# Chapter 23: No Match
That sword light came with fierce momentum.
The White Bone Daoist saw the unfavorable situation and dared not forcibly receive the sword. He activated his innate divine ability, turning the purple ritual robe into a void, actually freezing the surrounding flow of time. He forcibly carved out a temporary dojo from the blue sky, as if condensing it into a large piece of purple glass, within which were patterns like veins and meridians, as if thousands of dragons and serpents coiled within.
In an instant, the sword light streaked through the air, like an iron awl chiseling a crack in the frozen glass. The sword light was entangled by various colored dragon whiskers.
A huge sound of ice cracking echoed through the sky. Inside the purple glass, vague shadows could be seen—traces of the sword light constantly weaving, breaking through the barrier, seeking the dojo's owner.
The White Bone Daoist, hidden in the shadows, breathed a slight sigh of relief. Good, he hadn't been beheaded with a single strike. According to this sword cultivator's style, whenever he issued a challenge, he always went all out. The first sword's power was often the same as the last, which meant there was a fight to be had.
Suddenly, the sword light's momentum surged violently. The entire piece of purple glass shattered with a crash. The White Bone Daoist's body was knocked out of the dojo, slanting toward the sky dome. The White Bone Daoist's hands desperately gripped the sword light that was thrusting straight toward his heart. For the moment, he couldn't bother to retrieve that purple robe. He could only exert all his strength to prevent the sword light from piercing through his Dao body. The sword light and the White Bone Daoist's hands rubbed violently, sending out countless sparks.
A single sword leaning against the heavens.
The sword light crushed both arms, then stabbed into the White Bone Daoist's chest, the tip piercing out through his back.
"Since you want me dead," the White Bone Daoist said with a ferocious expression, "I'll refine your flying sword!"
The purple robe, shattered into millions of pieces, seemed to receive a command. Like ancient great talismans, they adhered to the sword light.
The White Bone Daoist needed no words or thoughts. His fingertips quickly tapped on the sword light, bestowing upon it a section of "Celestial Melodies" dharma words from the ancient Nine Heavens Cloud Court of the primordial heavens. What are celestial melodies? The shaping of mountains and rivers is one; the vicissitudes of the sea and mulberry fields is another; the changing course of great rivers on earth is yet another. Even the ancient demons' refining of forms and the earthly immortals' manifestation of dharma appearances—all are celestial melodies.
The White Bone Daoist's fingers created ten colorful vortexes on that seemingly indestructible sword light.
The sword cultivator Xu Xie steadied his Dao heart.
Zhu Su, also watching from afar, felt her eardrums vibrating. Far from being annoyed or agitated, it instead guided her own natal flying sword, humming and moving within the world of her mortal body, as if in harmony and resonance.
Was such an opportunity awaiting Zhu Su, who had only recently broken through to the Immortal realm?
She quickly recorded those "Dao melodies," tracing them one by one with her sword techniques, forming a pattern like undulating waves and water lines.
Just by watching from the sidelines, she gained immense benefits for her swordsmanship. It was like the first sword practice after the great sword immortal Zhu Su emerged from seclusion.
The White Bone Daoist grew increasingly horrified. Why was this sword light so… close to the Dao?
He had deliberately shown weakness, waiting until the other side delivered the sword before finally revealing his true abilities. His hand-receiving technique seemed relatively clumsy, but in reality, he had already used three great divine abilities in succession: sword-locking technique, ancient true words, and ancient refining methods.
His Dao body had specially opened up a furnace using the "Dragon Transformation Pool" as a base. Imprisoned for ten thousand years, he hadn't simply waited for death. Instead, he painstakingly refined this furnace as an altar, continuously deducing toward "Yin and Yang Creation," raising its quality, pursuing the two words "Heaven and Earth." When elevated to the extreme, it became "Dao"!
Finally, he successfully melted and forged 365 energy mansions into one furnace. The White Bone Daoist was confident that by offering up this altar, he could refine anything. Even if you were a fourteenth realm sword cultivator, entering this altar would ruin your natal flying sword. If your Dao power was weaker, your flying sword would be refined on the spot, becoming the sustenance for this Three Courts Dharma Master's great Dao.
