Chapter 313: Sword Control
Regardless of their original intentions, of the three groups besieging Chen Ping'an, seven renowned martial arts experts—including Pink Vajra Ma Xuan, the Pipa Woman, and Demon Sect's Ya'er—had already fallen on this street.
Feng Qingbai, who roamed the world as a chivalrous swordsman, was a madman. He would stop at nothing to achieve his goals. His surprise attack through the wall failed to kill Chen Ping'an with one sword strike, and instead cost Ya'er most of her life.
The Clog Beauty, who was expected to inherit the position of Demon Sect leader as a woman, had still not managed to turn over. One side of her face pressed against the cold stone street. With the delicate nails of one slender hand, she gently scraped the bluestone, her gaze fixed on Flower-in-Hair Zhou Shi, her eyes filled with pain and pleading.
Although he had joked earlier, asking Zhou Shi to promise that she wouldn't die here, he had agreed after all. Why was he still reluctant to act?
Flower-in-Hair Zhou Shi showed no guilt. He even met her gaze and smiled in acknowledgment.
Lu Fang had never made a move.
The elusive Smiley had already clashed with Chen Ping'an, gaining no advantage.
Zhou Shi held the string of scarlet prayer beads, gently twisting them. "Among those still standing, I, Zhou Shi, am the weakest link. But from now on, I swear I will do everything in my power to deal with this man. Master Lu, Smiley, Feng Qingbai—can we set aside our differences today and face the enemy together?"
Smiley's smile was chilling as he nodded. "No matter who kills him in the end, I only want one skill from him—that divine art of shrinking the earth into inches. If I can't get it, we'll negotiate compensation separately."
Feng Qingbai looked at Chen Ping'an with burning eyes. "I must be the one to deliver the final blow that kills him. As for all his belongings, I won't take a single item. Even the immortal artifact obtained from slaying the banished immortal, I will hand over for you to decide how to divide."
Zhou Shi glanced at the dying Ya'er, then smiled. "I only want her."
Lu Fang hammered the final nail. "Then it's settled."
Feng Qingbai held his sword horizontally before him, bending his fingers to lightly flick the blade, a playful smile on his face. "Sword Immortal Lu, you old-timer, don't just stand by and watch anymore. Be careful not to try to steal a chicken only to lose the rice. In the end, we might all end up as whetstones for this man's martial arts. As the strongest expert on our side, if you keep hiding your skills, using our lives to test his depths, I won't be happy to serve. I might as well wash my hands of this mess—do whatever you want."
Lu Fang chuckled. "Rest assured."
With those words, the Sword Immortal of Bird's Peak pressed his palm against the hilt of his sword and, in a fist-like grip, pulled the blade known as "Da Chun" (Great Longevity) out of the ground, scabbard and all.
Immortal realm alchemists had recorded in ancient texts that there was a tree in antiquity called Da Chun, whose spring lasted eight thousand years and autumn also eight thousand years. After it bore fruit, mortals who ate it could levitate and ascend to the heavens.
Chen Ping'an had been silently building momentum and also needed to adapt to the state after shedding the constraints of the golden liquor dharma robe.
Among the boxing techniques taught by the old man named Cui, the Cloud Vapor over Great Marsh stance and the Iron Cavalry Breach Formation stance were relatively easy—just variations in the weight of punches. But the Divine Man Beats Drum stance, for instance, had a hair's breadth margin for error that could lead to a thousand miles of deviation. Moreover, he had to stay constantly alert against Lu Fang, so Chen Ping'an had to measure every punch carefully.
This was the peak of Chen Ping'an's boxing since he began learning martial arts—for his body, spirit, and essence.
"Here he comes. Be careful."
Lu Fang smiled as he reminded the others. "Really, he doesn't even announce himself before attacking. No grandmaster demeanor at all."
At the same time, he twisted his wrist, gripping the sword hilt for the first time in earnest. After holding the famous sword Da Chun, Lu Fang's abundant sword energy, even with deliberate suppression, still poured outward, causing his clothes to flutter without wind. Especially the sleeve of his sword-wielding hand—it billowed and shook with surging energy, the wide opening emitting faint hisses.
In an instant, Smiley's nerves tightened. Without a second thought, he used the incomplete immortal sect secret technique he had stumbled upon, employing the mysterious Qimen Dunjia to instantly shift from the position of Zhen to Kan. But before he could even locate Chen Ping'an's figure, fist energy was already upon him, rushing straight at his face, causing a stabbing pain.
A flash of sword light appeared abruptly between Smiley's head and the fist energy.
The razor-sharp sword blade lay horizontally. In Smiley's eyes, it was like a pure white thread placed before him.
The punch was blocked by the blade, buying Smiley a moment of breathing room. Several times his figure vanished, retreating again and again, struggling to escape that suffocating pressure.
Since his debut, Smiley had roamed the martial world for thirty years. His favorite opponents had always been external boxing grandmasters—he could advance and retreat at will, teasing those slow-footed masters like walking dogs. This was how Smiley earned his nickname "The Irritating Ghost." Several veteran experts renowned for their indestructible bodies had been worn down and killed by the phantom-like Smiley.
