Chapter 337: Fists Too Hard, Forced Wine Tastes Good
The essence of the Divine Drumbeat Style lies in the connection of qi between two fists, like the sun setting and moon rising in the sky, like life and death for mortals—a set of vast rules, inevitable and inexorable.
Chen Ping’an, having entered the Fifth Realm, after the battle at Bull Mountain in the Lotus Flower Blessed Land, had already achieved the ability to split his soul and spirit into three separate entities. Unfortunately, he could only maintain this for the span of a single breath. However, when paired with the utterly unreasonable Divine Drumbeat Style, giving one punch was enough, more than sufficient.
After the first punch struck the eunuch, the sound was like war drums on a battlefield—immediately a dozen or more punches followed, each one landing solidly on flesh, resonating with a dull thud.
The two separated soul and spirit returned to Chen Ping’an’s body.
After all, he was not an orthodox qi cultivator; having his soul and spirit leave his body for too long would harm his fundamental essence.
Looking back at the eunuch’s first attack in his python robe, people like Ninth Lady and Yao Lingzhi were not only shocked by this high-ranking eunuch’s cultivation level—being able to simultaneously send out his Yin Spirit and journey with his Yang Spirit was clearly the cultivation of an Earth Immortal—but there was also an incredible implication for these Yao family members. Hadn’t it been said that this great Daquan Palace Guardian Shougong Huai was a martial grandmaster? How had he become a mountain immortal cultivating the Dao of longevity?
This seal-holding eunuch of the Imperial Horse Supervisor of the Daquan Dynasty had miscalculated one thing: he never expected that the robe Chen Ping’an wore was of such high quality that it had actually blocked his Yin Spirit’s lethal move of reaching out to scoop out the heart. Several grandmasters in the Daquan martial world had died to this very technique. It wouldn’t create a gory scene of blood, but it would cause a person’s “heart field” to dry and crack, instantly severing the connection between the heart meridians and all the qi apertures, leading to death like rotten, withered wood—somewhat similar to a punch that breaks the Bridge of Longevity.
The eunuch was regarded as a martial grandmaster not because of some clumsy misdirection meant to deceive opponents, but because he possessed a truly grandmaster-level body, with blood and qi robust, bones and tendons tough and resilient, enough to rival the peak of the Sixth Realm of a pure martial warrior.
Thus, whether in close-quarters combat or in confronting mountain arts and long-range magical attacks, the python-robed eunuch excelled in both, and therefore feared none in a fight to the death.
But after taking the second punch, the eunuch realized something was wrong. It wasn’t that the opponent’s fist qi was so extraordinary, but rather that he shouldn’t have been unable to dodge.
After five punches, the eunuch understood and roughly discerned the logic and flow of this punch style.
After ten punches, the eunuch seemed to have completely abandoned the idea of dodging. He didn’t avoid the fight.
Instead, he chose to trade injury for injury.
During this time, the flying swords First and Fifteen each fixed on the eunuch’s Yin Spirit and Yang Spirit.
One was a python-robed eunuch who appeared to be a pure martial warrior but was actually a qi cultivator; the other was Chen Ping’an, who appeared to be a sword cultivator but was actually a pure martial warrior.
The two of them, in a confined space within arm’s reach, fought a crude and brutal battle. Compared to Sui Youbian on the second floor driving her flying swords to meet the enemy, Lu Baixiang and Xu Qingzhou’s flashing blade lights, and Wei Xian outside the inn fighting with such soul-stirring vigor amid dazzling magical treasures, Chen Ping’an and the Daquan eunuch’s fight had nothing but speed. It was dull and tedious, yet extremely perilous.
The two tables of retainers had already retreated to the stairwell. They knew well that in the chaos inside the inn, they didn’t even qualify to intervene.
Zhu Lian, the only one idle, did not step in to stop anything, nor did he even give a sideways glance.
The scholar surnamed Zhong leaned against the counter, watching Chen Ping’an.
He had traveled far and wide but had never seen a pure martial warrior execute a fist stance so... fluidly.
Since he was young, he must have walked a long road and seen many great mountains and rivers, right?
No killing intent, no malice, no ferocity—not even a strong will to win.
