The moment Fu Jiang Hong Jia was about to erupt from the earth and assassinate the Heir Prince, Wu Liuding clearly sensed that Li Chungan had momentarily lost focus, although the pressure exerted by the former hadn’t lessened—the coiling emerald serpent sword aura still stretched a full zhang in length. Yet he knew this was the perfect moment to receive the sword. Wu’s accompanying sword Attendant, in perfect synchronicity with him, unsheathed the famed sword Suwang without hesitation. Wu Liuding rolled both his sleeves, transforming two clusters of reeds torn completely from the ground behind him into dozens of swords to block Li Chungan’s formidable emerald serpent sword qi, trying to retreat and catch Suwang. Unexpectedly, Li Chungan sneered coldly. His tattered sheepskin robe contracted then swelled. Suddenly, a vast energy surged outward, scattering all the reed-blades, sharper than ordinary weapons, in one breath. His three-chi sword, already as long as a spear, surged forth in a waterfall-like deluge, overwhelming Wu Liuding like the Milky Way spilling from the heavens. Yet Suwang had not yet reached Wu, still a distance away.
Li Chungan had fought countless battles. His sword mastery and sword aura were consummate; in every pause or shift of direction while engaging opponents, he was seamless. That seemingly natural lapse in concentration was simply an intentional feint, baiting this young Wujia swordsman. As reputable and renowned as Wu’s familial sword arts were, the sword techniques fed to him by the elderly sword master in the sword tomb—who had trained with withered swords, and who was a mere swordservant inside the tomb though famous outside—were never as unpredictable as in actual battle. Facing the crisis threatening the sword master, Suwang’s female sword Attendant, who had drawn the blade, indeed remained as indifferent as the rumors claimed. Her icy gaze fixed on the venerable sword master whose sleeves brimmed with the fierce Qi of the emerald serpent. Even now, Li Chungan’s sword aura was indeed terrifying, yet she was certain he had not yet reached the ultimate “Double-Sleeved Emerald Snake.” Obviously, without a blade, the sword master could not truly force the old grandmaster—respected for thirty years by the entire sword tomb—to unleash his famed ultimate technique.
Would this generation’s sword crown fall before it ever bloomed? Wu Liuding’s sleeves stirred without wind—whether from internal Qi circulation or suppression by the chilling sword aura, his expression remained calm. He raised two fingers in a sword seal, murmuring, “Open the case.”
“With tranquil Qi, I command the sword up Kunlun.”
Slicing toward Wu Liuding’s back, Suwang suddenly seemed tugged by an unseen force, veering into a crescent arc. Accelerating rather than slowing, it vanished entirely from sight. This was unlike the wizard Weishuyang’s Tian Gang sword array, no simple spell—this was a true immortal’s technique to pierce a foe’s skull with flying swords! Though still in prototype, it sufficiently proved the flourishing talent within the Wujia sword tomb. Before Li Chungan rose to prominence, even centuries ago when nine Wujia riders and swords entered Northern Mang to slay ten thousand elite cavalry, with only three returning, it was still Wujia that claimed “nine-tenths of the sword spirit under Heaven!” Alas, within the past century, both Li Chungan and Dant’a emerged, dimming Wujia’s luster of half a millennium.
When Wu Liuding finally grasped Suwang,
Reeds near them all bent backward in unison, cascading like waves—an inconceivable sight.
Li Chungan narrowed his eyes, chuckling, “Interesting enough. Lad, with your ability to control the sword over mere zhang today, you’re still not worthy of coaxing out my ultimate skills. But since Suwang has emerged, I don’t mind giving you a taste. It may save you from Dant’a’s Peach Blossombranch whipping you to oblivion.”
Wu Liuding, calm as still water, gripped his sword and raised his arm, the stance of a lone warrior holding the pass.
Initiating a sword formation from the tomb.
His sword Attendant, Cuiflower, closed her eyes—not to see, but to discern more clearly. At ten, she had injured her sight and practiced swordplay blindfolded for a time. Afterwards, she had retained the habit of blind swordplay in the desolate tombs. At ten, the moment she first opened her eyes to wield a blade was on that final duel before leaving the tomb—thus achieving ultimate sword mastery with a single strike.
She murmured, “Has it finally come? After all these years in retreat, is that truly all Li Chungan has—Double-Sleeved Emerald Snake?”
