# Chapter 311: There's Always Someone Better
The child was so terrified that he became less afraid instead. There was only him left alone in the world, just a child who had read only a few elementary books, not yet understanding what it meant to swallow one's pride. With hatred written all over his face, he clenched his teeth and asked, "What's your name?"
The old man's smile was mocking.
The child added, "I will definitely kill you! I want revenge for my parents, my grandpa and grandma!"
The old man with a silver lotus crown on his head pointed at himself and laughed, "Me? Everyone calls me Ding the Demon, both righteous and evil sects alike. Disciples of the sect, when they see me, probably respectfully address me as Supreme Leader. As for my real name, it's Ding Ying. I haven't used it in many years."
The old man asked, "And what's your name?"
The child's voice trembled, but he tried to speak loudly, "Cao Qinglang!"
The old man teased, "Your name is too advantageous. With that name and your appearance, when you walk the martial world in the future, be careful you don't get beaten up."
He casually waved his sleeve, and a gust of wind struck the window paper of the side room, buzzing loudly. The thin window paper was completely unharmed, but something inside the room seemed to be knocked back.
The child couldn't detect such exquisite technique. He just turned green with anger, "Bullshit!"
His family was dead, and the name given by his parents was the last bit of hope for the child.
The old man didn't mind. He saw a few hens pecking around the yard.
The old man went to the kitchen, scooped out some rice from the jar, returned to his seat, and casually scattered it on the ground. The hens quickly flapped their wings and rushed over, happily eating.
The old man laughed, "Everyone in the world fears me, but look, they don't."
He bent down, leaning forward, "Does this mean that so-called grandmasters, emperors, generals, and ministers are all inferior to a chicken?"
The child was too young, his mind full of hatred. He didn't want to think about such things. He just stared at the murderous demon, hating that he was too weak. An idea stirred in his mind—there was a kitchen knife in the kitchen, though not very sharp. In the capital, families like his who were moderately well-off could afford to call out to passing charcoal sellers to stop their oxcarts. The kitchen knife was just for show.
The old man looked at the sky and answered his own question, "Of course not. Fools fear nothing. Sometimes, when an eagle passes through the sky, the mice in the fields quickly protect the grain under their paws. In this world of ours, there aren't many such people, but not a few either. They're not much better than ordinary folk. They just see that shadow—like Yu Zhenyi, who turned to cultivation from the Songlai Kingdom; the old cook in the Crown Prince's mansion of your Nanyuan Kingdom; the old monk who preaches scripture at the Vajra Temple."
Saying this, Ding Ying stood up, shook his sleeves, and flicked his fingers. Time after time, he condensed his energy into threads and struck toward the window of the side room.
Ding Ying's movements were too fast. Green energy kept gathering by the window, like stars, forming a picture of a brilliant galaxy.
"Then there are some outsiders. Those who come with ill intentions are never good people. We all call them banished immortals. They play around in the mortal world, like comets sweeping past, coming and going in a hurry. They never care how the mortal world ends up, how big a mess they make, or how terrible a situation they leave behind."
"They don't care about the joys and sorrows of the mortal world."
Ding Ying smiled and made a gesture like turning a page, then lightly clapped his hands, as if closing a book. "These people are like someone reading a page of a casual book in their spare time. They turn the page and it's done. They don't care whether the page says 'rites and music collapsed,' 'blood flowed for a thousand miles,' or 'living beings were plunged into misery.'"
"A family of etiquette passed down for a thousand years, a sage's mansion fragrant with books, gave birth to a freak, and he messed everything up with debauchery."
"A small country in a corner had an ambitious emperor who didn't understand military affairs at all, yet blindly pursued militarism. In twenty years, half of the country's young men died."
The child couldn't understand any of this. He was immersed only in hatred. "What did you do?"
This child from a humble alley, named Cao Qinglang, sobbed uncontrollably, "You only killed my parents, my grandpa and grandma..."
Cao Qinglang's voice was filled with grief and anger, "What kind of hero are you? You're just a heinous demon!"
The old man seemed to deliberately tease the child. He mimicked the child's sobbing sounds, "Wuwuwu," then laughed heartily.
One couldn't tell if this was childlike innocence or sheer insanity.
