Chapter 314: Strayed into the Depths of the Lotus
Feng Qingbai not only had his weapon taken, but also nearly got his chest pierced by the enemy’s sword-controlling technique. Instead of feeling mortally humiliated and furious, his eyes lit up with a strange brilliance, as if he finally found things “a bit interesting.”
The rules of the martial world still had to be observed. Feng Qingbai, saved by Lu Fang, stood behind this renowned “half-sword immortal” and offered a word of thanks.
Gazing at the free and easy figure whose sleeves were filled with sword aura, Feng Qingbai felt a pang of envy. He himself relied on his family background and sect to reach his current state. Although he had no lack of talent, he didn’t deserve titles like “unparalleled” or “once in a century.”
Lu Fang was different.
Someone like Lu Fang would be the top sword-wielder in any world.
Lu Fang, with his back to Feng Qingbai, smiled. “No need to thank me. If you’re willing, I can continue to back you up. The precondition is that you have the guts to take back your sword.”
Feng Qingbai reached out and rubbed his left shoulder, somewhat resigned. He shook his head. “Up there, it wouldn’t be hard. But here, I have no hope of reclaiming that sword.”
Lu Fang nodded. “Then you can stay nearby and watch the battle.”
Feng Qingbai smiled knowingly. “The mountains are high and the rivers long; I’ll repay this favor in the future.”
This time coming down, Feng Qingbai had expended a huge favor from his sect, enabling his light boat to descend straight through ten thousand mountains, spending over a decade as a self-aware banished immortal. He abandoned his identity as a sword cultivator, stole into a passably decent mortal shell, then started afresh as a pure martial artist and wandering sword-wielder, challenging experts of all sorts. There were benefits, but far from enough for Feng Qingbai to achieve what his master called “from far to near.”
Before coming down, Feng Qingbai had a heart-to-heart talk with his master. A sword cultivator, besides his sword, also had a natal flying sword—that was “far.” Even from tens or hundreds of yards away, he could kill without a trace. A martial artist, a wandering swordsman, emphasized being invincible within three feet—that was “near.”
So Feng Qingbai’s aim was to comprehend the sword path from the near.
Fortunately, watching the white-robed swordsman and Lu Fang draw their swords was also a form of cultivation.
Feng Qingbai at least had that insight and temperament.
As for the outcome of today’s battle, Feng Qingbai didn’t care about it at all. In fact, most banished immortals didn’t come to this mortal world aiming for “invincibility” or “complete victory.” More often, it was related to their personal mental barriers.
Ya’er slumped at the foot of the wall, drenched in sweat, barely having managed to stem the fountain of blood from her wound. She didn’t even dare lower her head to look at it.
The pipa woman who had been smashed into the wall was covered in blood and grime. After some struggle, she finally fell to the ground, then leaning against the wall, slowly gathered strength to stand. She glanced at her beloved pipa, which had accompanied her through the martial world for so many years, now reduced to wreckage. She had no strength to pick it up. She didn’t look at the battle on the street. One hand pressed against the wall, she staggered forward—a pitiful woman, her face terrifyingly pale, as if heading to a place she must go.
Ma Xuan had not yet regained consciousness, and might never have the chance.
Zhou Shi’s forehead was beaded with fine sweat. Just a glimpse of the white-robed swordsman’s controlled flying sword out of the corner of his eye made Zhou Shi feel as if a huge stone was pressing on his heart, almost suffocating him.
Activating those beads to fall and take root was not easy. He first had to intercept and extract a wisp of inner energy, carefully infuse it into the bead, then, following the secret immortal formation diagram his father Zhou Fei had privately taught him, use the technique named “Slaying the Dragon” to arrange the beads like chess pieces into a formation pattern. Only then was it considered complete. During this process, not a single step could be wrong. Each bead contained “immortal qi” that Zhou Fei had gathered from various sources. Zhou Fei had once let him wield a divine weapon and strike freely, but Zhou Shi could not damage the beads in the slightest.
