Chapter 297: Throwing a Punch
Inside the main building of Flying Eagle Fort, dozens of core members of the Huan clan had faces ashen and hearts like dead ashes.
Fort Lord Huan Yang could never have imagined that the Taiping Mountain immortal master, whom his family's trusted friend had hired at great expense, was actually the true culprit.
In the four corners of the main hall, four fire basins sat, the pine and cypress branches within them long since burned to ash. Earlier, that immortal master had said this main building was a key location that the evil spirits and demons had long coveted, so it was necessary to gather everyone here, to converge. Then he would use the courtyard burning method, supplemented by Taiping Mountain's unique talismans, to set up a formation to purify the filth, so that the malicious demons and heretics would have no chance to exploit them.
He also said that only after ensuring the main building's safety would he go out alone to slay demons and devils, upholding the way of heaven.
Flying Eagle Fort naturally had no objections.
The black clouds pressing down outside made people feel suffocated and nauseous. It was clearly a genuine demonic disturbance. They, the Flying Eagle Fort band of martial artists, for the survival of their clan, would take up blades to face the enemy. Even if it meant confronting those demonic tyrants of Chenxiang Country, they would of course do so without hesitation, and die if die they must.
But to have them fight against yin entities and ghosts... just thinking about it made their scalps tingle, their hearts tremble with fear, and their yang energy weakened a few points.
Earlier, Huan Yang had not fully trusted this Taiping Mountain immortal master. Even though the man had an immortal demeanor, like a banished immortal rarely seen in the world, and was introduced by a family friend, Huan Yang still dared not let down his guard—this was the necessary disposition of a martial clan. Therefore, when the man was wandering the streets leading his horse, Huan Yang specifically had Old Steward He Ya serve as a guide, sticking close to him. At that time, the pine and cypress were burning, emitting a fragrant scent that truly carried a sense of righteous energy.
Although He Ya had some rough understanding of Daoist arts through happenstance, he was no expert. But in his early years, following Old Master Huan through north and south, he had gained broad experience as an old hand in the martial world. He confirmed that the immortal master's methods were legitimate immortal techniques. Flying Eagle Fort, already at its wit's end, finally had a reassuring pill to swallow.
So half an hour ago, that white-robed immortal master, holding a fly whisk in one hand and rolling up his sleeve with the other to hold a brush, wrote cinnabar talismans on the large nanmu pillars of the hall. The strokes were fluid and pleasing to the eye.
He Ya, who served as Flying Eagle Fort's tutor, even stayed by his side the whole time, personally holding the box of vivid cinnabar for the immortal master.
Now, the elderly He Ya slumped in a chair, eyes wide with fury, bloodshot, staring fixedly at the white-robed man standing between Huan Yang and his wife, wishing he could drink his blood and eat his flesh.
At his age, he had long seen through worldly affairs, had no descendants, and every extra day he lived was a grace from heaven. What fear was there in death? But He Ya could not imagine what face he would have to face the Huan clan's ancestors after death.
Those qualified to sit in the main hall were mostly elderly members of the Huan clan of Flying Eagle Fort. Advanced in years, and with injuries from that alley battle years ago, most had accumulated deep wounds. Their qi and blood were failing. After inhaling the pine and cypress smoke from the fire basins, one by one their faces turned livid, their limbs convulsed. It seemed without the white-robed man lifting a finger, they would die on their own.
The younger members without seats stood behind their elders of various branches. Most had mediocre martial skills, and they collapsed on the ground. Those with better cultivation could still sit cross-legged, meditating and circulating qi, trying to stay conscious.
The tall white-robed man still held that snowy fly whisk, but one hand gently pressed on Fort Lord Huan Yang's shoulder. He laughed. "Fort Lord Huan, no need to blame yourself for inviting a wolf into the house. My scheming against Flying Eagle Fort is merely to save some effort. If it came to a real fight, you martial heroes would still find it hard to escape death. Decades of painstaking planning, the prepared against the unprepared, the mountain against the foothills—if you don't die, who will?"