Yet his presence was still very commanding.
The scholar was curious: what exactly was the principle behind this young man’s fist arts?
But human strength has its limits. The backlash of fist intent that one’s own body could bear was always a path of killing a thousand enemies at the cost of eight hundred self-inflicted wounds. Facing this notorious Daquan Palace Guardian Li Li, if the young man’s fist arts stopped here, even if he managed to “beat to death” Li Li with a final punch while injured, it would not be enough, far from enough.
Pure martial warriors were not valued by the world, nor revered by the court; instead, people worshipped those who cultivated the Dao. There was a reason for that.
“Ten thousand techniques, cut down by one sword.”
This phrase was widely circulated among the mountains, and many thought it referred to the fear of a sword cultivator’s killing power. Actually, that wasn’t entirely correct. The phrase “ten thousand techniques” itself already revealed the formidable nature of cultivators.
Chen Ping’an’s final Divine Drumbeat Style punch indeed shattered the python-robed eunuch into pieces, even the vermilion python robe seemed like something unreal.
But when Chen Ping’an saw that there was no blood splatter, he knew something was wrong. Immediately, he adapted the sword technique “Orthodox” into the boxing style of Head-Suppressing Style, assuming a defensive posture and retreating step by step. Fortunately, First, which had inexplicably missed its mark, had already appeared in front of him, and together with the Dharma robe Golden Brew, it should buy him enough time to take a fresh breath of pure true qi.
The Bright Common World was not the Lotus Flower Blessed Land. Here, fellow martial artists and all qi cultivators would fix their eyes on the moment a pure martial warrior took a new breath.
The eunuch Li Li’s move was similar to the substitute death talisman used by the formation master outside Eagle Fortress, just with a different technique. But Li Li used the destruction of a Yang Spirit to substitute for his true body, transferring it to the position where Flying Sword First was confronting. Chen Ping’an’s relentless barrage of Divine Drumbeat Style punches had already passed its peak.
And the dissipation of the Yang Spirit only slightly dimmed the luster of Li Li’s incomplete, flawless Golden Core.
That Yin Spirit once again used its heart-scooping technique, fingers like hooks reaching in, like a fist through paper. Dharma robe Golden Brew, like extremely tough rice paper, prevented Chen Ping’an’s soul and spirit from being scattered instantly, protecting his heart field. But it also became entangled and suppressed. Moreover, Flying Sword First, which had been blocking in front of Chen Ping’an, was stuck in the mud, trapped inside the Yin Spirit’s body.
Li Li had already appeared at Chen Ping’an’s side. He slapped aside the fist intent of the Head-Suppressing Style, took a step forward, and with two fingers pressed together, stabbed Chen Ping’an’s temple.
Chen Ping’an slid sideways horizontally.
Li Li’s strength lay not in being a half-Earth Immortal on the threshold of the Golden Core realm, but in his ability to both attack and defend without relying on external objects.
Whether Li Li had any hidden trump card artifacts was anyone’s guess.
Li Li did not press the attack. He stood still, his hand that had just broken the Head-Suppressing Style already forming a fist, then quickly opening. When his palm was fully open, the lines on it began to writhe and pulse, vivid red threads, eventually forming what looked like a vermilion talisman. The two fingers that had stabbed Chen Ping’an’s temple brushed across the palm, and Li Li silently uttered “Open Talisman.”
Chen Ping’an, who was struggling to take a new breath, felt a mountain pressing down on him. On his Dharma robe Golden Brew, talismans radiating spiritual light appeared on the sleeves and shoulders.
Blood streamed from Chen Ping’an’s temple.
“I also have a punch. Consider it the hospitality of my Daquan Dynasty.” Li Li smiled as he walked forward. While saying this, the old eunuch’s wide sleeves fluttered. He tilted his head to dodge First, which was stabbing toward the back of his head, caught the flying sword with his fingers, and gently tossed it away, where it collided with Fifteen nearby.
He took a single step and was in front of Chen Ping’an.
Li Li’s left hand, with the talisman on his palm, seemed casually placed on Chen Ping’an’s chest. His right fist punched down onto his own left hand.