Xu Xie communicated with his mind: "This skeleton must have some reliance to dare be so reckless."
If it were himself, he would definitely not want to treat Chen Ping'an as a hypothetical enemy. Even if he believed his chances of victory were extremely high, unless he was absolutely sure of killing the opponent, Xu Xie would not make a move against Chen Ping'an.
Cao Ci said uncertainly, "Perhaps he wants to use Chen Ping'an's eleventh realm fist intent to help him break through a layer of ignorance shell on his great Dao, so he can return to the fourteenth realm?"
Earlier, that unknown White Bone Daoist had taken a few punches from Chen Ping'an. He deliberately didn't use any illusion techniques, and his golden body repaired itself extremely quickly—almost a deliberate provocation.
One must know that Chen Ping'an's Divine Man Drum-Beating style was best at cracking the tortoise shells of mountain-top great cultivators.
Xu Xie nodded: "Possible. Stones from other mountains can polish jade. Probably using the method of a corpse-liberated immortal, double cultivation of the Dao?"
After a moment of silence, Xu Xie suddenly said, "Cao Ci, is it possible that the ancient Daoists of ten thousand years ago were indeed less complex in nature than us? Less full of tricks and schemes, less varied in methods?"
Cao Ci smiled: "Lord Xu, I'm afraid I can't answer such a question."
Xu Xie was speechless. Right, Cao Ci's nature was clear and pure; he was only pure in martial arts.
If one were to speak of a gentleman like jade, Xu Xie felt that the Cao Ci beside him was one of the few people worthy of that description.
To the north of Fallen Mountain, at the Snail Shell Dojo on Grey Mountain, Xiao Mo sat on a cushion. Even though blood flowed from his seven orifices and his robe was soaked through, his expression remained natural.
With his Dao heart, he drove that sword light. Inside the crystalline white jade dojo, Dao energy was thick as water, azure waves rippling.
A sword light "leaving the cave dwelling" gently swayed, its abundant sword intent causing ripples to hit the walls and rebound, like blowing a conch shell, rumbling loudly.
The White Bone Daoist let out a soft sigh. He let the sword light pierce through his Dao body. The altar could not hold it in, all efforts in vain. Instead, it had in vain exposed a hidden trump card.
With one hand forming a mudra to stabilize his three hundred plus energy mansions and avoid affecting the altar's Dao foundation, the White Bone Daoist twisted his body, allowing the sword light to slant and cut through his Dao body. He used one hand to retrieve the pieces of purple robe that had transformed into sword-locking talismans.
Just then, a slender woman wearing a golden dragon robe and an imperial crown quietly appeared at the junction of sea and land. She was Wang Zhu, the East Sea Water Lord.
She had a pair of golden eyes and held in her hand an ancient inkstone made from stone quarried from Chicken Foot Mountain in Treasure Bottle Continent. The ink pool contained a single drop of water taken from South Mountain Temple in North Jambudvipa Continent. This was her method after breaking through to the fourteenth realm—creating a Dragon Pool and raising a Dragon Spring.
At this moment, Wang Zhu raised the inkstone high. The water droplet in the ink pool gently shook, emitting rays of precious light.
Picking up scraps by the roadside—who couldn't do that?
That purple robe, which had just been pieced back together, whooshed straight toward the coast of Treasure Bottle Continent instead of flying toward the White Bone Daoist.
The White Bone Daoist was greatly alarmed. He immediately spread his fingers wide, engaging in a tug-of-war, trying to retract the robe into his natal acupoint.
But the sword light drew a huge arc in the sky, turned back again, and shot straight in a line toward the White Bone Daoist's head.
Truly caught between two fires. The White Bone Daoist had to both pull back the robe so it wouldn't fall into that treacherous thief's hands, and resist that persistent sword light.
The purple robe stretched out in the air for ten thousand feet, like a purple celestial river hanging in the blue sky.
In the blink of an eye, the White Bone Daoist used multiple techniques in succession. On the path of the sword light's advance, he manifested dozens of divine abilities to guide the sword. Between the White Bone Daoist and the line of sword light, ancient mountains with ten thousand rays of rosy clouds suddenly stood towering. Bronze tripods filled with the blood of ancient great demons floated. There was a jade ruler inscribed with countless runes. Flying celestial maidens with streaming ribbons emerged from it...