This was the first time Smiley had encountered a boxing master faster than himself.
Knowing that Feng Qingbai could save him once or twice but perhaps not a third time, Smiley stopped holding back. As he dodged and retreated, his hands hid within his wide sleeves. Between his fingers were small but deadly handleless flying knives, their blades coated with a dark green venom called Hook Vines, most effective at breaking martial artists' protective energy.
Standing about five or six zhang from Chen Ping'an, Smiley watched as Feng Qingbai, after using his sword to break Smiley free, paid a price. He was targeted by that man, and after two or three exchanges, Feng Qingbai was at a disadvantage. A sweeping leg strike smashed into his shoulder, sending him tumbling sideways with a loud bang.
A white-robed figure followed like a shadow. With one arm hanging limply, Feng Qingbai was clearly in a bad spot.
Returning a favor.
Smiley launched a barrage of hidden knives from his sleeves.
That man was truly a monster. Every punch he threw seemed effortless. His steps on the street didn't even crack the stones—unlike the imposing, deity-possessed explosion that Pink Vajra Ma Xuan produced. Smiley almost thought the man's boots never touched the ground, as if he were floating through the air.
Smiley didn't expect the six Hook Vines to hit the man; he just wanted to buy Feng Qingbai a moment to breathe.
Feng Qingbai grinned, spreading his fingers wide. He let go of his long sword.
A swordsman, discarding his sword?
Smiley's heart sank. Could it be that Feng Qingbai, who had roamed from north to south for a decade, cutting through nearly half the martial world with his single sword, was only this skilled?
Feng Qingbai's long sword did not fall to the ground. Without its master controlling it, the blade trembled slightly, sending ripples through the air. Then, with a sudden tension, the sword halted in midair, its tip lifting to point at the white-robed figure. It flashed and vanished.
Feng Qingbai shook his left shoulder—the spot hit by the whip kick throbbed with a bone-deep ache, but it wasn't a problem.
Feng Qingbai formed a sword gesture with the two fingers of his right hand.
In this narrow, oppressive little world, sword cultivator divine abilities could not be used, but the relatively inferior technique of sword control was something Feng Qingbai had already mastered to perfection.
He had come down here to "temper his sword"—using every possible method to refine his sword intent and sword heart.
Offense and defense switched.
On the street, a patch of white snow, a streak of white rainbow.
Flower-in-Hair Zhou Shi first carefully helped Ya'er up, letting her sit against the base of a wall, so she wouldn't be killed accidentally by the sword energy and fist force of the combatants.
That sword strike from Feng Qingbai that pierced her back was vicious and ruthless. It had directly shattered the connections of Ya'er's dantian. Not only that, but a strand of sword energy remained lodged in her body, preventing her from using qi to heal herself. Without an expert rescuing her and extracting that strand of sword energy, she could only wait for death. Even the sacred healing elixirs of Vajra Temple would be useless.
Zhou Shi certainly wasn't going to engage in romance with her in the middle of battle. Crouching in the shadow of the wall, he pressed his thumb slightly harder. One of the prayer beads wrapped around his fist was pushed out. The scarlet bead didn't just roll away randomly. After bouncing twice on the bluestone street, it vanished into thin air.
Zhou Shi continued to scatter the beads.
This was a protective charm his father Zhou Fei had given him. If used properly, it could save him from the top ten experts in the world and kill the next ten. Of course, the Lord of Spring Tide Palace had also advised Zhou Shi that when facing Ding Ying and Yu Zhenyi, he should run. If he couldn't escape, he should kneel and beg for mercy—it wasn't shameful.
Feng Qingbai strolled leisurely, moving slowly, using his exhilarating sword control technique to pursue the white-robed figure. Chen Ping'an tried several times to shake him off but was still entangled by the lightning-fast flying sword.
The flying sword was so fast that one could only see the flow of its light.
Smiley didn't want to overstep, so he stayed in the distance, adjusting his breath. Watching this scene, he felt both relieved and a chill of dread. If he had to face Feng Qingbai, how would he respond?
The white-robed figure, fluttering like rolling snow, suddenly stopped. He reached out and grabbed the hilt of the flying sword.
Feng Qingbai remained unafraid. "It can't be that simple. You won't be able to hold it..."
Before he could finish, Chen Ping'an grasped the hilt with his right hand and struck the sword blade with a hand blade from his left hand.
The sword did not break, but the tip curled upward at a sharp angle, bending into a huge arc.
Feng Qingbai paused his two-finger sword gesture.
Chen Ping'an also formed a sword gesture with two fingers, quickly wiping them along the blade, perfectly straightening the sword.
He held the sword horizontally in front of him, then released his grip.
Feng Qingbai, stunned, was grabbed by the back of his collar, yanked backward, and flung several dozen zhang away.
The sword tip was only a hair's breadth from piercing Feng Qingbai's heart.
Chen Ping'an moved his two fingers slightly. The flying sword sped back, circling around him like a bird clinging to its owner.
Sword masters control swords—I can do that, too.