Chapter 925: Borrowing a Thousand Mountains and Ten Thousand Rivers from All of You (VI)

Chapter 925: Borrowing a Thousand Mountains and Ten Thousand Rivers from All of You (VI)

Qing Tong, with his sleeves dragging along the ground, was like something shattered by a single punch, his form instantly split in two.

Qing Tong was no longer in that posture of extremely long sleeves and ethereal immortal aura. In his place stood a yang spirit incarnated body, an old man with a burly build, bulging biceps, snow-white hair and beard, standing barefoot.

The old man showed a slightly surprised expression. His feet, on the ground as smooth as a mirror, slid straight backward over a hundred feet before he stopped and shook his wrists.

Just this one, extremely ordinary minute movement was like a flood dragon shaking its scales, a surge of fist intent gushing forth like rivers and seas, manifesting a visible golden aura. The fist force was thick as water, gleaming brightly, making this elderly martial artist, who called himself half a step into the Divine Arrival realm, seem like an immortal god standing amidst the mist of incense smoke.

This Qing Tong, who had tempered his physical body to the extreme, now seemed quite surprised. A mere pure martial artist at the Qi Flourishing first layer, especially one who had fallen from the Returning to Truth first layer back to the Tenth Realm, actually possessed such tremendous strength?

Qing Tong's gaze was playful as he looked into the distance. That Night Traveling longsword was still hovering in place.

It was obvious. This was a pure and simple fist duel.

That made sense.

Could it be that a sword cultivator who wasn't even in the Jade Pure Realm would challenge a Flying Ascension Realm cultivator to a sword duel?

If not, what else could it be—self-humiliation?

A figure in a crimson dharma robe stood where Qing Tong had been moments ago, his sleeves fluttering, crackling loudly, wind wildly colliding within them.

Compared to Qing Tong's surging fist intent and aggressive momentum, Chen Ping'an's fist intent appeared extremely restrained.

Qing Tong wasn't in a hurry to attack. He didn't need to go looking for the other; this neither-human-nor-ghost creature would obediently deliver himself to him anyway.

To put it bluntly, the gap in their realms was so vast that Qing Tong could stand still and take dozens of punches, then only need to return one punch, and it would be over.

Since this young martial artist had no face, naturally there was no talk of eyes or expression.

Qing Tong only saw the other slightly hunch his back.

Here he comes.

Qing Tong narrowed his eyes, slightly accelerating the circulation of pure true qi within his body. In the small universe of his human body, with its mountains and rivers stretching thousands of miles, a series of strange phenomena appeared one after another: lightning intertwined in the sky, mountains and rivers trembled on the earth.

This was still not Qing Tong having truly reached the Divine Arrival realm, only having a rough prototype, to be precise, just an empty shell.

Once a martial artist truly reaches the legendary peak of the Stopping Realm, the physical body becomes a pantheon of ten thousand gods, and that mouthful of pure true qi becomes the incense-fire divine path that connects heaven and earth, leading to the temple.

I am the god.

Relying on the cumulative effort of water grinding away stone day after day, little by little, tempering his physique for so long, Qing Tong still hadn't laid a solid foundation. Instead, he could only use a clever shortcut to build a castle in the air.

The opponent's approach path was an arc trajectory, swift as lightning. The speed was so fast, it was like a White Colt Passing a Crack talisman, the afterimage it dragged behind it like a fire dragon.

Yet Qing Tong still stood in place, only slightly turning sideways, not dodging or avoiding. He extended a palm to block the other's punch.

When fist met palm, a sound like a massive bell or cauldron rang out between heaven and earth. Behind Qing Tong, in the vast Taixu Boundary, a ripple of fist force suddenly roiled outward, as large as a lake.

Qing Tong grabbed the opponent's fist, abruptly lifted it upward, and was about to kick out.

But Qing Tong had to change his mind. That hand, which had always been behind his back, instantly moved to the front, raising it to cover his face.

Then he was kicked in the palm, the back of his hand heavily smashing into his face. Qing Tong's form shot backward once again.

Qing Tong wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. On his snow-white robe, tiny sounds of silk tearing could be heard.