Like a heavy hammer driving a nail, it slammed deep into the Dharma robe Golden Brew with great force.
Chen Ping’an staggered back several steps.
Li Li followed like a shadow, again punching his palm, another fist smashing down. The Golden Brew robe fluttered violently; the spiritual qi of the landscape within its sleeves and the pure martial qi shattered and scattered.
Chen Ping’an retreated again and again.
This time, Li Li didn’t follow. He simply reached out, pinched a golden rope that had appeared out of nowhere around his neck, and yanked hard, creating a bloody gash. He seemed oblivious to the wound, allowing the golden rope—likely a Demon-Binding Rope—to coil around his wrist. The python robe sleeve was torn to shreds, leaving deep iron-blue marks on his arm. Li Li clicked his tongue. “You sure have a lot of good stuff on you. Another treasure, right? Too bad you’re neither a sword cultivator nor a qi cultivator. You used it poorly. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the chance to give you my third punch so quickly.”
It turned out that after his right hand was tangled by the golden rope, his left hand, bearing the talisman, formed a fist and pointed faintly at Chen Ping’an’s forehead from a distance. Chen Ping’an’s brow felt as if struck by a heavy blow, skin splitting and blood seeping out. His head snapped back, but he stamped heavily step after step, forcing himself not to fall backward.
Deep in Li Li’s eyes, a shadow flickered. Behind him, First and Fifteen were entangled with his out-of-body Yin Spirit.
Li Li sneered. “Two little things, as loyal as the Yao family. Pity you don’t seem to be life-bound objects. Your power is greatly diminished. If I could erase your sentience, maybe I could use you. That would be a pleasant surprise.”
The Yin Spirit suddenly grew three heads and six arms, its face completely changed. It no longer resembled the “middle-aged eunuch” Li Li, but rather three divine spirits from the Daquan martial temples: a rough-bearded man, a refined scholarly general, and a stoic old man. The six arms held a pair of iron maces, twin axes, and an iron spear, all formed from incense smoke.
Although Li Li was momentarily distracted by the “clash” between his Yin Spirit and the two flying swords, he did not neglect his vigilance against Chen Ping’an.
This renowned Daquan Palace Guardian of the central Tongye Continent states had lost the first move but had since firmly gained the upper hand. Yet he hadn’t expected that young man to take so many punches—blood still streaming from his temple—and still act like nothing was wrong. Even though he was heavily injured, that spiritual essence, even more mystical than his fist intent, was not plummeting but rising instead?
But it didn’t matter. Li Li could still use a dull knife to cut flesh slowly, grinding away the young man’s foundation. Even if the youth unleashed another flurry of punches, the worst that could happen was temporarily losing his Yin Spirit. But the young man’s body and soul could not withstand such punishment. Li Li wished he could finish it quickly, but he simply couldn’t deliver a decisive blow. An ordinary Seventh Realm martial artist or Dragon Gate realm cultivator would have been killed by him twice over.
Lu Baixiang was at a disadvantage in his fight with Xu Qingzhou.
First, unlike Wei Xian, Lu Baixiang had just emerged from the painting scroll and hadn’t yet fully adapted to the influx of spiritual qi from the Bright Common World. Second, Xu Qingzhou wore the Golden Crow Latitude Armor. If not for the narrow saber Tingxue being a relic of the deceased Nascent Soul Earth Immortal from Peaceful Mountain, Lu Baixiang would have had no strength to fight back.
However, even with visible bone-deep cuts on his chest and shoulder, the founding patriarch of the demonic sect of the Lotus Flower Blessed Land remained composed, as if he was far more interested in Xu Qingzhou’s saber techniques than in defeating him.
Sui Youbian and Xu Tong of the Grass Retreat fought as a pair. Although Sui Youbian was a martial artist by origin, their battle resembled more of a duel between two qi cultivators.
Xu Tong clearly considered the woman a sword master. Even if she was troublesome, as long as she wasn’t a sword cultivator with a nurtured life-bound flying sword, it was fine.
Outside the inn, Wei Xian was fighting with gusto.
Endless surging pure martial qi, combined with the Sweet Dew Armor given by Chen Ping’an, meant the small wounds from those that slipped by were just minor nuisances.