The wife beside Huan Yang trembled. In the main hall, hers was the only face without abnormality; she should not have been poisoned by the courtyard burning smoke. But she was already terrified out of her wits. After all, she was a woman born and raised in Flying Eagle Fort, who preferred stillness to activity. Apart from a few spring outings, she had never traveled more than a hundred li from Flying Eagle Fort in her life. How could she withstand such a storm?
The tall man lifted his hand from Huan Yang's shoulder and pinched the woman's cheek. His movement was gentle, full of tenderness.
But it was not the lascivious gaze of a man coveting beauty, but rather that of a craftsman looking at his finest work.
He reluctantly withdrew his hand and smiled. "Fortunately, that inexplicable clash didn't affect our Flying Eagle Fort. If someone with insight had seen through this scheme, we would have truly lost everything. Actually, according to the original plan, you could have enjoyed another half year of peace. But my master is truly afraid of those fellow cultivators who fight tooth and nail. If the Fuji Sect takes notice again, what then? So as soon as I received the secret letter, I came immediately."
In the main hall, no one could speak. So this immortal master found it somewhat dull. Without an audience to play to, it was a bit disappointing.
The tall man looked at those seated and sneered. "Are you secretly hoping that the old Daoist and the young Daoist can save you? I advise you to give up that hope. A fifth-realm rogue cultivator—if I can't slap him to death, that's his good luck. The only reason I left them alive is that the master and disciple's bit of qi and blood essence still have some decorative use."
He regretted a little: if he had known, he wouldn't have put so much secret medicine in the pine and cypress branches. A whole hall of mutes—not even a curse, let alone begging for mercy on their knees. It was too boring.
Since his master hadn't made a move yet and the overall situation was settled, he wanted a bit of amusement. He looked around, and finally his gaze rested on a woman who was using her qi to resist the medicine. He hadn't noticed it before—such a delicate woman was actually a hidden fourth-realm martial artist. For a woman to attain such martial cultivation was no easy feat.
He walked forward slowly, crouched down, and pinched her chin. The woman's expression was resolute, her eyes sharp.
He smiled slightly, took a delicate, shiny porcelain bottle from his sleeve, turned his head, and caught sight of a youth whose appearance resembled the woman. The youth was frail, already collapsed on the ground, limbs convulsing, eyes rolling back, foaming at the mouth, not long for this world.
The man's eyes lit up. Interesting. This kid had some aptitude for cultivation. If thrown into a third-rate sect, he might even become a valued direct disciple. Since he had nothing to do, he might as well give the kid a hand. Whether the kid succeeded or not, whether he lived to become an outer disciple of his master's sect, would depend on his fortune.
But before that, whether the youth lived or died, he would enjoy a certain carnal blessing. As for the others in the hall, they would have a feast for the eyes.
This man, disguised as a Taiping Mountain cultivator, extended his finger and pressed it against the youth's forehead. Then he casually drew out a wisp of foul green smoke, condensed it into a small ball, flicked it lightly, and the smoke dissipated in the hall.
The handsome youth immediately woke up. He was about to say something when the man slapped a vermilion pill into his mouth.
He threw the youth to the center of the hall. Then with a flick of his fly whisk, he dispelled the pure true qi the woman had been struggling to maintain against the pine poison, and teleported her beside the youth.
The man said with a grin, "Everyone, enjoy the show."
The youth's face flushed red. His body curled up, trembling like a leaf in a storm. When he saw the woman, his gaze gradually grew heated, and he slowly crawled toward her.
The man clicked his tongue. "We heretics can't compare to those stable, step-by-step major sects. Some visualization methods not only take eccentric paths contrary to worldly etiquette, but worst of all, their ultimate achievements are limited. Even touching the threshold of the Golden Core realm is a luxury."
