Chapter 223: Skirmish on the Small Street
Above the high platform at the center of the lake, the multicolored-clad woman formed from the yellow paper talisman looked around with lively eyes and expressive glances. She was no puppet or dead thing—clearly a living, breathing person.
Standing at the edge of the high platform, the old immortal, in full view of the crowd, pulled a small pink-glazed porcelain bottle from his sleeve. He uncorked it and casually tossed it toward the center of the platform. It rolled to a stop at the feet of the multicolored-clad woman. After a moment of silence, the sound of a zither began to drift out from within the bottle, as if a master musician were playing on the spot. Any expert in this art would recognize the tune as beginning in the slow jiao mode. As the zither music played, the multicolored-clad woman slowly began to move, her long sleeves flowing like multicolored clouds.
The zither music paused briefly, and the multicolored-clad woman stopped along with it, holding a playful pose with one foot raised.
That pink embroidered shoe gently balanced on its tip, like a lotus bud just emerging from the water.
Then the music shifted from slow to fast, and the beauty's dance accelerated in turn. Her waist twisted like the wind, and a single backward glance revealed a thousand charms.
When the zither music became rapid and clattering, like a great handful of pearls poured onto a jade plate,
the old immortal smiled faintly. Suddenly raising both sleeves, four yellow paper talismans drifted out from each sleeve. Upon landing, thick smoke rose, enveloping the multicolored-clad woman. The onlookers could only hear the zither music growing more urgent, but could no longer see the beauty's figure. They grew anxious and even more expectant.
In an instant, the zither music suddenly soared high, like a silver vase shattering.
At that very moment, from within the ethereal smoke, eight graceful young women in white robes appeared without warning. With the multicolored-clad woman as their center, they leaped outward in all directions, longswords in hand. At the same time, those nimble white-robed swordswomen let out a unified shout, a strange sound akin to ancient barbarian rituals for summoning spirits. But far from diminishing their elegance, it gave rise to a unique aura of women not yielding to men.
Inside the waterside pavilion by the lake, the middle-aged military officer stationed near Yanzhi Commandery lit up with surprise. He had originally come only out of politeness, but witnessing this scene, he couldn't help clapping in admiration: "Excellent! A fine display of iron cavalry charging forth! Especially how those women charge forward with swords—it's no easy feat to have such momentum."
Governor Liu stroked his beard and smiled, nodding in agreement: "Indeed, it's quite remarkable."
The zither music then soared higher, like spring thunder rolling through seas of clouds. The eight white-robed swordswomen continuously revolved around the central multicolored-clad woman, their swords striking like rainbows. The multicolored-clad woman deliberately slowed her movements, creating a stark contrast with the lightning-fast swordswomen. Many times, the swordswomen would lean back and thrust their swords, the tips passing mere inches from the multicolored-clad woman—truly perilous. Yet she maintained her smiling, flower-like expression throughout.
The scene on the lake-center platform combined the beauty of flowing clouds and water with the thrill of heart-stopping danger.
The old immortal smiled faintly and said softly, "Withdraw!"
Just as the figures on the platform reached their most breathtaking speed, a brilliant expanse of snowy sword light scattered in all directions, occasionally illuminating the faces of the lakeside spectators. Many covered their faces in fright. Then, at that moment, when the old immortal spoke the word "withdraw,"
the eight white-robed young women abruptly stopped, transforming into yellow paper talismans that hung suspended in the air. The old immortal waved his hand, and the yellow papers flew back into his large sleeves, like swallows returning to their nests.
The multicolored-clad woman bent down to pick up the porcelain bottle, walked gracefully forward, and handed it to the old immortal. She then smiled charmingly toward the main seats in the pavilion before transforming, just like the white-robed women, back into a crudely drawn yellow talisman, which the old immortal carefully tucked away in his sleeve.
