Chapter 317: What to Do When Others Are Invincible
On the silent street, old friends reunited.
Hovering atop a flying sword stood Yu Zhenyi, whose appearance was like that of a young child, the sword light beneath his feet as lustrous as colored glaze, radiant and smooth.
The sect leader of Lake and Mountain Sect, the leader of the righteous path under heaven, a martial artist who had reached the peak, resolutely cast aside everything to cultivate immortal techniques, and ultimately advanced further—a divine being.
Finally, after the first drum sound at Guniu Mountain, he appeared in the capital.
The first person he saw upon leaving Guniu Mountain, which lay outside the capital and served as the site of the Heaven-Striking Drum and Ascension Ground, was his former sworn brother, Zhong Qiu, the National Preceptor of Nanyuan Kingdom.
Zhong Qiu seemed to have anticipated Yu Zhenyi's arrival to stop him, showing no surprise. Instead of halting, he continued forward until they were less than twenty paces apart before stopping.
Zhong Qiu smiled and asked, "Is that jade bamboo fan finished? Using it as the future sect's token for Lake and Mountain Sect—doesn't it feel a bit too soft?"
It was like the polite small talk between ordinary friends.
Like the traveler returning in the snowy night, asking, "Can we share a drink?"
Yu Zhenyi asked, "Three times already. Why?"
This was, however, a call to account.
Zhong Qiu countered, "Are you asking why I saved Lu Fang, why I helped that Chen Ping'an?"
Yu Zhenyi, who had broken through to emerge as a child-like figure, had eyes as dark and profound as a deep pool. For the first time, ripples stirred—he was clearly truly angered.
Yu Zhenyi said nothing, but the flying sword beneath his feet, connected to his will, overflowed with splendor, growing more and more magnificent and enchanting, like a piece of colored glaze fallen from the heavenly court to the mortal world.
Zhong Qiu glanced at the immortal flying sword beneath Yu Zhenyi's feet, then withdrew his gaze, composed as ever. "Don't you already know the answer?"
Yu Zhenyi sighed softly, a hint of nostalgia rising in his heart.
This was not a sign of Yu Zhenyi softening his heart; rather, since the matter had come to this, and Zhong Qiu, after all these years, was still stubbornly deluded, he would have to harden his heart.
In the martial world, people said that Yu Zhenren and National Preceptor Zhong had fallen out in their early years over a beautiful woman who brought ruin to the country—that was truly underestimating them.
Back then, the two had just begun to make names for themselves in the jianghu when they encountered a banished immortal, leading the brothers to go their separate ways.
At the time, Yu Zhenyi was determined to kill that banished immortal, but Zhong Qiu believed the crime did not warrant death, and the risk was too great; there was no need to gamble everything. Yet Yu Zhenyi still went alone to assassinate the banished immortal. At the critical moment of life and death, Zhong Qiu suddenly appeared and took a fatal sword strike meant for Yu Zhenyi. Then, as Ding Ying had told them in Nanyuan Kingdom, after the banished immortal was killed, two opportunities fell from his body: a secret immortal manual for cultivating the Great Dao of longevity, and an indestructible glazed sword.
In the torrential rain, Yu Zhenyi grasped the mysterious jade-and-gold celestial book with one hand and held the sword aloft with the other, roaring to the heavens.
Zhong Qiu departed in gloom.
Yu Zhenyi lightly tossed away the banished immortal's sword, saying that the two brothers could share life and death, as well as wealth and honor. From now on, the rules of this world—whether at the heights of court or the far reaches of the jianghu—since you, Zhong Qiu, enjoy reading, should all be set by you. I, Yu Zhenyi, yearn for the immortality of the Great Dao; once I cultivate immortal arts, I will naturally help you guard it. I will make all banished immortals in the world bow and obey, and never dare to act recklessly again…
But Zhong Qiu didn't even wait for Yu Zhenyi to finish. He simply walked away, leaving that priceless divine weapon to fall into the mud, letting Yu Zhenyi's heartfelt words dissolve into the rain between heaven and earth.