Speaking thus, the man showed some resentment, then smiled. He said to the youth, "But don't look down on the Observing the Sea and Dragon Gate realms, little fellow. The Nanke Pill you ate has wonderful effects. Your mind is now loosened; it's a rare state of transcendence. But one of your seven emotions and six desires will be infinitely magnified. That's also our sect's secret. As for which emotion or desire, the Nanke Pill has a correspondence. The one I gave you is the most expensive—don't waste it. As long as you maintain a sliver of clarity from start to finish, indulge in pleasure in between, and survive to the end, I'll take you as my disciple. Your early cultivation path will be smooth, and you might even have a chance to step into the Middle Five Realms."
The woman was panicked, but her body couldn't move. Despair and fear finally showed on her face.
The man said to the youth seductively, "Don't worry. Everyone in the hall will die, so you have no scruples. The heavenly way is ruthless. What good and evil are there in cultivation..."
The tall man's heart shook. He abruptly looked up, gripping his fly whisk, on high alert.
On the beam above, someone was yawning lazily. He looked down at the heretical cultivator, took a bamboo fan from his sleeve, and fanned it slightly. "You're boring enough, enjoying talking to yourself so much?"
It was Lu Tai.
The man narrowed his eyes. "Friend, you and the sword-carrying youth—are you passing by to watch the show, or are you going to ruin a good deed? Or should I say, in the mountains outside Flying Eagle Fort earlier, were you two part of the game?"
Lu Tai glanced at the youth on the ground, whose heart was clouded by lust, and clicked his tongue repeatedly, full of disgust. "Do you think it's all because of that harmful pill? Let me tell you the truth: at least thirty to forty percent of your current lust arises from your own heart. No wonder this guy took a liking to you right away—you were never a good thing to begin with."
The youth, whose hand was almost touching the woman's knee, began to struggle. His inner conflict manifested physically: blood seeped from his seven orifices—black blood. His face covered in blood, he rolled on the ground.
The tall man was unmoved. He only regretted the pill a little. Now that this "gentleman on the beam" had exposed the truth, the youth's fragile Dao heart had shattered.
If no one had pointed out the paper window for the youth, he could have followed that path all the way. That would have been a way out, and he might truly have become the man's personal disciple, embarking on the path of cultivation.
Lu Tai's expression was indifferent. He brought his two fingers together and drew them downward lightly.
The flying sword named Needle Tip shot out through the air, heading straight for the suffering youth.
The woman coughed up a mouthful of blood and shouted at Lu Tai, "Don't!"
The sword tip halted just an inch from the youth's neck.
Lu Tai looked at the woman, tears streaming down her face. "If he dies, it'll be easier for him. If he walks out of here alive today, either he'll harden his heart and kill you, then sink back into the demonic path, or he'll let others' words suffocate him in the days to come."
The woman only shook her head, repeating in a murmur, "Please, Immortal Master, don't kill him, please don't kill him..."
The man, holding his fly whisk, asked with a smile, "I'm curious—how did you manage to sneak into this formation without a sound?"
Lu Tai held the fan in one hand and propped himself on the beam with the other. He laughed. "When it comes to formations, there doesn't seem to be anything in the world more powerful than my family's heritage. Isn't that infuriating?"
The man laughed heartily, but his laughter abruptly stopped. In an instant, his figure began to dodge and weave. The snowy fly whisk inscribed with the characters "Quyou" (Depart Sorrow) emitted rumbling thunderous sounds with each swing. Every time he swung the whisk, a strand made from the tail bristles of some mountain marsh spirit beast detached from the whisk and shot toward Lu Tai on the beam.
The whisk strands transformed midair into dozens of white snakes thick as arms, each bearing a pair of wings and radiating cold air. Their momentum was like lightning.
Lu Tai paid no attention to the dozens of white snakes. With a snap, he closed his bamboo fan and began using it as a brush to write talismans on the beam. Under the "brush tip" at the top of the fan, ancient silver characters and patterns flowed out. Then those living sigils began to travel along the beam, pillars, and ground, infiltrating the existing cinnabar talismans and covering them one by one.
Overthrowing the host.
The white snakes detached from the whisk crumbled to dust the moment they approached within two zhang of Lu Tai.