Strange though it seemed, at this precarious moment when the sword master’s life teetered in balance, Cuiflower opened her eyes again, not watching the poised Wu Liuding or Li Chungan, but instead directing surprise toward the Heir Prince, who had unleashed nineteen unbroken cleaves with his sabre. The forms were exquisite, the posture grand, the momentum full. If those nineteen unbroken strikes could link a little more harmoniously, they would truly deserve the title Lingxi (“Spiritual Insight”). She herself, while training swordplay, had been appraised by the Wujia ancestor at twelve as “Ruyi” (“perfectly fluid”) and eighteen as “Lingxi.” Yet the ancestor had said nothing before she emerged from the tomb, because by then she had already drawn Suwang. She wondered how long the Heir Prince had trained with the sabre—five years? Ten? Or since childhood?
She shifted her gaze—not watching the falsely named Fu Jiang Hong Jia, but rather a young woman who had burst forcibly into the battlefield, clad in green robes and boots, wielding a blood-red spear. She wondered whether the girl’s name might carry the character Qing (“green”).
When the sword Attendant saw the girl hurl Hong Jia sideways with one spear strike, then pierce through the armor, hoisting it aloft, then snapping the spear backward to perforate the airborne puppet countless times. When the puppet finally crashed down, she cleaved it into the ground with a single devastating chop. Cuiflower grew more astonished, murmuring slowly, “Incredible spear technique. I’ve heard that spear skills have seven grades—force, extension, precision, discipline, ingenuity, profundity, transcendence. In the past century, only the Spear Immortal Wang reached transcendence. But this girl might already be at profundity? Is this the spearskill called In an instant(“Instant”)? Her spear flashes as quickly as my sword at twenty. Yet, reckless as she is, drawing back internal Qi this way, ruining her vital pathways, isn’t it tantamount to suicide?”
Should anyone have overheard her muttering, and noted the Heir Prince and Qingniao’s respective actions, they might all have thought her rather conceited.
Yet as a sword Attendant worthy of wielding Suwang, it was hard to discern whether she was truly arrogant or simply self-assured.
“Run!”
Just when Wu Liuding was about to witness how Li Chungan’s one-armed Double-Sleeved Emerald Snake fared now, he abruptly withdrew his sword. His foot tapped the ground, dashing a hundred paces, pulling Cuiflower into the reeds.
Cuiflower stepped backward with effortless grace, like a dragonfly skimming water. She merely furrowed her brow, uttering nothing.
Wu Liuding, sword Suwang in hand, smiled bitterly. “Suddenly I realized, that the Eleventh knows I can’t withstand Li Senior’s Double-Sleeved Emerald Snake. Now that Hong Jia failed, if he doesn’t hurry up and kill the Beiliang Heir, he might never succeed. If he ignores the Beiliang cavalry and attacks, Senior will definitely target me without mercy. Who knows what other techniques he might unleash. This fight is unfair; I still need to return and train with you. Today’s battle wasn’t a loss.”
Cuiflower seemed to hold no ill feelings about Wu, the sword crown’s apparent cowardice, giving a soft “Oh” in response to his rough explanation.
As expected, Wang Mingyin, the Eleventh Under Heaven, witnessing both the maidservant Qingniao vanquishing Hong Jia and Li Chungan preparing to deal with Wu, braved a light slash from Ning Emu, charging directly toward the Heir Prince with the resolve to kill Xu Fengnian—even at the cost of enduring the In an instantspear strike.
Li Chungan’s figure turned, abandoning Wu Liuding, releasing a snake-like sword qi resembling a hundred-zhang-long emerald serpent soaring through the air!
The heavens and earth darkened.
As the emerald serpent surged toward Wang Mingyin, the entire wide road split into a massive chasm.
Wu Liuding chuckled, “Look at that strike—scary indeed! If Wang Mingyin isn’t in a hurry to kill the Beiliang Prince, it’ll be easy to block the emerald serpent. If he insists on going through—without care for the cost—it’ll be a different story.”
Cuiflower quietly hummed.
“By the way, Cuiflower, did you learn Senior’s sword aura already?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, today was a shame. No worries, let’s fight again later. Try to steal the Double-Sleeved Emerald Snake then.”
“Alright.”
That was roughly the tone between them.
“Cuiflower, what’s on your mind? You’re distracted.”
“Thinking about whether he likes pickled cabbage.”