All were shattered by the sword light.
The sword light still advanced like splitting bamboo, heading straight for his head.
The White Bone Daoist was frantic. Quickly weighing the pros and cons, he had to release his fingers and let that thief steal the robe, turning instead to fully resist the sword light.
With no more Dao power hindering it, the ten-thousand-foot robe rapidly sped toward the seaside. The closer it got to the inkstone Wang Zhu held, the more it shrank. Finally, it condensed into a particle invisible to the naked eye, merging with the "Dragon Spring" water droplet in the ink pool. The whole inkstone became even more radiant.
Wang Zhu accepted the purple robe. Looking down, she saw within a single water droplet, thousands of dragon energies—transformed into flood dragons and aquatic creatures—all returning to the sea.
Her gaze softened. She murmured a single phrase: "Going home."
Wang Zhu's smile faded. She looked up and glanced at the battlefield where the White Bone Daoist was grieving bitterly. Satisfied, she tucked the inkstone into her sleeve, used water magic, and headed home, having made a full haul.
For the moment, the White Bone Daoist couldn't bother to seek out that cunning woman. He only silently memorized her Dao aura. He shook his shoulders, manifesting a majestic dharma appearance. Using his palm to brace against the sword light that now looked like a mere thread, he said, "Shatter for me, Lord!"
The bone dharma appearance stretched out its arm forward. In an instant, white mist gathered in the palm—all abundant sword intent. The sword light bent but did not break. The center of the dharma appearance's palm was like an ancient white serpent coiled layer upon layer.
The White Bone Daoist turned and waved his hand. The dharma appearance's palm "gathered" more and more sword light, piling it up. It seemed the Daoist wanted to erase all traces of this sword light from heaven and earth. He laughed loudly, "Dao friend, you struck with your sword first. Don't blame me for killing you afterwards!"
The center of his palm was like accumulated heavy snow. He looked up at the dojo on that mountain peak, raised his arm high, the sword energy in his palm as blinding as daylight. "Lord will surely grind your bones to dust to vent the hatred in my heart!"
What he feared was that, after ten thousand years, given the other's talent in learning the Dao, he might have already broken through to the fourteenth realm. Now it seemed this sword light was indeed formidable. But the owner of the sword light—that Dao friend who once most enjoyed dueling one-on-one—was definitely still not at the fourteenth realm! Moreover, he could sense that the other was seriously injured. For some reason, Bai Jing had fallen in realm, and he too was severely wounded. Could it be that Heaven and Earth Passage?
"You refused to help Zhou Mi but instead want to help that surnamed Chen? Fine, fine, fine! You all deserve death! Just like Bai Ze—same virtue—all deserve to be killed."
With a flick of his arm, he was about to smash the sword light back into the sword cultivator's cave dwelling.
With a slight pause, the bone dharma appearance took a heavy step forward. Its dharma body leaned forward slightly, its arm also pointing toward the cave dwelling where the sword light had originated.
But he didn't see the image of the sword light crashing into that dojo. He turned his head to look. That palm was still maintaining its posture facing the cave dwelling, but it was frozen in midair.
It turned out the wrist had been severed. The hand was already separated from the arm.
The White Bone Daoist did not hesitate. He withdrew all his Dao aura, activated an ancient divine ability, and disappeared into that dugout canoe, vanishing without a trace.
What a means of "time passing like a shuttle."
If it were only against this one sword cultivator, the White Bone Daoist wouldn't mind playing with him a bit more. This famous ancient sword cultivator, no matter how powerful—setting aside his injuries—was at most a perfect Ascension realm. But Bai Jing's means were too numerous and unreasonable. Even though she had fallen in realm, the White Bone Daoist didn't want to get entangled with her too much. If they joined forces, it would be troublesome. Better to temporarily avoid their edge and plan carefully later.
That mass of sword light suddenly straightened, churning and crushing the palm. The sword light roamed the blue sky, beginning to search for traces of the White Bone Daoist.
