Chapter 321: Each at Their Peak, Yet One Mountain Is Gone

Chapter 321: Each at Their Peak, Yet One Mountain Is Gone

The old Daoist looked at the thin, tiny girl for the first time.

A tall, imposing Daoist, and a little girl like a skinny bamboo pole.

A world of difference.

Under the Daoist's gaze, the girl who had been banging her head against the well wall seeking release suddenly felt as if she had drunk a bowl of cold plum soup from a wealthy household in the height of summer. The pain vanished, and she gasped for breath. Leaning her back against the outer rim of the well, she timidly looked up at the old immortal. Driven by instinct, her eyes darted around quickly, searching for where the old man had hidden that "bead."

She never learned from past mistakes, no matter how many times she was punished.

Fortunately, this Daoist's attitude toward the human world—especially regarding good and evil—was very different from ordinary people. He paid no mind to the girl's reckless search, but he had already figured out her identity. This made him even more annoyed with that old scholar who kept saying, "A book borrower is just a borrower."

Years ago, the two had made a bet. The old scholar, reeking of pedantry, had used shameless tricks and tantrums like a shrew to win a token from him. The condition was that if the Daoist ever encountered someone carrying that token, he had to protect that person's life. The old Daoist honored the bet, but he harbored considerable resentment toward the old scholar. Later, they met again and exchanged Daoist techniques. They sat and discussed the Way, reasoning with each other, at the border between the Lotus Flower Blessed Land and the Lotus Paradise. Otherwise, a small place like the Lotus Flower Blessed Land, even with its thin spiritual energy and the difficulty of manifesting the Great Way, could not have withstood their conflict over the Way. In the end, it was the old scholar taking advantage of that old immortal. But at some point, beyond all that, that shameless old scholar had secretly placed a chess piece in the Lotus Flower Blessed Land—a real blind spot.

The old Daoist stared at the little girl before him, his gaze clear and indifferent, like the bright sun hanging high, never caring about the warmth or cold of the human world, nor bothering with praise or blame from mortals.

In just a few blinks, the old Daoist saw through the little girl's entire life experience.

Just as he thought.

The old Daoist glanced at a certain mansion, snorted coldly, his resentment easing slightly. After a brief consideration, he figured out the old scholar's general intention. He performed a mental calculation and found it feasible. For the first time, the old Daoist hesitated. He turned his head to look at the southern city wall, let out a soft "eh," and showed some surprise.

The old Daoist lightly flicked his finger, striking the girl's brow. She froze stiff.

Then he waved his sleeve, and ripples spread around the well. The old Daoist took a step and vanished. In that small space, the river of time began to flow backward. Along with the little girl, all the invisible details and the rules of heaven and earth began to reverse. The girl "picked up" the books, and the scene froze at the moment she was about to spit into the well.

She felt a bit dazed, inexplicably filled with fear. Shaking her head, she ultimately didn't dare to act recklessly. Clutching the stolen stack of books, she quickly ran away.

Ox Horn Mountain was located more than twenty li south of the capital.

On the battered city wall, scattered about, stood several grandmasters who had come from within the city to admire the "battlefield remains." Yu Zhenyi and Zhong Qiu had temporarily halted their life-and-death fight. Yu Zhenyi was silently sensing the flow of Qi on the wall and the pure sword intent lingering between heaven and earth. Zhong Qiu, on the other hand, had fewer thoughts. He placed both hands on a broken crenellation, gazing into the distance.

The glazed flying sword came to Yu Zhenyi's side. The closer it got to the wall, the slower it moved. After reaching the wall, it trembled slightly, as if afraid.

The knife grinder Liu Zong followed the glazed sword to the horse path, leaped onto a crumbled section of the wall, and sat cross-legged. The cleaver in his hand was badly damaged. The old man extended his thumb and gently rubbed the blade, which was bright as a mirror. He had been arrogant his whole life, but in the end, a sword had beaten him so badly—karma, indeed.

Great General of Northern Jin, Tang Tieyi, with "Lian Shi" at his waist, slowly climbed the wall. He found an open space, stood firm, and gripped his sword hilt, radiating an imposing aura.

In contrast, the arm saint Cheng Yuanshan, who had been hiding under the bridge to keep cool, was truly a disgrace to the title of grandmaster.

Zhou Fei and Lu Fang also came to the southern city wall, followed by the flower-pinned man Zhou Shi and the clogs-wearing crow girl.