This time, following his father to the capital of Nanyuan Kingdom, he had thought victory was certain, mostly just seeking excitement. He only needed to hide in the shadow behind his father and Old Devil Ding, sit on the mountain and watch the tigers fight, observe others’ lives and deaths. But Ding Ying acted unpredictably, forcing him to accompany Ya’er into danger.
If his father died, there was still a chance for reversal. But if he, Zhou Shi, died, trying to revive and return as his original self would be as difficult as ascending to heaven.
Moreover, given his father’s temperament, if Zhou Shi died midway, his father probably wouldn’t even bother to take a look at his corpse, let alone waste a single iota of effort.
The reason Chen Ping’an didn’t press his advantage, aside from Lu Fang’s interference, was that he was still familiarizing himself with the weight of the longsword and the exact amount of true qi needed for various flight trajectories—the more precise, the better. For a sword master controlling a sword, “as if using one’s own arm” was only crossing the threshold. More important was entering a realm of “spiritual resonance,” a pseudo-realm imitating a sword cultivator’s control of their natal flying sword. Like a crude copy or rubbing, even a forgery could contain true meaning, and there was much to study.
Lu Fang had actually been hesitating all along.
Because Old Devil Ding was nearby.
Once he committed fully and attacked the white-robed swordsman, he could easily be ambushed by the erratic Ding Ying. Ding Ying never cared about rules or status; if he saw a low-level martial artist he disliked, he would likely throw a full-force punch. Furthermore, Lu Fang was worried about the safety of the Flower-Capped Scholar Zhou Shi.
At that moment, Lu Fang and Chen Ping’an almost simultaneously looked in the same direction.
It was a tall, thin old Confucian scholar in a blue robe. As he walked, his demeanor was solemn. He was clearly one of the few pinnacle grandmasters in this world, yet he did not interfere in the standoff between Chen Ping’an and Lu Fang. Instead, he turned from the street into an alley, heading for the courtyard where Chen Ping’an was staying.
State Preceptor Zhong Qiu, facing off against Ding Ying.
If anyone in the world dared to meet Old Devil Ding with bare fists, fight a stirring battle, and refuse to retreat even to the death—it was not the divine Yu Zhenyi, who seemed slightly above the martial realm, nor Lu Fang of the Bird’s-Eye Peak. It could only be Zhong Qiu.
With that, Lu Fang had no more reservations.
Lu Fang slowly drew his sword from its sheath. With every inch of Dachun that came out, the world gained an inch of dazzling radiance, so bright and eye-catching that Smiley had to squint.
The scrawny little girl, who always wished that no one could see her, was curled up on a stool. When even Smiley had to squint, she instead opened her eyes wide, gazing at the sword light as it spread from one inch to two, her face streaked with tears but she didn’t flinch. When Dachun was half-drawn, she suddenly turned her head, feeling like she might go blind. Even with her eyes closed, “in front of her” was still a blinding white. She reached out her skinny, claw-like hand and gently wiped her face.
Staring at that man drawing his sword was simply because she found the sight beautiful and wanted to grab it in her hand.
Every morning, when she walked past the fragrant stalls, eyeing and craving the various delicacies in the steamers, she wanted to snatch them and run, find a place to hide, eat her fill, then throw the rest away. Preferably, no one else would get to eat, and they would all starve to death.
Zhong Qiu arrived outside the residence. The courtyard gate was open, so he entered directly.
Ding Ying, seeing this number-one fighter of the world—a martial artist who had perfected external martial arts—smiled and said, “It’s been sixty years. By my reckoning, Zhong Qiu, you must be over seventy now?”
Zhong Qiu glanced at the scene on the window and the movements in the side room, frowning slightly.
Ding Ying stood on the steps. For Zhong Qiu’s silence, he showed no irritation and spoke again, “Back then, you didn’t believe what I said. Do you believe now?”
Ding Ying had seen through the world, and for a hundred years of the martial realm, the people worthy of his attention could be counted on one hand. Among them, a few had died.
Zhong Qiu was one of them.
The world overestimated Yu Zhenyi, thinking that while Nanyuan State Preceptor Zhong Qiu was undeniably great, he still fell short of the immortal Yu Zhenyi, who had left the mountaintop for the clouds.