The man couldn't even identify what kind of secret Daoist technique this was—that was the most terrifying part.
But something even more frightening happened. That blue-robed gentleman, more beautiful than a woman, revealed the secret himself. He smiled and said, "I've set up a small formation all around. Cave heavens and blessed lands often have them—able to seal off all external techniques, making me the sage in the middle. Sounds impressive, doesn't it?"
The man's heart churned. He hesitated, then stopped his fly whisk and rested it heavily on his arm. "Immortal Master, not only do you have a profound family heritage, but your skills are vast and divine. I bow in admiration! If the Immortal Master is willing to lift his hand, my master and I are willing to offer sufficient sincerity. For example, all the secret treasures of Flying Eagle Fort will go to the two Immortal Masters. I can also take the liberty of offering a private reward, and later beg my master for a high-grade spirit artifact. What does the Immortal Master think?"
Lu Tai's answer was irrelevant. "Is your master at the Golden Core realm?"
The man smiled and nodded. "To show sincerity, I am willing to report my master's Dao name. He is the one who once killed two Dragon Gate realm cultivators of Taiping Mountain..."
Lu Tai quickly waved his hand. "Stop, stop. Your intentions are too malicious!"
The man looked innocent. "Why does the Immortal Master say that?"
Lu Tai sighed. "A minor Golden Core rogue cultivator from Tongye Continent, and you, an Observing the Sea cultivator, use him to bluff? It won't scare me to death, but it could make me die laughing. You almost succeeded."
Then Lu Tai burst into laughter, clutching his stomach.
Of course, whether the mastermind truly had Golden Core cultivation was another matter.
The man's face darkened.
Fuck. He was dealing with a nutjob.
And this androgynous bastard's Dao level was ridiculously deep—bottomless, in fact.
Lu Tai stopped laughing and even wiped the corner of his eyes. He really had been amused. "Besides you and your master raising that ghost infant, do you have any high-ranking allies?"
The man was shocked to his core. He smiled bitterly. "Such heinous acts—people below the mountain think the Fuji Sect is a thousand li away, far away. But in your eyes and mine, it's not far. Do you think just two people would dare set up such a big scheme and control this plan?"
Lu Tai said, "Oh, so it seems your master wanted to take all the spoils."
The man forced composure, but inside he was cursing his mother.
Lu Tai teased. "Isn't it awkward? The reward I want, you can't afford. But fighting to the death with two outsiders might ruin decades of painstaking effort?"
Seeing through his thoughts, the man's face turned murderous. "Are you really determined to meddle to the end? Are you not afraid of mutual destruction?!"
The man's anger swelled. "As you said, my master and I cannot offer you enough benefits. But then again, what good does it do you to interfere? The ghost infant was raised by my master with a unique secret method, unique in the world. Moreover, the ghost infant has already acknowledged its master. Even if, by some fluke, you took it, could you raise it?"
Lu Tai flipped his bamboo fan and tapped the beam lightly with its end, leisurely and comfortable. "Can't I just do some righteous good deed?"
The man was almost exploding. His lips trembled. If not for the fact that the woman carrying the ghost in her womb was present, and any slight harm to her would affect the ghost infant's growth after birth and ruin his master's century-long plan—if not for all those concerns, he would have truly fought his hardest against this bastard.
Lu Tai poured fuel on the fire. "Now you don't find it boring anymore, do you? How will you thank me?"
This time, the man's face turned ashen, not much better than those Flying Eagle Fort people poisoned by the sinister technique.
Lu Tai suddenly lost interest in chatting. He put away his fan, shook out a handful of snowy white pills from his sleeve, and tossed them into the fire basins burning pine and cypress. The fly-whisk man wanted to stop him, but that exaggerated huge flying sword appeared again, descending from the sky, sinking into the ground, then emerging from the air again, making it hard to dodge.
Then the real killing intent flashed by.