The child trembled with rage.
Ding Ying laughed, "Actually, what do I care what those banished immortals did? Not at all. I just find excuses to kill people, to kill some interesting ones."
The old man raised his arm and made a chopping motion, like mincing meat, repeatedly raising and lowering his hand. "One banished immortal, two banished immortals, three, four—chop them to death. Besides them, there are those above the top ten besides me, and the 'next ten' below. Keep the interesting ones, kill the ones I don't like."
Amid the child's sobs.
Ding Ying glanced at the sky.
This time, it was different from sixty years ago.
That was why he chose to stay here rather than act personally. He wasn't that crazy—trying to challenge nine or even more than ten top experts alone. Sixty years ago, someone tried that, trying to monopolize the world's martial fortunes. They lost badly.
If the young master of the flying sword could survive, surprising everyone.
Then Ding Ying would leave this place and make that person unsurprised.
Ding Ying knew that this world was like raising venomous insects.
Deep in Ding Ying's heart, there was a secret known to no one. To solve this mystery, he only cared about one thing: if he made these sixty years of raising venomous insects come to nothing.
Would someone come to see him?
Who would eventually stand before him?
Before that, there were two keys.
First, Zhou Shi must die on the street, forcing both Lu Fang and Zhou Fei to enter the game.
Second, the owner of the flying sword must also die.
Ding Ying looked back at the window, smiled, and thought it wasn't difficult.
---
An old man with an aquiline nose walked through the bustling streets of the Nanyuan Kingdom capital. He exuded authority without anger. He was likely from the northern lands, very tall, standing out like a crane among chickens, drawing many sidelong glances from the locals. Around the old man were several male and female guards with sharp eyes and vigorous strides. They just glanced sideways and suppressed the curious gazes. The old man, in this so-called best city under heaven, had many emotions. Accustomed to the vast skies and open lands beyond the Great Wall, the desolate emptiness, he really didn't adapt to the sea of people here. Just as the old man was feeling somewhat irritable, a robust man walked quickly from afar and told this teacher in the grassland dialect that he had found the person, at a place called Kejia Bridge, not far away.
The old man had this disciple lead the way. Soon they crossed an ancient stone bridge and came to a shop by the water. It was a silk shop. The old man told his disciples to wait outside. The shop had few customers, so the old man entered alone. He saw behind a low counter only a head with sparse hair, looking ugly and crooked.
The shopkeeper saw the old man and laughed, "Oh, a rare guest. I wouldn't be surprised to see anyone these days, but seeing you is truly a rare event. Although Zhou Fei's son informed me beforehand that you were coming, I didn't really believe it. I thought it was a trick to lure me out of seclusion to help his father."
The shopkeeper came around the counter and gestured for the aquiline-nosed old man to sit anywhere, speaking freely, "Grandmaster Cheng, please sit down and talk. Otherwise, I have to keep looking up when I chat with you. It's exhausting."
The old man from afar didn't mind. He sat on a coarse visitor's chair and got straight to the point, "If I didn't distrust the list of ten from Reverence Tower, I wouldn't risk coming here. Neither of our rankings is in the top five. Accidents are very likely. There are already three: Feng Qingbai, who is undoubtedly a banished immortal; Ding the Demon's disciple grandson Ya'er; and Zhou Fei's son Zhou Shi. Who knows if there are any old turtles or little tortoises hiding underwater?"
The shopkeeper nodded, deeply agreeing.
Yu Zhenyi and Zhong Qiu, along with two other grandmasters, gathered at Guniu Mountain—that was the news on the surface, for the world to watch the spectacle.
Reverence Tower choosing to announce the list of ten in the Nanyuan Kingdom capital this time—that was the real key hiding the mystery.
The old man from beyond the Great Wall sneered, "I use a spear, you use a blade, same as Zhong Qiu—all external styles. Unlike that old fox Yu Zhenyi, if it's a life-or-death battle, we'll inevitably end up with some hidden injuries. The three of us definitely won't last another sixty years. For this opportunity, I've fought all the way to today. My body is full of hidden ailments, big and small. I need an explanation!"
As he finished, the old man lightly tapped the armrest of the chair. The chair was unharmed, but the floor beneath the chair's legs was covered in dense cracks.
