Liu Songtao raised his arm, gripping his sword, while his other hand’s two fingers lightly brushed along the blade, his gaze resolute.
Cheng Zhongluoyang snapped a whisker from the head of a fish-dragon and, with a gentle twist of her fingers, coiled it around her arm, clearly indicating she had little confidence in blocking that sword strike with bare hands. At that moment, someone brazenly interrupted the scene, appearing at the far end of the street where Liu Songtao stood. He dashed into the city, slowed upon seeing the gray-robed monk, and walked forward slowly, halting ten zhang away. Mockingly, he said, “So you really are Liu Songtao, the Devil Sect Leader? Why are you regressing, quarreling with a woman—what kind of hero are you?”
Liu Songtao, who had initially intended to ignore the uninvited guest, turned his head. The young nobleman exuded an indescribable charm, hands tucked into his sleeves, exuding the elegance of a jade tree in the wind. Behind him, a tall and imposing man guarded his steps. Liu Songtao chuckled. What kind of world was this now? Why were great martial talents sprouting like bamboo after rain, so common they were practically worthless? This white-haired youth had indeed used yin entities to cross the Heavenly Phenomenon threshold, but he couldn’t be considered a true master. Yet if one’s foundation wasn’t strong, how could a small pond hold the torrent of a river? The man behind the white-haired nobleman was even more formidable. Combined with the Taoist from Wudang who had spoken up earlier by the riverbank, Liu Songtao couldn’t help but sigh. If warriors from a hundred years ago and now were to fight to the death with ten each, the outcome might not be so clear. But if fifty were chosen, the martial world he had once known would have no chance of victory. Liu Songtao, sword in hand, was brimming with power, his sword intent surging, the air around him churning violently, yet he suppressed it all. Smiling at the youth, he said, “At such a young age, possessing such skill is no small feat. I, Liu, shall not stoop to your level today. Watching without commenting is the mark of a true gentleman. You may observe the battle if you wish. But if you interfere, don’t blame me for pointing my sword at you. Young man, heed my advice: the yin entity hiding in the shadows is already on the verge of collapse. Don’t act recklessly. If you worsen its condition now, it may never return to the Heavenly Phenomenon realm.”
Before he could finish speaking, Liu Songtao’s vast sword intent vanished into thin air. There was no movement from Liu, but the sword in his hand had already surged forth like the mighty Yangtze River, shaking the earth and the city so violently that the townsfolk mistook it for an earthquake caused by a slumbering dragon beneath the ground, fleeing their homes to open spaces.
Twenty zhang away, Luoyang was pierced through the heart by a single sword strike.
Liu Songtao had only delivered one sword strike, yet he aged ten years in an instant.
A hundred years ago, Liu Songtao had never drawn his sword, perhaps the loneliest sword immortal in the martial world. A hundred years later, this delayed strike carried the power to shatter mountains. Liu Songtao felt neither sorrow nor joy, merely gazing at the white-robed woman who now stood at the pinnacle of the martial world. He let out a surprised “Hmm,” saying, “Could it be you’re the one who walks with the heart to the left?”
Luoyang rose from the ruins, coldly smirking, “Now it’s my turn.”
Liu Songtao glanced at the white-haired youth, then turned to the female devil who had shaken the Northern Desolate court twice, shaking his head and sighing, “We are kindred spirits. One must steal cultivation through forbidden means, the other prolongs life with external energy. Both are desperate measures to alter fate. Your lifespan is already short. Fighting me again and again, even if you can block my three-hundred-mile sword, in the end, you won’t live much longer than this old man who has lived over a hundred and twenty years. Why suffer so?”
The newcomer, naturally Xu Fengnian, who had needlessly involved himself, leapt onto the city wall and stopped there, watching from afar. Initially, he had no intention of interfering. He hadn’t even stopped by the Shangyin Academy first. Upon receiving a secret message from Qing Niao, he had changed his route directly, fearing he might miss this grand battle. It wasn’t exactly a once-in-a-century clash—after all, there had been the previous duel between the old man in the sheepskin coat and Wang Xianzhi at the East Sea, which had set a high bar. But a conflict between two successive Devil Sect leaders was still a rare spectacle, occurring only once every few decades. Yet the letter had mentioned a white-clothed man from Zhulu Mountain, and he had never expected it to be Luoyang, the woman who had supposedly perished in the Longbi River of the Northern Desolate.
As he neared the city wall, the yin entity attuned to him informed Xu Fengnian that Luoyang had already sensed his presence. Whether he advanced or retreated, it would be the same—either way, he would face a blade. So Xu Fengnian decided not to flee. Driven by instinct, when he saw Liu Songtao begin his sword strike, he felt a twinge of fear. He leapt down from the city wall, trying to steel himself. After all, he had half a grasp of the Heavenly Phenomenon realm. Just to watch and offer a few words of conscience to the old sect leader—surely he wouldn’t be killed on the spot? You, Liu Songtao, the former Devil Sect Leader, are busy challenging the entire world. Why bother with someone like me who doesn’t even belong to the martial world? Makes sense, right? Besides, I’ve lived like a rat in the Northern Desolate for so long—if things get tight, I can run fast enough.
Luoyang, striding forward, didn’t even glance at Xu Fengnian, leaving his efforts wasted on a blind person. If Luoyang were a woman who could be understood by ordinary logic, she wouldn’t be Luoyang. Even Liu Songtao, weathered by storms, found it puzzling. This woman clearly didn’t need to fight to the death. If she didn’t care about winning or losing, why not just end it with life or death? Liu Songtao threw his head back and laughed, a rare sense of exhilaration filling him—as if, after a hundred years, he had finally found a kindred spirit. He tore off his remaining sleeve and gripped a second sword in his hand. Whether it was because a swordsman, a devil, and a yin entity all existed simultaneously, or some other reason, the heavens responded with strange phenomena. Snowflakes began to drift down from the sky. Xu Fengnian looked up and saw a bleak evening, the sky heavy with snow yet to fall.