But Ding Ying had always looked down on Yu Zhenyi, while he held only praise for Zhong Qiu.
Sixty years ago, during the chaotic war in Nanyuan Kingdom, Ding Ying was involved from start to finish. Yu Zhenyi and Zhong Qiu were just young men fishing in troubled waters and stumbling upon opportunities. After the war ended, Ding Ying once encountered the inseparable pair and declared that Zhong Qiu would surely become a grandmaster in the future.
Zhong Qiu asked Ding Ying two questions.
“What exactly are you trying to do?”
“What are we doing?”
“Sit and talk.” Ding Ying sat on a small stool. He waved his sleeve, and another stool drifted to Zhong Qiu’s side. After the latter sat down, Ding Ying slowly said, “Before answering those two questions, let me ask you: do you know where you are?”
Zhong Qiu’s expression was solemn. “There are heavens beyond heavens; I am aware of that.”
Ding Ying nodded with a smile. “Compared to you finding clues about banished immortals from secret files, I’ve been more direct. Over sixty years, I’ve personally killed quite a few banished immortals—some already awakened, some still dreaming. I’ve learned a great deal from their mouths.”
He stomped his foot. “This place we’re in is called the Lotus Flower Blessed Land, one of the seventy-two blessed lands. Four kingdoms’ territories, plus unexplored regions—we think it’s huge, but the banished immortals all think it’s too small. According to them, this Lotus Flower Blessed Land is only a medium-sized blessed land. When they assess a blessed land’s grade, besides the primary factor of spiritual qi abundance, population also matters. The Lotus Flower Blessed Land isn’t vast, but this soil has produced many martial talents, making it an excellent place for banished immortals to refine their minds.”
Although Zhong Qiu had pursued the truth for years and already suspected, hearing Ding Ying reveal the heavenly secret still stirred the unflappable grandmaster’s heart. A trace of anger showed on his face.
Only at this moment did Zhong Qiu begin to understand the pressure Yu Zhenyi carried.
Because, aside from Ding Ying, Yu Zhenyi, having practiced immortal techniques, stood higher and saw farther than anyone. So he held an indifferent attitude toward the martial world’s conflicts, even the changing tides of the four kingdoms’ courts—an indifference outsiders could not imagine.
Ding Ying laughed. “But what’s truly strange about this Lotus Flower Blessed Land is because of a…”
At that point, Ding Ying fell silent, then laughed oddly. Looking up at the sky, he said, “Person? Immortal?”
Ding Ying continued, “It’s said that entering our side is much harder compared to other blessed lands. It depends on that fellow’s mood, or maybe his affinity. In the homeland of those so-called banished immortals, relative to a sect called the Jade Gui Sect, which controls the Cloud Cavern Blessed Land, this Lotus Flower Blessed Land of Tongye Prefecture is not well-known, with few stories spreading. If we compare Zhou Fei and Lu Fang to aristocratic scions serving as officials in provinces, their careers step by step progressing according to plan, then there are more who stumbled in by accident—their getting out depends purely on luck.”
Zhong Qiu pointed to the sky. “So that heaven beyond heaven is called Tongye Prefecture?”
Ding Ying’s smile was meaningful. “Who said it has to be above our heads?”
Zhong Qiu fell into thought, silent.
Ding Ying rarely met someone worth talking to. Far from putting on the airs of the world’s number-one grandmaster, and showing none of the arrogance the world expected, he acted more like a patient old scholar teaching students and resolving doubts. “Now I can answer your second question: what are we doing? Every sixty years, the ten grandmasters who make the ranking and survive to the end can be chosen by that fellow to leave this place. Afterward, each gets a great opportunity—the highest is to ascend with both physical body and soul intact, the lowest is to leave this place only with their soul.”
Zhong Qiu asked, “So the Respectful Admiration Tower spares no effort to dig out the true top ten grandmasters of the world, evaluating them and publishing the list, to prevent anyone from hiding the truth and slipping through? Besides that, to prevent anyone from hiding too deep, they deliberately added those fortune-conferring items that can boost cultivation, as well as the promise of a divine weapon for killing a banished immortal, all to force the top twenty to gather and slaughter each other?”