During their respective fights, all parties were constantly mindful of the outcome between the eunuch Li Li and Chen Ping’an.
Sui Youbian was the first to speak: “Young master?”
Chen Ping’an, covered in wounds, could only shake his head and said nothing.
A single breath of pure true qi was barely maintained; he dared not switch it.
Li Li chuckled. “What, is that all you’ve got?”
If not for the Golden Brew robe, Chen Ping’an’s bloody aura would have stunk up the entire inn.
Li Li “nailed” the palm talisman into Chen Ping’an’s chest. The Golden Brew blocked most of it, but a small portion seeped into his heart.
The pain was no less than having his heart cut out.
Cold sweat on his forehead mixed with the blood from his face, dripping down the young man’s cheeks, drop by drop, onto the ground.
Li Li’s killing intent grew stronger.
He was waiting for Chen Ping’an’s true qi to be exhausted. Physical pain could be suppressed by willpower, but once the true qi scattered, Li Li’s opportunity would come. He could wait; Chen Ping’an could not. So Li Li did not press too hard by continuing close-quarters combat. Besides, simultaneously controlling his Yin and Yang Spirits outside his qi palace was not easy. If not for the half-formed Golden Core giving Li Li a spiritual qi foundation far beyond cultivators of the same realm, his Yin Spirit behind him might have long since dissipated and returned to his true body, let alone maintaining the three-headed, six-armed martial saint form to restrain First and Fifteen.
Li Li glanced sideways at the old man squatting on the second-floor railing.
He was somewhat puzzled as to why this man had been standing by doing nothing from start to finish.
Just as Li Li’s attention shifted toward the martial madman Zhu Lian, Chen Ping’an seemed to seize the fleeting opportunity, attempting to forcibly take a new breath.
Li Li sneered internally. *Desperate struggle. You’ve lost this gamble.*
The Yin Spirit flashed and appeared in front of Chen Ping’an. Its six arms held five weapons, and it rained down a flurry of blows, aiming for his head.
Li Li himself dealt with the two flying swords. Countless streaks of white spiritual qi flowed from his vermilion python robe, like a huge spiderweb, completely blocking First and Fifteen’s path to rescue their master. Although these white threads couldn’t trap the flying swords, as long as they slowed them down slightly, Li Li could appear near them, flicking them away with a finger or a sleeve.
Li Li found it amusing.
This young man, utterly clueless about life and death, hadn’t actually been taking a new breath; he had merely been trying to lure Li Li close. But what was the point? The same recklessness had led him to stick his neck out for the Yao family tonight, and now this trick was just as futile. Probably because he came from a high background, with powerful retainers, and had had an easy life, he didn’t know the limits of heaven and earth.
Still, since this opponent clearly had an astonishing background and a grudge had been formed, he must be utterly eradicated. If he escaped, the entire Daquan Dynasty might face immense trouble.
Compared to the earlier bare-fisted exchanges between Chen Ping’an and Li Li, the current mutual hammering with the Yin Spirit was even more hair-raising.
Fortunately, Chen Ping’an was familiar with this. Back on Ox Mountain, when he faced Ding Ying’s golden body manifestation, hadn’t it been a similar scene of land-shattering grandeur?
But back then, Chen Ping’an could only endure, unable to fight back, as Ox Mountain’s peak was blasted apart by Ding Ying’s golden body.
Now, he was exchanging blows with this “little” Yin Spirit, neither side backing down.
The Dharma robe Golden Brew had already been beaten back to its original golden color from the illusory snow-white.
After ten punches of the Divine Drumbeat Style, Li Li’s eyes turned shadowy, but he still ignored it, letting the young man pile on punch after punch.
The Yin Spirit in its three-headed, six-armed martial saint form dissipated into thin air, spiritual qi scattering in all directions.
The Golden Brew robe also appeared torn and scratched in many places, unable to repair itself temporarily, with chaotic spiritual qi leaking out.
Li Li tore off his ruined vermilion python robe and looked at the young man with heaving chest. Both palms and backs of his hands were bloody and mangled. He forced his eyes open, his face streaming blood, leaving only his clear eyes.
