Chapter 593: Dying Sword

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The Shared Pursuit

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"Sword Snow Stride" on Zongheng, Author: Fenghuo Xizhuhou

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With what appeared to be a light punch, the purple-clad woman was forcefully embedded into the canyon wall. Wang Xianzhi merely glanced at her, not pursuing, but instead leaped back onto the ferry. The deck still bore water stains, and without a word from the old immortal, the ferry continued its journey. On board, no one dared to approach, only whispers could be heard. Purple attire was now popular across the land, with many comely young female pugilists favoring purple gowns and skirts. Those on the ferry who had experience in the martial arts world couldn't immediately confirm if the purple-clad figure blocking the river was indeed the current martial arts alliance leader. If the woman was Xuanyuan Qingfeng, the mistress of Daxueping, then who could this old man standing at the bow, capable of beating her like a drowned dog, possibly be?

The ferry beneath Wang Xianzhi's feet slowly advanced. Before passing through the gorge, it drew closer to a new tomb. Both martial artists and common folk on the boat were filled with trepidation. Wang Xianzhi remained focused straight ahead. From the sheer cliffs of the canyon, a faint sound of falling pebbles echoed as they dropped into the river. The loose purple robe, like revitalized vines after winter, seemed to be reborn with the spring breeze, or like overflowing water, seeping out of the rock pit. Strands of purple clung to the stone wall, a sight that made everyone on the ferry tremble with fear. Could that woman truly be the incarnation of an indestructible evil dragon from the Guangling River?

Enveloped in a cloud of purple, the woman slowly floated out of the tomb. She raised a hand to her mouth, but crimson blood still seeped between her fingers. Having entered the Heavenly Phenomenon realm, named by Gao Shulu four hundred years prior, the flow of qi and the cycles of creation and destruction within it were incredibly swift. If the Finger Profound realm merely allowed one to "see" the "rules of operation" of all things in the world, then opportunistically inquire with a tap of the finger to sever or enhance, the Heavenly Phenomenon realm, by contrast, allowed one to grasp an entire network to act accordingly and borrow the power of heaven and earth. However, Gao Shulu once stated that the Heavenly Phenomenon realm was merely the gatekeeper of this mortal courtyard, understanding well the principle of "beating a dog depends on its owner." Ordinary masters of the Heavenly Phenomenon realm, whether killing or saving, would inevitably become tainted by destiny. Han Shengxuan deliberately remained in the Finger Profound realm his entire life precisely because, as the Human-Cat, he could kill first-rank martial artists with greater impunity. Xuanyuan Qingfeng, using a unique method devised by the ancestor of Guniu Descent, Xuanyuan Dapan, frantically absorbed the cultivation and destiny of others to augment her own power. The first generation of elder masters on Huishan almost all died mysteriously. Each month, she would secretly descend the mountain to find new "food." This was no longer a case of "a rabbit not eating grass near its burrow," but rather a desperate act born from "no grass left near the burrow." Xuanyuan Qingfeng was like a female Pixiu, venturing further and further down this unorthodox path.

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Her graceful and lithe figure emerged from the shattered mountain wall. The free-flowing sleeves of her purple robe, far from diminishing her allure, only added to the mystique of this martial arts alliance leader. Wang Xianzhi's punch had shattered her "first breath." The time the ferry spent moving forward gave her an opportunity to "regenerate a breath." In fact, when pursued by the One-Sleeved Green Dragon at the bottom of the Guangling River, Xuanyuan Qingfeng had already forcefully summoned a breath. At that time, she had two paths: after breaking through that sleeve of qi, she could have avoided its edge and simply hidden at the river bottom. Yet, she still allowed her own qi to draw iron chains out of the river, almost directly confronting Wang Xianzhi's punch. Judging by her precarious stance as she floated away from the tomb, was she intending to fight again? As expected, before the ferry had fully entered the mountain gorge, Xuanyuan Qingfeng looked towards Wang Xianzhi's side and extended a hand forward.

Wang Xianzhi's proud figure at the bow vanished in a flash. The ferry beneath him then surged forward like an arrow released from a bowstring, abruptly cleaving the river surface and rapidly crashing into the mountain gorge. The disoriented passengers, stumbling and swaying, clearly had no chance of witnessing the subsequent peak battle of the Liyang martial arts world. Xuanyuan Qingfeng pressed both hands downwards, her body ascending along the cliff face for dozens of feet. Wang Xianzhi followed like a shadow, first stepping on the outer edge of the hole, then moving as if on flat ground, "walking up" the mountain wall in pursuit of the purple figure. Xuanyuan Qingfeng tugged with both hands, and countless dark iron chains, hidden at the foot of the cliff, rattled and climbed the rocks, rising in a cluster, twisting together, wildly chasing the robust old man's back. Wang Xianzhi, whose feet slid along the mountain wall, paid no heed to the dense mass of iron snakes behind him. Xuanyuan Qingfeng struck her arms backward, her five fingers digging into the rock wall, like a purple gecko clinging to the surface. Her purple robe slammed against the mountain, suddenly unfurling, then instantly enveloping her body, forming a colossal, airtight cocoon. She spun thousands of silk threads, using the iron chains to force Wang Xianzhi's qi to emerge repeatedly, and then using the silk to track the unique trajectory of Wang Xianzhi's qi flow. Scarlet silk and dark iron chains rapidly crisscrossed, relentlessly crushing Wang Xianzhi, who was trapped within.