Wu Liuding asked perplexedly, “You mean Senior, Li Chungan?”
Cuiflower remained silent.
“Don’t tell me it’s the Heir Prince!”
She said nothing again.
Wu Liuding advised, “Cuiflower, he’s a prince. Why would he eat your pickled cabbage? Don’t think about it. I’ll eat it for you.”
Cuiflower, now carrying Suwang on her back, replied flatly, “But you always say it’s too sour.”
Wu Liuding paused, sighing sincerely, “It really is sour.”
She asked softly, “What’s the connection between making pickled cabbage and whether he eats it?”
Wu Liuding asked in surprise, “Aren’t you planning to cook pickled cabbage for him?”
She shook her head.
Wu Liuding stopped walking, first clutching his belly with laughter, then throwing his head back, laughing further.
Why, of all topics, did this sword crown and sword Attendant—hailed by the sword tomb as three centuries’ most prodigious—always end up discussing things so utterly unrelated to their lofty martial image?
Wang Mingyin indeed endured the surge of that emerald serpent.
His golden soft sword was drawn, channeling true Qi to slice off half the emerald serpent’s energy. As he staggered, the timely crimson In an instantspear smashed into his chest. Though his body was as unyielding as Diamond Body, Unbreakable, he could no longer remain unscathed. Without even glancing at In an instant’s wielder—whose face now leaked blood from seven orifices— Wang was sent flying backward from the strike. Roaring in fury, Wang launched the soft sword like an arrow straight toward the Heir Prince, at the same time propelling himself forward to intercept the woman with In an instantwho had hindered him. Colliding into the girl and her spear midair, he used his own body to sacrifice himself for his master, sending the young woman, along with her spear, crashing into a roadside locust tree. Wang Mingyin resumed his advance, moving fast enough to close within ten steps of the Heir Prince and seize the soft sword.
The second emerald serpent struck.
Wang Mingyin’s feet sank deep into the ground. Raising the soft sword to shoulder height like a spear, he struck at the blade-like emerald serpent forged from sword aura.
As long as he withstood this emerald serpent, he could claim the noble Xu family’s son’s head no matter how severe his injuries!
In truth, Wang Mingyin did endure it.
The emerald serpent, whose power was rarely seen under Heaven, exploded in front of this unassuming man.
The hundred-zhang-wide road was covered in green sword qi, with rows of locust trees broken into countless pieces.
This terrifying martial artist wasn’t just like a farmer—he was one. The world joked about his ranking as Eleventh, calling him the one most eager to resent Wang Xianzhi, for the City Lord of Wudi City insisted on being known as the second under Heaven, pushing the top ten warriors to the eleventh spot. Yet Wang Mingyin never cared about this. All he cared about was the small plot of land in that tranquil mountain village, where a gentle woman waited for him. The farmwork needed a man’s hands. Since she had known him, she had never seen a soft sword before, nor had she known of the Eleventh Rank under Heaven. She simply knew he was a man—reticent, sincere, dependable, though poor.
He finally withstood the emerald serpent.
Now there remained but one head.
Qingniao lay in a slump by the roadside, struggling to rise, blood dripping black from her mouth as she reached for In an instant, still unable to stand. She hated her father—the man who killed her mother—and thus hated this famous spear stored in the Tingchao Pavilion. Originally, In an instantwas merely meant to kill the man who, though the world’s greatest spear master, had long forsaken the spear. But before departing Beiliang, the Grand Protector had said she might need it, placing In an instantin her hands. She accepted it without hesitation. Today, she drew it again without hesitation. A master of assassination, direct confrontation had never been her strength. Yet as a Death Knight—Heavenly Stem Death Agent, Bing—how to die was all she needed to know. She gave her life without hesitation.
Like Qingniao, everyone on the road was too late to save the Heir Prince.
Even Li Chungan, already soaring through the air.
Wang Mingyin was about to strike—and could not move.
Slowly, he looked down.
He saw an arm, pale and slender, not thick or muscular, piercing entirely through his chest from behind.
A hand strike, insidious to a degree unheard of.
Surely, there could be no more shocking assassination anywhere in the world today.
Standing with his blade, Xu Fengnian—his face expressionless but drenched in sweat—saw a head emerging from behind Wang Mingyin.
The assassin destined to shake the world bore no fierce visage. Her face was naïve and gentle—still a girl.
She smiled.
“Hehe.”
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