Knife grinder Liu Zong left that already ruined street. As he turned a corner, he saw this scene from afar and clicked his tongue in surprise. After a moment's hesitation, he still slowly moved forward—neither shrinking back nor seeking to escape.
Liu Zong believed what the young man said; he believed that this "child" before him, wielding a flying sword—a great Yu Zhenren who should have fought eight hundred rounds with the old devil Ding Ying—would be determined to intercept and kill his once-close friend Zhong Qiu.
He believed this because that young banished immortal had actually made Zhong Qiu voluntarily feed him punches to help consolidate a certain realm, to better prepare for the coming battle.
Zhong Qiu never acted on a whim; every word and deed had its own rules.
Was Zhong Qiu a sanctimonious hypocrite or a strategist scheming for the nation and the world? Neither. Liu Zong had spent so many years in the capital of Nanyuan Kingdom, and he knew well the character of National Preceptor Zhong. He was a true literary sage and martial grandmaster, combining both, integrating them thoroughly. He had single-handedly elevated the peak of external martial arts in this world by another level. Moreover, regarding the distinction between good and evil, Zhong Qiu saw it with extreme clarity. Several times when court public opinion and jianghu sentiment had overwhelmingly turned in a stormy capital incident, the easy solution—killing the offenders to satisfy everyone and save trouble—had been avoided. Instead, Zhong Qiu quietly closed the matter with a balanced and moderate approach, earning even the thumbs-up from the cold-eyed observer Liu Zong, who praised him as a true hero.
So when the young man said he and Zhong Qiu were "kindred spirits,"
Liu Zong decided without hesitation: the grinding knife in his sleeve had to come out.
Apart from shared ideals, he was also buying himself a chance to survive.
To be honest, who in the world wasn't curious about the strange relationship between Yu Zhenyi and Zhong Qiu?
Knife grinder Liu Zong was no exception. Remember, at the silk fabric shop, gossiping with the old ladies and young wives about neighborhood trivialities—hearing which old man had an affair with his daughter-in-law, which girl had taken a fancy to whom, the frequent cat calls at Widow Liu's house at night, which man had secretly visited the brothel and spent all his savings, causing his wife to threaten suicide—Liu Zong chatted about these domestic matters with more gusto than the women.
The hand hidden in his sleeve tightened its grip on the grinding knife.
He hadn't yet found out who that night owl lingering at Widow Liu's place was. He couldn't die here today!
Moreover, after observing for so many years, he had roughly identified a few candidates who might become his first—and possibly only—disciples.
Zhong Qiu looked at the child hovering in the wind on the flying sword and said softly with emotion, "Yu Zhenyi, have you ever thought that right now you are still different from those banished immortals? But if you keep walking this path, sooner or later, you will become one of them. And then one day, there will be another Zhao Zhenyi or Ma Zhenyi to kill you, thinking it's only natural."
Yu Zhenyi shook his head. "Zhong Qiu, you probably don't know yet. This time, the ascension site is still Guniu Mountain, but the number has changed. It's no longer ten people, only three. However, these three will have the right to select five, three, and one person respectively from the true history of Lotus Flower Paradise to ascend together. But these nine may become enslaved puppets. I've inferred and deduced: Ding Ying, myself, and Zhou Fei will be the three with the greatest chance of final ascension."
Yu Zhenyi then recited the final top ten names to Zhong Qiu.
Lu Fang and Tong Qingqing were gone.
Zhong Qiu directly asked the most crucial question, frowning. "You want to leave?"
