly, Tuoba Pusa thrust downward with the blade!
Xu Fengnian kept one hand behind his back while the other lightly flicked his sleeve. Over forty flying swords shimmered with crimson threads, like slender red snakes coiling along their edges. As Tuoba Pusa breached the formation and stabbed downward, Xu Fengnian sidestepped two paces to the right. With a surge of qi, he guided the forty-plus swords to encircle Tuoba Pusa from behind. Then, with his hidden hand, he dodged the downward thrust and pressed his palm against Tuoba Pusa’s chest—before the latter’s feet could touch the ground—and pushed.
Tuoba Pusa was sent flying over ten zhang away, his back colliding repeatedly with the razor-sharp tips of the forty swords. The shattering of the flying swords resounded like a mountain collapsing, and the countless crimson threads entwined around the blades disintegrated into dust.
Despite having the upper hand throughout the battle, Xu Fengnian’s face showed no trace of smugness. In his vision, the towering man who had been repelled three times remained unscathed, his robes intact. This meant that Xu Fengnian’s three successive sword energies—the first-line sword, the earth sword, and the final palm strike—had failed to breach Tuoba Pusa’s protective qi.
Of course, Xu Fengnian was far from exerting his full strength. Both sides were engaged in a cautious, restrained probing—neither willing to commit to a decisive strike without certainty. Ordinary martial artists might circle each other for ages without throwing a single punch, but as two of the four Grandmasters, even their “testing strikes” were enough to shock the world.
Tuoba Pusa still held the sword of some unknown city swordsman, gazing at the lingering crimson threads swirling along its length—remnants of Xu Fengnian’s floating sword energy, a technique reminiscent of the late Han Diaosi’s “Finger Profound Slays Heavenly Phenomenon.” Tuoba Pusa tightened his grip slightly, and the parasitic red snakes trembled before disintegrating into dust.
Instead of snapping the blade, he tossed it back to Xu Fengnian—a silent gesture brimming with arrogance. *You, Xu Fengnian, have crossed paths with Li Chungang and Deng Tai’a, the two generations of sword gods from Liyang. Now, your sword intent and techniques stand at the pinnacle of this era. So go ahead, unleash everything you’ve got. I, Tuoba Pusa, will take it all.*
Without any visible movement from Xu Fengnian, the two sword rivers dispersed, and the hundred remaining blades embedded themselves in the ground around them, forming a vast circle—like a forbidden thunder pool.
Only the sword Tuoba Pusa had thrown back remained, hovering beside Xu Fengnian’s shoulder, its tip aimed squarely at his opponent.
Tuoba Pusa smirked. *Finally, you deign to grip the hilt yourself? What arrogance.*
Xu Fengnian smiled, raised his arm, and grasped the sword—but instead of assuming a stance, he struck immediately upon contact.
Sword energy erupted, surging like a rainbow.
A dragon-thick beam of sword qi shot toward Tuoba Pusa’s face. The latter spread his fingers and casually swatted the raging sword-light aside, causing the dense energy to explode brilliantly before him. In that instant, Tuoba Pusa rooted himself to the ground, leaning rightward as if about to topple—yet he didn’t. A streak of light flashed past where his heart had been, detonating like thunder a hundred zhang away.
Xu Fengnian had thrown the sword—his body the bow, the blade the arrow. Back when he raced west of Qingcang City to duel Huang Qing, Liu Gui’s army had once intercepted his eastward purple qi with giant ballista bolts, said to possess the might of “a sword immortal’s strike.”
In his youth, Xu Fengnian had read poetic theories: *Grasping form is inferior to grasping momentum; grasping momentum is inferior to grasping essence. Thus, only by capturing form to convey spirit can one achieve vivid vitality.*
Xu Fengnian was no Confucian Sage, but after meeting Xuan Yuan Jingcheng, Cao Changqing, and Xie Guanying, he had long understood one truth: *Books contain not just fair maidens, gold houses, and abundant harvests—they also contain the Heavenly Phenomenon Realm!*
As Tuoba Pusa dodged the “arrow,” Xu Fengnian dashed to the edge of the thunder pool, swiftly plucked another sword from the ground, and hurled it at Tuoba Pusa with a sweeping half-circle motion. Though this strike lacked the finesse and power of a true land-immortal’s sword, Xu Fengnian compensated with sheer speed and frequency.