The distant old immortal's display stunned the entire audience, intimidating all the wealthy folk who had gathered in Yanzhi Commandery to watch. It also left the local "immortal masters" who had been harboring thoughts of provocation too ashamed to boo.
The young Daoist bypassed the commandery governor's legitimate son in the middle and asked softly, "Brother Xu, have you figured out what's really going on? Is it some demon or monster? Anyway, my demon-listening bell hasn't stirred."
The big-bearded man ignored him, rubbing his chin as he muttered to himself, "One of those white-robed girls had a mole at the corner of her mouth—her figure wasn't any worse than the multicolored-clad woman's."
Liu Gaohua, still lost in shock, murmured to himself, "Such divine power! No wonder in those travel notes and essays, people always want to go into the mountains seeking immortals. If I could learn this immortal magic, I'd never need to go to brothels for pleasure."
The big-bearded man snapped back to attention and asked the young Daoist, "Chen Ping'an still isn't back? He didn't fall into a latrine, did he?"
The young Daoist replied helplessly, "Chen Ping'an isn't interested in any of this. He's probably snuck off somewhere to practice his fist stances."
The big-bearded man nodded, agreeing completely: "That's exactly the kind of mood-killing thing Chen Ping'an would do. Actually, if we have Young Master Liu treat us to a visit to some rouge-and-powder establishment, I guarantee Chen Ping'an will be so eager next time something like this happens, he'll want to squat right by the edge of the lake-center platform."
Liu Gaohua looked troubled. "Master Xu, I'm so poor my house is practically bare. You've seen the state of my family estate. In the past, when I dabbled in romantic affairs, it was always friends dragging me along. To be blunt, at first the girls would still flatter me because I was the governor's son and willingly throw themselves into my arms. Later on, everyone behind my back called me a stingy iron rooster who wouldn't give up a penny. They almost started giving me dirty looks."
The big-bearded man teased, "To have lived as an official's son and turned out this pathetic—that takes some real talent, Liu Gaohua. What's the deal? Useless at your studies, can't inherit your father's position, too proud to make an honest living, so you end up with nothing, just idly wandering mountains and rivers, neglecting all proper work?"
Liu Gaohua's face fell, and he laughed bitterly. "If I weren't the only son in the family, and if my father didn't still want me to carry on the family line, I'd probably be dead in some old mansion by now. At most, he'd write a famous eulogy for a son that would shake the scholarly world—the words would drip with blood and tears, but the father-son bond? Just about that much."
The big-bearded man peeled a tangerine and handed half to Liu Gaohua, offering no words of comfort.
In peaceful times of food and comfort, young people feel that everything goes wrong.
Only when real trouble comes do they realize that their earlier misfortunes were actually blessings.
The young Daoist was starting to worry about Chen Ping'an and wanted to go look for him, but the corridor was already packed with people, impassable. He had no choice but to give up.
---
In a secluded spot, Chen Ping'an stood at the base of a wall, still seven or eight paces from the outer wall of the residence, and did not go any further.
A black-clad youth crouched on the wall, eyeing Chen Ping'an with a playful look. He spoke in an authentic Longquan dialect: "Back by the creek, I couldn't tell how deep your fist intent went. Looking back now, that fight at Immortal Grave—I was indeed careless. Losing wasn't entirely unjust."
A native dialect in a foreign land.
But Chen Ping'an took no pleasure in it.
This guy was Ma Kuxuan from Apricot Flower Alley, taken as a disciple by Zhenwu Mountain, one of the military ancestral homes of Treasured Vase Continent.
Back at Immortal Grave, Ma Kuxuan had aimed to kill both of them in one go. He deliberately conserved his strength, hoping to finish both Chen Ping'an and Ning Yao at once. That's when Chen Ping'an seized his chance and nearly killed Ma Kuxuan with the skirt-weighting dagger Ning Yao had lent him. But an expert from Zhenwu Mountain had intervened, and Chen Ping'an failed.