Outside the shop, the old man's direct disciples sensed the flow of energy inside and were on high alert, breathing heavily.
The shopkeeper laughed, "These disciples of yours aren't very talented. I heard you found a little wolf cub with amazing talent in the grasslands many years ago? After all these years of careful training, shouldn't he be no less than Ya'er or Zhou Shi, those favored sons of heaven?"
The old man surnamed Cheng said coldly, "Dead. Too talented—that's no good."
The shopkeeper said angrily, "Cheng Yuanshan! Even a vicious tiger doesn't eat its own cubs. Have you no humanity at all?"
This old man who had traveled thousands of miles from beyond the Great Wall to Nanyuan Kingdom was none other than the eighth-ranked of the world's top ten, Arm Saint Cheng Yuanshan.
Twenty years ago, after making it into Reverence Tower's list of ten, he quietly went to the grasslands beyond the Great Wall and soon became a guest of honor of the Grassland Lord.
Cheng Yuanshan squinted at this short old man who had been living incognito in Nanyuan Kingdom, "Liu Zong, and you have the nerve to talk to me? Knife grinder, knife grinder—what do you, Liu Zong, like most to use to grind your knife?"
Knife Grinder Liu Zong grinned.
Cheng Yuanshan asked suspiciously, "I just got here. Nanyuan Kingdom is Zhong Qiu's territory. Which side is Zhong Qiu on this time? At first, I thought it was Yu Zhenyi, but now it seems uncertain? What is Ding the Demon up to? He's the one who least needs to do anything, yet he came to the Nanyuan Kingdom capital. For what?"
The shopkeeper Liu Zong, after Arm Saint Cheng Yuanshan brought up "Knife Grinder," had a momentary surge in presence, but then relaxed again, becoming the petty little shopkeeper once more. He pointed at Cheng Yuanshan and teased, "You think too much."
But Cheng Yuanshan knew in his heart that Liu Zong hadn't neglected his cultivation over the years. If anything, he had advanced even further.
Yet in the Nanyuan Kingdom area, with Zhong Qiu stationed near the palace for so many years without any earth-shattering rumors, how could Liu Zong's martial arts not regress? Over the years, besides secretly slaughtering experts beyond the Great Wall, Cheng Yuanshan had also infiltrated the south multiple times, killing two martial grandmasters who had hopes of entering the top ten, all to temper his mind through dangerous battles, not daring to slack off.
Cheng Yuanshan said, "Zhou Fei acts without any scruples, too much like those banished immortals in history. Now he's aligned with Ding Ying. Is it a blessing or a curse? Give me a hint. Liu Zong, I can't trust others, but you're an exception."
Liu Zong laughed, "Why should you trust me?"
Cheng Yuanshan said solemnly, "In the martial world, there are countless people called martial maniacs. But in my heart, the true martial maniac is only you, Liu Zong. You, Ding Ying, Zhong Qiu, and Yu Zhenyi are among the few who survived that chaotic battle back then. Of those ten, some died, some disappeared. Only you bystanders on the fringe each gained your own opportunities. Ding Ying got that celestial's crown, Yu Zhenyi got a celestial martial art manual. I don't know what Zhong Qiu got, but you, Liu Zong, voluntarily gave up that demonic blade, because you already had a knife. That choice, only you in the world could make."
Liu Zong stroked his sparse beard and smiled, "How would an outsider like you, who didn't personally participate in that disaster, know such secrets?"
This matter was Liu Zong's greatest itch. He couldn't talk about it with ordinary people, but since Arm Saint Cheng Yuanshan brought it up today, Knife Grinder Liu Zong was still somewhat proud.
Cheng Yuanshan spoke honestly, "I personally killed the new owner of that demonic blade 'Alchemist,' but I couldn't keep the blade."
Arm Saint Cheng Yuanshan had always been arrogant. He had no respect for people like Tong Qingqing of Mirror Heart Pavilion on the list. As for the "next ten" selected by busybodies, Cheng Yuanshan had directly announced that some of them could serve him tea, some could take off his boots, some could guard his door. None of the ten famous top experts in the world entered his eyes.
But coming to see Liu Zong today, he was extremely respectful, even willing to humble himself.