Yu Zhenyi shook his head. "Of course not. Before the third drum sound, I won't set foot on Guniu Mountain. I'll voluntarily give up that ascension opportunity, just like that madman Zhu Lian back then—except he did it to achieve a second physical ascension. As for me, I want to prove to you that killing that banished immortal back then was right for me, Yu Zhenyi, and wrong for you, Zhong Qiu. I want this mortal world to be peaceful as long as I live. Your constant patching and mending, Zhong Qiu, is meaningless."
This was a big statement, but Yu Zhenyi said it lightly.
Zhong Qiu smiled. "Different aspirations, different paths."
Yu Zhenyi said slowly, "You still have one last chance. Join me in killing the banished immortal Zhou Fei. Ding Ying won't stop us. Then you can survive to the end. Whether you choose to go to Guniu Mountain for daytime ascension is up to you."
Zhong Qiu asked, "And what about the others on the list—Liu Zong, Saint of Arms Cheng Yuanshan, Dragon and Martial General Tang Tieyi of Northern Jin Kingdom, Monk Yunni of Vajra Temple? Who will kill them? You, Yu Zhenyi, or Ding Ying? These people are not banished immortals."
It was as if the two had been talking past each other, each saying their own piece.
Yu Zhenyi flew into a rage. "If anyone else said such foolish words, I'd dismiss them as a village woman's opinion and not bother. But you, Zhong Qiu, as the National Preceptor of Nanyuan Kingdom—do you not know that there is no such thing as a change that doesn't involve unjust deaths?!"
Zhong Qiu smiled and nodded. "Of course I know. Over the years, to revitalize Nanyuan Kingdom, I have done many things. But right now, I am only asking you, Yu Zhenyi. I am not asking about any unprecedented change, not about this world, not about the banished immortals' Lotus Flower Paradise. I am only asking you—the Yu Zhenyi from Jiulan County of Zhuojun in Songlai Kingdom."
Yu Zhenyi sneered. "Stubborn and unyielding. You've been like this since childhood, Zhong Qiu. No matter how many books you read or how many punches you practice, you're still that stinky stone in the latrine."
Zhong Qiu chuckled. "You, Yu Zhenyi, have changed a lot."
Liu Zong listened with a pounding heart.
He was truly afraid that Zhong Qiu would nod and agree, then join forces with Yu Zhenyi to wipe out the remaining four on the list, including himself. That would be like killing chickens—not only was Yu Zhenyi already in the transcendental realm, but Zhong Qiu was also a local power in Nanyuan Kingdom. Even if Liu Zong, Cheng Yuanshan, Tang Tieyi, and Monk Yunni joined forces, they would still have no chance.
Fortunately, Zhong Qiu lived up to the title of National Preceptor that Liu Zong admired!
Zhong Qiu looked up toward his hometown, some sadness in his eyes. "After all this talk, Yu Zhenyi, you just want to make killing me feel justifiable. That, at least, has never changed."
Yu Zhenyi stood on the flying sword.
Zhong Qiu did not turn his head but said loudly with a laugh, "Liu Zong! After being neighbors in the capital for so many years, I never visited—it's not that I looked down on you, the knife grinder. It's just that a gentleman's friendship is as bland as water. I, Zhong Qiu, will throw the first punch. You provide backup from the side. If the outcome is clear, and you can escape, Liu Zong, then run. Go straight to Monk Yunni. Don't feel humiliated!"
Knife grinder Liu Zong was stunned for a moment, then muttered, "Damn, that's our National Preceptor Zhong—this flattery makes me, old man Liu, feel damn good!"
Friendship with a remarkable person is like a drunkard drinking fine wine—there's no chance of sobering up.
Liu Zong, who feared death but never sought it out, took a step forward. If death comes, so be it—better to die drunk!
Yu Zhenyi leaned forward slightly, floated lightly out, and landed softly on the street. He swung his sleeve forward casually and said softly, "Go."
Behind him, the sword with light as clear as glazed sunset traced a huge arc, breaking through a wall, then through another wall, rushing back like wind and lightning to reappear on this street, bypassing National Preceptor Zhong Qiu and charging straight at the knife grinder Liu Zong behind him.