Fan Wan'er of Mirror Heart Studio also cautiously climbed the wall. She didn't dare to openly enter the horse path from the city stairs on either side, so she used lightness skills to scale the inner wall to the top, choosing a spot between the Southern Garden Kingdom's national preceptor and Northern Jin's Dragon Martial General.

The battle between the two men had already moved outside the city.

From the wall where the crowd stood to the line of Ox Horn Mountain, dust flew high, as if a giant whale were rolling its back, tearing open the earth.

Travelers and merchants on the official road south of the city had long since scattered.

Ding Ying not only moved against the current, advancing step by step, throwing punch after punch to forcibly break through Chen Ping'an's river of sword energy, but also, despite his injuries, closed in, forcing Chen Ping'an to use sword techniques to counter. Ding Ying turned decay into miracle, no longer constrained by any martial school or sect under heaven. All techniques became his own, vaguely similar to the bottom-of-the-barrel moves of grandmasters like Yu Zhenyi, yet vastly different in spirit and intent.

He slapped his palm straight at Chen Ping'an and his sword, but the gale-force wind started behind Chen Ping'an, exploding with a bang.

Between his fingers, wisps of sword energy swirled like water eddies, their trajectories unpredictable.

When Ding Ying knocked Chen Ping'an to the ground, his own clothes were tattered and his hair disheveled. Without any pause, he almost simultaneously leaped down from the wall, always keeping the distance between them within two arms' lengths, never allowing Chen Ping'an to comfortably unleash his sword techniques and sword intent to their peak. Ding Ying was certain that every sword strike from the white-robed immortal before him was comparable to the full-powered strikes of the legendary female sword immortal Sui Youbian.

Not including Sui Youbian's three ascending swords.

At that time, the female sword immortal had come into her own, and it was highly likely that she had absorbed nearly half the martial luck of the world through mysterious means. She could no longer be simply considered Sui Youbian.

Thus, Ding Ying understood that this heaven's Way did not reject martial artists ascending through pure physical strength. It even allowed Sui Youbian to draw upon martial luck. However, her failed ascension, her body wasting away and turning to dust as she fell back to the human world, and her soul scattering—that was because she lacked sufficient strength. She had no one to blame.

Ding Ying's fist slammed into the center of Chen Ping'an's sword, bending it sharply. The tip of the long sword nearly stabbed into Chen Ping'an's own shoulder. Chen Ping'an had no choice but to extend two fingers pressed together, touch the sword tip, and force the curve back. His body retreated, skimming like a dragonfly across the water, sliding dozens of zhang along the official road in an instant.

Seeing that Ding Ying surprisingly did not press the advantage, Chen Ping'an felt no relief. He immediately used the "Guard the Head" stance from *Orthodox Sword Techniques* to disperse sword energy and protect his surroundings.

Fist force like rainbows—seven or eight condensed, substantial rainbows surged forward and collided with the sword energy.

Chen Ping'an shifted in small steps, thunder roaring repeatedly. Sword energy and fist force annihilated each other almost simultaneously, producing clusters of dazzling light. It was like two elite cavalry units on the border of two countries dying together.

Ding Ying continued throwing punches from a distance, with no real stance—just the simplest punches, as he pleased.

With each punch, he took a light step, closing the distance by two zhang.

By the time Chen Ping'an finally neutralized all the fist force, Ding Ying was already fighting at close quarters again, preventing Chen Ping'an from catching his breath.

Chen Ping'an kept retreating while fighting, while Ding Ying's momentum remained overwhelming.

The peak of Chen Ping'an's momentum was his first sword strike on the city wall.

Facing that strike, even Ding Ying, an arrogant man who had only ever acknowledged the heavens, had to retreat in dismay. Even his mindset began to change.

Ding Ying's peak momentum, on the other hand, came precisely when he was at a disadvantage, moving against the current within the torrent of sword energy.

After that, Chen Ping'an began to decline. But strangely, Ding Ying could not maintain that momentum and mindset either.

Dispersed sword energy, no matter how fierce it seemed, like a bursting dam flood, Ding Ying believed he could withstand it. At most, it would give Chen Ping'an a chance to catch his breath after one strike, causing Ding Ying to lose the initiative.

But sword energy condensed into a single tide—that, Ding Ying had to avoid.

Three li outside the city, there was a small hill near the official road.

Ding Ying used two fingers to flick away the sword tip, then suddenly pushed his palm against Chen Ping'an's chest.

Chen Ping'an flew back like a broken kite, crashing into the hill.

Ding Ying actually punched straight through the small hill, as if an arrow piercing through an enemy's chest.

