Chapter 273: Borrowing Qi to Slash Three Thousand Heads

(Book Number 35058) Alone to Northern Mang

A single sleeve-knife strike severed sixty years of glory and disgrace, life and death, from a grandmaster of the demonic path.

When that flash of brilliance swept out, Tuoba Chunshun instinctively squinted, as one would against bright sunlight. When this young Tuoba, whose life had always been smooth sailing, finally opened his eyes, he saw only a body severed at the waist. The damned young man who had finally struck with such ferocity had already sheathed his short blade; he stood, hands braced on the hilt, slowly straightening his back, and turned to face Tuoba Chunshun and Duan Bo'er Huihui. Tuoba Chunshun remained unmoving, like a mountain. He considered that had he faced such a strike, with his own blade in hand, he would never have been cut in two, much less been killed like Duan Bo'er Huihui. This, he realized, was likely the cunning of this young man with his varied martial arts. After being knocked from his horse earlier, the youth had understood that "capturing the leader first" was not a viable strategy. Instead, he had set his sights on Jinxiu Lang, who relied on the colorful python in combat. What a meticulously orchestrated ploy!

Duan Bo'er Huihui, fuming at being so thoroughly outwitted, gnashed his teeth. "Young Master," he spat, "this man's chest was injured by my final punch. His vital energy can no longer flow smoothly; he'll struggle to even draw a knife, let alone wield a sword. Let me claim his corpse!"

Tuoba Chunshun rolled his eyes. "It would be best if you could claim his corpse," he retorted. "Just don't let it be mine you're collecting later."

Furious, Duan Bo'er Huihui forwent his usual flattery, his face contorted in a snarl. Since separating from Li Chungang, Xu Fengnian had painstakingly nurtured his intent, following the insights on "closed sword" from the old man in sheepskin. This, combined with the profound spiritual nourishment gained from "dining on rosy clouds and sealing golden coffers," allowed his "One-Sleeve Green Serpent" technique—an evolution of "Two-Sleeves Green Serpents"—to unleash a ferocity beyond imagination. Yet, it had also nearly drained him of all his essence, spirit, and vital energy, like a bow drawn to its absolute limit, almost snapping the string.

After Spring Thunder was sheathed, Xu Fengnian's body involuntarily trembled, especially his knife-gripping hands. His fierce battle with Duan Bo'er Huihui had left him severely wounded; the last punch had made him bleed from seven orifices, a flow he had forcibly suppressed moments ago but now slowly seeped out, staining his face with blood. In truth, when he first encountered Tuoba Chunshun and Jinxiu Lang with his colorful python, Xu Fengnian had neither feared the fight nor wished to escape. Tuoba Chunshun had intended to use the battle to refine his skills, treating Xu Fengnian as a training dummy, and Xu Fengnian had harbored similar intentions. However, man proposes, God disposes; the addition of Duan Bo'er Huihui had bogged him down, making escape nearly impossible. When he first heard Old Sword God Li speak of nurturing sword intent, Xu Fengnian had had his doubts. If one rigorously demanded that a sword must only be unsheathed for a killing blow, lest its intent be damaged, wouldn't that suggest a tendency to bully the weak and fear the strong? Against a more powerful foe, should the sword be drawn or not? If it wasn't suitable to unsheathe, how was this different from learning dragon-slaying techniques when no dragons exist in the world? Yet, Li Chungang had always kept him guessing, offering no direct answer, simply stating, "You will know the Five Great Peaks when you reach the mountain." Xu Fengnian re-entered an ethereal state, free from joy or sorrow, within the valley. At this moment, Spring Thunder ceased its tremor. Xu Fengnian slowly closed his eyes. Like layered green mountains, both sword intent and saber intent existed thus: within the confined space of the sheath, Spring Thunder brimmed with life.

The divine essence of Spring Thunder, when unleashed from its sheath and spread across the world, seemed like a river that flowed to the sea only to return, even surging upstream, climbing ever higher.

At the brink of life and death, profound enlightenment can be found. This was a clarity that countless martial arts manuals could never impart, like witnessing a distant light firsthand—precisely the insight described as "after sixty years of bowing your head to climb the mountain, only then do you see the lamp atop Kunlun Peak."

Tuoba Chunshun, unwilling to risk further, conceived a plan. He glanced at Xiti Qincha'er, whom he considered as lowly as an ant, and then beckoned to his terrified cavalry. With a slight smile, he instructed, "Go, distribute twenty broadswords to the herdsmen. Tell them that if they wish to live, they must hack this young man to death. Whether they succeed or not, as long as they raise their blades, I, Tuoba Chunshun, promise them a thousand taels of gold and ten thousand head of livestock."

