Xu Fengnian pointed at the sword-wielding traveler in green robes leading a horse down the street and chuckled, “If I’m not mistaken, that should be Song Nianqing from the Dongyue Sword Pond.”
Luoyang replied indifferently, “So what?”
Xu Fengnian feared she wouldn’t take it seriously, underestimating the heroes of the martial world. He patiently explained with a smile, “This guy isn’t just some pretentious swordsman. His mastery of sword techniques, reaching the pinnacle of the ‘Fingered Mystery’ level, is far more substantial than the Taoist priests’ so-called ‘Fingered Mystery.’ He is one of the few great sword masters in Liyang, and Song Nianqing is also well-versed in the philosophies of the three teachings. He’s not just some brute who knows nothing but brute force. He’ll be a tough opponent. Excluding secret duels, since Song became the head of the Dongyue Sword Pond at a young age, he has been known to have fought nineteen times in the past sixty years, each time wielding different swords and techniques. Once, he even used twelve swords in a single match when he challenged Wang Xianzhi in the Martial Emperor City—of course, he lost. But it’s said that the battle was spectacular and fierce. Among today’s martial world, even the likes of Wu Dading from Wudang, Qi Xianxia from Longhu Mountain, and Wu Jiaduan from the Wu Sword Clan might not yet be his equal. Don’t take this lightly. This time, the old master has even brought fourteen swords, clearly ready to give his all. After losing to Wang Xianzhi, he secluded himself for years, refining his skills. His cultivation must have improved greatly. Take this seriously—don’t treat him like some random hooligan.”
Luoyang silenced Xu Fengnian with one sentence: “Can he match Deng Tai’a?”
An ominous Crimson Robespirit, attuned to Xu Fengnian’s thoughts, was lurking nearby, sharpening his senses. For some reason, he didn’t detect the presence of Liu Haoshi. Could that old F Zhao dog really believe that Song Nianqing alone is enough to kill him?
The Wu Sword Tomb and Dongyue Sword Pond have never been regarded as typical martial sects. Not only do their members rarely travel the martial world, but these two towering sword sects are also too lofty for ordinary martial factions to rival. Even a powerful sect like the Kuai Xue Manor, dominant within its own region, would have no choice but to submit before these two giants. After the Wu Sword Tomb’s legendary feat of breaking ten thousand cavalry with nine swords, it has been in decline from its peak. Meanwhile, Dongyue Sword Pond has long sought to surpass the Wu Clan, whose sword techniques are revered as the pinnacle of all sword arts. The Dongyue even went as far as to cozy up to the Liyang imperial court. The appearance of Li Yibai, the Dongyue’s promising young prodigy, accompanied by eighteen sword maids at the Kuai Xue Manor to support the Yan Fortress, was clear evidence of this. Xu Fengnian had never held a favorable view of the Dongyue Sword Pond, though he had a relatively good impression of Li Yibai. During his first journey through the martial world, he once witnessed a humble man performing righteous deeds with unpretentious sword techniques. At the time, Xu Fengnian didn’t think much of the swordsmanship, only noting the man’s skill and lack of arrogance. Later, he learned that the man was actually a rising star in the Dongyue, destined to inherit the sect’s leadership. Hence, during the recent incident at the Kuai Xue Manor, Xu Fengnian only targeted the Spring Scroll Grass Hall and the Yan Fortress, sparing Li Yibai.
Li Yibai’s master—Song Nianqing, the current head of Dongyue Sword Pond—had left the sect for the first time in nearly thirty years, bringing with him fourteen famous swords. It was clear he wouldn’t leave without Xu Fengnian’s head.
Xu Fengnian softly asked, “Why don’t you hold off on fighting? Let me test his strength first?”
Luoyang sneered, “Afraid I’ll kill Song Nianqing and scare Liu Haoshi into hiding, ruining your plan to strike from the shadows? I’m curious—how do you plan to fight Liu Haoshi? You’d be like an egg against a stone. Are you hoping I’ll save you after he nearly kills you? Let me make this clear—I’ll only help after Liu Haoshi finishes you off, just enough to collect your corpse.”