The fly-whisk man barely avoided it. He roared in anger. The fly whisk left only its "Wuyou" (No Sorrow) handle. All the white strands detached, turning into countless winged white snakes that whirled rapidly, buzzing, piercing the eardrums, densely shielding him in the center.
The man touched his cheek. A groove deep enough to see bone was cut into it. If he hadn't turned his head fast enough, he might have been stabbed through the head.
Two flying swords!
And proficient in formations!
And brazenly claiming that his family's formation arts were unmatched in the world!
Lu Tai snorted. "Falling into the net yourself—you can't blame others."
On the pillars, those silver talismans gleamed brightly, then interlinked, weaving the great hall into a net.
The fishing line of this net was those suspended characters and patterns.
Inside the net, besides the man who had inadvertently trapped himself, were Lu Tai's two flying swords, Needle Tip and Awn Tip.
Lu Tai floated down from the beam. No longer paying attention to the cage, he walked toward the pale-faced fort lord's wife. The woman's eyes were vacant, drenched in sweat, and a faint fishy smell emanated from her seat.
Passing the woman in the center of the hall—this fourth-realm martial artist, who had secretly attained that level—she now had control of her limbs again. She held the withered, stunned youth in her arms.
Earlier, after Lu Tai had thrown those pills into the fire basins, a cloud of white powder had risen and dispersed. After the Huan clan members of Flying Eagle Fort inhaled it, their complexions gradually returned to a healthy flush. But although their bodies were unharmed, their souls had suffered considerable damage. Loss of lifespan was inevitable.
The woman suddenly turned her head and glared at Lu Tai's retreating back. "Why did you say those things? You're the one to blame!"
Lu Tai turned, looked at her, and smiled. "Otherwise, should I kill both of you now and be done with it? No worries, no sorrows?"
The woman, holding the youth, quickly lowered her head and dared not look at Lu Tai again.
Lu Tai walked to the fort lord's wife. Hands behind his back, he bent down to look at her. "Your life essence is almost gone. Death is inevitable. Now it's up to you to choose whether to die a worthy death or to be killed as a public menace."
In Lu Tai's eyes, the woman's seemingly beautiful face was already shattered, crisscrossed with ravines, seeping wisps of black death qi. Her eyes, which ordinary people would see as limpid and watery autumn pools, were pitch black.
This pampered woman, bewildered and ignorant, showed no reaction.
Lu Tai laughed. "Stop pretending. I know you've returned to your senses. While you still have this last burst of energy to make a choice, I'll respect your wishes. In another half-incense stick's time, you'll lose control of yourself, and then I won't be polite."
Huan Yang was about to stand up and speak, but Lu Tai waved his sleeve, instantly sealing his five senses. Huan Yang sat there like a docile puppet, but his eyes were full of pain and pleading.
The woman slowly raised her head and murmured, "Can I not die?"
Lu Tai sighed. For a moment, he had nothing to say.
After a long silence, Lu Tai turned toward the main gate and leaned against the chair where the woman sat. He said softly, "Then live a little longer."
---
Outside the main building of Flying Eagle Fort.
The slovenly old man watched as the roosters that ate glutinous rice and drank clear spring water died one by one.
Today, Huan Chang and Huan Shu happened to be with the Daoists Huang Shang and Tao Xieyang. The siblings didn't want to hide in the "safe haven" of the main building, under the protection of that "Taiping Mountain immortal master." Since the old man was still moving outside, they wanted to pitch in and help.
The old man looked up at the black cloud sea pressing down. Gritting his teeth, he resort to his last resort. He took out two large white bowls, one in each hand, and turned to the siblings. "I need to borrow two or three liang of your blood to summon the two stone lions at your Huan clan ancestral hall gate. Those were protective objects your grandfather begged from a great master. The true hidden trump card of Flying Eagle Fort."
He raised his hands and said solemnly, "Quickly. Then we must rush to the ancestral hall! No more delays!"
Huan Chang and Huan Shu exchanged a glance, then without hesitation drew their knives and cut their palms, letting the blood flow into the white bowls in the old Daoist's hands.