The figure in a crimson dharma robe, now standing where Qing Tong had been, had one arm hanging straight down, presenting a chillingly twisted posture. His shoulder moved slightly, a series of sounds coming from the joint, and the entire arm rapidly rotated, instantly restoring itself.

The snow-white old man twitched the corner of his mouth and hooked his finger.

Come again.

The two figures suddenly appeared, then abruptly vanished. Their fist intents crashed together, countless afterimages, one crimson, one snow-white, flowing light and scattered colors like a riot of a hundred flowers.

Qing Tong deliberately never truly fought back, only defending.

He might as well take this opportunity to properly gauge how much a young Hidden Official, now almost praised to the skies, was really worth.

Qing Tong's expression was composed. He tilted his head back, dodging a sweeping whip-leg, leaning back slightly. Then he suddenly raised his arm, his hand like a blade, and slashed forward.

The opponent's form flickered and vanished. Qing Tong withdrew his hand, sidestepped, instantly stretching out over a hundred zhang. He leaned his shoulder forward and viciously sent the crimson dharma robe flying.

Chen Ping'an landed in the distance.

Qing Tong let out a snort of derision.

In the end, it was just flesh and blood.

Although there was no sign of weariness, nowhere near the point of being spent, if Chen Ping'an only had this much speed and force in his punches, then he truly was a case of reputation exceeding reality.

Of course, this kid probably still had some aces up his sleeve that he hadn't shown yet.

Qing Tong asked with a smile, "Is it that you want me to suppress my realm and feed you punches?"

Or was this guy just overfed with nothing better to do, testing the waters of his martial arts level, physical strength, and fist techniques?

Chen Ping'an still didn't speak.

Qing Tong thought for a moment. He began to move actively for the first time, a lateral movement swift as a thunderbolt. In an instant, he was over a dozen li from his original position.

Unexpectedly, the crimson figure appeared right before him. Qing Tong was slightly startled, smiled faintly, twisted his ankle, and instantly appeared over a dozen li away again. Unexpectedly, the other still followed like a shadow. Qing Tong's form shot up, a white rainbow rapidly ascending into the sky, his speed increasing by another thirty percent. Yet Chen Ping'an still kept up, delivering a punch aimed at Qing Tong's brow. If it had been a Jade Pure Realm qi practitioner or a Stopping Realm martial artist, they would probably have had their head blossom open from this seemingly casual punch, turning into a headless corpse on the spot.

Qing Tong, however, only slightly turned his head. He pressed his palm against the other's forehead, abruptly exerted force. With a bang, the crimson dharma robe tilted and plummeted toward the ground. On the mirror-like surface, a huge depression was smashed.

Yet when the other was sent flying down, it wasn't entirely without effect. Qing Tong was somewhat annoyed. He pressed two fingers together against the side of his cheek, wiping away blood.

It could hardly be called an injury, just a bit embarrassing.

Qing Tong let out a sound of surprise. Strange.

The other clearly showed no signs of forcibly raising a mouthful of pure true qi, yet he could return at an even faster speed, throwing the next punch at him.

Qing Tong tried to see the fist logic of this punch clearly. He narrowed his eyes, for the first time showing a serious expression, and began to carefully examine the subtle flow of the fist force, such as the tremor of sinews and bones in the arm when Chen Ping'an delivered the punch, the movement of qi and blood, the expansion of the meridians—these "mountain ranges" rising and falling, and the direction of the flow of "mountains and rivers." In the eyes of a grandmaster of martial arts, this was the fist path, the road along which fist intent traveled. Compared to so-called fancy fist forms, this kind of fist logic and technique hidden deep within the human body was the true foundation of a pure martial artist.

After taking five or six punches, Qing Tong still couldn't see the fist path clearly. He only vaguely felt that this punch of Chen Ping'an's was deeply meaningful, wonderfully ineffable.

Smooth and unbroken.

Because this punch was by no means a simple "repetition" of the same move.

It was like tracing characters that looked identical. But fundamentally, they were still two different characters, always with some subtle differences.

And the slightest discrepancy led to a vast divergence.

What was even stranger was that Chen Ping'an's punching angle and body posture were clearly different every time.