Seeing this, Xu Xie admitted his inferiority. A sword light with such killing power and resilience—if that Fallen Mountain offering were still at the fourteenth realm, how brilliantly would he deliver his sword?
This sword immortal Lord Xu's spirit did not flag; instead, it grew higher. A sword cultivator should have such merit and power to be worthy of the word "pure."
As for Cao Ci, his attention was naturally still on the fist combatants.
As for magical techniques, divine abilities, and swordsmanship, Cao Ci looked at them a few times, put himself in that situation, briefly imagined how he would deliver his fists, and let it go.
Over at the Divine Platform, Chen Ping'an and the ancient witch exchanged a punch. Both slid backward, their feet plowing two gullies on the spotless mirror-like platform. Snow debris flew into the air. But these fragments, like drifting willow catkins, did not scatter with the wind. They all fell back to the ground. The Divine Platform returned to its original state, unchanged in the slightest.
Chen Ping'an lightly patted his chest. He actually dispersed tens of thousands of golden ancient runes. The opponent's punch was like drawing talismans—subtle beyond words. An ordinary Stopping Realm fighter, if they simply treated the opponent as a pure martial artist and noticed too slowly, wouldn't take long for it to seep into their blood energy and contaminate their soul. Before they knew it, they would have their body's mountain range inscribed with inscriptions.
Chen Ping'an's eyes burned with passion. This was ancient martial arts in the true sense. Clearly, during the Joint Slaying Campaign, Jiang She hadn't used all his skills. Or perhaps Jiang She's martial arts followed a different path from the ancient witch's, or maybe Jiang She had refined it into his own fist frame, completely changing its appearance. Regardless, ancient martial arts were highly worth observing and absorbing!
For later generations of martial artists, it was too difficult to trace back to origins like Dao cultivators. Over ten thousand years of evolution, fist techniques had become increasingly distorted, losing their authenticity layer by layer. The relationship between ancient divine abilities and immortal techniques was like the main stream and tributaries of a great river. Mountain-top cultivators with great perseverance and great opportunities could sometimes merge them. But ancient martial arts were like solitary peaks standing on the earth. Climbing to the top of one mountain to look at another—how could later generation pure martial artists, relying solely on a single breath of true energy, accomplish the feat of merging mountains?
Currently, Chen Ping'an's awkward situation was that because he had an eleventh realm martial artist's physique, re-cultivating the Dao was as difficult as ascending to heaven. But in martial arts, it was like enclosing land—simply demarcating peaks within his own heaven-and-earth domain. Chen Ping'an wasn't opposed to the matter of turning one realm into two for Dao learning, but it was extremely difficult.
The more difficult the beginning, as long as one succeeded by luck, the greater the reward.
Barefoot, Chen Ping'an gently twisted the tip of his foot. Sure enough, this ancient private dojo, used for entertaining and rewarding spirits, employed forging techniques similar to the Sword Qi Great Wall.
Or perhaps it was the other way around—the later Three Church Patriarchs had supplemented it to build the Sword Qi Great Wall?
The ancient witch had taken a punch to the neck. His Adam's apple moved slightly. The neck, twisted into a left-spiraling vortex by the punch, returned to normal.
Forcibly swallowing a mouthful of blood, the ancient witch's shoulders moved slightly. The joints of his bones cracked like thunder, similarly dispelling the fist intent Chen Ping'an had imposed on him.
After delivering a punch, neither side was in a hurry to follow up with a second punch. It was like two martial artists meeting by chance on the jianghu, first gauging each other's general weight.
This ancient witch wore an extremely fine hemp garment, similar to later mourning clothes of fine hemp. The material was well-cured hemp. The number of warp and weft threads numbered in the millions.
With his eyesight, Chen Ping'an could see many later "origins"—both the ingenuity of the Armor of Sweet Dew from the Military Strategist lineage and the subtlety similar to the White-Haired Boy's dharma robe and the weaving techniques of Golden Emerald City.