Yu Zhenyi strolled leisurely, raised his hands and wiggled them, then clasped them behind his back. He smiled and said, "Zhong Qiu, aren't you known as the 'Number One Hand Under Heaven'? Come on, I won't fight back. Throw your punches as you like."
Zhong Qiu nodded, then suddenly asked, "Can we fight outside the city?"
Yu Zhenyi chuckled. "Great National Preceptor Zhong, don't worry about harming the innocent—you simply don't have the ability."
Zhong Qiu was speechless for a moment, then chuckled wryly.
This fellow, after cultivating immortality and seeking the Dao to the end, had turned into such an arrogant little brat. He, Zhong Qiu, truly wanted to experience the so-called supernatural powers of an immortal.
Yu Zhenyi kept his hands behind his back, signaling Zhong Qiu to throw his full-force punch.
Not only that, but he also lifted his toes and hovered in the air, leveling his height with Zhong Qiu's. He was actually making it convenient for Zhong Qiu to punch!
Zhong Qiu was not angered by this mockery; instead, he grew even more solemn.
He delivered a punch.
Zhong Qiu's fist stopped three feet before Yu Zhenyi's childlike face.
That fist could only advance inch by inch, extremely slowly.
Like an old man climbing a mountain, each step labored.
Between the two, just three feet—a distance that was heaven and earth apart.
Yu Zhenyi, hands still behind his back, shook his head slightly, his gaze full of pity. "I never thought Zhong Qiu would be just this."
——
Until Ding Ying appeared to put a final seal on this chaotic situation, Pink Vajra Ma Xuan still made no move. Even after several grandmasters like Tang Tieyi, Cheng Yuanshan, and Zhou Fei departed one after another, Ma Xuan remained lying in place.
The jianghu is like that—whether deep or shallow, it can drown people. As the old saying goes, good swimmers drown.
Ma Xuan's life was actually quite valuable, worth far more than five hundred taels of gold. In the martial world of Lotus Flower Paradise, that gold could only buy a second-rate master or the life of a county magistrate.
Though he seemed to have escaped the danger of being surrounded, now facing only the Lotus Crown elder, one man alone, Chen Ping'an's palms were sweating. It had nothing to do with courage or mindset—it was purely that Ding Ying's murderous intent was too heavy. Avoiding danger is human instinct; only by facing difficulties head-on can one truly temper martial arts.
How difficult Ding Ying was to deal with could be understood just by looking at the flying sword Fifteen held between his two fingers.
Ding Ying smiled. "So this is what the banished immortals call a life-bound flying sword? A very novel item. It should be the first of its kind to appear on the map of Lotus Flower Paradise. And entering here with a complete body and soul is also rare. No wonder you've attracted so many unexpected events. But it doesn't matter, because Lotus Flower Paradise has me, Ding Ying."
Chen Ping'an said nothing but expelled a mouthful of turbid breath and assumed the Cloud-Steam Great Marsh posture.
Ding Ying looked around. With his right hand, he continued to restrain that beautiful, emerald-green flying sword between two fingers, then extended his left hand forward. "Since we've finished chatting, it's time for actions. Let me try to kill you with one hand."
Ding Ying glanced at Chen Ping'an's posture and shook his head. "I advise you to switch to a more offensive stance. I'd still like to see some martial arts that really catch the eye. Otherwise, if I take the initiative first, like with that stance you used earlier to repel Lu Fang and Zhong Qiu, you'll have no chance to fight back."
Ding Ying beckoned to Chen Ping'an with a smile. "Earlier, you landed at most ten punches. You can definitely do more. I'm very curious—what's the maximum? Feel free to go all out. I'll take them all!"
Chen Ping'an did switch to the Divine Drum-Thunder posture. His aura instantly shifted from a towering mountain or great city to a surging tide of armored cavalry.