Li Li laughed. “Too bad you’re a pure martial warrior. That means you have nothing to do with Tongye Continent or the Jade Gui Sect. Otherwise, I really wouldn’t dare kill you.”
Chen Ping’an closed one eye and said hoarsely, “Your two incarnations couldn’t take a beating. They fell apart after only seventeen or eighteen punches. Not as good as Ding Ying.”
Li Li smiled. “And then?”
Chen Ping’an mumbled, “And then I just need to throw a third punch, and I can trade my life for yours. Are you scared?”
Li Li responded with a cold laugh, clearly not believing him.
Moreover, as the Daquan Palace Guardian with a half-formed Golden Core, how could he lack a contingency plan? It was just that the cost would be too great.
Greater than even his own life.
Silence hung between them. After a moment, Li Li suddenly frowned and said sternly, “You’re a pure martial warrior—why are you going against the grain and secretly absorbing spiritual qi?!”
Li Li stepped back several paces, convinced that this man had deliberately opened all his qi palace doors, allowing spiritual qi to flood in, hoping to create an opportunity for mutual destruction.
He must have lost his mind.
The scholar Zhong nodded slightly, then shook his head.
A pure martial warrior using spiritual qi to temper his soul and spirit required great courage, but it also carried great danger.
That third punch had the potential to land.
If Li Li grew careless, he would suffer another heavy loss.
This young man hadn’t fought for nothing. A Fifth Realm martial warrior was precisely at the stage of desperately seeking a heroic heart. Li Li’s bizarre Yin Spirit, formed through visualization of three martial temple saints, was a heterodox method, blasphemous to the gods, and harmful to martial fortune—Li Li was using public resources for private gain. It was unlikely that anyone in Daquan’s court knew the truth. By defeating and shattering the Yin Spirit, the young man would have a subtle connection. If he ever had the chance to go to the Daquan capital and enter that martial temple, he would surely receive great rewards.
But all that depended on whether the young man and his strange retainers could leave this inn alive.
He had agreed to clean up the mess, not protect the youth.
The eunuch Li Li glanced around, walked a dozen steps to a table, picked up a cup of wine, took a sip, set it down gently, and looked at the young retainers on the stairs. Among them was a minor marquis, a son of a Dragon-Soaring general, and other promising elite imperial guards.
Xu Qingzhou was a waste—not only had he failed to take down the blade-user, he didn’t even realize he was being used as a training dummy.
Xu Tong of the Grass Retreat was still reveling in the supposed power of his heterodox lightning arts, thinking victory was certain, unaware that the woman who was not a sword master was giving birth to sword intent in her heart, like spring grass sprouting—her talent was that of a sword immortal seed.
As for the fight outside, it was noisy, a back-and-forth, but just noise.
Finally, Li Li looked at the woman and the hunchback old man, finding no interest in them. The shabby scholar gave him pause, but it didn’t matter.
Everyone inside the inn, friend or foe, would die.
Li Li waved his hand, and the inn’s door slammed shut.
Zhu Lian said slowly, “Careful.”
Li Li placed his hand over his abdomen below his dantian and began to breathe heavily.
With each exhale, crimson vapor spewed out.
Chen Ping’an silently charged forward.
His third Divine Drumbeat Style.
A fist slammed into the back of the eunuch’s hand on his abdomen.
Li Li’s fist struck Chen Ping’an’s chest.
The simple second punch had already landed.
Li Li was agitated, as if his heart was no longer that of the reclusive Imperial Horse Supervisor Earth Immortal guarding the palace. His face contorted, eyes bloodshot, and he slapped Chen Ping’an’s temple with his palm.
Chen Ping’an’s upper body swayed, but his feet were rooted, just so he could throw the next punch.
Each punch was faster than the last.
Li Li’s punches boomed like thunder.
Flying Swords First and Fifteen, upon penetrating Li Li’s body, seemed lost in a maze, crashing around among his qi palaces, unable to find a way out.
Inside Chen Ping’an, the sound of bones breaking crackled.
On Li Li’s face, which he had preserved like a middle-aged man’s, lines appeared and swelled in some places, sinking in others, as if his face was a mask.
His half-formed Golden Core shattered.
