Chapter 248: To Kneel or Not to Kneel

Zhamong Zu’s fists exploded like thunder against Xu Fengnian’s chest. The mirage that the border bandit leader had struggled to slice through with his massive axe was shattered in an instant by this royal guard. He had been slightly surprised that the young swordsman could radiate his aura so fully outward, but now, after landing a successful blow, he realized that the youth was merely a showy pretender. His airborne body stretched out like a monkey’s arm, increasing the force as he crashed down onto the boy’s chest, determined to kill this reckless fool who dared to withstand his punches head-on.

Xu Fengnian’s body bent into an arc like a drawn bow, keeping his head and feet still while using the inward curve of his chest and back to absorb the tidal wave of punches. In an instant, his right hand pressed down onto Zhamong Zu’s head, ready to crush it. Sensing danger, Zhamong Zu realized the youth was ruthless enough to go all-out from the start, employing a desperate tactic that would harm both sides. He ducked back and kicked out with both legs, which Xu Fengnian blocked with his left arm.

Using the momentum, Zhamong Zu shot backward like lightning, sticking to the wall with his hands forming claws that dug into the wooden planks, preparing for a second assault. Suddenly, a sharp pain struck his chest. Looking down, his eyes widened in horror—he had been pierced through the heart by an unseen sharp weapon. He hadn’t realized it immediately because Xu Fengnian’s trickery was so devious and unprecedented. First, the young man had feigned the stance of a reckless novice trying to match Zhamong Zu’s martial prowess, then he summoned the sharpest and smallest of his twelve flying swords—the Pi Fu.

This sword was crystal clear, its killing intent deeply concealed. If Xuanlei was like a swordsman who had traveled a thousand miles to kill, or the longest sword Ta’ao, whose aura reached the stars like a divine being, or even the enchanting Taohua sword, Pi Fu was utterly unremarkable, like a pure infant. Even if placed directly before someone, unless they focused intently, they would only see a faint ripple, like a small patch of clear water. When Zhamong Zu missed his strike and retreated, Xu Fengnian merely shifted Ta’ao slightly, aiming it at his heart. It was as if Zhamong Zu had willingly thrown himself onto the blade, his heart pierced without hesitation. Unless he had an invincible body like a King Kong (Vajra), there was no escape from death.

When masters fight to the death, it is never as poetic or romantic as storytellers or wandering heroes would describe. It is always a swift judgment of superiority and a quick determination of life and death. If the two sides are not evenly matched, who would want to engage in a three-hundred-round battle?

Even the watching Murong Jiangshen didn’t understand what had happened. Before his eyes, the seemingly invincible Zhamong Zu had died in a single exchange, his body collapsing at the foot of the stairs, clutching his chest from which blood gushed like a spring. The residual sword qi of Pi Fu remained in his body, blocking his futile attempt to mend his life force in his final moments. One could say that although Pi Fu only left a narrow slit, it was like an impassable chasm between life and death. This was the very meaning behind the name Pi Fu—like the ephemeral mayfly, which knows nothing of dawn or dusk, spring or autumn, living only a single day.

Murong Jiangshen was bewildered. Seeing the widow of Tao Qianzhi with fury in her eyes, he felt a flicker of fear. Who could kill a royal guard with a mere flick of his fingers, and at such a young age? Could he possibly be a direct disciple from a prestigious sect like Qijian Lefu? He had heard that Dong Pizi had close ties with Ti Bingshan and Qijian Lefu, two of the five great sects in Northern Liang. Ti Bingshan’s leader’s daughter had even been seduced by Dong, and despite being a brilliant leader, Ti Bingshan’s master had no choice but to accept the marriage, allowing his daughter to become the concubine of a fat fool. But would Dong, known for his shrewdness and ability to weigh pros and cons, dare to provoke the Murong clan so openly?

Xu Fengnian descended the stairs, smirking coldly. “Murong Zhangtai, don’t pretend to be asleep. Keep it up, and you might find yourself with Master Xie carving out your heart and liver for a tonic.”

