Chapter 596: People Stay, Sword Returns to the Mountain

The Daoist priest on the opposite bank watched the sword in awe, marveling at Wang Xiaoping’s sword intent and sword qi, which were truly worthy of being called the pinnacle of swordsmanship in this era. It could no longer be simply referred to as a talisman sword or a sword move.

There was a crucial reason why swordsmen throughout generations could rise and fall in the martial arts world: sword masters, when inspired, could often transcend their cultivation levels. A second-rank minor grandmaster might achieve the 'Mysterious Finger' realm with a single strike, and a 'Mysterious Finger' swordsman could enter the 'Celestial Phenomenon' realm with one sword, even breaking through bottlenecks to directly reach the level of a Land Immortal.

The vibrant, hundred-zhang-long azure dragon floated beside him, as if Wang Xiaoping carried a sword on his shoulder.

As the Wudang Mountain Daoist, a master of profound arts, scooped out a section of the river, the tilting boats on the surface were carried by the subsequent rush of water into the Guangling waterway. This allowed passengers to witness the breathtaking scene. Their hearts swayed with awe, yet Wang Xiaoping’s demeanor was so righteous and peaceful that all observers were amazed but not afraid. As the surging river, flowing for ten thousand li, refilled the waterway, ferry passengers seized the opportunity to glimpse the immortal's bearing. Some passengers who were originally heading upstream even pulled out silver and frantically demanded the boat owners turn around and follow the current downstream. They weren't afraid of being caught in the crossfire because they noticed the sword tip beginning to shift towards the shore, and the elderly man in coarse linen, who had been standing on the river, also swept ashore, changing the battlefield with it.

The moment Wang Xianzhi’s toe touched the ground, the azure sword struck directly towards him. The distance between the man and the sword was less than three zhang.

Wang Xianzhi shifted from touching the ground with his toe to firmly planting his foot, while his other foot's toe lightly touched the ground a step behind him. Without any evasion, he unleashed a direct punch.

The massive azure sword abruptly "halted" a zhang away, exploding into a magnificent spray of water before dissipating into a mist and vanishing.

The curtain of water formed by the collision of his fist energy and sword qi seemed endless.

The hundred-zhang water sword was severely damaged, visibly shortening at a speed discernible to the ferry passengers on the river. It quickly lost ten zhang of its length.

Wang Xianzhi remained unmoving, yet his patience seemed to wear thin. Soon, he was no longer content to stand and take the blows. He stepped forward with his back foot, and with his left hand, unleashed another punch. The power of this punch was unmatched; not only did it shatter the continuous onslaught of new "sword tips," but it also caused the entire azure sword to shake and tremble uncontrollably.

Innumerable fine, complex sword qi, hidden within the great azure water sword, began to shoot out in all directions, creating a magnificent spectacle.

The old man, whose identity as the Lord of Martial Emperor City was by then largely guessed by the ferry passengers, advanced step by step, punching without retreat. He forced the ninety-zhang sword down to eighty, then seventy, until it was a mere fifty zhang. Only then did Wang Xianzhi slightly retract his offensive. Like cultivation in martial arts, where not advancing is retreating when moving against the current, his withdrawal seemed to be the very moment the previously obstructed sword momentum had been waiting for. Its ensuing ferocity far surpassed its previous strength, as if an entire realm separated the two. Wang Xianzhi slid backward a distance, lightly leaped, and struck downward with a palm, hitting the massive sword tip. The tip was forced down, and the azure sword drilled into the ground, tearing open and overturning a trench. The giant sword carved an arc underground, re-emerging from the earth. The arc continued, and the sword body ultimately formed a large circle. The sword’s tail rested not far from Wang Xianzhi’s feet, and its tip descended from above, once again pointing at the now-turned Wang Xianzhi.

The Daoist priest cultivating in seclusion on Longhu Mountain felt a surge of emotion. In his eyes, this sword form was like a ceremonial jade tablet, its essence being 'outer round symbolizing heaven, inner square symbolizing earth'. The initial sword draw was in the Vajra realm, intercepting the river to form a sword was the Mysterious Finger realm, and now, the half-drawn sword truly embodied the grandeur of a Celestial Phenomenon sword. Within the grand circle, sword qi crisscrossed. In fact, all three belonged to a single sword, executed in one fluid motion. Even more remarkably, this unfinished sword showed no signs of decline; its spirit continued to ascend. Not even Wang Xianzhi could obstruct it at the transitional points between the Mysterious Finger and Celestial Phenomenon realms. For over sixty years, Wang Xianzhi, when facing opponents, almost never relied on a higher realm to crush anyone. He always preferred to fight within the same realm, aiming to make his opponents exhaust all their techniques and spirit, so that even if they lost to him, they would have no regrets. Thus, his earlier restraint in his fist movements was due to his prior knowledge of the instantaneous realm-advancement marvel of Wang Xiaoping's sword. At this moment, facing the "Round Jade Tablet Sword" overflowing with form and intent, Wang Xianzhi raised his lowered hands, "lifting" two different-colored streams of purple and azure gangqi, one serving as a saber and the other as a sword.