But only the outer layer split, just like when Li Li casually tore off his outer vermilion python robe.
Zhu Lian sighed inwardly. The railing beneath him shattered, followed by the floorboards, as he dropped to the ground floor. With lightning speed, he took two or three casual strides to Li Li’s side, jumped on the tips of his toes, and drove an elbow into the old eunuch’s head. His other hand shot out like a knife, stabbing into Li Li’s neck and passing straight through.
Li Li, who should have been dead without a doubt, still threw a punch at Chen Ping’an. After the punch, blood gushed from both of Chen Ping’an’s ears like a spring.
Zhu Lian was hurled backward, smashing through the distant wall, and crashed outside.
With half his neck severed, Li Li’s expression was indifferent. His sole focus was on killing the young man first. In his true form, everyone else wasn’t worth a single exchange.
Zhu Lian landed among a troop of elite cavalry outside, startling them. As they began to surround him, Zhu Lian spat out a mouthful of blood, rolled backward, and leaped up like an ape through the woods. The martial madman’s brutality now fully emerged. He grabbed the arms of a dismounted rider and pulled outward, tearing off both arms.
He slapped a rider’s head—it exploded.
He punched through a chest, impaling the man, found the body annoying, and slashed diagonally from shoulder to belly, cleaving the hunchbacked old man in two. Blood and guts spilled across the ground.
Inside the inn.
As if by mutual agreement, Xu Tong and Xu Qingzhou, Sui Youbian and Lu Baixiang all stopped fighting.
Because the change in the eunuch Li Li was utterly incomprehensible.
Vaguely, with sharp instincts, they all regarded Li Li as the greatest enemy.
At that moment, Ninth Lady, the hunchback old man, the little cripple, and Yao Lingzhi on the second floor inexplicably collapsed to the floor.
The shabby scholar Zhong had somehow appeared behind Li Li. One hand behind his back, the other holding a crimson pill between two fingers, he looked down at it and murmured, “So that’s it.”
He added a bit of pressure and crushed the genuine Golden Core.
Hearing Chen Ping’an’s fist slam into the chest of the now-dead eunuch, and feeling the young man’s hand bones shatter completely, the scholar turned his head. Since Li Li had not yet fallen, he had to lean sideways, grinning at Chen Ping’an with admiration. “Little brother, don’t you know pain?”
Chen Ping’an was completely immersed in his fist intent.
That final punch had practically no killing power, barely any weight. And this was the Divine Drumbeat Style—the proudest technique of that old man with the surname Cui, who stood at the peak of the Tenth Realm martial artist and intended to use it to challenge the Dao Ancestor.
Chen Ping’an swayed, vision blurry. Vaguely, he saw the eunuch with his neck mangled, head drooping, fall to his knees with a thud. He could detect no life in him.
Chen Ping’an stood still, still maintaining the posture of having thrown the punch, not pulling back. At that moment, only one thought occupied his mind: thank goodness that last punch hadn’t fallen under the gaze of the barefoot old man, or he would surely be cursed out, torn apart by his scolding.
The scholar looked at Xu Tong and Xu Qingzhou, blinked, and asked, “‘A gentleman uses words, not fists’—you actually believe that nonsense?”
Xu Tong and Xu Qingzhou swallowed their saliva.
Chen Ping’an’s arms dropped limply, and he sat down on the ground, legs crossed.
Using the last of his strength, he formed fists and rested them lightly on his knees, managing to open only one eye.
The Dharma robe Golden Brew was heavily damaged, its spiritual qi almost gone, temporarily useless.
He was covered in blood, even more eye-catching than Li Li’s vermilion python robe earlier.
The scholar said to the young man, “Do you know what you were fighting?”
But because there were many people in the inn, the scholar didn’t say it aloud. Before he intervened, the shift in the young man’s aura was probably some hidden self-preservation technique or his strongest killing move. The scholar could only guess a little.
Chen Ping’an slowly raised his head, still able to open only one eye, and smiled. “No one in front of me.”
The scholar crouched down and smiled. “What’s your name?”
Chen Ping’an closed his eyes.
The scholar rolled his eyes.
After a moment’s hesitation, he extended a finger, like a child doodling in the air, drawing circles and lines.