Murong Zhangtai, lying on the table, remained still. Xie Ling walked over, first placing the innkeeper’s wife’s head on the table. Then, with fingers like hooks, he pulled the heart out of the chest of the Murong clan’s talented young man who had been bound and carried downstairs. He raised it to his mouth and began chewing. Murong Jiangshen watched in horror and rage, his hair standing on end. “How dare you harm my Murong clansmen, Xie Ling!”

Xie Ling’s eyes burned red, his mouth smeared with blood. As he crouched, chewing the heart and liver, he stared at the furious Murong Jiangshen, his scalp bristling. This devil, who had long abandoned the path of righteousness, spoke without emotion. “Ah, a swordsman from Qijian Lefu. The hearts and livers of righteous men are always delicious. Don’t think all hearts taste the same. Some are like fatty geese—greasy and nauseating, of little benefit. Some are like snake or turtle—slightly poisonous, but can cure ailments. Some are like crab meat—delicious even in frost, a delicacy that can heal broken bones, like this one in my hand. As for the young man with the sword, his heart and liver are like phoenix marrow and dragon liver—rare and priceless. I, Xie Ling, judge people not by their faces or appearances, but by what lies beneath their skin.”

Everyone at Duckhead Green Inn knew that Master Xie was a quiet, kind-hearted old man, a frail figure who always smiled and got along well with others. But no one knew that his good temper had been cultivated by devouring a hundred hearts and livers a year. For the first time, Xie Ling spoke at length, ignoring the frightened Murong Jiangshen. He turned to Xu Fengnian and said, “You know how to raise and control swords, so your background must be noble. These two Murong men can’t compare to you. Why didn’t you wait longer before leaving your sect? At least wait until you’ve reached the Jinguang level. You kill but don’t flee, probably because you think I’m injured and vulnerable, like a tiger fallen on flat ground being bullied by a dog. Wait until I peel open your chest with my fingers—I’ll make sure you can watch your own heart beating before you die. I’ll eat your heart and liver slowly, savoring every bite. Your pain will focus your energy on your heart, making your liver and heart even more delicious.”

Murong Jiangshen, his mind in turmoil, heard Xie Ling mention an old injury and seized the chance like a lifeline. He no longer cared about Murong Zhangtai’s heart and liver being carved out or the woman’s head at his feet. He turned to Xu Fengnian, his words filled with sincerity. “Young master, let’s join forces against this demon who deserves death! The Murong clan will reward you greatly! Our clan’s men have always valued promises more than life itself…”

Xu Fengnian remained silent. He saw Xie Ling’s form dart forward like a leopard leaping from the jungle, rushing to Murong Jiangshen. With one hand, he twisted the man’s neck, and with the other, he struck his waist, accelerating the flow of blood and energy within him. He bent down and bit into Murong Jiangshen’s chest, swallowing his second heart of the day like drinking water. He tossed the warm corpse aside. Xie Ling threw his head back, his face twisted in a fanatical ecstasy, a scene no less horrifying than the descriptions of hell in Buddhist scriptures. Those with weak constitutions would have fainted long ago.

Xie Ling’s blood-red eyes were terrifying to behold. On the second floor, a dazed child peeked through the railings, and when he saw the demon notice him, the boy burst into tears. He curled up tightly, thinking that if he couldn’t see the demon, the demon wouldn’t see him. Xie Ling sneered and leapt toward the second floor, but Xu Fengnian intercepted him, kicking him in the side and slamming him into a pillar. The impact cracked the stone floor beneath his foot. Xie Ling’s body was soft and boneless, wrapping around the pillar with his head and feet connected, his eyes fixed on Xu Fengnian with a chilling smile. He cackled, “Young man, so impatient! I thought the weakest little brat was your bait, but now I see it’s real. I understand now—it wasn’t you who wanted to kill Tao Qianzhi’s widow, but she who chose death to clear her name, asking you to protect the child. So you must be the man sent by Tao Qianzhi’s sworn brother, Dong Zhuo. Are you from the pretentious Qijian Lefu, or the tiger-backed Ti Bingshan?”

