Chapter 759: Two-Person Battle, Two-Nation Battle (Part Four)

Facing Tuoba Pusa, Xu Fengnian held the unremarkable wooden sword and lightly performed a sword flourish. This posture, so overused by countless swordsmen that even a novice who had never left home and was merely holding a sword for the first time could execute it, nevertheless caused Tuoba Pusa’s expression to become more solemn than it had been when confronted by the magnificent four swords that had previously surged with power. Xu Fengnian stepped forward half a pace with his left foot, followed by his right, then covered two steps with his left foot, and four with his right, and so on. His strides grew progressively larger, until his final step resembled a long glide through the air. This was once the "Entering the City" stance used by Liu Haoshi, the gatekeeper of Tai'an City, when he assassinated Luo Yang in white. However, the wooden sword remained just a wooden sword, devoid of any profound sword intent or overwhelming sword energy.

Tuoba Pusa, standing still, could not help but show a hint of bewilderment. He certainly did not believe Xu Fengnian was making a futile display of bravado; the man was still far from being exhausted. Thus, when Xu Fengnian rushed within a zhang of Tuoba Pusa, dragging the sword with one hand—a posture that, after the night's great battle, showed Xu Fengnian's characteristic caution and conservation of qi—it marked the first time he had actively engaged in close-quarters combat. Tuoba Pusa retreated, soaring back dozens of zhang. His gaze was not on Xu Fengnian, but rather fixed on the simple wooden sword, which Xu Fengnian held in his hand like a cavalryman dragging a spear. Tuoba Pusa was waiting for Xu Fengnian to make his move, waiting for him to truly "raise his sword." There was no such thing as an impeccable, perfect move in the world, not even for Wang Xianzhi. However, the old eccentric Wang's physique and vigor were once undeniably the greatest in the world. Wang Xianzhi could defeat all opponents with a simple punch, not because his moves were subtle; Wang Xianzhi disdained flashy techniques, choosing instead to simply overpower others. Tuoba Pusa did not believe the severely weakened Xu Fengnian possessed such capital, otherwise, he would not have engaged in so many calculations after their initial encounter. Tuoba Pusa was confident that as soon as Xu Fengnian delivered his sword strike, he could break it, the only difference being how much effort it would require. In the two martial arts worlds of Liyang and Beicheng, the only sword that could force Tuoba Pusa to avoid its edge was the Art of the Sword wielded by Deng Tai'a, the Peach Blossom Sword God.

Even if Xu Fengnian had mastered various sword techniques, transforming decay into wonder, and reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship, he had not yet fully attained the position Li Chungang once held, or where Deng Tai'a stood today. As for Lu Dongxuan, the first person in a thousand years, if Xu Fengnian were to achieve such divine power and creation, Tuoba Pusa would have no reason to come to this major Western Regions city and humiliate himself. Tuoba Pusa strolled leisurely, allowing Xu Fengnian to close in while dragging his sword, retreating again and again. However, Tuoba Pusa’s bottom line was clear: he would not leave the city. As long as Xu Fengnian did not draw his sword, he would not act, until his back was against the outer city gate. Tuoba Pusa patiently waited for his opponent to reveal his hand.

During this time, Tuoba Pusa continued to monitor the movements of the wooden sword. Tuoba Pusa could have immediately launched a fierce attack after Xu Fengnian's challenge, but the more Xu Fengnian’s demeanor, while holding the sword, seemed unlike that of a master—and more like an inexperienced, clumsy swordsman new to the martial world—the more curious Tuoba Pusa became. Even after Xu Fengnian took sixteen consecutive steps, he still did not detect the slightest hint of a grandmaster's presence from the wooden sword. This made Tuoba Pusa unable to resist wondering: could this sword strike truly be a mere show from beginning to end? Was it merely to help that Central Plains swordsman, Wen Hua, gain renown in the Western Regions and subsequently throughout the world? Or was Xu Fengnian playing some boring game of "sword in hand, no sword in heart"? The reason Tuoba Pusa endured and refrained from acting was to set the stage for his inevitable second great battle with Deng Tai'a in the future. The more Xu Fengnian used his sword, the greater Tuoba Pusa's chances of victory. It was an undeniable fact that swordsmanship in Beicheng was in decline and struggling. How could a swordsman like "Sword Qi Near," whose ambition soared to the heavens, satisfy Tuoba Pusa’s appetite?

Tuoba Pusa had two more opportunities to retreat before leaving the city, yet Xu Fengnian showed no intention of striking. This made Tuoba Pusa vaguely angry. Was Xu Fengnian really going to scare him out of the city with a mere broken wooden sword that didn't even have a scabbard? So, Tuoba Pusa stopped feigning weakness and retreating. He planted his right foot firmly on the street, twisting it to shatter the flagstones, then abruptly stepped forward with his left. Before his foot even touched the ground, the entire street in front of Tuoba Pusa collapsed with a roar. As his left foot landed and his right fist swung, the buildings on both sides of the main street swayed like a wheat field in a strong wind, their myriad "ears" collapsing in the same direction, unable to withstand the pressure.