Ma Kuxuan held a handful of brine-soaked soybeans, tossing them into his mouth one by one, savoring them.
He had originally worried, up on Zhenwu Mountain, that this kid from Mud Vase Alley might have died or become an insignificant mortal. If so, avenging the Immortal Grave grudge would have been terribly boring. Over the past year or so, he, Ma Kuxuan, had followed his second master to Zhenwu Mountain to cultivate. Since arriving, he had stolen the spotlight at every turn. He wouldn't claim to be famous across the entire continent, but in the dozens of countries surrounding Zhenwu Mountain, who didn't know that Zhenwu Mountain had a once-in-a-century genius who had burst onto the scene? And those old monsters among the military patriarchs on the mountain—who dared to look down on him just because of higher cultivation or seniority?
In just one year, he broke through three realms, unstoppable. Now he was at the peak of the fifth realm, Dwelling Realm—frightening enough to scare anyone to death.
On Zhenwu Mountain, among battles within the same realm—big and small, sixteen fights in total—he, Ma Kuxuan, had not lost a single one.
Unfortunately, on this trip down the mountain to settle old scores, though he could just barely call it revenge, he still couldn't break through the bottleneck of the fifth realm and advance to the middle five realms. So Ma Kuxuan was in a bad mood. He had asked the master who accompanied him down the mountain to return first, saying he wanted to wander the martial arts world to clear his head, find a few third-realm Qi refiners or martial arts grandmasters to spar with, hoping to use another's stone to polish his jade and break through his cultivation. But even without using the numerous treasures he'd earned on Zhenwu Mountain as rewards, prizes, or gambling winnings, Ma Kuxuan had traveled alone through five or six small countries' martial underworlds without finding a single real grandmaster. Most were fourth- or fifth-realm martial artists, mere fame seekers who couldn't withstand a few of his punches.
Ma Kuxuan ate his salted soybeans and said with a grin, "Chen Ping'an, judging by your look, you're set on walking the pure martial artist's path? Doesn't matter. With luck, a sixth-realm martial artist can catch the Great Li's attention. Then you can land some military position with real power and bring glory to your ancestors."
Chen Ping'an asked directly, "Did you come looking for me, or were you just passing through?"
Ma Kuxuan seemed to find this hilarious, laughing so hard his mouth wouldn't close. Finally stopping, he tossed the last of the soybeans into his mouth and sneered, "Just passing through. You think too highly of yourself, Chen Ping'an. I heard earlier that in Caiyi Country, there was an unparalleled Sword God who had retired to the mountains for thirty years. Everyone said his swordsmanship was divine, even more powerful than mountain immortals—stuff like 'no sword in hand, sword in heart.' They really hyped him up. I spent a ton of effort finding him, but he refused to fight, saying he'd retired from the martial world. It pissed me off. After searching half a month for him, there was no way I was letting him brush me off with a single sentence. But no matter how I attacked, he just dodged and fled. Even if I chased him down and killed him with one punch, that would defeat my purpose of finding a worthy sparring partner. So I came up with an idea: I tracked down his descendants in the martial world, brought him their heads, and only then did he agree to fight me. But a fifth-realm martial artist with a sword—how could he deserve the title 'Sword God'? Don't you think so, Chen Ping'an?"
On Zhenwu Mountain, Ma Kuxuan was actually taciturn, not the talkative type he was now. Except for occasional epiphanies or breakthroughs that sent him out to find opponents for duels, he spent all his time in secluded bitter cultivation. Apart from his nominal master, Zhenwu Mountain had two patriarchs who personally fed him fist techniques and imparted the true essence of the military arts. One was arranged by the sect; the other took a liking to Ma Kuxuan, appeared voluntarily, and treated him as the one to inherit his mantle.
Ma Kuxuan himself didn't know why, but in front of this peer from Mud Vase Alley, he felt like talking. Of course, after saying what he wanted to say, there was something more important to do.