Ding Ying nodded with a smile, still restraining the miniature flying sword with one hand, ready to face the enemy with one hand. "Come!"
In an instant, the street where Chen Ping'an had stood collapsed into a huge crater several zhang in diameter, and the white-robed figure had vanished.
Ding Ying nodded. Fast enough.
No wonder Lu Fang, who had half-stepped into the flying sword level, had been so embarrassed.
Ding Ying blocked the young banished immortal's fist with his palm. Just as he was about to grasp it, the fist's power loosened, and the second punch was already aimed at his ribs.
Ding Ying understood in his heart. If his guess was correct, this fist technique involved each punch building on the last—speed, force, intent, all progressive. The most ingenious part was the seamless connection between punches, leaving no room to dodge, only to resist. At first glance, it seemed like a small hill, but if an immortal used divine powers to lift the earth for thousands of miles, they would discover that the insignificant hill was actually the "dragon vein" of the entire world, astonishingly the root of all mountains.
For the first eight punches, Ding Ying did not move a step, each time just using his palm to block the fist.
Around him, it was as if a white dragon coiled, invisible.
With the ninth punch, Ding Ying stepped back once, still blocking the punch aimed at his brow with his palm.
Ding Ying's seemingly simplest moves actually contained the essence of nine different martial arts he had gathered from various sects and factions in Lotus Flower Paradise. Needles to say, Mirror Mind Studio, which was like his own garden; Yu Zhenyi's Lake and Mountain Sect; Zhong Qiu's fist techniques taught to his personal disciples; the Bird's Eye Peak and Spring Tide Palace; Cheng Yuanshan's spear technique's avalanche style; and the secret transmissions of various grandmasters like Eight-Armed Deity Xue Yuan. Ding Ying had obtained them all by various means and incorporated them into his own. Some had reached the martial pinnacle and were kept as they were; others still had room for improvement, and Ding Ying, when idle, would help perfect them.
The tenth punch.
Ding Ying sidestepped a few paces but still had the leisure to speak with a smile. "The only flaw in this fist technique of yours is that it follows the path of a pyrrhic victory—injuring one thousand enemies while losing eight hundred of your own. Let me see how many punches you can sustain, and how powerful that last punch really is."
Chen Ping'an focused solely on throwing punches, his heart sinking like a stone into the bottom of an ancient well.
This fight had no spectators.
Because no one dared.
Old Devil Ding was notorious for enjoying slaughtering onlookers.
You people who aren't afraid of death, like to watch from the sidelines, right? Like to point fingers and applaud, right? Like to look shocked as if seeing a ghost in broad daylight, right? Every time Ding Ying fought, in the intervals, he would slap those bystanders into meat paste, like swatting mosquitoes on a bed net or flies on a wall.
That's why that monkey-like master of Crown Prince Wei Yan had fled long ago. He had been hiding in the distance, but when he saw that Ding Ying himself was taking action, he retreated immediately.
But in the end, there was only one Ding Ying. Others like Zhong Qiu and Yu Zhenyi, who were also at the top, disliked onlookers as well, but most didn't bother.
Nevertheless, watching a life-or-death fight between second-rate masters was a major taboo among martial artists. No one wanted their trump card moves to be seen by outsiders. With many tongues, rumors spread, and once everyone knows, what kind of trump card is that? The jianghu is not that big, and once you reach the first-rate grandmaster level, it gets even smaller.
The distance between them was always within two arms' reach. But with the eleventh punch, Ding Ying seemed to have already tasted the power of the Divine Drum-Thunder technique. He deliberately or inadvertently widened the gap, retreating more than a zhang after being hit.
Earlier, Lu Fang had been severely injured by ten punches. First, it was because he was caught off guard and had no time to respond, while Ding Ying had been prepared from the start. Second, Lu Fang had focused all his effort on swordsmanship; his skills were only in the sword, and his physique could not compare to Ding Ying's. Ten punches from Chen Ping'an were like an infantry unit encountering elite cavalry in the wild—crumbling at first contact, leading to a rout. For Ding Ying, the same ten punches were like a powerful army holding a high city wall.