This showed that Cheng Yuanshan had no confidence at all coming to the Nanyuan Kingdom capital.
Liu Zong stuck a finger into his mouth, picked out a leftover shred of meat from between his teeth, and flicked it away. "A butcher's skill is judged by the knife he uses most smoothly. How many years can he use it for skinning, chopping meat, and deboning? The worst ones need a new knife in two or three years. Better ones, seven or eight years. My knife, I've used since I debuted in the martial world. To this day, it's been almost forty years."
Liu Zong chuckled, "Killing those sneaky banished immortals—that's what's really satisfying. Grinding the knife for decades, I hope it won't become some useless 'dragon-slaying technique' from the books. Good that they're coming. Just right."
---
A poor scholar traveling to the capital for the imperial exams was still waiting for his beautiful wife to return. For her, he had even ignored the sage's teaching that a gentleman stays away from the kitchen.
They had met by chance on the road, encountered in the martial world. She was six years older than him and often joked that she wasn't a good woman. He didn't mind.
To be able to play such beautiful pipa music—heroic on the battlefield, melancholic in the boudoir—she couldn't be too bad.
A strange person came to him and told him about a certain female martial artist.
The scholar thought that if what that person said about that woman was true, then she was indeed evil to the core.
But the scholar felt that the woman he knew was different. He thought she was a good woman—knowledgeable, gentle, virtuous, and beautiful. He could marry her and grow old together.
He was waiting for her to come home.
He thought about telling her these heartfelt words when he saw her.
---
The Vajra Temple was the largest monastery in the Nanyuan Kingdom capital and also the largest and most monk-filled Buddhist holy land in this world.
In a remote and secluded part of the temple was a simple thatched hut. The door was open. The empty room had nothing except an old monk and a meditation cushion.
A handsome, thin young man, surrounded by over a dozen stunning beauties like stars around the moon, slowly walked toward this inconspicuous little hut. The women ranged from thirteen or fourteen to over forty years old, all beauties. If someone from Reverence Tower were there, they would recognize that among them were famous female warriors and high-ranking ladies from powerful families. Without exception, they were all stunningly beautiful women.
Around the hut stood banners and pennants.
The young man looked like a noble scion traveling with beauties. As he walked, he explained the origins and meanings of Buddhist terms like "ten directions," "monastery," "instant," and "banner" to the women. Many of the women came from privileged backgrounds, and some were well-educated. One charmingly pointed out a few mistakes in his explanations. He didn't argue back, just said that customs varied by region, and the way they said it in his hometown was more in line with Buddhist principles.
The meditating old monk opened his eyes and asked with a smile, "Benefactor Zhou, since you've already obtained Ding Ying's promise and secured your place, why come here?"
The young man named Zhou raised his hand to signal the women not to follow. He walked alone toward the hut and said with a smile, "I want to ask the master for an Arhat golden body for my useless son."
As he approached the threshold, he lifted his foot and asked courteously, "Should I take off my boots? I'm afraid of dirtying your pure abode."
The old monk laughed, "There is no dirt on your boots. It's in Benefactor Zhou's heart. Does taking off your boots help?"
The young man said helplessly, "You bald monks like to say useless nonsense everywhere, calling it 'chanji.' I really can't like it."
He pointed at the bare room with nothing in it, "It seems empty, but you're here."
The old monk sighed, "Benefactor Zhou has wisdom. You understand all principles, but you're unwilling to turn back."
The young man still took off his boots, stepped over the threshold, and plopped down by the door. He raised an arm and pointed at the beauties behind him, all different in figure and charm, "If they are the Buddhist law I seek, how would you, monk, try to persuade me?"
The old monk made a bitter face, "Playing word games with you banished immortals is really tiring."
The young man pretended to be serious, bowed with palms together, and smiled as he chanted, "Amitabha."
The old monk's face, already withered and bitter, became even more wrinkled, full of worry.
If it were any common rascal, they wouldn't even get into the Vajra Temple. Even high officials and nobles of Nanyuan Kingdom wouldn't find this hut. But this seemingly young man of about twenty was called Zhou Fei.
He was the fourth-ranked grandmaster in the world. His profound martial arts were nothing short of supreme. Moreover, he was proficient in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting.