Such as fighting another round!
Ever since ascending the mountain, Ma Kuxuan had sworn that in battles within the same realm—whether against Qi refiners or pure martial artists—he would win every single time without question. The lower five realms were like that; the upcoming middle five realms would be the same; and the upper five realms even more so!
So this hometown youth, Chen Ping'an, was a small knot in his heart. In the path of military cultivators, this knot was hardly worth mentioning, but it was still annoying. Ma Kuxuan was naturally displeased. He could wreak havoc on Zhenwu Mountain, which was swarming with immortals, yet he had once lost to a mud-splattered brat who knew only some crude martial arts?
Chen Ping'an asked, "Since we've met, are we going to fight?"
Ma Kuxuan rubbed his hands together and chuckled, "No problem. Even if it's third realm against third realm, I won't bully you, Chen Ping'an. But out of hometown sympathy, I'll still try to hold back—make sure I don't accidentally kill you. Even if you end up injured or crippled tonight, in the years to come, as I gradually ascend to the upper five realms, that battle at Immortal Grave will be enough for you to take pride in. But I'll advise you here: just be secretly pleased. If word leaks out and I catch wind of any rumors, I won't be so polite."
Ma Kuxuan looked down at the calm-faced peer below and felt a slight irritation. Oh, he'd learned to feign composure? It seemed this trip abroad, all the way to Caiyi Country, had given him some experience. Ma Kuxuan kept a smile on his face, telling himself that in a few punches, he'd knock this kid flat and he'd learn his place.
Ma Kuxuan was about to jump down from the wall when Chen Ping'an said, "Let's fight outside."
Crouching on the wall, Ma Kuxuan leaned back, vanishing from sight as if he'd fallen onto the street outside.
Chen Ping'an looked around, then with a tip of his toe, he leaped onto the wall. He saw Ma Kuxuan walking slowly down the empty street, beckoning with his finger.
When Chen Ping'an's feet touched the street, Ma Kuxuan put one hand behind his back, scratched his head with the other, glanced at the sword case on Chen Ping'an's back, and said with a grin, "Feel free to use any weapons. I won't count it as you taking advantage."
Without another word, Chen Ping'an began his Mountain Toppling Fist's six-step walking stance, advancing "slowly."
Deep water makes no sound.
The same goes for a martial artist's fist intent. Spirit and energy concealed within, returning to simplicity—fist principle is the principle of reason.
Ma Kuxuan, though seeming frivolous and treating Chen Ping'an like a frog at the bottom of a well, when he actually settled down to face the enemy, his entire demeanor changed. The black-clad youth clenched one fist against his abdomen, the other palm held open behind his back. His clenched hand's fingers habitually tapped lightly against his palm.
A dozen paces separated them.
"Just having fist intent isn't enough. You're too slow!"
Ma Kuxuan suddenly took a step forward. The street beneath his shoe vibrated slightly, the force sinking deep but showing no sign of spreading outward. In an instant, the black-clad youth was before Chen Ping'an, throwing a punch straight at his head.
But Chen Ping'an shot both hands forward, tilting his head to the side. His left hand deflected Ma Kuxuan's right fist, while his right hand caught Ma Kuxuan's other fist, which was hooking upward at a tricky angle. At the same time, Chen Ping'an leaned forward, driving his left elbow toward Ma Kuxuan's face.
Unexpectedly, Ma Kuxuan raised his knee and kicked out violently, blocking Chen Ping'an's forward momentum. He leaned back, pulling away to evade the elbow strike. But just as he was about to unleash an explosive force, which, if it landed, would surely rupture Chen Ping'an's guts—Ma Kuxuan had spent this time roaming the martial world challenging grandmasters; even fifth-realm martial artists, once hit by Ma Kuxuan's fists or feet (since his physical cultivation surpassed even pure martial artists), would cough up several taels of blood.