This was an all-encompassing trap, yet Wang Xianzhi strolled through it casually. As he advanced, the silk threads and iron chains shifted with him, constantly causing rocks to explode and tumble into the river, stirring up layers of waves. Wang Xianzhi showed no typical signs of qi outwardly expanding or bulging, but he had already rendered countless relentlessly entangled silk threads and iron chains unable to approach him. The old man did the opposite, withdrawing most of his imposing aura, allowing the spiderweb-like trap to firmly ensnare his body—a body renowned as even more invincible than a Buddhist Vajra—leaving only his head exposed.

Among the four realms of the First Rank, Wang Xianzhi was not the fastest to cross. To this day, even though he, the City Lord of Wudi City, had been the world's foremost master for sixty years, he had not claimed first place in the initial three realms. The Vajra realm had the white-robed monk Li Dangxin; the Finger Profound realm had Deng Tai'a, and even without the Peach Blossom Sword God, there was still Han Shengxuan; the Heavenly Phenomenon realm had Cao Changqing. However, in the martial world where the Four Grandmasters once resided, Li Chungang almost achieved a grand slam, only losing in the Vajra realm to the Dragon Tree Monk, but holding the contemporary top position in both the Finger Profound and Heavenly Phenomenon realms. However, this did not prevent Wang Xianzhi from having the last laugh, becoming the sole pinnacle of martial arts over the past five centuries.

Therefore, when Wang Xianzhi deliberately reined in his qi, allowing Xuanyuan Qingfeng to seemingly succeed, the purple-clad mountain master immediately abandoned the idea of strangling this old monster. She decisively broke out of the cocoon and continued to float upward. Simultaneously, the silk threads and iron chains exploded with a roar, scattering purple and black powder in all directions, and an entire section of the cliff began to shake violently under the immense impact of the mist. Xuanyuan Qingfeng's purple robe was no longer as vibrantly purple. The garment, crafted with a "seamless" skill superior to even the finest weavers in the imperial weaving bureau, had faded by forty or fifty percent.

Wang Xianzhi was seen still ascending the mountain wall, neither fast nor slow, but precisely a fraction faster than Xuanyuan Qingfeng's ascent. Wang Xianzhi even had the leisure to chat, speaking in a flat tone, "Martial arts in the world are divided into technique and dao. Lü Zu bore the Heavenly Dao, and I genuinely admire him. After Li Chungang, swordsmanship has seen a decline in talent. Deng Tai'a, who follows the path of 'technique,' also earns my respect. The burden of 'dao' once rested on Cao Changqing's shoulders, but in recent years, it has consistently failed to break free from the old ways."

"Xuanyuan Qingfeng, your cultivation, which is neither technique nor dao, is merely a mirage. It requires no great waves; a mere gust of wind would make it vanish. Perhaps it can still frighten common folk outside the martial arts rankings for a bit. I originally considered that you are a woman, and martial arts cultivation is incredibly difficult..."

The purple-clad figure abruptly halted her retreat and retorted sharply, "A woman? What about being a woman?!"

Xuanyuan Qingfeng also stood with her feet on the cliff face. She and Wang Xianzhi seemed to be standing on opposing sides of a vertical mirror, about to collide head-on. She slammed her fists down. Wang Xianzhi, with one hand behind his back, allowed the blows to land on his shoulder. He then lightly "tapped" the woman's glabella with a punch. Wang Xianzhi remained completely still, and Xuanyuan Qingfeng also experienced little disturbance, only her head snapping back slightly. The most significant effect was on the mountain wall beneath their feet, which tore open with an increasingly evident crack. As Xuanyuan Qingfeng's head shook, her sleeves were also shredded, revealing two sections of wrist that resembled tender pink lotus roots. However, this rosy-white hue was not the allure of natural beauty, but a sickly sight; blood visibly flowed and surged beneath her pale skin. A boneless person! There is always a trade-off for gain. The Huishan Mountain Master's "Qingfeng" was truly too unorthodox. To absorb external cultivation and internal energy, and to withstand the backlash of qi from masters who died by her hand, she had not hesitated to melt her own body into a living crucible, melting both others and herself.