The Daoist priest chuckled softly, "It's not often that Wang Xianzhi picks up a weapon to face an opponent."

Suddenly taking on the stance of lifting a sword and gripping a saber, the already robust Wang Xianzhi’s aura soared to immense heights, like a divine being descended from the Celestial Court.

However, Wang Xianzhi did not employ any intricate or subtle moves; he merely executed a horizontal saber slash and a vertical sword cut. The horizontal saber sliced through the jade tablet, and the vertical sword struck the azure water.

A priceless jade tablet seemed to be violently smashed onto a hard, cold surface, creating an utterly dazzling spectacle.

The situation changed so rapidly that even the Daoist priest cultivating in his hermitage on Longhu Mountain felt his vision blur. By the time he refocused his gaze, he saw the fifty-zhang-long azure half-sword shattered into pieces. The Daoist priest had initially thought Wang Xiaoping's Celestial Phenomenon half-sword was the ultimate, but he quickly realized he had underestimated this Wudang sword fanatic who had been off the mountain for many years. Wudang was destined to flourish, with one mountain bearing two paths: the Heavenly Dao and the Martial Dao. The previous sect leader, Hong Xixiang, had almost achieved the best of both worlds, but his descent from the mountain was too hasty, and his self-dissolution to leave the world even more rushed. Therefore, Wang Xiaoping, at the very least, had to shoulder a sword. For years, the Daoist priest, residing in Longhu Mountain, the ancestral home of Daoism, had always felt that Wudang Mountain had too much "human touch," and the immortal aura sought so diligently by cultivators there inevitably fell far short of the constantly mist-shrouded Tianshi Mansion. However, Wang Xiaoping’s final half-sword caused the old Daoist priest to slightly change his view.

Wudang has eighty-one peaks facing its main summit.

Surrounding Wang Xianzhi were eighty-one swords of varying lengths and thicknesses, their tips simultaneously pointing skyward. Whether straight or slightly tilted, each tip perfectly mirrored the terrain of the eighty-one peaks. The Spiritual Resonance sword momentum perfectly aligned with the rugged mountain contours, allowing the quietly observing Daoist priest to easily identify the name of the mountain peak each of the eighty-one swords symbolized.

Wang Xianzhi chuckled softly. Neither Qi Xuanzhen, who sat high on the Demon-Slaying Platform, nor Hong Xixiang, who rode a crane down to Jiangnan, had ever "seen eye to eye" with him Wang Xianzhi back then. He had to regret this. He once had a technique, which he had studied for years, initially intending it for Qi Xuanzhen. Later, Qi Xuanzhen was said to have ascended to immortality. Then, with great difficulty, another Wudang descendant appeared, whose sword suppressed Longhu Mountain, and Wang Xianzhi picked up that technique again, silently refining it. But once again, he was disappointed; in the end, he never had the chance to use it. Since Wang Xiaoping had not disappointed him, Wang Xianzhi no longer deliberately held back or concealed his power. He slightly squatted, adopting the stance of an Overlord lifting a tripod, with power to uproot mountains and rivers. As the eighty-one swords swept towards the main summit, a majestic and colossal cliff face, far grander than any boulder, was violently uprooted.

Turbulent waves raged, and the earth shook.

People widely misunderstood that the divine ability of moving mountains and overturning seas was merely an absurd legend from novels of gods and monsters.

At this moment, the ferry passengers on the river witnessed it with their own eyes, terrified to their very souls. Many knelt on the bow of their boats, daring not to look at the flying mountain that blotted out the sky.

One mountain suppressed eighty-one peaks.

Even more incredible was the fact that Wang Xianzhi himself was also within the range of the flying mountain's suppression.

Evidently, Wang Xianzhi intended to use this to overpower Wang Xiaoping. "This old man has moved a mountain here; if you cannot even destroy a mountain, how can you speak of deciding victory or defeat with Wang Xianzhi!"