“That troublemaking Respectful Admiration Tower has deep secrets, darker than you or I can imagine. Without the Tower’s ‘knocking’ every twenty years, the world wouldn’t be this chaotic.”
Ding Ying chuckled. “But during all this, there are loopholes to exploit.”
Zhong Qiu, as expected of the Nanyuan State Preceptor, understood instantly: “The strong get stronger, gathering together for warmth, striving for collective action, and finally splitting the benefits. Forget the past, just this time: Yu Zhenyi is doing exactly that, gathering the top twenty experts, regardless of good or evil, to target you, Ding Ying, and also to encircle the banished immortals.”
At this point, Zhong Qiu frowned again, looking at Ding Ying with some confusion.
Ding Ying laughed heartily. “You’re thinking correctly. The truly safest way is for the top ten to be sensible, quickly come under my protection, and seek shelter. As long as I leave the demonic sect, act fairly, work diligently, and establish good rules for the whole world, then those hoping to make the list can rely on their own abilities and talents. In the end, I’ll evaluate where you, Zhong Qiu, rank, whether Yu Zhenyi makes it into the top three. At the very least, within these sixty years, the world will be at peace. Why need to fight until brains are splattered everywhere? Just spar with each other.”
Zhong Qiu thought carefully and concluded that Ding Ying wasn’t just spouting nonsense.
Ding Ying tapped his knee with his fingers, looking exceptionally leisurely. “But I think that would be boring.”
Zhong Qiu asked the same question again: “What do you want to do?”
Ding Ying waved his hand, still not answering, and changed the subject. “You only need to know that the situation has changed this time. There’s no ten-person limit. The three who ascend at the end can each take away five, three, and one person from this world.”
Ding Ying stressed, “Any three people.”
Zhong Qiu’s expression remained calm.
Ding Ying smirked. “Even dead people, as long as they truly existed in history, are allowed. If you choose those dead, they will come back to life with normal intelligence but become utterly loyal puppets. Isn’t that interesting?”
Instantly, several figures appeared in Zhong Qiu’s mind.
The founding emperor of Nanyuan Kingdom, Wei Xian, whose spear arts reached the divine, hailed as the best in a thousand years at breaking formations.
Lu Baixiang, who founded the demonic sect, the most fearsome demonic leader in nearly five hundred years.
The sword immortal Sui Youbian, whom even Yu Zhenyi deeply admired.
Ding Ying’s predecessor as the world’s number one, the utter madman Zhu Lian.
These people had all been undisputed number ones. But every one of them, as recorded, died in this world: Emperor Wei Xian died of old age at one hundred and twenty; Lu Baixiang died in a siege by dozens of top experts; Sui Youbian died while ascending on a flying sword in full view of countless people, with everyone watching her flesh dissolve and bones disintegrate as she fell back to earth, turning to ash; the severely wounded Zhu Lian died at Ding Ying’s hands, and the silver lotus crown from Zhu Lian’s head now adorned Ding Ying’s.
Zhong Qiu asked, “Why?”
Ding Ying laughed. “You ask me? Who am I supposed to ask?”
Zhong Qiu looked Ding Ying straight in the eyes. “You, Zhou Fei, and Lu Fang—that’s already three people.”
Ding Ying smiled. “So now you have two choices: go kill Lu Fang, or ally with Yu Zhenyi and try to kill me.”
Zhong Qiu remained silent.
Ding Ying said slyly, “But I suggest you wait a bit. Maybe you won’t even need to kill Lu Fang.”
Zhong Qiu asked, “If you leave, which three will you take?”
Ding Ying pointed at Cao Qinglang, who was standing at the kitchen door. “If I leave, I’ll only take him.”
Zhong Qiu glanced at the boy, puzzled. “His aptitude is not particularly outstanding.”
Ding Ying brushed it off with a smile.
---
With no more constraints, Lu Fang delivered his first sword.