He didn’t care whether the shot missed or Tuoba Pusa evaded. Like a diligent farmer harvesting crops, Xu Fengnian kept drawing swords, swinging his arm in half-circles, and launching them as arrows. He knew these crude “immortal flying swords” couldn’t decapitate from a thousand li away. Against Tuoba Pusa, effective range was limited to eighty zhang—and Tuoba Pusa stood right at the center of the thunder pool, within that radius.
Since Tuoba Pusa had willingly positioned himself as a target, Xu Fengnian had no qualms about making this “arrow barrel” regret his arrogance.
A hundred immortal swords, fired in rapid succession.
Tuoba Pusa indeed made no effort to leave the thunder pool. After dodging sixty-plus “earth-immortal” strikes, even a clay idol would grow impatient. The next thirty-plus lightning-fast flying swords were mostly shattered by his fists—though the last two were merely deflected.
By then, Xu Fengnian had exhausted his “arrows.” Their positions remained largely unchanged: Xu Fengnian still faced the city, Tuoba Pusa the gates. Xu Fengnian’s sword-throwing arm trembled slightly, but he didn’t rub it—not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. Both men took a breath to replenish their qi simultaneously, yet Tuoba Pusa was still imperceptibly faster.
In a duel between Grandmasters, even the slightest delay could mean life or death.
Upon reaching the Heavenly Phenomenon Realm, martial artists became like ladders to heaven, resonating with the world, or rivers merging with the sea. In theory, as long as they had a chance to replenish, their qi could flow endlessly from the universe. This was the hidden meaning behind the ancient saying: *As long as sages exist, great thieves will never cease.*
Yet even in battles between Heavenly Phenomenon experts—or those beyond—while one could replenish qi, the human body remained mortal flesh. Internal reserves were finite, and expenditure often outpaced recovery. This was why Xu Fengnian had opened with the Wu Family Sword Vault’s secret technique: *Where the heart points, the sword follows.* He sought to trade his own will for Tuoba Pusa’s qi and stamina.
Alas, after three sword strikes and the fourth volley of a hundred immortal swords, Tuoba Pusa’s first breath-cycle still refreshed faster than his.
Xu Fengnian swiftly raised his arm to block his forehead—and the next moment, he was sent crashing toward the city wall.
He didn’t slam into it back-first. Mid-flight, he twisted his posture, “landing” feet-first against the surface. His legs bent sharply to dissipate the brutal force, leaving him crouched on the wall, surrounded by spiderweb cracks.
Without retreating, Xu Fengnian straightened his legs and launched himself at the approaching Tuoba Pusa—only to be punched back into the wall, his body embedded deep within.
The grand western city, like an elderly man on his last legs, endured thunderclaps and torrential rain without respite. Though weathered by time, it now teetered on the brink. Fortunately, the two supreme martial artists finally spared it, taking their battle beyond the walls.
But the sudden storm had already awakened the entire city. Many thrill-seekers rushed toward the ramparts—only for the boldest to be knocked flat by an invisible force as they tried to climb. Four or five, lacking sufficient skill or internal energy, burst open in sprays of blood, dying instantly. The survivors, blood streaming from their orifices, fled in terror, wishing their parents had given them extra legs.
Then, a howling gale swept over them, lifting them off their feet and hurling them to the ground, unconscious or worse.
Such divine battles weren’t for mortal spectators. Even those hoping to cheer from a distance needed luck to survive.
Xu Fengnian, after being embedded in the wall, was blasted free by Tuoba Pusa’s follow-up strike.
Once inside the city, Tuoba Pusa slowed his pace.