So it wasn't that the gap between Lu Fang and Ding Ying was as vast as heaven and earth.
In essence, Ding Ying's ease in dealing with this was also due to the lessons learned from Lu Fang and Zhong Qiu.
After the eleventh punch, Ding Ying stood one zhang away. Just as the next punch was about to land, he suddenly flicked his sleeve, dispersing the lingering fist essence circling his palm. Ding Ying said mockingly, "Three or four more punches, and I'm afraid I might suffer a minor injury."
The twelfth punch was already at his face. Ding Ying threw his fist for the first time, meeting Chen Ping'an's Divine Drum-Thunder punch.
Chen Ping'an was knocked back several steps, but the subtlety of the Divine Drum-Thunder technique was fully displayed. Chen Ping'an, with an unnatural trajectory and speed, delivered the punch even faster.
Unable to punch in time, Ding Ying had to raise his elbow to block in front of him.
His own elbow tip struck his chest.
With a bang, Ding Ying flew backward, but the true energy surged within his robe, helping to dissipate most of the fist's force.
In the blink of an eye, sensing that his opponent seemed to have slowed slightly, Ding Ying squinted. He slid backward, and as he took the fourteenth punch, he smiled and said, "Earlier, at your residence, there was a cunning little creature that didn't know its place. It tried to sneak underground with its flying sword to find you. I discovered it. I wonder if it was shaken to death or suffocated underground."
Sure enough, although the young man had sensed it, he did not withdraw. The fifteenth punch came fiercely.
After that punch.
Ding Ying retreated again, and the two fingers pinching the flying sword Fifteen trembled slightly.
Ding Ying was not alarmed but pleased, though he hid it well.
This old devil Ding, who had held the top spot for sixty years, appeared arrogant and overconfident, but deep down, Ding Ying wanted more than anyone to grasp the essential meaning of this fist technique.
It was very possible that comprehending this fist technique would give him a better chance of accomplishing what was in his heart.
To clash with the very Dao of this world!
Ding Ying didn't care that speaking would cause his true energy to drain rapidly. He smiled and said, "Earlier, the four heads were brought out for you to see by Crow and Zhou Shi. That little child, if I remember correctly, is called Cao Qinglang. It's truly unfortunate that he met you, a banished immortal."
Even Ding Ying could not clearly see Chen Ping'an's face, but he could distinctly feel that "single point" of killing intent.
Not anger, not even a crazy, scattered killing intent, but one deliberately compressed into a thin line, then twisted into a single grain.
That was interesting.
This person's state of mind was unique among all the banished immortals Ding Ying had seen and killed.
In his extensive studies, Ding Ying had read everything, including a Daoist scripture that said: "Walking in water without avoiding dragons—this is the courage of a boatman. Walking in forests without fearing wolves—this is the courage of a woodcutter or hunter. Standing before naked blades, seeing death as life—this is the courage of a hero. Knowing that human strength has limits, facing great calamity with composure—this is the courage of a sage."
To be composed, one must first have a settled mind.
What does it mean to know that human strength has limits? It means that when faced with the situation where the people in the small courtyard are dead, and that little creature may also be dead, on this premise, one must not only know that all guilt and regret are meaningless, only leading to self-destruction, but must also focus wholeheartedly. And knowing is not enough; one must act.
Knowing is already difficult; acting is even harder.
But Chen Ping'an did not disappoint Ding Ying.
His punches were neither hesitant nor constrained. On the contrary, even knowing that every punch only allowed Ding Ying to understand the Divine Drum-Thunder technique better, he threw each punch unhesitatingly. A pyrrhic victory: either Ding Ying dies under his fists, or his own meridians shatter, his spirit collapses, his flesh and blood explode—dying honorably in the process of delivering the final punch of the Divine Drum-Thunder technique.