Xu Fengnian, speaking in perfect Northern Liang dialect, smiled. “What if I told you I was from Beiliang? Would you believe me?”

Xie Ling’s lips bled black blood—whether from his evil arts backfiring or some hidden secret, he said flatly, “Even if you told me you were the emperor’s son from Liyang, I’d believe you.”

Xie Ling’s body slithered like a ghostly serpent, finally crouching with his hands and feet firmly planted on the wooden beam. Black blood and saliva dripped to the floor. The demon, whose power was fueled by devouring hearts and livers, forced a smile. “No matter who you are, I’ll have your heart and liver. I’ll hang your corpse in the desert, letting it dry under the sun. If you’re unlucky, the eagles will peck it clean.”

Xu Fengnian’s expression was blank, his eyes clear. Perhaps Xie the Demon hadn’t seen the despair and fear he expected, so he grew furious. He stomped on the thick beam, sending his body hurtling toward the young man who wielded a short sword but controlled flying swords. They collided, the force sending Xu Fengnian crashing through the wall. Xie Ling, almost impossibly agile, shot out of the inn in an instant. Xu Fengnian caught a knee strike meant to split iron and stone with both hands, but Xie Ling’s fist still slammed into his forehead. As Xu Fengnian flew backward, he struck the demon’s temple with his palm. One flew like a broken kite, the other spinning through the air like a whirlwind. In the blink of an eye, they clashed fiercely, holding nothing back. When they landed, neither showed the slightest sign of distress. It was clear that this deadly battle would not end quickly or cleanly.

Xie Ling spat a mouthful of blood, leisurely shaking his neck. He narrowed his eyes, watching as the young man’s forehead, already bruised and turning purple, quickly faded away almost imperceptibly. A punch like that would have shattered the meridians of any ordinary martial artist like Murong Jiangshen.

Then Xie Ling saw the young man draw his short sword from its sheath. With a flick of his fingers, he twisted the hilt, then snapped the scabbard. The ancient short sword whirled like a swallow around a beam. Xie Ling frowned. In the martial world, the art of wielding weapons like swords, spears, and axes from a distance was not rare. But compared to sword techniques, it was considered crude and unworthy of attention. Without sufficient internal energy, even the most dazzling displays of weapon control were hollow and ineffective. Moreover, the shorter the weapon, the greater the risk. Once a weapon left the hand, it increased the attack range but also exposed the wielder’s reluctance to engage in close combat. Thus, such techniques were often ridiculed by sword masters as inferior and unworthy of serious consideration.

Xu Fengnian dashed forward, springing the Chunlei sword back with each flick of his fingers. The short sword circled him faster and faster, until it became a stream of glowing fireflies.

At first, it seemed unremarkable, but as he approached within five zhang of Xie Ling, the sword’s brilliance became undeniable. The sand and dust on the ground swirled up in the wake of the sword’s qi.

When they were three zhang apart, Xie Ling reached out and grabbed, failing to catch the Chunlei scabbard but still twisting his fingers to sever a hidden current of killing intent. He clicked his tongue a few times, ignoring the blood oozing from his fingertips, then swept his arm to shatter another surge of qi. Xu Fengnian was already upon him, raising his arm in a move he had learned and refined from the Confucian “Three Bows of the Master.” The first two were blocked by Xie Ling with brute force, but the third was a final strike with both hands, fingers interlocked, slamming into Xie Ling’s chin and sending him flying. Xu Fengnian leapt forward, his footprints leaving two craters in the ground. The two Chunlei scabbards, charged with surging qi, twisted in the air like cascading waterfalls, rushing toward Xie Ling.

