Chapter 468: 女子何至于如此霸气

Swords and sword energy seemed to flow like ink splashed by a painter in a freehand style. The sword energy was so potent that Song Nianqing's second sword was pulverized before it even got close. Instead of retreating, Song Nianqing advanced, his feet hovering mere inches above the ground. He glided forward for over a *zhang* (approx. 3.3 meters). After stopping, he twisted on the balls of his feet, his new plain blue cloth shoes stirring up dirt from the ground. His left hand held a sword behind his back, while his right hand first held a sword to his chest, then pointed it downwards. The sword tip then swept upwards, meeting the bottom of the mass of sword energy. The longsword in Song Nianqing's hand gradually bent, slowly and forcefully transforming into a collapsing sword stance. With the sword tip no higher than his head, he let out a soft cry and, astonishingly, flicked the condensed sword *gang* (aura) over his head and behind him, where it landed on the street, leaving a bottomless crater. Meanwhile, the Sword Pond Sect Master's sword did not straighten; it maintained its slightly bent, collapsing sword posture. Releasing his grip and abandoning the sword, before it could fall, the tip of his left-hand sword struck the middle of the longsword suspended in mid-air, clanging loudly like a sudden, resonating morning bell from a temple. Luo Yang advanced unhurriedly, casually waving an arm to block a wisp of sword energy that shot towards her from the clashing swords. Song Nianqing swiftly changed his straight strike to a horizontal tap. The second sound was like an evening drum, utterly muffled. Striking the bell at dawn and beating the drum at dusk—the drum's sound kills, the bell's sound captures souls. These two sword techniques were what Song Nianqing had realized twenty years ago when he quietly entered the martial world, traveling far and wide, and stayed at an unnamed ancient temple, hearing its morning bells and evening drums. Song Nianqing repeated the monotonous striking and tapping without pause, completing one hundred and eight strikes in an instant. Luo Yang continued to move straight forward, eventually even begrudging the effort to lift her hands. Constant booming explosions erupted before her, and everywhere she passed was left devastated by the destructive clang of bells and drums and the ringing of swords. Originally, the drum's sound was meant to signal one to return quickly and not violate prohibitions.

But since Luo Yang had twice single-handedly fought her way through Beimang, what were a few noisy bell-and-drum sword sounds to her?

Song Nianqing's two swords finally could not withstand the thousand-pound force of the blows; they broke and fell to the ground. Song Nianqing did not turn back to retrieve swords from his horse but instead formed sword seals with his hands, the gestures resembling both Buddhist and Daoist practices. Wielding the swords, three longswords emerged from their scabbards one after another, leaping from the horse's back like a long rainbow, descending over Luo Yang's head. Song Nianqing's hair and beard bristled, his wide green sleeves flapped violently, and his feet sank a foot into the ground. Luo Yang was unbelievably arrogant; with her hands clasped behind her back, she stomped down, shattering the bluestone slab and sending pebbles flying. This was exactly like her first move in the battle against Deng Taia in Dunhuang City, though that time she had stomped the ground to send millions of raindrops up as a thousand white swords. Each time a sword thrust at her, it was deflected by a pebble just a few feet away. Within thirty steps, the three swords had failed over sixty times, their tips already broken. The distance between her and Song Nianqing had now shrunk to less than ten *zhang*.

Song Nianqing pressed his hands downwards, and three sharp swords, now only half their original length, simultaneously stabbed towards Luo Yang in a desperate struggle. Luo Yang casually swept her hand, effortlessly catching the three exhausted flying swords in her palm, and continued to walk slowly forward. However, unlike the first sword, whose 'sword embryo' she had crushed instantly, these three swords not only retained their vitality in her palm but their sword energy sprouted and grew vigorously like bamboo shoots after rain. As Luo Yang walked slowly, she looked down and, even though she noticed the "snake swallowing elephant" phenomenon (something small absorbing something vast) in her palm, she made no counter-move. The sword energy of the three swords began to sprout roots in her hand. Song Nianqing narrowed his eyes and snapped his fingers. The old horse, familiar with its master's habits, lightly trotted over to the elderly man's side.