Dust shot into the sky.

The power of Ding Ying's palm was evident when Chen Ping'an's sword flew out of his hand. The long sword arced to its highest point in the air and then began to fall. If nothing unexpected happened, it would land near the hill on Ding Ying's side.

Ding Ying squinted, unable to see Chen Ping'an's condition clearly. While continuing to advance, he hesitated briefly over how to deal with the sword ahead. Should he take advantage of the enemy's weakness to kill him, retrieve the sword, and toss it back to the city wall, far from their battlefield, leaving the young immortal without a sword? Or use it as bait, setting a deadly trap in the moment between breaths?

But Chen Ping'an's counterattack made Ding Ying abandon all such thoughts.

Ding Ying's heart suddenly tensed, a chill running down his spine. He immediately halted, stomping heavily on the ground, and assumed a grand, imposing stance. Fist force rained down like a storm, pounding the area between the sword and the hilltop. But even with such a swift response, a streak of white still managed to take the hits from the fist force. From the hilltop, a figure leaped high, reached out, and grabbed the long sword, which had just fallen a few feet beneath his feet, catching it in his hand.

To charge through Ding Ying's storm of fist force as quickly as possible, it was clearly a desperate, last-ditch effort. Yet with the sword in hand, Chen Ping'an still insisted on delivering this strike.

As for whether the strike's power would be greatly diminished, perhaps only tickling the formidable Ding Ying or causing negligible injury, Chen Ping'an did not bother to think.

In this incomprehensible world, on that street, everyone inexplicably wanted to kill him. It seemed no one cared who Chen Ping'an truly was, whether he was good or evil, or why he had come to the Southern Garden Kingdom's capital.

This terrible feeling had first struck Chen Ping'an when he saw Liu Xianyang on his sickbed and walked alone toward the covered bridge.

He had sworn that he would never again be like that, wagging his tail and begging for justice from the heavens like a dog.

Chen Ping'an had studied *Orthodox Sword Techniques* for quite a while, but the true essence he grasped did not come from that scripture. It came from three other swords.

In the dilapidated temple, Master Qi had casually split the formation of the pink-robed Liu Chicheng with a locust-wood sword.

During the battle alongside the old sword saint of Comb Water Kingdom, Song Yushao, Chen Ping'an had used that strike to cut through golden armor.

In the old scholar's landscape painting, there were two swords. The sword spirit's strike, Chen Ping'an had imitated a bit on the Southern Garden city wall, delivering a strike that nearly made Ding Ying admit he was only second in the world.

And then there was the strike against the Central Great Mountain Sui Mountain.

Those were three swords.

There were two more, but Chen Ping'an was still vague about them because he was not familiar enough with the people who had used them. They were too distant, and he had not yet grasped enough of the essence to make them his own.

One was Wei Jin of Wind and Snow Temple breaking through the sky, arriving with his sword before his person.

The other was the Mohist hero Xu Ruo pushing his sword out of its sheath by just an inch, causing a mountain to appear before him.

With Long Qi in hand, Chen Ping'an's current strike was exactly like Qi Jingchun's casual use of a locust-wood sword to break Liu Chicheng's White Emperor City Chaos Origin Formation.

Inside Ding Ying's mind, hesitation crept in once more. Again, this familiar sword strike, carrying the majestic power of heaven, leaving the human world no choice but to endure. On the city wall, he had retreated. This time, would he retreat again?

Above Ding Ying, in the high air, were the sword and the man.

Chen Ping'an swung his sword down.

A golden line appeared between heaven and earth.

If you learn a fist, you must throw a punch. If you learn a sword, you must strike.

At least let others hear what you have to say.

In that instant, Ding Ying's mind became clear, his heart and spirit settled.

Retreat from one sword, retreat from two swords, retreat from every sword—then where would I, Ding Ying, retreat to? How could I still wrestle with the heavens?!

Let this immortal named Chen Ping'an be the heavens. If I kill him, then kill the even greater heavens, and there will be a new order where the heavens are clear and humans are separate!

Might as well let me, Ding Ying, be the heavens!

Ding Ying laughed heartily, formed hand seals, and his spirit wandered forth, actually leaving his body in broad daylight and traveling the world.

This detached spirit held one hand behind its back, extended the other to cover its head, and spoke in a low voice, but Ding Ying's heart lake heard it clearly and generously: "If I dissipate in the human world, will Ding Ying become stronger?"

Of course, it was talking to itself.

