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Chapter 606: Sword Sheath as the Tomb! Who Can Match It?

The peach wood sword, whose sword intent had once pierced Wang Xianzhi's chest, was still sheathed, hovering quietly beside Xu Fengnian.

Xu Fengnian, who had arrived riding the sword, smiled and said, "Let's go."

The peach wood sword, connected telepathically with its master, slowly left its sheath. It started incredibly slowly, then gradually accelerated like rolling thunder, leaving a long, rainbow-like trail of mist in the sky, visible even to those unfamiliar with martial arts.

The essence of this sword strike was akin to the old servant known as "Sword Nine Huang," who had missing front teeth. He practiced few sword moves, fearing that his perceived clumsiness would lead him to bite off more than he could chew. He walked slowly, leisurely traversing the martial world; the destination was unimportant, as long as he didn't miss the scenery along the way.

As Sword Nine was unleashed, the peach wood sword vanished. High above, Wang Xianzhi repeatedly flicked his fingers, employing the "Dragon Seeking and Acupoint Targeting" technique of the Finger Mystery Realm, but he failed to sever the crucial energy channel of the sword as it traveled six thousand *li*. Wang Xianzhi stopped his futile attempts, pausing his fingers but not retracting them, much like a scholar in an imperial examination encountering a difficult question and hesitating to write. Suddenly, Wang Xianzhi turned his head, and at the same time, a wisp of sword energy grazed his cheek, cutting off several strands of his white hair.

Wang Xianzhi still did not flick his fingers again, remaining motionless. Then, he gently took a step back, as a wisp of sword energy swiftly swept past his chest, slicing off some fragments of his linen clothing.

After that, Wang Xianzhi kept his fingers curled, occasionally shifting his feet, each time barely evading the hidden sword energy that gave no hint of its sharp edge.

Wang Xianzhi felt a touch of surprise. He was no stranger to this sword strike, having faced Huang Zhengtu's second ascent to the tower on the walls of Wudi City. The previous eight Finger Mystery swords had not made him take them seriously, but the ninth sword had indeed damaged his sleeve. Although it was merely a Celestial Phenomenon sword, Sword Nine Huang's Celestial Phenomenon was remarkably innovative. The origins of ordinary Celestial Phenomenon masters lay in a sage's foundational text: "When things are not at peace, they cry out." In the world, birds sing to welcome spring, thunder roars in summer, and insects mourn the autumn wind and winter. Thus, scholars often ascended to high places to recite poetry and compose prose. Swordsmen, since ancient times, have been able to lead the way because they naturally wielded their swords to voice and rectify injustices. Wang Xianzhi had once privately told Cao Changqing that if one were to abandon kingdoms, discard books, and forget emotions to focus solely on sword practice, one would surely transcend the mundane and achieve sainthood early.

Yet, Sword Nine Huang's ninth sword, while clearly crossing the threshold of the Celestial Phenomenon, had not reached the level of a Sword Immortal. It surprisingly conveyed no sense of injustice or pent-up resentment, instead catching Wang Xianzhi off guard at the time. Logically, a gentle, amiable old man should not be able to cultivate a good sword technique. This is similar to how writing thrives on addressing imbalances and injustices; swordplay is no different, excelling through profound moves and an endless succession of unique stances.

The current sword strike also possessed that peculiar temperament. After being unleashed, there was no grand sword momentum of "dark clouds pressing down on the city, wind filling the towers." Instead, it relentlessly came and went, imbued with the mundane essence of barking dogs, crowing roosters, and dense smoke, like neighbors arguing, verbally fighting but refraining from physical violence due to social decorum, leaving one with only a sense of noisy annoyance.

This new sword strike differed only slightly from the old one unleashed by Sword Nine Huang, mainly in that the latter was more effortlessly executed, rounder, and more cunning.

The saying "Immortals riding swords on the wind, frost chilling nineteen states overnight" describes the swiftness of Sword Immortals. The peach wood sword, flitting suddenly away and abruptly reappearing around Wang Xianzhi, also covered an unknown distance—hundreds of *li*? A thousand *li*?

Wang Xianzhi knew, with certainty, that it had already roamed freely around him for a full three thousand *li*! Its farthest point was nine *li* away, while at its closest, it brushed past him. It tirelessly moved back and forth, sometimes arcing away for dozens of *zhang*, sometimes flying in a straight line for three or four *li*, with no discernible pattern or trace.

Wang Xianzhi continued to wait, his fingers curled but not flicked.

It wasn't until the seventh time he narrowly missed the peach wood sword that, a split second later, he finally tapped a finger gently.

His finger tapped the air, but a subtle clang of metal on stone suddenly echoed in front of Wang Xianzhi. The sound grew louder the farther it traveled from him, reverberating continuously.