*You, Northern Liang, are supposed to guard the Central Plains’ gates—so stay locked inside. Dare to venture out? Do you truly think the Million-strong Northern Mang Army is just for show?*
*Do you really believe I, Tuoba Pusa, have the heart of a bodhisattva?*
Wang Xianzhi cared about the martial world’s survival. But I, Tuoba Pusa, was never part of that world. Why should I care if you, Xu Fengnian, can breathe life into it?
Tuoba Pusa gazed into the distance and finally spoke, his voice resonating through both inner and outer cities, vibrating eardrums like tolling bells:
*”You’ve used up a thousand swords. Will you borrow more? Or switch to sabers? If you can unleash Gu Jiantang’s ‘Inch Thunder’ or Qi Lianhua’s ‘Spring and Autumn Blade’ techniques, I’ll gladly wait—let you catch your breath.”*
Clearly, Tuoba Pusa intended to use Xu Fengnian—the embodiment of Liyang’s martial world—to challenge all of Liyang’s martial arts. Hence his patience in enduring these strikes.
Xu Fengnian halted outside the gate between the inner and outer cities. His sleeves and entire robe billowed as if filled with wind and rain, dispersing Tuoba Pusa’s fist energy without harming his body.
Then, a streak of white light raced from Mount Lantuo—Six Pearl Bodhisattva, pale-faced from exertion. She had barely paused to breathe during her sprint. With a desperate heave, she hurled a sword toward the glowing figure in the night sky—but spent, she couldn’t control its trajectory. Instead of reaching Xu Fengnian, it veered off and embedded itself in the inner city wall behind him. The other blade in her hand remained; she lacked the strength to throw it.
Xu Fengnian turned to gaze at the ancient sword “Fangsheng,” forged during the Great Feng Dynasty, lost in thought.
Unbidden, memories surfaced:
—The cicadas he’d heard as a youth in Wutong Courtyard.
—Their song during his first journey through the martial world before his coming-of-age.
—And the last time, when he brought wine to the Tide Watching Pavilion for his dying master, Li Yishan.
Autumn winds howled. High on barren branches, cold cicadas sang mournfully.
The first realm: the world finds them noisy.
The second: the world calls it sorrow.
The third: the world reveres their hymn.
*So let it ring—for all to hear!*
And once, beneath a tree, someone had grinned and declared:
*”If you ever hear of a peerless swordsman surnamed Wen in the martial world—don’t doubt it. That’ll be me!”*
Xu Fengnian didn’t retrieve “Fangsheng.” Instead, he laughed loudly:
*”If anyone in this city has a wooden sword—raise it high!”*
A young woman named Sima Tiehe happened to be organizing her family’s storeroom, which held several narrow wooden practice swords from her childhood. Recognizing the voice, she instinctively grabbed one and thrust it upward, shouting:
*”Here! Here!”*
The next instant, the wooden sword took on a life of its own, bursting through the roof and flying away.
Stunned, the girl murmured, *”Mother didn’t lie… it really was you.”*
Then, pouting slightly: *”But back then, you really weren’t that handsome…”*
Xu Fengnian grasped the wooden sword and strode toward Tuoba Pusa.
*The world is full of melancholy; life is seldom joyful.*
*So what?*
*I have my Carefree Sword!*
Xu Fengnian’s face was alight with smiles.
*Brother, the martial world you turned your back on—whether you will it or not—I’ll walk a stretch in your stead.*
At this moment, under the night sky, the entire city heard one declaration:
*”Tuoba Pusa! I, Xu Fengnian, have a sword—learned from the Central Plains swordsman Wen Hua. This sword… will send you out of the city!”*
They hadn’t heard of Wen Hua, nor knew much of Liyang’s martial world. But the names “Xu Fengnian, Prince of Northern Liang” and “Tuoba Pusa, Northern Mang’s God of War” were thunderous to their ears.
So if Xu Fengnian truly forced Tuoba Pusa out with one sword…
That swordsman named Wen Hua must’ve been something extraordinary, right?
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