Qincha'er, a man of ordinary martial skill, knew only that the swordsman was exceptionally troublesome. But when it came to coercing the weak, he was an expert. Leading twenty-odd horsemen, he galloped to the herdsmen, tossing down over twenty broadswords. "Did you hear clearly?" he snarled. "Our Northern Mang Military God's young master has spoken: just raise your blades against that Southern Dynasty rogue who fled into our lands, and you'll get a thousand taels of gold! Ten thousand head of livestock! And I, Qincha'er, the King Eagle of these grasslands, also promise you this lake and this pasture! But if you don't know what's good for you..."

Qincha'er, not daring to overstep his authority, quickly and cautiously turned to glance at Tuoba Chunshun. The latter made a throat-slitting gesture. Receiving the signal, Qincha'er instantly changed his demeanor and bellowed, "It means death!"

Tuoba Pusa's youngest son?

Huyan Anbao's heart sank to ash. He watched a young herdsman move to pick up a broadsword, then widened his eyes and roared, "You dare?!"

The herdsman paused for only a moment. When he saw his fellow tribesmen successively step out of line, his initial hesitation vanished. Together, they silently picked up the gleaming broadswords. The herdsmen's wives and children averted their gaze, unable to watch. A Baoji rushed out of the tent, spreading his hands and standing between the cavalry and the armed herdsmen, his youthful face streaked with tears. The old chieftain closed his eyes, tears streaming down his weathered cheeks. An old man and a child, two faces, utterly helpless in this moment of life and death. Huyan Guanyin ran to A Baoji, pulled him into a fierce embrace, and rolled them both aside, narrowly dodging the enraged Qincha'er's charging horse. As a Xiti, Qincha'er was the undisputed master of this grassland; his ferocity surged. Even if this "eagle" was merely a "chicken" in the eyes of the Tuoba clan, he was certainly not to be defied by mere herdsmen. He drew an unusually long, custom-forged broadsword, bent low, and slashed savagely. Huyan Guanyin's arm was deeply gashed, the bone visible beneath the skin.

Xu Fengnian opened his eyes, bent slightly, and Spring Thunder rotated in his hand. He stood with his back to the herdsmen advancing with their blades, his mind as placid as an ancient well. Having witnessed too much human depravity and ugliness, he was no longer surprised by such betrayals. Furthermore, he understood that, from their perspective, given the life and death of their tribe and loved ones, choosing to raise a blade or refuse was entirely comprehensible. Holding Spring Thunder in one hand and raising his other arm, a chasm abruptly appeared behind him, as if a river had been severed. The herdsmen's charging formation faltered in a timid commotion and stagnation. From a distance, they had only seen rising dust, but seeing it firsthand was far more shocking. The reason they had raised their blades was that, deep down, beyond their fear of the Tuoba clan's thunderous reputation, they might have harbored a faint hope that this young scholar possessed a compassionate heart. However, after the grassland suddenly split, drawing a clear line of life and death that crossing would invite doom, that fleeting hope was instantly dispelled, and their courage rapidly dwindled.

Xu Fengnian fixed his gaze on Tuoba Chunshun, reaching up to smooth the blood-soaked wrinkles on his long robe. He smiled faintly. "Without Jinxiu Lang and his colorful python to constrain me, stopping me won't be easy now," he said. "How about we hunt each other for a change?"

Tuoba Chunshun laughed wildly, his handsome face contorting with mirth. Pointing at Xu Fengnian, he sneered, "There's a saying in the Central Plains: 'A crossbow at the end of its flight cannot penetrate thin silk; the last breath of wind cannot lift a feather.' In your half-dead state, you still want to negotiate with me? Does even breathing pain your lungs now? Did you think Duan Bo'er Huihui's punch was a mere trifle?"

Xu Fengnian replied, "How many swords did I control? Did you guess correctly before? Similarly, if there was a first strike, why not a second or third? Dragging another one to his grave wouldn't be out of the question. Killing Duan Bo'er Huihui, who ranks sixth in the demonic path, doesn't seem as profitable as killing the Military God's youngest son."