But Ma Kuxuan didn't succeed. He found Chen Ping'an grabbing his leg with his right hand and flinging him sideways.
Ma Kuxuan quickly adjusted his posture in midair, eventually landing with both feet on a wall, his body parallel to the street surface, maintaining a bizarre stance as he walked forward as if on level ground.
Chen Ping'an moved alongside him without pursuing, driving both fists toward Ma Kuxuan's head.
He didn't use any of the techniques the old man surnamed Cui had taught him in the bamboo lodge.
First contact. Neither knew the other's true depth. So the initial exchange was more about gathering strength and measuring the opponent's weight, rather than going all out with wide, open moves. Chen Ping'an's caution wasn't surprising. But Ma Kuxuan, who had seen the sights on Zhenwu Mountain and tested the skills of martial arts grandmasters in the mortal world, was also being conservative. That was interesting. Clearly, deep down, Ma Kuxuan held an unspoken fear of the only person who had ever beaten him—Chen Ping'an.
Here it comes!
Two craters appeared in the wall where Ma Kuxuan's feet had been.
The black-clad youth shot forward like a sharp arrow. Chen Ping'an let a breath of true qi sink into his dantian. He traced a curve with his foot, sliding backward gracefully, then suddenly exploded with force. With a thud, dust flew up at his feet, and the ground deep beneath his straw sandals fractured, bricks and stones breaking.
Ma Kuxuan's fists rained down like a storm. Chen Ping'an fought as he retreated, meeting force with force, fist against fist. Ma Kuxuan's punches were heavy and relentless, his breath continuous, as if there were no end to the torrent. Even when his body was airborne and his feet had no purchase, he still struck with a fierce, formidable momentum.
The air between them boomed.
It was like someone was frantically beating a drum between the two.
The black-clad youth drove Chen Ping'an back a dozen steps, pushing him almost against the wall behind.
But Chen Ping'an, who enjoyed an invisible advantage in borrowing and discharging force from the ground, was gradually accumulating a subtle edge. This waxing and waning was the key moment. In this second exchange, still holding some strength in reserve against unforeseen trouble, Chen Ping'an stamped heavily on the ground. That wasn't enough—he planted his foot firmly again, blocking one of Ma Kuxuan's punches and returning the favor twofold. His fist smashed into Ma Kuxuan's cheek, sending the black-clad youth flying sideways.
But just as Chen Ping'an was about to draw a new breath, Ma Kuxuan, mid-flight, lashed out with a leg sweep, striking Chen Ping'an's neck with a heavy whip-like blow—an eye for an eye.
One was sent flying by Chen Ping'an, tumbling in the air before his feet touched the ground, though he still skidded backward.
The other spun a full circle from the kick, landing in a slight crouch before immediately retreating, as if needing to catch his breath.
Ma Kuxuan grinned, baring white teeth. He had a rough gauge of Chen Ping'an's fist weight, striking speed, and true qi circulation. With a forward dash, he was as fast as if he'd used a spirit-walking talisman.
Chen Ping'an was forced into a seemingly defensive fist stance. Ma Kuxuan's pupils contracted. Just as they were about to clash, Ma Kuxuan spun, his steps short and rapid, circling around Chen Ping'an like a top. His body leaned backward, as if about to fall but never quite, keeping an arm-and-a-half's distance from Chen Ping'an.
Chen Ping'an didn't readily throw that punch.
After completing a full circle, Ma Kuxuan straightened up and began to drift around Chen Ping'an again, asking curiously, "That punch of yours—it's dangerous. Does it have a name?"
Chen Ping'an naturally didn't reply. He shifted his feet lightly, always facing Ma Kuxuan, maintaining his fist stance, fist intent flowing through his entire body. A strand of true qi coiled inside him like a fire dragon.