Six *li* away, the peach wood sword, unremarkable in material but a great nuisance to Wang Xianzhi, exploded in mid-air, turning into a cloud of wood shavings.

Xu Fengnian, controlling the sword, beckoned, and the shavings returned from afar, reforming into a sword and gently returning to its sheath. After sheathing, it dispersed again.

The sheath was the sword's tomb.

Xu Fengnian inserted the sheath into the yellow sand beside his feet, clearly deciding not to use it again.

Old Huang never spoke of fancy philosophies, unable to articulate deep truths like "where the heart finds peace, there is home." He would only say that as an old man far from his hometown, home was simply wherever he could sleep comfortably. The humble room next to the stables on Qingliang Mountain, where he could sleep soundly, was his home. Lying with his head on a pillow box, knowing there were a few jars of old wine under his bed, he felt he lacked nothing and had no need to overthink anything. Thus, Old Huang's sword knew no fear when drawn and no regret when sheathed. Therefore, on his final journey through the martial world with his sword, the sheathing of his sword meant his return home.

Swordsmen of our generation do not fear death and do not regret breaking their cherished famous swords.

Xu Fengnian, who currently possessed only one soul and two ethereal components, softly said, "After Sword Nine, it's time for Saber Ten."

He extended a hand, two fingers pressed together, and with a gentle sweep, a long saber formed from concentrated purple-gold energy appeared beneath his fingers, shaped like a newly forged sixth-generation Northern Liang Saber.

Unorthodox Taoist texts state that living beings possess three souls and seven ethereal components, a belief widely doubted by many. However, Xu Fengnian, who had endured Wang Xianzhi's immense pressure, was absolutely certain, because apart from his vibrant physical body, he only retained one ethereal component, "Impurity Cleansing." The three souls and six ethereal components acquired by his "other three" selves were each undergoing a profound dream-like existence. Xu Fengnian squatted at the edge of the pit; when his other self emerged, he did not watch the battle. Instead, he quickly squatted down to take deep breaths, cleansing and expelling the turbid energy from his body. Gao Shulu's physique was originally pure, but Wang Xianzhi's cunning insight immediately penetrated his "Impurity Cleansing," and under the world-flipping pressure, forcibly imbued him with countless chaotic and impure destinies. Gao Shulu's formidable physique could almost ignore ordinary injuries, recovering so rapidly that even practitioners of the Vajra Realm would be left far behind. Even with pulverized internal organs or a pierced heart, he could unnaturally survive for several hours.

Black mist swirled around the squatting Xu Fengnian as he intently stared at the cracked patterns on the edge of the large pit at his feet.

Observing the subtle to understand the profound.

After Xu Fengnian became the sixth greatest master in the world, many outsiders began to study the new King of Northern Liang's martial arts journey, mostly surprised by how he had secretly learned from others. They did not know how many tiny furrows carved by flying swords he had recorded in Dunhuang City after Deng Tai'a's battle with Luoyang, merely to comprehend sword intent. Nor would they know how much effort he had expended to grasp Liu Haoshi's entry into the city and Song Nianqing's stumbling sword moves. And when the peach wood sword, which could be called a relic of Wang Xiaoping, returned to the peak of Lotus Peak, its purpose was not to indirectly impart sword intent, but to seek clues and investigate Wang Xianzhi's unique circulation of Qi. Xuanyuan Qingfeng's obstruction was merely to repay a debt, to make a clean break, to cut off distracting thoughts; if she failed, all would be lost, but if she succeeded, she could far surpass others in martial arts. However, the subsequent blocking by the Wudang Sword Fanatic and the Useless Monk was not so simple: one sought a clear conscience, the other was offering incense, but undoubtedly, both were trying to find flaws in Wang Xianzhi that perhaps did not even exist.

Beyond the unexpected Girl Hehe, it was now Xu Yanbing's turn to single-handedly temporarily block Wang Xianzhi's path.

He too was certainly prepared to die.

This man had once joked, "Northern Liang can lose Xu Yanbing, but not its king."

Though spoken lightly, it was absolutely no joke.

The squatting Xu Fengnian paid no heed to wiping the blood from his face. In truth, when he endured the world's crushing pressure, his boots, having touched the ground, were already worn through, his feet a bloody mess. When he leaned his head and shoulder into the impact, his shoulder was ground to the bone. However, these injuries recovered visibly rapidly after Wang Xianzhi threw him to the ground. Yet, his torn shoulder garments and bottomless boots served as proof of the perilous situation at that moment. How many individuals could inflict such severe wounds on Xu Fengnian, who now stood tall over the martial worlds of Liyang and Northern Mang? Besides Wang Xianzhi, who had not yet used his full power, only Tuoba Pusa and Deng Tai'a, who were determined to fight to the death, could. Xu Fengnian continued to gaze at the cracks on the ground, only raising an arm to haphazardly wipe away the thick blood streaming from his brow when it truly obscured his vision.