After that one sword, from where Lu Fang stood to the end of that street, a deep trench half a zhang high and extremely long was split open.
Not just Ya’er and Zhou Shi, natives of this world, but even Feng Qingbai watched dumbfounded, as if back in his homeland, Tongye Prefecture.
Smiley’s smiling face grew even more vivid.
Leaning against a big tree for shade, he had become friends with Lu Fang when the latter was at his lowest. Back then, he was hot-blooded and accompanied Lu Fang to the Spring Tide Palace. Under those circumstances, he felt he was going to die alongside Lu Fang. Then, at the foot of the mountain, Lu Fang knocked him out and ascended alone to challenge Zhou Fei. When Smiley woke up, Lu Fang sat beside him, no longer the depressed man drowning his sorrows in drink every day.
In the years after, only Smiley could climb Lu Fang’s Bird’s-Eye Peak and come down alive.
Zhou Shi was the most helpless. He had painstakingly set up his formation, and now it was utterly useless?
The only flaw was that the young white-robed swordsman had run off.
The moment Lu Fang swung his sword, it seemed that the white-robed one had already determined he couldn’t withstand the mighty force. He sidestepped, then crashed through a wall, disappearing.
Lu Fang looked around, certain that the man hadn’t retreated.
As if casually, Lu Fang slashed his sword again, carving a door-sized opening in that wall.
Dust flew, and faintly visible was the white robe dodging the flood-like sword aura, then disappearing again.
Lu Fang realized that if this continued, neither could harm the other. His killing power was superior, but the other could evade every strike.
Unless one resolved to trade life for life.
For example, Lu Fang could retract most of his sword aura to allow the other to approach.
Or the other might gamble that he could withstand Lu Fang’s two swords—one offensive, one defensive—and then kill Lu Fang with a single punch.
Lu Fang raised his sword.
In the air, a huge crescent-shaped sword aura appeared, howling away.
The white robe hurriedly abandoned his forward charge, plummeting sharply to dodge that aura.
Lu Fang glided onto the top of a wall.
Several times the man dodged, but Lu Fang had not yet seen Feng Qingbai’s sword. Strange.
Lu Fang only saw the man standing on the eave of a distant rooftop, his wide sleeves swaying slightly, and a vermillion wine gourd at his waist. He seemed not just ethereal and otherworldly, but his entire body’s fist intent merged with heaven and earth—heavy yet pure, extremely difficult. Even Lu Fang, famous even in Tongye Prefecture, had to admit that this young banished immortal with diverse martial skills, as long as he could leave the Lotus Flower Blessed Land alive, would surely achieve no small success.
If one fishing rod can’t catch a fish, try a different method—spread a wide net.
Lu Fang lifted his arm and flicked a sword flower.
Aside from the one in his hand, thirty-six identical famed swords, Dachun, hovered before Lu Fang, arrayed like foot soldiers in formation, orderly and guarded.
One by one, the swords slowly advanced, then suddenly accelerated, streaking through the air.
Chen Ping’an sprinted across rooftops, twisting and turning, as streaks of white-rainbow sword aura, like clinging bones, exploded around him one after another.
Besides controlling the thirty-six sword auras of Dachun like crossbow bolts, Lu Fang would advance appropriately whenever Chen Ping’an pulled away, always maintaining a thirty-yard distance, not giving him a chance to rush forward in one breath. Of course, Lu Fang’s intent was to kill Chen Ping’an, not to play cat and mouse. But Chen Ping’an, whenever he could close in, and whenever he might mistakenly think he could decide the match with one punch—Lu Fang would set traps for him.
Yet before the thirty-six swords were exhausted, the man began charging toward Lu Fang, his light steps dodging left and right, never moving in a straight line.
Lu Fang was slightly surprised, sneering inwardly: So soon?
His fingers moved slightly. The last six flying swords suddenly scattered, arcing through the air, their tips converging on a single point.
That spot was precisely where the man’s fist would have to pass.
In a flash, the six swords exploded together behind that man with a tremendous roar.
Sure enough, he could still be faster.