Ma Kuxuan didn't get an answer. He kept moving, drifting gracefully around Chen Ping'an, then suddenly laughed to himself. "I'm an idiot. Can't blame you, can't blame you. It's funny—during this trip through the martial world, I've seen so-called heroic grandmasters fighting back and forth, with countless idiots cheering on the sidelines. They peck at each other like chicks. Before attacking, they always yell, 'Take this move!' or stupidly announce the name of their technique, as if terrified their opponent won't know the origin and essence of that sword strike or punch."
Ma Kuxuan squinted, his smile lazy.
But this black-clad youth, who had said they'd only compete for victory or defeat, now bore a murderous intent no less than at the Immortal Grave.
Ma Kuxuan stopped and asked, "We can't just stand here staring at each other forever. My third realm actually tied with yours. Chen Ping'an, do you want to make this more interesting?"
Chen Ping'an twitched the corner of his mouth. "Just use your fifth realm. I won't count it as you taking advantage."
Earlier, Ma Kuxuan had said something similar. Now this taciturn Chen Ping'an threw it right back at the prideful Ma Kuxuan. It was more infuriating than landing a punch on his head.
Ma Kuxuan gave a dry laugh.
The black-clad youth beamed brightly, but inside he was furious. One hand kept clenching and unclenching, with strands of snowy lightning dancing between his fingers, crackling.
So in this third-realm fight, Ma Kuxuan had set aside his identity as a military Qi refiner, fighting like a down-to-earth martial artist—a very low-level approach.
But Chen Ping'an showed no sign of fear. Instead, his fist intent surged sharply, like a rising tide.
Only this time, he switched from the ancient Divine Drummer Form to the razor-sharp Iron Cavalry Assault Formation.
Finally, Chen Ping'an said something that made Ma Kuxuan absolutely determined to kill him.
"Ma Kuxuan, please—if we're fighting, just fight. Stop yapping."
Ma Kuxuan took a deep breath, shedding all traces of laziness. His eyes grew calm, without arrogance or emotion.
His face serene, Ma Kuxuan pointed. "Do you dare settle this within the second circle I just walked? Whoever steps out first loses."
Chen Ping'an nodded.
Without hesitation, Ma Kuxuan stepped forward into the circle's boundary.
Chen Ping'an from Mud Vase Alley, Ma Kuxuan from Apricot Flower Alley.
Both knew in their hearts: Ma Kuxuan wasn't just after victory or defeat—he wanted life or death.
Chen Ping'an, meanwhile, had no intention of fleeing. Once he entertained the thought of retreat, he would die. And killing a bastard like Ma Kuxuan, who killed more the higher his cultivation rose—Chen Ping'an wouldn't feel guilty.
Their meeting tonight in a foreign land was a coincidence.
But the invisible struggle for their respective paths had been inevitable since their hometown.
Furthermore, there was a grudge between their elders that Ma Kuxuan knew about but Chen Ping'an did not.
On this quiet street in Yanzhi City, Caiyi Country, Treasured Vase Continent.
Chen Ping'an faced the enemy with the Iron Cavalry Assault Formation. He struck first. The Square Inch Talisman in his sleeve was already prepared, ready at any moment to bolster his true killing move, the Divine Drummer Form.
Ma Kuxuan, a fifth-realm military cultivator, had the "thunder" of Zhenwu Mountain flowing between his palms and fingers—a profound treasure.
Inches apart, within a confined space.
All that remained were the two youths' abundant fist intent and startling lightning.
This close-quarters slaughter.
In terms of realm alone—a peak third-realm pure martial artist versus a peak fifth-realm Qi refiner—Ma Kuxuan himself would call it chicks pecking at each other.
But when you considered the martial arts intent on one side and the nascent military soul on the other, not even the mortal world's martial arts—let alone mountain immortals—had ever seen such a terrifying clash.
Ma Kuxuan first shattered Chen Ping'an's Iron Cavalry Assault Formation before its fist principle had fully coalesced.