Xu Fengnian grinned, “I didn’t think that deeply into it. I just feel that if we’re going to fight, I shouldn’t be hiding behind.”
Luoyang mocked, “Right, I remember now. Outside Dunhuang City, someone stood at the city gate with a single sword, blocking hundreds of cavalry riders, then strolled into the city like a hero. What a grand display of valor!”
Xu Fengnian shamelessly replied, “A true hero doesn’t boast about past glories. Why bring that up?”
Outside the window, squadrons of armored cavalry thundered down the street, driving away civilians without explanation, forcing them all toward the city gates. At first, some wealthy gentry and scholars grumbled in protest, only to be struck down by the butts of iron spears and dragged away like dead dogs. Many citizens hiding in their homes couldn’t escape either, being driven out in droves during the bitterly cold winter. Even members of influential clans and aristocratic families were caught in the chaos. When they saw that even the magistrates and officials were fleeing in the same procession, they lost all courage to resist. Soon, the area near the tavern had turned into a ghost town. The tavern’s patrons had long since fled, and the owner, ignoring the debts owed by rowdy customers, hastily evacuated with his family. Some local ruffians tried to take advantage of the chaos, sneaking into wealthy homes to loot valuables and treasures. However, City Patrol Riders from other regions, hastily deployed into the city, executed them on the spot. A few nimble ones tried to escape by climbing walls, only to be pierced by arrows like hedgehogs. Panic spread like wildfire, with people wondering what calamity had befallen them. Some feared war had returned. The elderly, who had lived through the Spring and Autumn Wars, wept bitterly at the memories, while women and children cried alongside their elders.
The streets emptied rapidly, making the old man in green robes, carrying a bundle of swords on his horse, stand out even more. When Xu Fengnian stood up to look outside, the old man also looked up. Their eyes met, and Song Nianqing acted decisively. Without a word, he released the horse’s reins, drew a long sword from its back, and with a single motion, sliced a half-circle toward the second floor of the tavern.
As Song Nianqing launched his first sword strike, Xu Fengnian leapt high, grabbing onto a ceiling beam. Luo Yang, sitting in her chair, displayed far greater composure. She didn’t budge an inch. That half-circle of sword qi sliced through the tavern’s outer wall like cutting through tofu, heading straight for Luo Yang.
With a single finger, Luo Yang gently pushed a glass cup forward a short distance across the table.
The table and chair moved like a fish cutting through ripples, forcing the sword qi to split and veer to both sides.
The sword qi pierced through the back wall of the tavern, still soaring upward for over ten zhang before slowly dissipating.
Half the tavern collapsed diagonally, tiles and splintered wood bouncing off a radius several zhang around Luo Yang. Xu Fengnian, of course, didn’t fall with the collapsing building. He released the beam and landed beside Luo Yang, casting a helpless glance at the woman who had left him speechless. He didn’t know what to say. He could have endured Song Nianqing’s initial probing strike, but certainly not as effortlessly as Luo Yang had. Moreover, Song Nianqing’s first sword strike was more of a formal challenge than a lethal attack, embodying Dongyue’s tradition of courteous combat. After reaching the Fingered Mystery level, Song’s control over qi surpassed even that of a Diamond-level cultivator. Just like Zhao Ningshen at the Spring Spirit Lake, who used flute music to gauge others’ cultivation levels by the varying intensities of the sound waves, Song’s first sword strike was meant to test his opponent’s strength. Only someone like Luo Yang would dare to openly accept such a challenge. After Song’s first strike, if the opponent fought back directly, Song could not only estimate their cultivation level but also precisely determine their approximate realm. Then, his subsequent strikes would be tailored accordingly, further sharpening his sword clarity.
The tavern had become like an open-air pavilion, revealing the man and woman on the second floor—one standing, one sitting.
True to the rumors, Song Nianqing sheathed his sword immediately after the first strike, his hand already resting on another sword hilt as he called out loudly, “This old man is Song Nianqing of the Dongyue Sword Pond. May I ask who is up there?”