In an instant, both moved at the same time. Chen Ping'an's punch hit the ancient witch's abdomen. The latter's physical blood instantly flowed backward like a waterfall. Countless blue veins bulged on his skin, bursting open with a cracking sound. His face was covered in blood. Two streams of sticky blood hung from his nostrils. Chen Ping'an was also knocked backward by a punch. He slapped the snow-white platform, flipped up, and his face was hit. The pure martial artist's true energy inside his body tilted like a heavenly pillar, wavering unsteadily.
Both sides' fist intent scattered. Because of the natal flying sword, even Zhu Su, far away on the cliff, felt her blood energy surge. She had to withdraw from her state of meditation.
The ancient witch's fine hemp garment fell like falling ashes, revealing a coarser hemp garment inside, like the smaller mourning hemp.
The number of warp and weft threads in the hemp garment suddenly decreased, but they were clearly thicker. Each thread contained more profound fist intent.
Earlier, having fallen to the ground and clawed at his face, the ancient witch was like punishing himself with facial tattooing, leaving his entire face with exposed white bone. Until now, this ancient witch refused to restore his original appearance.
The ancient witch's eyes were complex—both a heavy nostalgia for the past, a melancholy that friends and foes had all withered away, and a touch of unexpected surprise, as if meeting an old acquaintance.
Chen Ping'an raised his hand and wiped his ear clean of the oozing blood. Then he lightly brushed his right arm, forcefully suppressing the turbulent and violent fist intent and true energy. Hitting the opponent's abdomen with a punch had left him in a situation where the tide was flowing back into the river and floods were spreading over both banks. Was it the skill of the opponent's fist technique, or was it due to that coarse hemp garment? Could fist intent also be refined into a dharma robe?
No matter. No need to rush. There would be plenty of opportunities to find out.
The opponent had robust bones and tendons, abundant blood energy, and a body refined to be extremely solid—almost the limit that physique could bear.
One muscular arm of the ancient witch was covered in dense ancient runes on the skin. Like a hundred murals piled and crowded together, forming a later "brocade pile of ashes." On it were images of ancient witches dancing around a fire, sacrificing to heaven and entertaining spirits, as well as scenes of kneeling to pray for rain and offering sacrifices.
The other arm looked ordinary to the common eye, but inside the "inner wall" of his human body were complex patterns engraved.
Like the later intaglio and relief on metal and stone. Was it the ancient witches' attempt to use the human body as a bridge, creating a prototype for the Heaven-Earth Passage?
Perhaps Chen Ping'an's expression seemed too relaxed and carefree. The ancient witch showed an irritated expression. He took a deep breath. On the Divine Platform, from the snow-white mirror-like ground, wisps of curling smoke rose. When they reached a certain height, "spirits" resembling the ancient witch's appearance descended, crashing heavily to the ground. They were ten-odd feet tall, clad in suits of armor manifested by pure incense and fire, holding various weapons.
When they stood on this hundred-mile-square Divine Platform, it was like a forest of martial arts.
Chen Ping'an simply raised his arm, extended two fingers together, and casually blocked a huge axe blade that was splitting down.
Sure enough, this axe cleaved at the soul, not the physical body.
But Chen Ping'an had already guessed as much. He wouldn't let it succeed. With the most condensed fist intent, he blocked the ethereal giant axe.
With a gentle push of his fingers, the giant axe tumbled backward in the air, splitting that martial artist's head and turning him into a puff of green smoke.
Then, with a flick of his sleeve, he casually smashed a "Descending Truth" martial artist who came from the side holding a long sword. The latter turned to dust, also becoming a puff of green smoke that went into the seven orifices of a certain spirit in the center of the Divine Platform.
This spirit, clad in colorful armor, stood a hundred feet tall. With both hands resting on a sword, he had a golden face with twelve eyes.
Chen Ping'an strolled leisurely through this "martial arts forest," dispersing those strange beings—like later Dao soldiers and talisman warriors—into puffs of green smoke one by one. The scene that had first swarmed became increasingly sparse. Chen Ping'an lightly touched his toes, hopping like a dragonfly on the shoulders and heads of those martial artist puppets, making his way to the center of the platform. Wherever his foot touched, it shattered. Billowing green smoke all streamed into the colorful-armored spirit commander's eyes.
Finally, the two sides faced each other from a distance.