But the flow speed of that mouthful of pure true qi, like a great river flowing into the sea, the depth and width of the riverbed were the same. Using constancy to respond to change, doing the opposite, undergoing myriad transformations yet always remaining the same.

It was as if the destination of this punch, the estuary where it entered the sea, was the same.

Even Chen Ping'an himself, the one delivering the punch, his entire spirit and aura were exactly the same as the Chen Ping'an of the previous punch, with not a shred of deviation.

This gave Qing Tong, beyond surprise and shock, a considerable degree of unexpected delight.

A fist could be practiced like this? Could be delivered like this?

But after a dozen or so punches, Qing Tong realized something was wrong. How did it feel like this punch had no end?

Was it that as long as he could withstand it, Chen Ping'an would be able to keep punching nonstop?

Not only was the opponent's fist intent accumulating, the speed of the crimson dharma robe's movements was getting faster and faster, already not losing to an Immortal's technique of shrinking mountains and rivers.

Punch after punch found their mark. Over a dozen sounds like winter thunder had already sounded on Qing Tong's body.

After the twentieth punch, Qing Tong had to clench his teeth. He took a step back, for the first time assuming a proper, ancient fist stance. But it was quite different from the stance frames of today. His two fingers were pressed together like a sword gesture. His other hand, five fingers forming the Five Thunder Gesture. As this fist stance was raised, from Qing Tong's seven orifices, a piece of fluorescent light each lit up, like the light of the Big Dipper's seven stars intersecting. When he exhaled and inhaled, it was like thunder moving across the open wilderness. In the blink of an eye, the punch was thrown.

He exchanged a punch with Chen Ping'an.

But he still couldn't break the opponent's continuous fist intent. Qing Tong took another five punches in a row. However, Qing Tong wasn't idle either. After some slight hesitation, he only returned two punches to Chen Ping'an.

He really didn't believe it. You, Chen Ping'an, a Qi Flourishing first layer martial artist, with your physical toughness, had taken a total of six punches from him. Plus, the very act of Chen Ping'an throwing this kind of fist itself damaged the martial artist's own physique. Were you really not afraid that before I fell, you would lose your realm again? Falling from Returning to Truth to Qi Flourishing was still within the Tenth Realm, but what about falling from the Stopping Realm to the Mountain Summit Realm?

Blood threads seeped out from all seven of Qing Tong's orifices. Though his face looked ferocious, he was actually not seriously injured. But within his small universe, there was considerable movement. A black dragon, manifested from the residual charm of pure true qi, coiled at the peak of a mountain chain, clouds issuing forth and rain steaming. At another key acupoint, purple mist rose, within which a great white snake was undergoing a divine dragon transformation. On a "flat plaza" on its enormous head, a golden thunder script, like words carved into a jade plaza, was faintly visible.

This was the tremendous advantage of a qi practitioner also cultivating martial arts. Once one crossed the two thresholds—the Heavenly Chasms of the Golden Body and Stopping Realms—many techniques could be forged into one furnace, complementing each other, making it difficult to distinguish between magical techniques and fist techniques.

In the tall old man's eyes, another strange phenomenon occurred again. One golden, one silver-white, they gleamed brightly, but this phenomenon was fleeting.

At the same time, between Qing Tong and Chen Ping'an, a barely noticeable ripple appeared, like a mirror, blocking Chen Ping'an.

In the mirror, a figure in a crimson dharma robe threw a punch identical to the one outside the mirror.

The person in the mirror seemed to want to duel fists with Chen Ping'an.

Chen Ping'an, almost without needing to think, simply closed his eyes. The mirror instantly vanished, and the next moment, that mirror was shattered into pieces.

But the strange thing was that the "self" behind the mirror, that punch, was not an illusion. It was a genuinely real punch that continued to be thrown, only following the same path, appearing somewhat rigid.

Chen Ping'an, without any hesitation, again accelerated the circulation of that mouthful of pure true qi. His fist intent surged by several points. His form suddenly accelerated. For the first time, he used his left hand, in the posture of a hand blade sweeping horizontally, to behead that "self."