Ding Ying did not speak aloud. He only had a thought that seemed to sneer in his heart: "My cultivation level, I cannot control. Rules must still be followed. But my mind must only improve. No need for idle words. Even if my soul is gone and only my body remains, what then? I will still be what I am."

A moment later, Chen Ping'an landed lightly with Long Qi in hand, his expression somewhat embarrassed.

It turned out that when he delivered this strike, his pure true Qi was already at its last gasp. He had forced it, but the "intent" of this sword was too great, and his current strength was too small. He could not lift it, only ending with a loud thunderclap but little rain.

Even Chen Ping'an, who never cared about anything when fighting, felt a bit ashamed.

As for the detached spirit that had been determined to be split apart by the sword, it only lost its hand and arm. It looked up in confusion, silently retreated a few steps, and returned to Ding Ying's body.

Both sides tacitly took a brief break.

Chen Ping'an drew a fresh breath of air.

Ding Ying, even more, needed to calm his spirit.

At that very moment, both Chen Ping'an's and Ding Ying's minds and spirits "settled," like a ship dropping anchor into water.

The old Daoist by the well had already arrived on the city wall, smiled, and made a decision.

None of the grandmasters on the wall, not even Zhou Fei, an immortal with his full strength intact, sensed the old Daoist's presence.

Only Fan Wan'er, with a kind of intuition, glanced in that direction. But she saw nothing and quickly looked away.

Yu Zhenyi looked around and said helplessly, "Cultivating immortal arts with such caution, I thought I could at least fight Ding Ying. I never expected to be so far beneath him. In this world, Ding Ying is the true favorite. Do we cultivators truly have no chance to rise?"

Zhou Fei clicked his tongue in wonder. "Old demon Ding, he's trying to monopolize all the martial luck! Did Ding Ying suddenly figure something out and gain the approval of this world's rules? That can't be, can it? We're all still kicking. How could Ding Ying get such good fortune? It's not like the Lu Dynasty on Jewel Bottle Continent, where the emperor lost his mind, saw the national fortune failing, and in desperation secretly gave half the country's martial luck to his son..."

Zhou Fei rambled on, secretly amused. After all, he was just a bystander enjoying the show.

Lu Fang asked, "How do you know the domestic affairs of that tiny Jewel Bottle Continent in the north?"

Zhou Fei chuckled. "I'm the head of the Jiang clan, after all. How could I completely ignore matters in the Haoran World? I often get people sending me dreams."

Lu Fang was puzzled. "That works?"

"It costs money."

Zhou Fei winced, annoyed. "A thousand gold for a moment of pleasure is nothing. This one dream a year is what really empties my mountain of gold and silver."

In the distance, Yu Zhenyi frowned. The silver lotus crown in his hand trembled, its petals suddenly opening. A faint green light broke free, flashed away, and sped toward the south of the city.

At that moment, heaven and earth moved in unison.

From all directions, ethereal lights surged toward Ding Ying.

Ding Ying closed his eyes, focusing, absorbing this vast heaven-and-earth martial luck.

As for Chen Ping'an, his Dharma robe, Jin Li, suddenly fluttered. It stopped appearing as a white robe and revealed its true form as a golden robe.

Not only that, but the flying sword Chu Yi from the gourd at his waist shot out.

Furthermore, the flying sword Shi Wu soared in from afar.

Chen Ping'an stood atop the hill, holding Long Qi. Sword energy flowed along his arm. Chu Yi and Shi Wu circled around him. Reuniting with old friends, these two little overlords who usually did not get along were never so joyful.

The golden robe's wide sleeves fluttered. Chen Ping'an suddenly gripped Long Qi tightly. His sleeves shook with a rustling sound.

It was just a small hill.

But there stood a man shaking his robes as if on a thousand-foot peak.

Chen Ping'an and Ding Ying—one on the hill, one below.

Each had climbed a step to a new peak, both in cultivation and state of mind.

Ding Ying opened his eyes, glanced at the wine flask at Chen Ping'an's waist, and laughed loudly. "After the battle, I'll drink that wine for you."

Chen Ping'an patted the gourd at his waist, indicating that if Ding Ying had the skill, he could help himself after the fight.

The battle resumed.

This time, they no longer clung to a distance of two arms' lengths. They moved near and far, within a radius of one li, filled with abundant sword energy and thick fist force.

They fought all the way to Ox Horn Mountain, stirring up sand and rocks, from the foot to the summit.

Ding Ying was struck by Chen Ping'an's sword from the mountaintop down to the foot.