The sixteenth punch!
Ding Ying nodded slightly and laughed heartily. From the lotus within the silver high crown, light cascaded like a waterfall, covering his entire body.
This time, Ding Ying only retreated three steps, unharmed.
Chen Ping'an withdrew his fist, using the rebound to leap backward several zhang.
After landing, he raised his arm and wiped the blood with the back of his hand.
Ding Ying had no intention of switching between offense and defense. He asked with a smile, "Why stop punching? From your aura, you can still manage at least two more punches. At least."
Ding Ying looked at the silent young man, raising his right hand. "Haven't you thought that maybe one or two more punches could make me loosen my two fingers?"
Ding Ying sighed, somewhat regretful. If he hadn't activated the lotus crown, his intuition told him there would be danger. It might very well have ended in mutual destruction.
But not everything needs to be perfect. These dozen or so punches were enough for him to study and analyze.
Clearly, this fist technique was the most powerful move that young banished immortal had.
Ding Ying felt it was enough. Now it was time for the real business.
Chen Ping'an looked around.
Everything felt so inexplicable.
But precisely because of this, Chen Ping'an felt a righteous indignation that was almost about to explode.
Just like when he was young, after seeing Liu Xianyang lying on the sickbed, he left and silently walked toward that covered bridge.
That feeling of despair, even after all these years, after walking so far, practicing so many punches, Chen Ping'an still remembered it vividly.
The vast world, alone—and then encountering some great obstacle that you simply cannot cross. Either you live in frustration, or you seek death. What else can you do?
At this moment, the Sword-Nurturing Gourd at his waist was still sealed, unable to release Chu Yi.
The Golden Sweet Wine Robe on him remained lifeless.
And the flying sword Fifteen, which was also a pocket dimension object, was still firmly restrained between Ding Ying's two fingers.
Fortunately, Chen Ping'an was no longer that kiln apprentice from back then.
Chen Ping'an spat out a mouthful of blood and saliva. "Did you forget to take care of something?"
Ding Ying laughed heartily. "You mean that sword you left on the table? You want to retrieve it and fight me again? Under my watchful eyes, do you think you can get there?"
Ding Ying answered his own question, shaking his head. "As long as I don't want you to move, you, Chen Ping'an, cannot walk ten zhang. I can already confirm that you are merely what the banished immortals call a pure martial artist, not a sword cultivator. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to trap this little flying sword."
Chen Ping'an smirked, glancing at Ding Ying's Daoist crown. "You've got all the advantages—time, place, and people. Feels good, doesn't it?"
Ding Ying squinted, murderous intent solidifying. "Oh? Boy, you're not convinced? But what can you do?"
"Earlier, what word did you say? 'Come'?"
Chen Ping'an stretched out one arm horizontally. "Right?"
Ding Ying said nothing, replying only with a cold smile.
He thought to himself that this very unusual banished immortal was surely about to struggle in desperation.
Just wait and see.
Chen Ping'an silently chanted in his heart, "Sword, come!"
From the side room of that courtyard, the Long Qi Sword, weighing dozens of jin just in sword energy, instantly unsheathed.
As if following the general path Chen Ping'an had taken when he last left, as if demonstrating to this world, the sword, like a white rainbow, shattered the window, left the courtyard, entered the alley, flashed through the alley, entered the street, and brushed past Ding Ying.
When Chen Ping'an grasped this "white rainbow,"
that white, sword-energy river still lingered in the mortal world, both curving and straight, showing no signs of dissipating.
When Chen Ping'an's hand held that Long Qi Sword,
the sword body was like frost and snow, the sword energy like a white rainbow, and his robe even whiter.
In this mortal world, within one arm's reach, Chen Ping'an was invincible.
Beyond one arm's reach, there was still a single sword.