This powerful gust of energy permeated the main street, stirring up countless shattered stones that hurtled towards Xu Fengnian.

Xu Fengnian faced the onslaught like a solitary traveler journeying against a strong headwind. Since he could not avoid the gale, he gritted his teeth and pushed through it.

After each step and glide, his previously undamaged robe, even with countless floating crimson serpents obscuring it, began to show fine cracks. His temples' dark hair fluttered wildly, and even one side of his cheek was instantly cut by the incoming fist energy, leaving faint lines of blood.

Tuoba Pusa's heart tightened. This fellow was actually enduring the fist energy just to close that one crucial distance, solely to build momentum for that one sword strike? Was he aiming for a decisive victory in that final step? Or was his ambition even greater? Were all his previous calculations, like a petty merchant's frugality, merely a smokescreen, setting up this one direct life-or-death strike?

Earlier, two swords had defined "heaven" and "earth," and then the dazzling hundred swords of the Earth Immortals had defined "inside" and "outside," "near" and "far." This unmoving, deathly silent sword, which still showed no signs, was it intended to decide life or death?

It seemed to be as he predicted; the tip of the wooden sword in Xu Fengnian’s hand pointed towards the ground.

Generally, the ultimate truths of the world cannot escape the four words: balance and harmony. If simplified further, it is perhaps the Confucian "Doctrine of the Mean," or the Buddhist "no-self," or the Taoist "non-action"—all essentially variations on the same theme.

But at this moment, Tuoba Pusa perceived complex and surging emotions from this wooden sword, its tip twisting but still without any sword energy.Unwillingness, pent-up frustration, indignation, sorrow."There is great injustice in my heart!"

Xu Fengnian lightly raised the wooden sword, its tip pointing directly at Tuoba Pusa. There was no logic to it. Man and sword, man following sword, simply collided directly in a manner completely defying common sense! This single strike of the wooden sword conveyed a profound meaning of the martial world.Resolute and determined.

Like a frenzied, desperate gambler who has staked a lifetime's savings, throwing everything on one roll of the dice to challenge fate.