Those women and ladies genuinely liked him. Perhaps at first it was forced—they had been taken against their will, some already had men they loved, some were even faithful married women who had married early and had children. They were taken by Zhou Fei or his Spring Tide Palace minions to the mountain. But after living together, whether a few months or as long as three, five, or even over ten years, not one had failed to soften toward Zhou Fei and develop true feelings.
This was an inexplicable oddity in the martial world.
At the lower levels of the martial world, people liked to say that the "Mountain Emperor" of Spring Tide Palace was an ugly, fat pig or a violent murderer. But that wasn't true. Ignoring his killings in martial feuds, when it came to women he fancied, Zhou Fei was not only dashing and elegant but also retained a youthful appearance.
Zhou Fei smiled, "A father and son ascending together—isn't that worth looking forward to?"
The old monk sighed, "The golden body from White River Temple was indeed hidden here. But when Benefactor Ding appeared in the capital again after sixty years, it was immediately moved to the Nanyuan Kingdom palace. Benefactor Zhou, you've come too late."
Zhou Fei stared into the old monk's eyes for a moment, then changed the subject and asked, "I heard there's a piece of cyan clothing floating around the capital, invisible to mortal eyes. Have you, old monk, seen it?"
Before the old monk could answer, Zhou Fei narrowed his eyes and emphasized, "I hope you have!"
The murderous intent was blatant.
The old monk seemed to have taken a vow of silence, or perhaps he was weighing the pros and cons.
Zhou Fei was the type who, if he said he would kill everyone in the Vajra Temple, would definitely do it, leaving not a single young novice or sweeping monk alive.
Zhou Fei laughed heartily and retracted the palpable killing intent, "The Arhat golden body and flying celestial robe of Nanyuan Kingdom, the protective armor of Songlai Kingdom, and that demonic blade beyond the Great Wall that can break all techniques. In the past sixty years, four treasures have appeared in the world. If the person who obtained them was already one of the ten, their position naturally became more stable. Those close to the top ten would gain immense power, with a chance to squeeze out some unlucky wretch."
The old monk seemed to have made up his mind, putting down all burdens. He became much more at ease and asked Zhou Fei as if chatting, "Benefactor Zhou, in your homeland, is Buddhism flourishing?"
Zhou Fei smirked, "Over there? Hard to say."
The old monk asked again, "Some books record bits of words mentioned by you banished immortals. They say that those who achieve the Way can burn great marshes with a wave, shatter mountains with a punch, turn a breath into a flying sword to take heads from a thousand miles away, ride the wind across great rivers and seas, and catch dragons with one hand. Is that true?"
Zhou Fei was about to speak.
A woman in white drifted over and landed outside the hut, her face full of panic. "Master, young master was severely injured in Scholar's Lane."
Zhou Fei's face darkened. "What?"
The young woman with a cool, beautiful appearance hesitated, then fell to her knees with a thud, trembling.
Zhou Fei's mouth twitched. He slowly raised his hand to cover his forehead. "Lu Fang, Lu Fang, you're not just a fool—you're a piece of trash. You couldn't even protect my son..."
The hand on his forehead, as white as jade, curled its fingers like hooks, as if wanting to rip open his own skull.
Zhou Fei lowered his fingers, lightly patted his knee, then suddenly swung his sleeve backward.
The kneeling woman outside flew backward like a torn sack. Before she hit the ground, she shattered into pieces in midair. The women behind her made way, but many were splattered with blood. Not one dared show any resentment.
"This might not be a bad thing." Zhou Fei exhaled heavily and smiled. "Old monk, let's continue our chat. After we're done, I'll go deal with some family matters."
The old monk was speechless.
Zhou Fei didn't force him and asked, "How badly was he hurt?"
Realizing the woman was already dead, Zhou Fei reached out his hand from his sleeve and quickly formed a hand seal, one not recorded in any Buddhist or Daoist scripture in this world.
A faint, blurry figure of the woman appeared outside the hut. Even in death, she was terrified, timidly floating toward Zhou Fei. Her lips moved, but there was no sound.
Only Zhou Fei alone could "hear" her.
The old monk sighed.
There are always those better than you. Beyond the known, there is always another sky.