A cliff face slammed down with a roar.

On this bank of Guangling River, dust filled the sky, and the thunderous sound pierced eardrums.

Wang Xiaoping had extracted a section of the great river's water to form a unique, grand sword between heaven and earth. However, the true root lay in the whereabouts-unknown wooden sword. The peach wood sword was originally a Daoist spirit artifact for warding off evil. Wang Xianzhi's act of using a mountain to suppress the sword was undoubtedly a tremendous provocation to Wudang Mountain, where Patriarch Lu had achieved enlightenment.

Wang Xiaoping's sword was a new sword, and Wang Xianzhi's mountain was also a new mountain.

On the summit of the new mountain stood the white-haired old man, ancient by the standards of the martial arts world, his coarse linen robes unstained by dust, hands clasped behind his back.

That new sword, only half a move, did not vanish. Instead, it pierced through the great mountain, leaving only one of the eighty-one swords intact.

The water sword was merely three feet long, but its sword qi extended ten zhang.

Only ten zhang of sword qi remained from the hundred-zhang azure water sword.

Wang Xiaoping seemed to have been repeatedly defeated, yet in the eyes of the old Daoist priest, whose cultivation was profound, Wang Xianzhi, standing atop the mountain, did not win easily. His coarse linen sleeves were tattered, and his earlier act of bending his knees to move the mountain must have caused a significant leakage of powerful vital energy, making him disregard minor details. The coarse linen at his knees, once tightly woven, now appeared somewhat loose.

The Daoist priest looked towards the flying sword outside the mountain, its blade narrow and short, yet its qi long and powerful, with a hint of apprehension in his eyes.

Tit for tat.

"Truly the most stubborn sword fanatic on Wudang Mountain. If you, Wang Xianzhi, suppress my sword with a flying mountain, then I, Wang Xiaoping, will take your head with a flying sword."

He who walks a hundred li considers ninety li to be half the journey; the last ten li are the hardest. This is especially true for climbing a mountain.

To completely break Wang Xiaoping's full sword strike was like climbing a mountain; the further one ascended, the more difficult it became.

Such was the sword.

And the one who wielded it?

Was he perhaps thinking of his final return to the mountain to see old friends?

The Daoist priest sighed faintly. Was this Wang Xiaoping's ultimate understanding, the sword-heart he had sought his entire life?

Longhu Mountain, with its history of ascending True Immortals, had far surpassed Wudang in prestige over the past three hundred years, yet it seemed to have never produced a sword like this.

The old Daoist priest's eyelids involuntarily trembled.

The sword was unleashed!

Wang Xianzhi roared, crashing head-on. With each step on the teetering peak of the flying mountain, he created a large crater, trampling the mountain down several zhang, breaking through the sword qi, and pushing a palm onto the sword's tip.

A man may die, a sword may be destroyed.

A seven-foot man and a three-foot sword; man and sword, still one qi.

No retreat!

Sword qi, sword intent, and sword edge were all destroyed inch by inch.

Wang Xianzhi's steps also became extremely slow; his tall physique and palm could only advance inch by inch.

A hole was torn through his palm.

When the foremost martial artist in the world finally, with unparalleled might, forcefully shattered the three-foot sword, not only was his palm a bloody mess, but a wisp of sword qi also pierced his chest, blooming into a crimson flower of blood.

The sword qi dissipated behind Wang Xianzhi.

A single sword had already pierced through Wang Xianzhi.

The old Daoist priest, bearing the same surname as the Zhao imperial family, sighed heavily. Wang Xiaoping had a sword in his lifetime that could be said to have lived up to both his life and his sword.

The Daoist priest suddenly widened his eyes, his heart greatly shaken, as he looked towards that spot on the shore.

Wang Xiaoping was already dead?

Almost no one noticed that while the flying mountain suppressed the sword, a streak of light had long since flashed across the sky.

It seemed to be returning to the mountain on behalf of someone.

At that time, the highest-ranking middle-aged Daoist priest of Wudang sat cross-legged, gazing at the river. His face was gaunt, yet his expression held a serene smile—a gentle smile he had never shown in all his years on the mountain. "Little junior brother, I can't wait for you to come home."

Wang Xiaoping closed his eyes, not looking at his final sword strike at all.

Thus, that sword was Wang Xiaoping's strike after his death, a strike of regret in his heart yet with no shame.