Would you care to drink a sword?
Liu Songtao seemed to trade ten years of life for a single strike.
But compared to the first strike, this time even Xu Fengnian sensed a certain loss of momentum. Before he could curse, Liu Songtao’s sword, initially aimed at Luoyang, changed course mid-flight, veering toward Xu Fengnian. Yuan Zuozong, the one who would intercept the sword, moved even before Xu Fengnian could react. Grabbing a wooden stick from the roadside, he wielded it like a spear and charged forward. Yet the sword flew faster than thunder. Though Han Diaosi had destroyed several of Xu Fengnian’s twelve gifted swords, the remaining ones were more than enough to form a sword array and a thunderous barrier. Within three zhang in front of him, sword qi surged. Before Yuan Zuozong arrived, Liu Songtao’s invisible sword had already shattered the seemingly impenetrable barrier. The swords clattered and scattered in chaos. Xu Fengnian, his mind calm as water, raised his hand and shook Kunlun Mountain itself. This mountain-shattering strike forced Xu Fengnian to retreat step by step, the chaotic sword qi like countless ice needles slamming into his face. His swords continued to clash with the unseen blade, yet Xu Fengnian kept retreating. The swordsman who had traded ten years of life for a single strike had truly made Xu Fengnian suffer.
Fortunately, Yuan Zuozong, gripping his staff with both hands, swung it down in a single, simple motion.
The ground before Yuan exploded into a large crater, scattering wood and cloth shreds.
The sword was destroyed. After stopping, Xu Fengnian extended his finger and wiped away a streak of blood drawn by the sword’s fierce qi.
Liu Songtao, who had abruptly changed targets mid-strike, also suffered. He exchanged a blow with Luoyang. She didn’t retreat, but Liu was sent flying over ten zhang away, landing heavily, rolling several times before slamming a palm into the ground to rise unsteadily. Like a bone embedded with a thorn, Luoyang followed closely. As Liu barely steadied himself, she swept her arm across his body, sending him airborne. Before he could fly sideways, she stomped her foot into his abdomen, sending him flying like a broken kite another seven or eight zhang. This time, Liu didn’t fall. His feet barely touched the air, skimming like a dragonfly across water, landing lightly at the edge of a trench. One misstep led to another, and the entire battle seemed to tilt toward defeat. As Luoyang lunged forward, she thrust her palm. Liu’s expression tightened, leaning back just in time to dodge a hidden sword that had appeared in Luoyang’s hand. Luoyang changed her palm into an elbow strike, smashing Liu downward. Then, with a kick, she sent him flying straight into a distant wall.
As Liu emerged from the dust, blood—dark and ominous—oozed from the corner of his mouth. He laughed lightly, then used two fingers to slice open his abdomen, grasping the tip of the treacherous sword that had pierced him from behind, pulling it out. Liu Songtao gazed at the cunning white-haired youth and muttered, “Impressive methods. Truly worthy of the name Lingxi. Even in life or death, you still managed to borrow a sword and halt another strike—both moves were masterful. Indeed, I didn’t waste that strike on you.”
Liu Songtao’s face bore no trace of anger, only a hint of delight, as he gently tossed the sword back to Xu Fengnian. “Cultivating a sword embryo is no easy feat. Wei Cao was unworthy of the title Sword Immortal. Back then, someone of your age, Sui Xiegu, was quite formidable. Unfortunately, I don’t know whether Sui is alive or dead. Otherwise, you could have learned swordsmanship from him. Most martial artists believe in being the only top expert, fearing being overshadowed and losing their reputation. But true sword masters do not fear younger generations surpassing them. What they fear most is the sword path declining, generation after generation. Boy, what is your name?”
Xu Fengnian cautiously asked in return, “Sui Xiegu—is he the one who likes eating swords?”
Liu Songtao nodded with a smile. “That boy once declared he would challenge the strongest hands in the world and devour the finest swords. When I secluded myself to refine my sword skills, it was this ever-resilient former opponent who guarded my retreat.”
Xu Fengnian took a deep breath. “Old Sui has a deep grudge with me, but I must distinguish between debts and favors. He also gave me a single sword strike of grace.”
Liu Songtao waved his hand. “That’s between you two. It has nothing to do with me.”
Luoyang glanced at Xu Fengnian, who immediately fell silent.
Luoyang lightly flicked her finger, sending an object flying toward Liu Songtao. He caught it, his expression complex, softly asking, “Is it really you? How is that possible?”
Luoyang remained expressionless.
Liu Songtao, who had already prepared for a final battle, sighed and flicked the object back, his gaze strange. “Even if I see it, it won’t be the same person.”
Luoyang remained cold and indifferent. “If there’s nothing else, leave quickly.”
Liu Songtao burst into laughter, then vanished in a flash. As he exited eastward from the city, the devil who had once stirred a bloodbath a hundred years ago muttered to himself, “It seems there is someone even more infatuated than I.”
Luoyang’s smile was devoid of warmth, her eyes fixed on Xu Fengnian. “Woman?”
What a grudge she held. Why didn’t she say how he had taken a sword strike from Liu Songtao for no reason?
As Xu Fengnian was thinking how to escape, Luoyang spoke with a smile, “That sword at the Yellow River—I will never forget.”
Upon hearing the words “young lady,” Xu Fengnian’s hair stood on end.
Unexpectedly, the Northern Desolate female devil looked down, placed her hand over her heart, and mocked herself, “Where is the heart?”
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