The natural spiritual qi from Li Li’s shattered body and Golden Core in the inn slowly flowed toward the young martial warrior, gathering precisely outside those qi palaces that Chen Ping’an’s Eighteen Stops of Sword Qi had passed through.
Beyond that, he waved his hand, and Li Li’s corpse vanished. First and Fifteen sprang out from it, quickly hovering by Chen Ping’an’s shoulders, their tips pointing at the scholar.
The scholar ignored them, raised his head, and called to the second floor, “Little girl, stop reading and come see your dad.”
Pei Qian, who had long stopped reading, ran out of the room. She first looked at the shabby scholar, then pretended to be clueless and asked, “What? See my dad?”
The scholar clicked his tongue. “Hey, you know how to pick on the weak, huh?”
Pei Qian scurried down the stairs, making them thump loudly.
She crouched beside the scholar in blue, looked at Chen Ping’an, and whispered to the man next to her, “He’s not dead, is he?”
The scholar nodded. “Died young, a real pity.”
Pei Qian looked left and right, wanting to say something but holding back.
Chen Ping’an opened his eyes.
Pei Qian turned to glare at the scholar. “Why are you cursing my dad to die? Your dad’s the one who’s dead!”
The scholar looked innocent. “My dad did die early. I have to visit his grave every Qingming Festival.”
Chen Ping’an took down his wine gourd from his waist and took a small sip of green plum wine. When he raised his hand, it was horribly mangled, making Pei Qian break out in a cold sweat. Her thoughts echoed the scholar’s: Is there anyone in the world who doesn’t feel pain like this?
The scholar laughed. “For the Yao family, you almost died here. No regrets?”
Chen Ping’an said, “It wasn’t for the Yao family.”
The scholar grinned wickedly. “Well, part of the Yao family’s disaster is because of a femme fatale. You’ll find out soon. Even a heart-hardened romantic like me was almost tempted. Imagine how beautiful that woman is.”
Lu Baixiang and Sui Youbian stood beside Chen Ping’an, one propping his saber, the other with a sword on her back.
One cost two Grain Rain Coins; the other only one.
Together, the four of them used up all of Chen Ping’an’s Grain Rain Coins.
That old Daoist was really a cheat.
Suddenly, the scholar asked doubtfully, “You didn’t happen to know I was here, so you used this life-and-death fight as a whetstone for your martial cultivation?”
Chen Ping’an wiped the blood off his face without answering. Instead, he smiled and asked, “And you are?”
The scholar waved dismissively. “Not worth mentioning.”
Chen Ping’an didn’t press further.
The scholar turned to look at Pei Qian’s wide eyes. He stared at them—sunrise over the eastern sea, moon hanging over the western mountain—truly beautiful.
But her temperament was really unlikable.
The scholar glanced toward the door. “Yao Zhen and another prince’s troops will be arriving soon.”
He smiled finally. “Just rest and heal. I’ll handle the rest.”
Chen Ping’an struggled to stand, first clasped his fists to the scholar—the sight of those hands made the scholar’s scalp tingle—then said to Lu Baixiang, “Thank you. If I’d known it would come to this, you should have been the first to step out.”
Lu Baixiang smiled faintly.
Chen Ping’an glanced at Sui Youbian, who met his gaze calmly.
Chen Ping’an went up to the second floor, Pei Qian following behind.
The young retainers all had ashen faces.
The scholar watched the two figures, one big and one small, scratched his head, couldn’t figure it out, and decided not to bother.
He realized that after tonight, he wouldn’t be able to freeload around here anymore, which annoyed him.
So he sat down and began drinking in silence. One scholar with a jade pendant on his waist went out the door. To him, the inn door seemed nonexistent. He slapped that prince, sending him tumbling through the air several times. Another scholar, carrying a sword, turned into a white rainbow and flew far away, found another Daquan prince, kicked him to the ground, and stomped on his face.
After the scholar’s Yin Spirit and Yang Spirit each left for their journeys, within a thousand li radius, every yin entity or ghost, even the spirits of licentious shrines, involuntarily prostrated themselves, trembling.
All the ghosts of the world, upon seeing me Zhong Kui, must kowtow.