At one corner of the Divine Platform stood the ancient witch who had used the spirit-summoning technique. His hemp garment had changed again. The cured hemp had become coarser, and its edges were no longer neat, as if cut with scissors.
According to the original plan, he would first use a decapitation technique, combined with martial arts, to chop off that siege giant fox's head in at most two or three kicks.
Then he would forcibly drag the White Bone Daoist onto the Divine Platform, forcing him to join forces with the ancient witch. Chen Ping'an would directly engage in a one-versus-two sparring match.
As for whether the woman in green would join the battlefield or use some ancient secret method to target him from afar, Chen Ping'an was waiting to see.
Of course, it wasn't that he could win a one-versus-four. Rather, having broken through to the eleventh realm, such an opportunity to hone his martial arts was rare, allowing him to look toward the twelfth.
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Over at the capital city on the ground, the fox clan common leader's massive body had been stabbed a hundred more times. It was like a white carpet stained with rouge powder.
This old master of Green Hill said angrily, "Bai Jing! Are you truly set in your ways, insisting on being my mortal enemy?!"
In an instant, all the white whiskers of her fox tails turned into countless swords, crazily stabbing at the clinging, bone-boring tiny figure. What a "Sword Mountain" dojo!
The mink-hat girl's figure nimbly leaped about like a sparrow, always dodging those blades and slipping through the gaps in the forest of swords.
The Green Hill old master's pair of huge eyes instantly turned crimson. "Fine, fine, fine! Since you, Bai Jing, don't care for old ties, don't blame me for smashing this ugly physical body of yours, then chewing up your true form for nourishment. From now on, little sister Bai Jing, you and I will share a dwelling. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"
She was bristling with anger.
Xie Gou wasn't greedy for merit. She knew her current realm. She somersaulted in the air a few times. Her seemingly delicate, fragile figure landed on a ridge outside the city. Adjusting her mink hat, she flipped her wrist, spinning the short sword, light flashing.
Xie Gou grinned, showing her teeth. "I bet you won't push your entire fortune and life onto the gambling table."
The white fox, who had already achieved the Golden Immortal fruit, slammed down a claw, shattering the large ridge. "Bai Jing! Do you think you're the only one who can be ruthless and fierce?!"
Xie Gou teleported to several different places, dodging five chilling flashes of light. "I endured and endured, finally enduring my way to a great freedom to see the light of day again. You wouldn't dare, would you? No, you wouldn't."
The Green Hill old master narrowed her eyes.
Xie Gou pointed her short sword at that head. "I'm so poor now, you randy fox, remember to pay up!"
The Green Hill old master was well aware of the power of Bai Jing's short sword. The most troublesome thing about ancient Daoists being injured by sword cultivators was that the wounds were hard to heal. The scattered sword energy easily caused havoc. So recovery not only took time but also wasted large amounts of spiritual energy and heavenly treasures. One type of sword cultivator's sword energy was the most despicable. Often after a battle, when the Daoist had driven back the sword cultivator, seemingly without damage to their Dao foundation, at a critical moment, the sword energy would flare up and cause disaster.
And the short sword in Bai Jing's hand, though seemingly unremarkable, was the culmination of such ruthless sword cultivator techniques.
Xie Gou chuckled. "What's the matter? You want to see who wins and loses before deciding your friend-or-foe relationship?"
The Green Hill old master gently curled her sharp claws, all sharp edges exposed, not speaking. Her tails swayed continuously.
The sword cultivator Bai Jing had a cunning, elusive nature and was extremely troublesome. Whenever she chose… a certain Dao name, she would almost always scheme for a long time in secret, ensuring a single fatal blow. She would deliver one sword or a series of swords in one breath. If she missed, she would flee far away, never lingering in battle.
Bai Jing was naturally extremely talented, with a broad range of magical arts. Other ancient Daoists might spend their entire lives perfecting one or two magical techniques or Dao lineages. But she learned whatever she could. Who didn't envy Bai Jing? Who wasn't afraid of a sword cultivator who seemed to advance in Dao power every day?