Xie Ling, suspended in the air, laughed heartily. With one hand on the ground, his body spun like a top, his feet crushing the two powerful qi surges. As he succeeded, he didn’t hurry to stand but remained in a strange posture, head down and arms supporting him, staring at Xu Fengnian with a sinister grin. “Qijian Lefu has a song called ‘Jiang Jin Jiu’ and a sword technique derived from Li Chungan’s ‘Kai Shu Shi’ from Liyang—‘Jian Qi Gun Long Bi,’ I believe. What relation do you have to the master’s favored disciple, the one known as ‘Jian Qi Jin’?”

Nine light cavalry riders finally burst into the inn, unable to contain themselves. They saw their two masters had been killed like tangerines, their hearts ripped out, and Zhamong Zu lying dead at the foot of the stairs. They were stunned beyond words. Though they were Murong clan guards and didn’t have to worry about the Northern Liang army’s strict laws of collective punishment—where four men would be executed if their squad leader died, and the squad leader would be executed if their platoon leader died—the death of the Murong brothers meant certain doom for them all. The Murong clan had ruled for centuries with an iron fist, their discipline as strict as any army. The nine riders exchanged brief glances before rushing out of the inn, mounting their horses, and charging toward the battlefield where Xie Ling and Xu Fengnian fought. If they returned alive, their families would suffer the consequences. If they died alongside their masters, they would receive generous rewards. The brutal rules of Northern Liang left them no choice but to fight for their lives.

Two of the riders were cut down, horse and rider alike, by sword qi. More were killed as Xie Ling tore out their hearts and devoured them. The last rider, fearing death but even more afraid of having his heart and liver eaten, tried to retreat, only to be yanked back by his horse’s tail by Xie Ling, who hurled him and his steed into a cold stream of sword qi.

Xie Ling wiped the blood from his lips, his eyes filled with pity as he gazed at the young man. “Impressive, that ‘Jian Qi Gun Long Bi’ technique. But you’ve reached your limit—nine streams of qi, all of which I’ve blocked. What other tricks do you have left? Show them all before you die.”

Xu Fengnian stared at the demon like he was an idiot, speaking softly. “It’s true that ‘Jian Qi Gun Long Bi’ only has nine dragons. But can’t I just perform it again? You’ve eaten hundreds of hearts and livers, yet your power hasn’t grown. Have you eaten your own brain as well?”

Xie Ling did not grow angry, but instead smiled. He crooked a finger. “Cease your flippant tongue. The sword technique Rolling Dragon Wall is a rare and supreme sword formation that fuses sword intent and sword moves seamlessly, but it all depends on who wields it. You’re still too green. If you don’t believe me, come and try again.”

Xu Fengnian, whose figure was surrounded by swirling spring thunder, smiled slightly. “Oh?”

Xie Ling, with crimson eyes, clenched his fists before his chest and roared furiously. From him as the center, the ground cracked into countless fine web-like fissures within a radius of ten feet.

Xie Ling’s gaze was icy cold as he sneered, “I’ve cultivated this skill of devouring human hearts and livers to attain longevity, something too hideous to see the light of day. In my entire life, I’ve only used it once, against the leader of the demonic path, Luoyang. You should die without regrets!”

Bang!

Blood mist filled the air.

Xie Ling had mutilated over three hundred acupoints in his own dantian, and countless thin threads of blood soaked through his clothes, bursting out from his body. The blood did not scatter chaotically, but instead coalesced into six crimson serpents, as thick as thumbs, undulating in the air like vicious pythons flicking their tongues, seeking prey to devour. Xie Ling did not immediately strike Xu Fengnian with a killing blow. Instead, he dashed forward like a dragonfly skimming water, stepping on the corpses outside the inn and exploding them. Each splash of blood was absorbed by the six serpents, merging together. The serpents’ bodies gradually grew, from the thickness of thumbs to the size of a woman’s wrist. When Xie Ling stood atop the corpse of a cavalryman whose flesh was completely mangled, the great devil with six blood-red serpents coiling around him spread his arms wide, slightly bent his knees, and roared toward the sky with infinite grief, hatred, and fury: “Luoyang!”