Lu Fang showed no surprise, nor any panic.
The true Dachun in his hand swept horizontally.
The sword aura condensed into a single line.
This sword seemed to split the capital of Nanyuan Kingdom into upper and lower halves.
Chen Ping’an did not retreat but advanced, charging forward, punching straight at that beam of sword light.
Blood splattered before him.
Lu Fang’s eyes were indifferent; he simply slashed downward.
First up and down, then left and right.
But in an instant, purely by instinct, Lu Fang stamped on the rooftop, and then a flying sword from behind his previous position shot toward Chen Ping’an.
Lu Fang’s heart still pounded.
Feng Qingbai’s sword must have been left near the wall. The seemingly reckless charge through the horizontal slash was not for a punch at all, but to execute a sword-master’s technique, attacking from both ends.
Chen Ping’an reached out and seized the longsword.
He was only a hair’s breadth away from running Lu Fang straight through the heart.
Yet he showed no regret. Silently, he uttered, “Go!”
Lu Fang was horrified, unable to warn the Flower-Capped Scholar Zhou Shi on the street. Careless, he threw his own Dachun after it, heading toward that wall.
Lu Fang momentarily diverted his attention, using true sword-controlling arts to avoid causing a calamity—saving Zhou Shi but killing him instead.
Feng Qingbai’s sword pierced through the wall, aimed straight at the back of Zhou Shi’s head.
Almost simultaneously, Lu Fang’s Dachun tilted slightly, embedding itself in the wall from a higher angle, colliding with that flying sword.
At the critical moment, Dachun slammed into the flying sword, causing it to dip downward, but it still pierced Zhou Shi’s shoulder. The immense penetrating force made the Flower-Capped Scholar stagger forward.
Lu Fang suddenly looked up.
A white robe, like a falling star, came through a hole in the roof to stand before Lu Fang. A punch had already arrived.
Lu Fang was sent sliding backward, crashing through a wall. The second punch came.
Divine Being Drums Style.
On that straight line, Lu Fang took nine solid punches of the Divine Being Drums Style, retreating all the way. The wall where Smiley and Chen Ping’an had once stood was shattered by Lu Fang’s back.
Lu Fang tried to control his sword, Dachun, to rescue himself, but found he dared not. He could only concentrate all his inner energy to protect his body.
And Dachun, after all, was merely a divine weapon of this world, not his natal flying sword left in Tongye Prefecture.
Chen Ping’an resolutely delivered the tenth punch.
With a bang, Lu Fang crashed through the buildings on that street, just like the pipa woman before, finally embedding himself in a wall. Blood trickled from his seven orifices; he was in dire straits.
But Chen Ping’an paid a price for his insistence on those punches.
A figure appeared at his side, landing a punch on his temple.
It felt like a giant bell struck his skull.
Chen Ping’an flew backward over ten zhang, crouching on the street, beside the trench carved by Lu Fang’s sword aura.
The one who had interrupted Chen Ping’an’s Divine Being Drums Style was a Confucian scholar in a blue robe, standing there, one hand behind his back, the other fist held before him, calm and composed.
Chen Ping’an turned his head, spat out a mouthful of dark-black clotted blood, and wiped the corner of his mouth with his hand.
The scrawny little girl, precisely situated between the Nanyuan State Preceptor and Chen Ping’an, had been curled up on her little stool at the foot of the wall the whole time.
She peeked at the white-robed guy. He was impressive, but right now he looked a bit pitiful.
Unless it was her imagination, she felt that he, who had told her to stay put without moving, even though he had been beaten miserably by that punch, after slowly rising to his feet, he was staring at her, the old man who looked like a schoolteacher was staring at her too.
Was he telling her not to be afraid?
She knew clearly that her life was tied to his. If he died, she would probably die too.
But she couldn’t help a surge of anger, wishing that he would just let that old turtle beat him to death right now.
This emotion was unclear, beyond explanation.
Just like when she had seen that little snowman in the wooden box.
She liked it so much. Since she couldn’t have it, she would smash it, destroy it, let it die.
She felt there was nothing wrong with that.