But then Ma Kuxuan ate a full fifteen punches of the Divine Drummer Form, forcing the black-clad youth's face to flash with a pale gold. He had to use Zhenwu Mountain's secret military arts to forcibly sever that strange fist momentum's smooth descent. Then Ma Kuxuan fought back, causing blood to seep from Chen Ping'an's temples. His face was struck twice by lightning orbs—a sensation like spring thunder roaring in his ears, like a heavy hammer hitting his nose. But Chen Ping'an, having endured bitter training in the bamboo lodge on Luopo Mountain, was all too familiar with it!
Ma Kuxuan grew fiercer with each exchange, like a demon.
The two hometown peers traded blows directly, seeking only speed and the "two hundred" surplus profit from "killing a thousand enemies at the cost of eight hundred self-inflicted wounds." Given their tenacity and ruthlessness, they wouldn't even let go of a profit of twenty, let alone two hundred.
Thus, even when they could block an opponent's punch, they'd stubbornly choose to land their own first before the enemy's.
Chen Ping'an's internal organs were already in turmoil, blood flowing from his seven orifices.
Ma Kuxuan's qi was also in disarray, his heart wracked with pain. The Zhenwu Mountain thunder in his hands was nearly spent.
But both grew calmer and steadier.
Each was the other's whetstone, sharpening their respective paths.
Their last exchange of injuries for injuries came when Chen Ping'an, with a flash of insight, turned his soul-nourishing standing sword furnace into an offensive move. He split his hands apart but kept them connected through qi. One hand's two fingers struck Ma Kuxuan's brow; the other hand's two fingers bent and knocked on Ma Kuxuan's heart.
Chen Ping'an himself took two punches to the chest from Ma Kuxuan, one after the other.
Both staggered back simultaneously. When Ma Kuxuan's foot landed outside the circle, he swallowed a mouthful of blood and snarled, "Chen Ping'an, this time you lost. We're one and one!"
Chen Ping'an said nothing. He twisted his toes, staring fixedly at Ma Kuxuan. Slowly, he wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand, not daring to obscure his vision for even a moment.
Just then, from the city wall, someone said with a smile, "Excellent."
Ma Kuxuan sighed, turned, and walked away. He turned his head and pointed at Chen Ping'an. "Next time, victory, defeat, life, and death—we'll settle it all at once."
Turning back, the black-clad youth walked slowly, his face twisted in pain, jaw clenched so tightly he wouldn't make a sound.
Chen Ping'an stood still, looking up at that familiar figure.
The military cultivator from Zhenwu Mountain—the one who had taken Ma Kuxuan away from Immortal Grave.
After the fifteenth punch of the Divine Drummer Form was forcibly interrupted, Chen Ping'an had realized that person was there. Or rather, that person had deliberately let him know.
So Chen Ping'an didn't use his two life-bound flying swords.
That person had told Chen Ping'an through heart-to-heart communication not to worry about life or death—just fight with full force. He would ensure they only determined victory or defeat. Whether Chen Ping'an had a chance to kill Ma Kuxuan or Ma Kuxuan was about to kill Chen Ping'an, he would intervene.
That man, who had once gone to Lizhu Cave Heaven on behalf of Zhenwu Mountain, took a step forward, walking shoulder to shoulder with Ma Kuxuan, whose face was streaked with tears of pain. He turned to Chen Ping'an and said, "As an apology and a token of thanks, I've already dealt with an assassin hiding in the shadows. Otherwise, once your mind relaxed, it would have been hard to tense up again, and that assassin could easily have found an opening."
Chen Ping'an nodded.
The "thanks" referred to the fact that this man had seen Chen Ping'an's foot as he stepped outside the circle—it hadn't actually touched the ground, but hovered in midair. It was just that Ma Kuxuan, at the end of his strength, hadn't seen the truth.
As for why Chen Ping'an was so cautious?
Because he didn't trust that Zhenwu Mountain military immortal's words at all.
There was only one Mr. Qi, and only one A Liang.