On the second sword, Ding Ying rose from the ground and punched Chen Ping'an back to the summit.

Ding Ying slowly ascended, his casual fist force like the arm of a hundred-foot god, repeatedly swinging down onto Ox Horn Mountain.

Chen Ping'an merely shattered it with his sword.

Now bolstered by heaven and earth's martial luck, Ding Ying even sent his spirit out again, manifesting a golden body Dharma form as tall as Ox Horn Mountain. He clenched his fists and pounded the mountain again and again.

Chen Ping'an should have switched to the opposing "Cloud-Steaming, Great Marsh" stance, but with Long Qi in hand, he no longer wanted to switch to fist techniques. Even though he and his sword were being hammered down along with the summit of Ox Horn Mountain by the golden-bodied spirit, he persisted in using the sword against the enemy. The dust from Ox Horn Mountain had already blotted out the sun and sky. Huge boulders rolled down continuously, and Ding Ying's blows triggered something like snow avalanches, landslides, and mudslides carrying countless trees and plants.

The towering Ox Horn Mountain was being beaten down, bit by bit.

At the top, that golden robe stood firm, never falling.

Ding Ying's true body walked up to what was now the new "summit." Dust flew thick, and the light was dim.

As Chen Ping'an used his sword to block the spirit's palm pressing down from above, shattering the entire hand of the Dharma form and sending golden light shattering in all directions, it was as if a golden rain fell over Ox Horn Mountain.

Ding Ying charged forward in a straight line, his fist slamming into Chen Ping'an's forehead.

A speck of golden light arced out from Ox Horn Mountain and crashed heavily into the ground hundreds of zhang away.

That thin golden trajectory looked very much like a golden bridge.

Ding Ying's fist, perfect in spirit and intent, whipped out fiercely.

It was also a magnificent sight of a white rainbow crossing the sky.

And that white rainbow landed exactly where the speck of gold had fallen.

Chen Ping'an was knocked back another hundred-odd zhang.

Ding Ying was furious at Chen Ping'an's resilient physique. Even the Ox Horn Mountain under his feet had been leveled by tens of zhang, yet that fellow seemed completely unaware and kept swinging his sword. Ding Ying roared, "This punch—will you die or not?!"

Behind him, the enormous spirit leaped over Ox Horn Mountain, one foot touching the ground, its body leaning forward, the other foot just about to stomp on Chen Ping'an's head.

Compared to merely wielding Long Qi,

as the two fought wildly, more and more intensely, sword energy kept exploding near Chen Ping'an's palm and arm. The Dharma robe Jin Li, taking the repeated pounding from Ding Ying's spirit, had its spiritual energy cracking and shattering almost directly above Chen Ping'an's head.

Chen Ping'an's mind was completely immersed in the contest with Ding Ying. He did not even have time to adapt to the changes in this spiritual energy. Naturally, it seemed their existence was simply taken for granted.

Even the pain of the spiritual energy being hammered into his body like a god's forging, Chen Ping'an ignored. He treated it as no different from the hardship of training his fists.

As for all that chaotic spiritual energy seeping into his skin, flesh, blood, and bones, then entering his acupoints, Qi palaces, soul, and heart lake, Chen Ping'an had no time to worry about it.

The mountains were high and the rivers dangerous, the road full of obstacles.

Chen Ping'an focused solely on the distance. The obstacles on the path before him seemed to be bypassed naturally. The road remained the same; he did not take a different route. Thus, those obstacles became a part of his life's journey.

The golden body Dharma form stomped down, creating a large pit in the ground.

Ding Ying assumed a stance that seemed "instinctive," the true essence of his Dao nearly reaching the point where "where the mind goes, reality follows."

One palm facing upward, held horizontally before him, the other hand clenched into a fist, hammering heavily into the palm.

With that single blow of the fist,

the wind and clouds surged, the sky darkened, and a bolt of lightning as thick as a tree trunk that several people could barely encircle came crashing down from the sky.

The spirit had already retreated, arms crossed over its chest, watching coldly.

One bolt after another struck into the pit.

An unending stream of lightning cascaded down upon Chen Ping'an, who was standing bent over at the bottom of the pit. It poured over the Dharma robe Jin Li like a flood, swiftly draining away.

Ding Ying's eyes turned a golden hue. He hammered his fist into his palm one last time. From the cloud sea above, which resembled a thunder pool, a final, thickest bolt of white lightning descended. But it did not strike the pit. Instead, it slowly fell, and the spirit Dharma form caught it in its hand, holding it like a long sword.