Many years ago, a wealthy young man, full of ambition, embarked on his first journey into the martial world. Unfortunately, it was far from smooth sailing; he encountered no ethereal fairies or chivalrous heroes. Instead, he struggled through the murky depths of the lower echelons of the martial world, where even three meals a day were a problem. That journey through the martial world left him utterly battered. Then he met a similarly struggling wooden-sword wanderer. It was a friendship forged through conflict; they met while stealing melons, and at first, both were scared half to death. After that, they journeyed together. The wealthy young man, relying on the knowledge he had accumulated in his early years at home, always liked to prick the frugal wanderer, who was full of petty concerns, with grand principles he had read in books or heard from others. He would seemingly offer earnest advice, but with a mischievous intent, telling the fellow who always carefully wiped his wooden sword with his clothes that while all renowned swordsmen valued their swords, that value ultimately lay in the sword intent extended from the three-foot blade in their hand. How could a first-rate swordsman value his sword more than himself? If the other fellow couldn't argue back, he would simply retort, "That's someone else's sword, none of my business, it's not mine." If truly pushed, he would angrily grip his wooden sword and threaten, "Do you really think I walk the martial world without a few trump card techniques?" The wealthy young man would often provoke him, "Come on, if you're so capable!" In the end, he would inevitably be chased by the other fellow, wooden sword in hand, running helter-skelter, employing vulgar moves like "monkey plucking peaches" and "black tiger heart-gouging"—though in truth, he was just using the wooden sword to scare or poke people. What truly infuriated him was several instances when his digestive system was not cooperating, and he was "relieving himself" outdoors. The other fellow would always appear at an inopportune moment, declaring he wanted to practice a newly enlightened peerless sword technique for him to see. As long as he did not praise him until his throat was dry, that scoundrel who took advantage of others would absolutely not stop practicing. During that journey together, in short, at a martial arts match to win a bride, the fellow excitedly went up only to be miserably beaten down. Afterward, not only did the wealthy young man have to carry his friend off the stage amidst laughter and sneers, but he also had to serve as a practice target for this guy, so that the scoundrel, who was determined to be the world's greatest swordsman, could regain his morale and continue to bravely face setbacks elsewhere. That fellow had far too many little quirks: whenever he met a "maiden" at the market he was smitten with, he would always make the wealthy young man pretend to be his studying companion, and always falsely claim that his scrawny, inferior horse was his own mount. If the wealthy young man managed to beg a few bowls of water from village women to quench his thirst, that parched fellow had no concept of returning a drop of kindness with a gushing spring. On the contrary, he might even burn bridges; while the wealthy young man was flirting and letting the village women touch his hand as he tried to get bowls from them, he would loudly yell, "Is the man of the house dead? If not, come out quickly and see a wild man stealing your wife!" Several times they were almost cornered and beaten to death in the village by groups of farmers carrying hoes. Each time he was humiliated or politely rejected by a girl he admired, that fellow would lose his soul and lie on the ground like a corpse. The wealthy young man didn't know if his friend was heartbroken, but he, as an observer, felt utterly exhausted. Once or twice was fine, but how could he not learn after seventeen or eighteen times? "You damn fellow, tying a wooden sword with a grass rope and hanging it from your waist, then squatting by the water, getting enchanted by your own reflection, and still insisting on asking me and Lao Huang if we're handsome, if we're very dashing? And when we roll our eyes and nod reluctantly, you actually believe you're a refined gentleman? Do those buxom, big-chested girls you met along the way really have to cry and scream to marry you? In this day and age, young ladies from slightly better families have sharp eyes. You think by riding that scrawny horse and stroking your hair and shaking your clothes, they won't see your ragged straw sandals with your toes sticking out? Those women can tell how many copper coins are in your pocket with one quick glance. Later, they met a wealthy family, a young girl who liked to call herself a female knight. They finally enjoyed a period of abundance, eating proper meals at restaurants, drinking wine by the bowl and eating meat by the chunk. You exclaimed that having the smell of wine on your body and grease around your mouth was how a true hero should live a joyful life. Later, the young girl squandered all her silver, and their lives became tight and frugal again. I thought you would be disappointed for a long time, but to my surprise, even when gnawing on sour dried beans that you had 'borrowed' from a village threshing ground, you claimed to taste the long-lost flavor of meat. There are no banquets that do not end. Two partings: first with the young girl. You uncharacteristically spoke a few serious words and even gave her all the half-bag of copper coins you had secretly saved. But after acting like a man, you regretted it so much that you didn't sleep a wink that night. I teased you, asking why you didn't just take it back, and you flared up, grabbing your wooden sword and striking me a few times, before finally squatting on the ground, sighing bitterly. You said it was two different things: treating the young girl as a friend and being willing to give her all your belongings was one thing. Regretting the loss of your wealth was another. Two different feelings for one event, not contradictory. Finally, the two of them had to part. That night, sitting on the stone steps of a dilapidated temple, the nameless wanderer cradled his wooden sword and said he had no savings left, only that wooden sword. Even for a brother, he couldn't give up the sword, because he still had to rely on it to make a living, to make a name for himself, to become one of the top swordsmen in the world. He even vowed that once he achieved fame, he would definitely repay the debts from those two years, stating that Wen Hua did not owe people. I joked that there was no need to repay, and I didn't expect it. That fellow, who had never attended a private school or read books, still stuck to his usual saying: brothers should keep clear accounts. Your kindness, Xiao Nian, without expecting anything in return, was one thing, but he, Wen Hua, would not simply laugh it off as if nothing happened; it was two different things."

During that period of extreme hardship in the martial world, Lao Huang was no master, and that young girl Li Dongxi dreamt of becoming a female knight, while you, Wen Hua, were barely even a half-baked swordsman.

But many years later, Xu Fengnian discovered it was like a jar of aged wine; even after it was drunk, the aftertaste lingered. That martial world, filled with poverty, destitution, and the grit of the common market, was far more memorable than the exciting one he had fantasized about in his youth—the one with flying eaves and scaling walls, leaving no trace in the snow, moonless nights of assassination, masters challenging each other on rooftops, and immortals using flying swords to take heads.

Tuoba Pusa's expression shifted erratically. What was Xu Fengnian trying to conclude with this sword?

Tuoba Pusa snorted and retreated outside the city. He had intended to swiftly re-enter the city once the momentum of Xu Fengnian's unreasonable sword reached its peak and began to wane, then retaliate with the speed of thunder. That moment would have been a true life-or-death situation.

But Tuoba Pusa froze in place, not because Xu Fengnian had a hidden trump card. On the contrary, the sword's momentum continued to climb steadily, yet ultimately, it had only an "aura" and not a trace of sword energy.

Xu Fengnian stood holding the sword, laughing uncontrollably. "Wen Hua," he thought, "do you see? Your martial world, your wooden sword, so effortlessly drove a master like Tuoba Pusa out of the city."

Xu Fengnian plunged the wooden sword into the ground, then raised his arms. The ancient sword "Sounding" and the famous saber "Spirit" flew from the inner city wall and from the hands of the Six-Pearled Bodhisattva in the outer city, respectively, settling lightly into his grasp.

Xu Fengnian stepped forward, and before leaving the city, he turned to look at the wooden sword, lightly saying with a smile, "Now, it's my turn."

Vast desert, yellow sand, battles fought over a thousand miles.