Tuoba Chunshun wagged a finger, a confident smile playing on his lips. "Don't try to scare me," he scoffed. "It's pointless. I grew up being beaten and scolded by your 'Tuoba Pusa,' but never scared. I generally understand your nature: you don't waste words when you can kill. The fact that you're talking so much now proves you're at the end of your rope. Tsk, tsk, 'a Guizhou donkey's tricks are exhausted'—what a fitting phrase. As a scion of a distinguished Southern Dynasty family, you must understand its meaning, right? Or perhaps you're starting to lay out subtle, shadowy schemes again? I'll be watching closely. Duan Bo'er Huihui, attack! His limbs are yours, his head is mine!"

Tuoba Chunshun squinted, savoring the moment. "I never knew before," he mused, "but after meeting you, I've discovered that knowing a few wise sayings and famous quotes from poetry and prose, and chattering them, makes killing people seem particularly refined."

Xu Fengnian turned to face Duan Bo'er Huihui and softly exhaled.

A golden flash shot swiftly from his sleeve.

Tuoba Chunshun chuckled playfully. "Petty tricks," he scoffed. "Your sword-wielding assassination art is tens of thousands of miles inferior to that of Jian Qi Jin of Qijian Leyu, one of my father's defeated foes from back then!"

While his face displayed a cynical amusement, his eyes were sharp and stern. This flying sword, which had never previously manifested, far surpassed the eight suspended swords that had formed a net earlier, both in its sword energy and speed.

It was Jinlü, which had largely achieved the form of a sword embryo.

Tuoba Chunshun did not draw his own blade; instead, he merely contended with the golden flying sword's erratic trajectory. It was like a flirtatious man teasing a maiden, attracting attention—the man and the flying sword formed a captivating spectacle.

Xu Fengnian was now fully engaged with Duan Bo'er Huihui, who charged at him. The latter grew bolder with each strike, incomparably fierce, showing no mercy. His entire body coiled with power, like a rope twisting; every movement possessed the force to shatter mountains and shake peaks. Xu Fengnian's deteriorating state was not entirely disguised; from a distance, he employed sweeping kicks, and up close, elbow strikes and shoulder charges. Duan Bo'er Huihui was determined to tear off the limbs of this young man who dared to face him and even divide his attention to control a sword. His form appeared relaxed, but his intent was solid; his strikes were like heavy hammers, his grappling like hooked rods. Though his elbows seemed to stay close to his ribs and his movements appeared restricted, their explosive power was terrifyingly destructive. This burly martial artist moved with a unique "mud-walking" step, like a slithering serpent or python, his hands twisting, wrapping, drilling, and overturning in an endless, interweaving flow. Xu Fengnian had already sustained severe injuries, and now had to use his mind for two tasks and channel his qi in two directions. Finally, Duan Bo'er Huihui found an opening: he delivered a powerful knee strike, and as Xu Fengnian's head snapped backward from the immense force, Duan Bo'er Huihui swept out an arm, sending Xu Fengnian's entire body flying.

Xu Fengnian softly murmured, "Lend me three thousand units of vital energy, and I will take your head."

The golden light intensified dramatically.

The flying sword, which had always concealed its true power, instantly burst forth with renewed intensity as its master gained momentum at the cost of his own life. Its speed multiplied several times over, thrusting directly towards Tuoba Chunshun's glabella!

In a split second.

Too late to dodge, Tuoba Chunshun raised his hand, blocking the sword's momentum with his palm and tilting his head. The flying sword, Jinlü, pierced through his entire palm, leaving a bloody gash across his face.

Duan Bo'er Huihui, sensing the anomaly, was profoundly shaken. He ceased his pursuit of the young man, whose cunning methods seemed endless, and instead darted to his young master's side, fearing that the flying sword still held a lethal strike. If Tuoba Chunshun, the Military God's highly anticipated heir, were to die in Longyao Prefecture, it wouldn't be enough to offer just Duan Bo'er Huihui as a sacrifice; even the entire Northern Mang demonic path would be insufficient to atone!

Tuoba Chunshun ignored his wounded palm, instead slapping Duan Bo'er Huihui across the face. "Get out there and butcher him!" he roared, like a madman.

Jinlü arced in a semicircle and vanished back into his sleeve. Xu Fengnian, his face as pale and wasted as gold leaf, stumbled upon landing. He swallowed the blood that surged into his throat, then bent forward and ran. Several cavalrymen blocking his direct path were cleaved apart, man and horse alike, as if he were severing a river.

Duan Bo'er Huihui turned and sprinted furiously in pursuit.

Tuoba Chunshun curled his fingers into hooks, tilted his head back, and roared in fury, "If I don't kill you, I swear I'm no longer a Tuoba!"