The venerable master naturally wouldn’t be addressing the widely known Prince Xu. In the martial world, whether skilled or not, most fighters had the habit of inquiring about their opponent’s background before engaging—what their nickname was, which sect they belonged to, and their origins. This wasn’t just a formality. Except for those inexperienced newcomers who liked to give themselves grandiose titles, which could be ignored, most martial artists who had earned notable nicknames had done so through hard-earned skills and wealth. In the martial world, whether for sustenance or reputation, it was always wise to be courteous. Most seasoned martial artists, even if they clashed initially, often resolved conflicts after exchanging names—many fights never even happened, yet they still claimed to have become friends through battle. In the martial world, those who thrived were the seasoned veterans skilled in diplomacy, while hotheads, no matter how skilled, often suffered unnecessary setbacks if they failed to respect the unspoken hierarchy. Many promising young martial artists ruined their futures by stubbornly provoking powerful sects or wealthy adversaries without knowing when to retreat, often dying without understanding why.
Song Nianqing, a towering figure among sword cultivators, was no exception. The young white-robed woman was truly a mystery to him. When had Liyang produced such a hidden master?
Xu Fengnian snorted, “She’s my friend. What of it?”
Luoyang glanced sideways at Xu Fengnian. She knew exactly what he was scheming. If he directly revealed her identity, Song Nianqing, despite his confidence, would surely hesitate. That wouldn’t suit Xu Fengnian’s plans at all.
Xu Fengnian continued his act, “Song, if you’ve got the guts, try coming up here. Don’t try to cozy up to us. You went to the Martial Emperor City with twelve swords before, only to return empty-handed. What difference do two more swords make today? If you’ve got the guts, use all fourteen swords! I’ll be right here, ready to take every single one!”
Luoyang asked calmly, “Aren’t you the least bit embarrassed?”
Xu Fengnian whispered with a grin, “I finally got to lean on the shoulders of the number one cultivator in the demonic path. Let me enjoy the glory while I can.”
Song Nianqing wasn’t provoked by Xu Fengnian’s flippant words. His mind remained as calm as still water. He didn’t engage with Xu Fengnian at all. Instead, he gently tapped the scabbard of his sword. This time, he didn’t even grip the sword. He sent it flying twenty zhang, its sword qi stronger than the first strike. The sword tip slightly lifted, slicing diagonally toward Xu Fengnian on the second floor.
Luoyang stood up. Clearly impatient with waiting for the next dozen strikes, she leapt down from the tavern, passing the flying sword mid-air, then seized its hilt. The sword trembled violently, and its sound echoed throughout the city.
Song Nianqing grasped the third sword hanging from his horse’s saddle. Rather than panicking at Luo Yang’s capture of his sword, he smiled knowingly. This sword was named “White-Headed,” symbolizing the inevitable separation that comes with age. The sword and its qi separated the moment it left the scabbard, so breaking one wouldn’t matter. Song’s second strike was aimed at Xu Fengnian with the sword tip, but the qi was directed toward the white-robed woman. The “White-Headed” sword’s qi was cleverly divided—should Xu Fengnian hastily strike the sword or interfere with its qi, the force would be redirected to the qi itself. This was the subtlety of the “White-Headed” strike.
Luoyang clenched her fist tightly, and the sword in her hand snapped with a mournful cry. Its perfect sword spirit shattered completely. Yet her ruthless action only intensified the hidden qi, like pouring oil onto fire.
Xu Fengnian only realized the intricacy of the strike when the qi suddenly surged toward him. He cursed—not at Song Nianqing’s cunning, but at Luo Yang’s deliberate sabotage. Eight hidden swords flew from his sleeves, forming a thunderous barrier.
The woman who had just tricked Xu Fengnian allowed a slight smirk to curl her lips. She inverted the now lifeless sword and gracefully descended toward Song Nianqing.
A surge of sword qi erupted from her hand, stretching over ten zhang, as thick as a bowl’s rim, like a comet trailing a blazing tail, exuding overwhelming momentum.
Song Nianqing’s heart trembled. Originally holding just one sword, he immediately drew a second.
Luoyang, gripping the sword upside down, released both the sword and its qi, hurling them toward Song Nianqing—not quite a strike, more like a throw.
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