Song Nianqing took down the only one of his fourteen swords that had a sword tassel; its blade was clear as a bright mirror, hence it was named "Zhaodan" (Mirroring Courage). When he ascended the tower in Martial Emperor City with twelve swords that year, Song Nianqing was merely a rising star in the world of swordsmanship, while Wang Xianzhi was already acknowledged as the world's foremost master. Yet, when did Song Nianqing ever retreat half a step? The Zhaodan sword in his hand was the first sword Song Nianqing had personally forged after his seclusion. Every swordsman is a sword-smith and must forge their own personal sword in the sword furnace. Although the Sword Pond contained tens of thousands of swords, these were only for remembering and honoring ancestors. From Song Nianqing's time onwards, the Sword Pond prohibited any of its disciples from revering the past while disparaging the present, which led to many visiting swordsmen remarking, "The Sword Pond now has no ancient swords." With Zhaodan in hand, Song Nianqing's heroic spirit surged, and his sword-heart became even clearer. The woman in white advanced step by step. It appeared she had not actively attacked, seemingly forced by circumstances. However, Song Nianqing was far from at ease. Her relentless advance, the more leisurely her pace, the greater the disturbance to Song Nianqing's state of mind. Song Nianqing chose not to use other swords but exclusively took out Zhaodan, which was undoubtedly a silent acknowledgment of his regard for her.

As Song Nianqing gathered his momentum, he gazed at the woman of unknown origin. The three swords previously suspended in the air like a rainbow were named Heaven's Time, Earth's Advantage, and Human Harmony. They were specifically designed to target masters of the Profound Finger realm, and even the Heavenly Elephant realm, capable of forcibly absorbing vital energy, growing stronger with each powerful opponent, and becoming more courageous with each setback. Song Nianqing forged a sword each time he gained insight into a new move. Over the years, he had diligently crafted and nurtured his swords. All fourteen swords, each infused with immense effort and complemented by unique sword techniques, were undeniably "new swords," truly unprecedented. If an opponent of the same realm were to take them lightly, they would surely suffer a great loss. Song Nianqing had originally hoped to cultivate twenty swords in his lifetime before reserving his final battle for either Deng Taia or Wang Xianzhi. However, imperial decrees were difficult to defy, so he had to emerge from seclusion. The green-robed man carried his swords into the martial world, though at first, he didn't believe the Prince of Beiliang was worthy of facing all fourteen swords, thinking five or six would be enough to decide the outcome.

Song Nianqing suddenly widened his eyes.

"What does it matter if Heaven's Time, Earth's Advantage, and Human Harmony are all given to you?"

The woman in white sneered. Her vital energy poured back into the three swords like a flood. Arm-thick, purple, yellow, and white sword energy furiously swirled around her palms. The joyful prolonged hum of the three swords instantly turned into mournful wails. For a hungry man, eating his fill is a pleasure, but to be stuffed to death is to experience sorrow at the height of joy.

The three astonishingly chaotic streams of sword energy immediately vanished into thin air.

Song Nianqing exclaimed in awe, "What a Heavenly Elephant realm! Excellent, excellent!"

With only a *zhang* separating them, the Sword Pond Sect Master, instead of getting angry, smiled. He closed his eyes, gently ran two joined fingers across the Zhaodan sword held horizontally before his chest, and murmured to himself, "Old brother, the seven swords that went before you did not die in vain."

Luo Yang clapped her hands and laughed, "Is this all the cultivation the East Yue Sword Pond, with its hundreds of years of heritage, amounts to?"

Song Nianqing did not open his eyes. He laughed freely, "Just watch this old man illuminate the land with his lantern, Zhaodan."

The green-robed old man thrust out his sword. What followed was far from world-shaking or god-fearing; to an outsider, it would seem merely absurd, like a child just beginning to learn swordsmanship, barely able to lift a heavy sword, stumbling about with it, his steps chaotic, his sword posture distorted. Though his movements and sword techniques were chaotic, his speed was incredibly fast. The distance of a *zhang* instantly shrunk to just two sword-lengths. When people practice swordsmanship, renowned masters always earnestly advise never to be controlled by the sword, as such swordsmanship would never amount to anything. Song Nianqing, already considered one of the very few grandmasters of swordsmanship, did the opposite. He let the man follow the sword; there was no majestic sword *gang* (aura) that pierced the heavens, no grand and righteous sword intent. He simply moved crookedly and askew, arriving before Luo Yang.