Wang Xianzhi, naturally, had long discerned the true nature of this madwoman and felt no pity. Seeing her recklessly challenge him, the punch aimed at her forehead suddenly intensified, repelling the martial arts alliance leader, who had made a fool of herself, dozens of feet backward. He then leaped in a single step to stand opposite Xuanyuan Qingfeng, seizing her neck, which was slender compared to a man's. Wang Xianzhi, still with one hand behind his back, grasped her body, spun around, slightly built up momentum, then released his fingers, throwing the purple-clad woman dozens of feet above the top of the canyon wall. Wang Xianzhi continued to ascend, his hand, previously behind his back, now clenched into a fist. A pillar of water was forcefully drawn from the river and shot skyward. If later generations were to speak of it, they would likely call it the Guangling Sword, with the Guangling River as its sheath and the river water as its blade. Wang Xianzhi's One-Sleeved Green Dragon had no fixed form. Now, the old man intended to use this water sword, soaring over his head, to pierce the unyielding woman's body and nail her into the air. This novel way of death, displayed for all to see, could be considered a fitting end for her current status and her courage to fight to the death blocking the river.

The water sword's momentum was astonishing, rapidly ascending along the cliff. It indeed struck the purple-clad woman, whose qi had largely dissipated. However, this water sword, as thick as a well opening, did not pierce Xuanyuan Qingfeng's body. Instead, it was blocked by a hazy, ivory-white mist. The mist spread out in a fan shape, and the water sword was like a sharp needle striking a bronze mirror. As the mist gradually dissipated, Wang Xianzhi, who was still ascending, lost patience. He raised a hand, and the water pillar instantly expanded from the size of a well opening to that of an inner courtyard gateway in a Jiangnan water town. This was no longer a needle pricking a mirror, but a crude scene of a great hammer smashing one. Not only that, but several water pillars of similar scale were drawn by Wang Xianzhi's readily summoned qi, surging out of the water and lunging towards the sky. Each "water dragon" contained Wang Xianzhi's abundant qi, using the cliff as a line, the water pillars arced into a semicircle, all precisely striking the mist.

Wang Xianzhi reached the cliff summit, looked up, and gave a cold, silent sneer. No wonder this woman could act so brazenly; someone had gifted or lent her a portion of the nation's destiny.

Xuanyuan Qingfeng's life hung by a thread, yet she did not surrender to death. With difficulty, she stood up on what seemed like a mirror surface, holding her hands as if gripping a sword, its tip pointing downwards, directly at Wang Xianzhi's head! The imperial seal's destiny, transferred to her, began to swirl, drawing away from the mirror-like surface and condensing "beneath her hands" and "on her sword." Xuanyuan Qingfeng roared in anger. She pressed both hands downwards. The first water sword, the "Flood Dragon," instantly shattered into pieces. The other water pillars that had struck the mirror-like surface were also pulled by this sword qi, turning sides in battle and, following the invisible sword qi, crashed down towards Wang Xianzhi's head.

Wang Xianzhi chuckled softly. "How can the light of a few grains of destiny contend with the radiance of the sun and moon!"

The martial artist no longer kept his hands behind his back. Both hands were now hooked, and one foot slid several inches across the cliff summit ground, his knees slightly bent.

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This was perhaps the first truly meaningful move by the City Lord of Wudi City. After that one sword strike, Xuanyuan Qingfeng was utterly spent. Maintaining that strange sword-holding posture, she could only await death. Wang Xianzhi leaped instantly, and the entire cliff summit was pressed down by several dozen feet. Before any sound could emanate from the base of the cliff, the immense qi, cascading downwards, had already repelled the Guangling waves that were striking the mountain wall. Whether it was sword qi or water pillars, they were neither blocked nor shattered. Instead, they seemed to have lost their target, randomly smashing onto the already precarious cliff summit.

Wang Xianzhi, however, had already reached above the purple-clad woman's head. With a punch, he sent this woman, who did not value her own life, plummeting from the mountain peak, falling distantly towards the river surface. What appeared to be a single punch resulted in Xuanyuan Qingfeng's body pausing multiple times in the air before falling into the Guangling River. This was followed by a thunderous roar as the purple qi dispersed repeatedly, and the purple color faded further and further. Wang Xianzhi seemed unsatisfied with her meager dying struggle, which was supposedly characteristic of the Heavenly Phenomenon realm. The old man raised his left palm, causing the purple-clad figure, who was about to plunge into the river, to float in mid-air once more. His right hand then delivered another heavy punch towards the distant, nail-sized figure. The mighty and unparalleled punch aura, like a hanging white rainbow, tore through the sky, striking directly at the dying purple figure, who was now motionless in the air.

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Collapse replies2nd floor 2014-04-07 22:52: [User Comment]2014-04-07 22:53: Recognize me!!!2014-04-07 22:53: Ah hah ah ah ah ah hah ah ah ah ah2014-04-07 22:55: hai you wo!

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