The standing Xu Fengnian gripped the hilt of the extraordinary Northern Liang Saber, looking down at it as he muttered to himself, "This saber strike was originally meant for Zhao Huangchao."

He closed his eyes, took a large step back, extended his right hand with an open palm forward, and held the saber behind him with his left hand.

Wind rose, clouds surged, and yellow sand began to float.

The squatting Xu Fengnian finally stood up, seemingly wanting to witness "himself" unleash this saber strike. He pressed a finger to his brow, and although the blood was stemmed, it still seeped through his fingers, flowing in winding paths down his face, a face that the old folks of Northern Liang all said strongly resembled the princess consort.

A saber strike swept forth.

First, continuous thunderclaps erupted, then the saber's energy, like a single thread, tore through the sky.

This saber strike was one Xu Fengnian had comprehended himself. The embryonic form of the first half of the move originated from closely observing the great tide of the Guangling River: before the tidal bore was visible, its roar was already deafening, and only then could one see a white ribbon stretching across the misty river, the tidal bore gradually rising like a row of majestic snow-capped mountains descending from Kunlun Mountain.

The latter half of the strike emphasized spiritual intent more, conceived during a soul-traveling journey through Spring and Autumn, where he personally witnessed the stirring and tragic final battle at Xileibi: plain-clothed figures beating war drums, but how many returned armored and leading their horses?

The fusion of these two insights created this never-before-seen saber strike. Old Huang never named his sword moves, and Xu Fengnian simply had no time to name this one.

This saber strike was like a spontaneous ink wash painting on paper, the blade's edge akin to a heavily inked brushstroke, sweeping out a vast arc.

Wang Xianzhi did not dodge or evade; he pressed his hands against the apex of the saber energy's arc, allowing the saber's curve to carry him high into the sky, until he vanished completely into the clouds.

At an even greater height where Wang Xianzhi halted his ascent, the ruptured saber energy did not simply dissipate into the heavens. Instead, like the Guangling River's great tide that, after surging past, forms an even grander backflow at the Old Salt Warehouse, it too created a powerful returning surge!

The mighty tide cascaded majestically down from the sky.

Since Wang Xianzhi had repeatedly unleashed killing intent and smashed Xu Fengnian into the ground,

it was only proper to return the favor.

Having unleashed one saber strike, Xu Fengnian didn't wait for Wang Xianzhi to break through the cascade of saber energy. He conjured another Northern Liang Saber, a simple yet sturdy weapon, the first-generation battle saber of the Xu family.

Xu Xiao's forces marched out of Liangliao, heading south.

Time and again, they crossed rivers southward, fought desperate battles, and faced near-death experiences repeatedly. Outsiders mocked them, deriding them as mad dogs willing to bite fiercely even without the Liyang court offering them bones.

Xu Xiao had never argued with anyone, nor had he ever explained anything to his eldest son, Xu Fengnian, during his lifetime. Xu Fengnian only came to know the answers during his spiritual journey through Spring and Autumn.

Xu Xiao had always been a pawn crossing the river, living from hand to mouth, not wanting to die but not fearing it either.

To hell with the world's order, to hell with emperors, generals, and ministers, to hell with the rules of the chessboard!

Gripping the saber, Xu Fengnian stepped forward, its tip pointing upwards, directly at Wang Xianzhi in the clouds.

He softly murmured, "Cross the river!"

A black rainbow inverted from the ground and shot upwards.

Wang Xianzhi, who was resisting the inverted waterfall, was struck in the chest by this saber. Both Xu Fengnians on the ground could see the black speck, slowly pressed down by the waterfall, violently hurled back towards the distant firmament by the subsequent saber strike.

The Xu Fengnian who had traveled through the black and white Spring and Autumn periods sighed, softly saying, "Difficult."

Xu Fengnian nodded, but then quickly smiled, "But now, that old rascal surely won't dare to use only seventy or eighty percent of his power."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a pillar of light descended from the sky, and the earth trembled in response.

Wang Xianzhi descended into the world like a celestial deity emerging from the Heavenly Gate!

A fist-sized wound appeared on the linen-clad old man's chest. Even though the physique of this world's foremost master was no less formidable than Gao Shulu's at his peak four hundred years ago, there were still no signs of healing. Strange, sprout-like growths appeared and vanished abruptly within the flesh.

Even more mysterious was that after Wang Xianzhi was struck into the heavens, he actually pulled down a bolt of lightning as long as a spear.

Wang Xianzhi, whose linen robe was severely torn at the shoulders, asked with an indifferent expression, "Is this all the skill you possess?"

This martial artist, who had likely transcended the realm of mortals, who in the world could contend with him?

How could one even speak of defeating and killing him?

Moreover, Xu Fengnian would likely not wait for the last soul and two ethereal components that had traveled far and not yet returned.

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