The old man flipped his wrists, and the two white bowls vanished. "On the way, there may be ghostly things blocking us. I may not be able to look after you. The four of you must take care of yourselves. You'll even have to help clear the path for me. If you die, no one will bury you. So, whether you go or not, decide now."
The siblings and their two friends all nodded simultaneously.
The old man gave a soft cry. "Go!"
Just as the old Daoist had expected, the yin things lurking in various parts of Flying Eagle Fort, as if aware of his intention, finally stopped hiding and surged out.
A white-robed youth appeared abruptly on a rooftop, standing atop a flying eaves corbel. He was gazing into the distance, in the direction where the old Daoist and his group were leaping over rooftops and racing toward the ancestral hall.
Chen Ping'an pinched two talismans between his fingers, one in each hand, and released them gently. He murmured, "Chuyi, Shiwu!"
Two streaks of sword light, carrying the two talismans, shot like lightning toward the Huan ancestral hall. In an instant, they pinned two Pagoda Subduing Demon Talismans onto two roof beams.
Two brilliant golden explosions burst forth from the beams.
Then the two streaks of light returned to Chen Ping'an, carrying two more yellow paper talismans, which they brought to two rooftops not far ahead of the old Daoist.
On the final round trip, Chuyi and Shiwu carried two more demon-subduing talismans to help clear the path for the slovenly old man.
Chen Ping'an had used up all his demon-subduing talismans, so he no longer concerned himself with what was happening at the ancestral hall.
In the martial world, when exorcising demons and slaying devils, life and death were one's own responsibility.
So was doing evil. So was doing good.
The black clouds above were about to press down on the city.
It felt as if the sky's curtain was lowering, seemingly within reach. A few loud words from the marketplace might disturb the immortals in heaven.
Chen Ping'an looked up.
The martial artists of Flying Eagle Fort couldn't see what was above the black clouds, but he could.
An old man in a tall hat, whose depth of cultivation was unknown, sat cross-legged on a red cushion. He was murmuring incantations, driving this black cloud sea that exactly covered Flying Eagle Fort's territory, slowly descending to the mortal world. The time had come. The old man was about to wash Flying Eagle Fort in blood, extract all the flesh and blood essence, and feed it to the newborn ghost infant about to burst from its heart.
Chen Ping'an began to skim across rooftops like a dragonfly touching water. His figure flashed by at extreme speed. Dressed in a white robe, he seemed to stretch out like a white rainbow.
He finally landed on Flying Eagle Fort's training ground. Aside from Chen Ping'an, it was empty.
Chen Ping'an stomped his foot lightly and took a deep breath.
He bent his knees slightly and slowly assumed an imposing, ancient-style boxing stance.
Cloud-Soaked Marsh Style.
The robe Jinli on Chen Ping'an, which had been under a concealment spell, now revealed its true appearance.
A golden robe, with flood dragons roaming.
Chen Ping'an closed his eyes. The pure true qi within him flowed rapidly in the circulation method of the Eighteen-Stop Sword Qi, like a great river racing to the sea.
Chen Ping'an suddenly opened his eyes. He lifted his foot and stomped down heavily.
Not only did the entire training ground shake violently, but weapons on racks fell to the ground. On several nearby streets, dust flew up almost simultaneously.
He threw a punch first toward the sky.
Then punch after punch.
The stance was Cloud-Soaked Marsh Style, but the boxing intent was Divine Drummer Style!
That old man surnamed Cui in the bamboo building had never taught Chen Ping'an such a boxing method.
Chen Ping'an threw punches repeatedly, stomping to borrow force from the ground each time.
The earth trembled, rumbling like an earthquake.
The old man had once said that when he first manifested Cloud-Soaked Marsh Style, that punch had driven the rain curtain back a hundred zhang, not daring to touch the mortal world.
Chen Ping'an didn't think too much. He only wanted this rolling cloud sea before him now to be like the heavy rain curtain above that old man's head back then. Before his fist technique, it would all roll back to heaven!
Unconsciously, there was no one before him.