Then the spirit began to run forward, gently tossing the "sword" ahead.

Finally, it grasped this lightning-wreathed sword with both hands, stood at the edge of the great pit, pointed the sword downward, and plunged it heavily toward the head of the person at the bottom!

This sword, besides its inherent thunderous might, also contained Ding Ying's own insights into the sword path.

Ding Ying twisted his lips, put his hands behind his back, and said, "I know you've come. Are you only going to show yourself after Chen Ping'an dies? You are indeed generous. This Chen Ping'an is truly the best whetstone. What, are you afraid I'm too weak to be worth your time?"

On the city wall.

Yu Zhenyi's expression darkened.

Zhong Qiu chuckled. "What do you think now? Still feel you're a successful immortal in cultivation?"

Zhou Fei covered his forehead with his hand, his tone mournful. "Damn it, we're in the Lotus Flower Blessed Land, not the Haoran World. The spiritual energy is yours to waste as you please. You two are too much... Fine, after this, I will find this Chen Ping'an, no matter what his current realm is. I have to get to know him. Better yet, make him a guest elder of my Jiang clan. What does realm matter..."

Lu Fang interrupted his friend's muttering, sneering, "That's assuming the guy doesn't die."

Zhou Fei sighed, took his hand off his forehead, and looked toward Ox Horn Mountain. "That's going to be hard."

Not only had bolts of lightning struck down, but Ding Ying's wandering spirit, in its Dharma form, held a sword and stabbed it at Chen Ping'an's head.

Without any suspense, even wearing the Dharma robe Jin Li, with Chu Yi and Shi Wu desperately trying to block, Chen Ping'an was still driven deep underground by this blow.

After Chen Ping'an disappeared, the sword in the spirit's hands shattered. The sword intent and lightning dispersed together in the pit. The great pit echoed the cloud sea above, also rippling like a thunder pool.

The situation was settled.

Ding Ying's mind tensed, ready to welcome the true opponent.

And sure enough.

At the summit of Ox Horn Mountain, not far from Ding Ying, a strikingly tall old Daoist appeared, saying calmly, "You are merely whetstones for each other."

Ding Ying was about to speak.

The old Daoist sneered. "Seeking death. But it's fine. This life of yours, Ding Ying, is somewhat interesting."

In the Haoran World, a pure martial artist: at the fourth realm, refine the soul; at the fifth, refine the spirit.

Chen Ping'an, driven deep underground by that sword strike, indeed did not stand up to continue fighting.

But within the thunder pool pit, a golden-robed young sword immortal appeared, brimming with vigor. He pressed two fingers together and swept them across before him.

A sword halted in front of him.

Exactly the same as Chen Ping'an's move on the city wall earlier.

But the difference was that behind this golden-robed immortal, another figure appeared: a young man in straw sandals and hemp clothes, his face even younger than the immortal's.

A sword manifested.

The immortal Chen Ping'an before him smiled and said, "I have a sword?"

At that moment, the straw-sandaled Chen Ping'an behind him charged forward, grasped the sword, and leaped high, just like when he had cut down the Great Mountain Sui Mountain, shouting loudly, "It can move mountains!"

That sword flew.

There was no longer any number one person under heaven, Ding Ying. In this world, there was utterly no more old demon Ding.

Because the entire Ox Horn Mountain was gone, leveled flat by that one sword.

In the great pit, taking advantage of Jin Li, now free from the lightning's suppression, Chen Ping'an shook his robe, broke free from the earth's binding, and "pulled" himself out of the mud. The two versions of Chen Ping'an—one of the soul, one of the spirit—both returned to his body. He walked slowly out of the pit along the slope.

A hoarse voice carried a hint of laughter, whether mocking or teasing: "That sword was not bad."

Chen Ping'an took the wine flask from his waist, lifted his head, and took a hearty drink. Then he asked, "Are you the Eastern Seas Daoist Master that old sword immortal Chen mentioned? Is this the Observation Abbey?"

The old Daoist appearing beside Chen Ping'an smiled and shook his head. "There is no Observation Abbey? Where I am, that is where the abbey is."

Chen Ping'an raised his sleeve to wipe the blood from his face, but as soon as he cleaned it, it was covered again. He asked, "Can I curse a few times?"

The old Daoist smiled. "Do as you see fit."

Chen Ping'an's expression did not change. He continued wiping blood. "Old senior, your Dao arts are supreme, truly impressive."

The old Daoist nodded. "The boy can be taught."