In his life, Xie Ling had sacrificed everything to reach the pinnacle of martial cultivation, even walking down this detestable path that all despised. He had already faintly glimpsed the hope of standing atop the summit and beholding the vast and magnificent world below, when Luoyang, a demon a hundredfold worse than himself, ruthlessly shattered his attainment from the Fingertip Mystery realm back into the dust. Luoyang had been so lofty, so condescending, and Xie Ling hated him to the marrow of his bones—the one who had called him a deluded fool dreaming of a snake swallowing an elephant. Xie Ling could accept losing to a young master who had risen early to stand above ten thousand men, but he could never tolerate that youth’s disdainful gaze and indifferent tone.

The most exquisite heart and liver in the world must be Luoyang’s!

Xie Ling turned his gaze back toward the inn, tears of blood streaming down.

How many women with charming smiles and sweet words were truly willing to offer their hearts and livers for their beloved?

Xu Fengnian, wearing a black robe with white lining, though torn and tattered from long journeys and fierce battles, stood quietly in place, his demeanor still admirable.

Xie Ling, his crimson eyes fixed on this young nobleman, as detestable and charming as Luoyang, spoke gruffly, “Any last words?”

Xu Fengnian adjusted the spring thunder at his waist and smiled, shaking his head.

Xie Ling lunged forward, and where he passed, whirlwinds surged.

Xu Fengnian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, drawing air in one continuous stream, like a dragon drawing water to spit out pearls.

The second-to-last stage of the Great Huang Ting cultivation technique was the Mirage Sea, a truly wondrous state rivaling the invincible golden-bodied Buddha.

The two collided. Xu Fengnian’s feet rooted into the ground, sliding backward across the sand, yet never leaving the earth. The six blood-red serpents lashed out like whips against a mirage, two opposing qi energies clashing and burning with a hissing sound, the smoke carrying a sharp, bloody stench. The blood serpents could not approach him temporarily, but Xie Ling’s fists and kicks came without restraint, each strike heavy and powerful, capable of toppling city walls. Each time Xu Fengnian resisted with force and failed, he was sent flying backward for dozens of feet. Xie Ling gave him no chance to catch his breath. Before Xu Fengnian could steady himself, fists and kicks roared in again. Outside the inn, the ground was torn into ravines, the landscape a wasteland. Amid the swirling sands, Xie Ling’s twisted face resembled a primordial beast released from its cage. His eyes bled, streaking across his otherwise dull-looking face. He seemed to have fallen into madness, taking this youth before him for his old nemesis Luoyang, roaring, “Outside Xuande City, the number of people you killed exceeded a thousand—combatants, bystanders, innocents alike, all within your sight were slain by your hand. What a river of blood you made! I seized the momentum to break through the Diamond Body realm, achieving Fingertip Mystery, reaching the eighth stage of the Snake Swallowing Elephant manual. How old were you then? How many human hearts had you eaten? How could you possibly defeat me?!”

“Because of you, my cultivation base plummeted to the depths of the Diamond Body realm. My act of devouring human hearts was seen by the world, nearly making me a rat chased by all. To be listed among the Ten Great Devils alongside you—tenth place? If not first, what use is second?!”

“Luoyang, do you know how much your heart and liver could enhance my power? Day and night, I have longed to devour you—not just your heart and liver, but your entire being swallowed whole, to finally quench this hatred in my heart!”

Between his disjointed, mad ravings, the two finally separated for a moment. Xie Ling stood like a demon god incarnate, six crimson serpents writhing around him.

Xu Fengnian knelt on one knee, his face pale as thin gold paper.

His disrupted qi caused his face, once rooted in the flesh, to become rootless driftwood. Before it could fall, it dissolved into dust.

Xie Ling’s crimson eyes gleamed with cruel delight. “You’re definitely not Luoyang. You’re far too inferior.”

Xu Fengnian looked up and smiled, slowly rising to his feet. “Tired yet?”

He clasped his hands at his abdomen, forming a circle, and exhaled a breath of turbid sword qi and deathly air.

Then he ascended the Kunlun.

His face flushed with color, and a red mark appeared between his brows, like a jujube.