It was said there was once a powerful Ascension realm great demon with deep Dao power, dominating a region. At that time, Bai Jing was only an Earth Immortal. Yet she voluntarily struck with her sword. Although she indeed injured the demon heavily, it also provoked the demon's fury. The two sides began a chase and escape. Who would have thought that at the brink of life and death, Bai Jing would successfully break through to the Ascension realm? The fate of that Ascension realm great demon was predictable. Bai Jing's spoils of war, besides a fresh Dao name, included this short sword that the great demon had never been able to refine successfully.
The Green Hill old master sneered repeatedly.
Xie Gou jumped back, deliberately putting on a terrified expression.
It turned out the randy fox had shaken out two of her skirt-chasing subordinates.
Appearing on the ground was an ancient-looking Daoist. One hand held a piece of ebony. The other hand's two fingers were pressed together, raised before his chest. He smiled and said, "Dao friend Bai Jing, we meet again."
There was also a burly woman in golden armor, with rough features. She held a double-melon hammer in each hand. Without a word, she swung the hammers at the small mink-hat girl.
While darting about, Xie Gou laughed, "Sister Purple! Where's the etiquette for hosting a distinguished guest by serving two large platters of heavy dishes? Not even a cold dish? How improper!"
Although Xie Gou's words were teasing, her Dao heart was as calm as still water. If she were still at her peak, she would gather her momentum and stab them to death.
Now, she would just have to suppress her temper and play along a bit.
That vixen had roamed the world in early times. Of course, she had considerable skill—both in self-protection and killing enemies, both indispensable.
In the infinitely desolate ancient wilderness, encountering "people" often meant a matter of life and death.
No matter who it was, anyone traveling the world who dared to underestimate any Daoist would inevitably suffer greatly.
A sword light pierced through the heads of the armored warrior and the ancient Daoist in succession. Since the White Bone Daoist's traces couldn't be found for now, it came for a visit to this ground.
The Green Hill old master let out a deep sigh and retracted the shattered bodies of those two puppets. They were truly fragile.
Seeing that the sword light had no intention of opposing her either—just pausing briefly, as if warning the giant fox—it then returned to the blue sky.
The Green Hill old master could only helplessly quell her killing intent toward Bai Jing.
No one wanted to actively provoke the owner of this sword light.
High killing power, stubborn temper, many flying swords, roaming the world, challenging swordsmen everywhere.
Pure sword cultivators were already anomalies in heaven and earth. He was an anomaly among anomalies.
Ancient Daoists would either engage in restrained duels of Dao arts, mutually elevating their cultivation and gaining more insights into Dao arts—these were Dao friends. Or they would fight to the death, each risking their lives, always wanting to obtain some benefit to not come out empty-handed: for example, several secret treasures on the opponent, a lineage inheritance, occupying an existing dojo cave dwelling, or coveting the opponent's demon true form or earthly immortal golden body.
But not him.
When he challenged someone to a sword duel, it was truly just a sword duel.
Who would want to find trouble with him? He had four natal flying swords. If pushed too far, it would surely be a mutual destruction—no other outcome.
Since the other side could leave no true form behind in the mortal world, what was the point of winning against him? They might even lose their own Dao foundation.
Xie Gou also put away her short sword, tucking it back into her sleeve. She raised her head high.
The Green Hill old master was baffled. What was Bai Jing so happy about?
Over at the Divine Platform, a blue figure shot like an arrow, passing through the neck of that spirit commander. The spirit commander's height immediately shortened by a section.
It turned out the neck had been shattered. The head dropped, as if resting on a spine.
The ancient witch was clearly somewhat surprised. He shifted sideways, moving directly to the farthest corner diagonal of the Divine Platform.
But Chen Ping'an closed in and struck his neck with a hand blade.
The ancient witch saw the blue-clothed man's temple hair suddenly flutter, clearly having abruptly increased force. He had forcefully stabbed through the neck.
Chen Ping'an's fingers curved like hooks. His arm stretched out, swinging in a circle. He actually lifted the ancient witch off the ground, throwing him down!
The entire platform shook with it, violently trembling. Those bronze divine trees, candlesticks, and other objects leaped up high and crashed heavily to the ground.
It was like a contest between ancient and modern martial arts. The blue-clothed martial artist from the Bamboo Tower lineage, his fist technique like a spirit, had no match before him.