Luo Yang frowned and struck out with one hand.

Pulled by the Zhaodan sword, Song Nianqing astonishingly evaded Luo Yang's strike, and his sword tip aimed for her shoulder. For the first time, Luo Yang stepped sideways off the central axis of the street. She pinched the tip of the Zhaodan sword with two fingers. Before Luo Yang could apply more force, the sword tip twisted, and Song Nianqing spun with it, blossoming a dazzling sword flower. Luo Yang flicked her finger, but Song Nianqing withdrew his sword again, stumbling around in a half-circle, then thrust a sword towards Luo Yang's back. This time, Luo Yang did not strike back. Her feet remained planted, but her body tilted backward. That sword had clearly missed, yet sword energy exploded like firecrackers where Luo Yang had tilted. Luo Yang's feet remained rooted to the ground, but she rotated her body to the left, narrowly dodging that elusive cluster of sword energy. However, Song Nianqing, seizing the advantage, was relentless, his longsword Zhaodan tangling and persisting with unruly attacks. For a moment, sword energy crisscrossed around the two of them, like a vibrant mist and steaming clouds, dazzling the the eyes.

Luo Yang finally took a step. The sword energy from Zhaodan in Song Nianqing's hand also began to reveal its formidable power. The street ground and the buildings on both sides were extensively churned up, and dust rose everywhere.

Luo Yang walked and paused, allowing the immense sword energy to rage freely. She smiled, "It seems traceless, but in reality, it follows the winding dragon veins of the world. You've certainly touched the threshold of the Heavenly Elephant realm."

The two resumed their previous positions, with Luo Yang to the north and Song Nianqing to the south.

The white-clad demoness, who had disrupted the martial worlds of both Beimang and Liyang, clenched her hand, thrusting a sword towards Luo Yang's neck. Song Nianqing suddenly opened his eyes wide, roared furiously, and stepped forward, pushing the sword tip three feet closer. Luo Yang calmly took a small step back, the sword tip now only two feet from her neck. The abundant *gang* (aura) emanating from the sword ruffled the two strands of hair by her temples, making them float backward, and her sleeves holding the sword flapped wildly. Luo Yang, not the slightest bit flustered, ignored the blood flowing in her palm. She looked directly at Song Nianqing and said with a smile, "Where did all these Profound Finger realm practitioners come from to kill Heavenly Elephant masters? Get lost!"

Luo Yang gripped the sword blade and pushed back. Song Nianqing, unwilling to abandon his sword, was struck in the chest by the hilt. Luo Yang seemed annoyed by his lack of sensibility and kicked the green-robed old man fiercely in the chest.

His cloth shoes were worn thin by the ground. Song Nianqing, with his feet off the ground, held his body and sword almost level, and again pushed the sword tip two feet closer to the woman in white's neck.

"Let's see you push your luck then."

Astonishingly, Luo Yang grabbed the sword tip and moved it one foot closer to her own neck, a cold sneer playing on her lips. Then she raised a palm and brought it down, directly chopping the longsword Zhaodan in half with her bare hand.

With his sword broken, Song Nianqing had no choice but to retreat.

Luo Yang disdained to "beat a dog while it's down." She casually tossed away the half-broken sword, allowing Song Nianqing to quickly retreat to his old horse that carried swords.

Song Nianqing, struck in the chest by the sword hilt and then kicked, had blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. He struggled to stabilize his vital energy.

The old man's face was filled with incredulity.

If he were facing Wang Xianzhi, the world's foremost master, such a sorry state would be understandable. But how could an unknown young woman in the martial world be so domineering? Or was he simply too ignorant and ill-informed?

The next sentence from the woman in white truly made Song Nianqing exasperated. Even with the best cultivation of inner peace, the old man, who held a prominent place in the world of swordsmanship, could not remain calm.

"I'll teach you how to use a sword."