If this were all, Xie Ling would have dismissed it as a fleeting resurgence before death.

Third breath, wandering the Cang Sea.

In this perilous situation, battered again and again, he unlocked one of the remaining six sealed acupoints—Jiquan.

Xu Fengnian, his true face now revealed, sleeves swaying with grace, looked like a celestial being descending into the mortal world.

Xie Ling furrowed his brows, letting out a stifled, grating sound from his throat, like a dull blade scraping against stone, or a rat gnawing on a corpse—utterly hideous.

Xu Fengnian spoke calmly, “I’ve heard of the Demon Sect’s Snake Swallowing Elephant manual. I’ve even seen a half-copy of it in the Tingchao Pavilion. They say that by eating hearts and livers, one can attain the realm of an immortal on earth. But after so many years of cultivation, you should know the endless side effects. Do you truly believe the person who gave you that wretched manual had good intentions? Are you sure you weren’t tricked by some charlatan hawking snake oil at a roadside stall?”

Xie Ling was furious beyond measure. The six blood-red serpents surged forward with terrifying malevolence.

Xu Fengnian asked, “You’re not wondering why I carry a blade but haven’t drawn it yet, are you? Do you think I’m just as mad as you are?”

Xu Fengnian removed the spring thunder sword, tossing it high into the air.

Xie Ling’s heart leapt.

Xu Fengnian, mirroring Xie Ling’s earlier charge, seized the momentum he had built up and lunged at Xie Ling with the intent of mutual destruction. Since reaching the Diamond Body realm, Xie Ling had always been cautious, his cultivation deep. In terms of killing techniques and combat strategies, he was not nearly as terrifying as his act of devouring hearts and livers.

Still, this youth, though fierce and strong, was merely a fledgling pseudo-First-Rank cultivator fluctuating around the Diamond Body realm. Xie Ling truly did not believe he would die here.

Yet just as the sword-bearing youth, brimming with momentum, was about to strike, he suddenly pulled back, disregarding the backlash and damage from reversing his qi. This young man, who had countless times walked the line between life and death against Xie Ling’s strange techniques and always remained resolute, suddenly widened his eyes in alarm and shouted toward behind Xie Ling: “Luoyang!”

Luoyang—two words.

Luoyang the person, even the very name, was a heart demon etched into Xie Ling’s very soul.

Xie Ling’s thoughts flickered. After a moment of hesitation, he burst into wild laughter. This young man’s trickery was laughable! Even if he were stabbed by a blade, so what?

Following the trail of qi, Xie Ling looked up—and saw the swordsman gripping the scabbard with both hands, bringing it down in a crushing strike.

If the demonic Xie had taken a moment to glance around, he would have realized that this strike had summoned an extraordinary and terrifying phenomenon.

Within dozens of feet in every direction, the yellow wind seemed to freeze in an instant, and the floating dust hung motionless in the air.

Then, from stillness to motion, a sudden storm erupted across the heavens and earth.

Following an invisible arc, all the qi flowing along the ground surged upward like a boat rowing against the current, converging at the tip of the spring thunder scabbard.

All of this happened in an instant.

Yet in that instant, life and death were decided.

For the first time since the Xuande City battle, Xie Ling felt the weight of impending doom. He raised his fists above his head and screamed, spewing blood along with his cry.

Whether it was a sword strike or a blade slash—

The spring thunder scabbard descended.

It pierced through the six coiling blood serpents, through the fierce gales, through the fists, and finally through the crown of the demonic Xie Ling’s head.

The upheaval exploded outward, shaking the Yatou Green Inn. The sturdy building, strong enough to withstand storms, trembled violently.

Xu Fengnian drove the un-drawn spring thunder scabbard into the demon’s skull, spitting out a mouthful of blood. He quickly summoned a jade-green flying sword, Zhuma, from his sleeve, sat cross-legged to nourish the sword, and shouted furiously, “I stole a move called ‘Kneeling Immortal’. Do you, damn it, kneel or not?”