Qing Tong, who had withdrawn very far from the battlefield, couldn't help cursing inwardly. So young, yet truly iron-hearted.

Thinking about it, it made sense. After all, he was a sword cultivator who had grown up step by step on the battlefield of the Sword Qi Great Wall, amidst piles of bones.

Chen Ping'an suddenly stopped, hovering in the air, his form hunched. His cold gaze swept around, continuing to maintain the fist intent of the Divine Man Beating Drum style. At the same time, he looked around. He saw that while Qing Tong had retreated, he had also erected mirror after mirror. In the mirrors, a dozen or so selves in crimson dharma robes, still in the posture of the previous punch, surged toward Chen Ping'an from all directions, who was at the center. The people were fake, but the punches were real.

He just didn't know how long these "selves" could maintain their "mirror images."

Chen Ping'an silently recited a word in his heart. His crimson form suddenly bloomed like a flower.

He had chosen a method that Qing Tong considered the most inferior—as if fighting against oneself, still fist against fist.

A dozen or so mirror images almost simultaneously shattered and scattered. Chaotic fist intent wantonly spread in all directions. Ultimately, it was like a torrential rain of crimson pouring down from the sky.

Chen Ping'an spoke for the first time, his voice hoarse, like a whetstone and a blade grinding against each other. He said in a deep voice, "When two parties duel fists, using fists to learn fists—that's skill. But if you use the methods of a qi practitioner, employing mountain techniques, using magical arts to copy this fist... I advise you not to do this."

Although these eerie mirror images that could briefly copy Chen Ping'an and his fist intent were extremely mysterious, looking more like some kind of qi practitioner's magical technique or divine ability, they were indeed a form of fist technique.

But Qing Tong, on top of this, had secretly done a little something extra.

Qing Tong squeezed out a fake smile. Being caught red-handed in a rather dishonorable act by a junior was somewhat embarrassing. "Couldn't help myself. I'll stop here."

He was already at an inherent advantage with a higher realm, and using magical techniques to steal fists really was a bit improper.

It was obvious that Qing Tong was still very relaxed in this fist duel. That masterful, unhurried demeanor was not feigned.

The only problem was that Qing Tong discovered that Chen Ping'an, who had thrown no small number of punches, still seemed unfathomable.

Those three punches Qing Tong had thrown, though far from exerting his full strength, would have left any ordinary grandmaster, especially a pure martial artist from outside the demon race, half dead.

Or was it that, because of this current posture, the young Hidden Official didn't show any outward signs of abnormality?

Moreover, Qing Tong couldn't help but mutter to himself. The exchange of punches had been so perilous, yet this kid could still spare extra mental energy to notice every subtle move of his?

Qing Tong smiled. "A blank expanse of heaven and earth looks too boring. Let me set up a battlefield for you, as a little entertainment."

With a snap of his fingers, a city appeared out of thin air. Its vastness could probably rival the capital of the largest dynasty in the Central Continent Divine Land.

Within the city, jade towers and ornate buildings stood in close rows. Markets and wards were scattered like stars. Outside the city, mountain ranges stretched for thousands of miles, rivers flowed for ten thousand li. There was still a solitary peak rising abruptly from the plain, uniquely towering, with a sea of clouds as its belt.

Qing Tong stood on the ridge of a great hall, one hand behind his back, the other palm open. "Chen Ping'an, I'm only going to play with you for the time it takes to burn one incense stick."

Meaning, he was ready to fight seriously, no longer just feeding him punches?

Looking at that young man who had gained sudden fame but looked pitiful, Qing Tong sneered inwardly. If it weren't for the other being a Hidden Official, having the title of the Sage Wen's close disciple, being a meritorious person the Confucian Temple cared about greatly, and having that "Xiao Mo" traveling with him...

Today, you wouldn't even have seen my true form, let alone that earlier feeding of punches without fighting back.

If you lose this fist duel, Chen Ping'an, you should give up and leave peacefully. From now on, we'll be like well water not interfering with river water, each going our own way.

I won't hinder your work of filling gaps and mending leaks on this Tongye Continent, but you don't bother me either.

Of course, forget about those impulsive acts, like relocating half the Sword Qi Great Wall here—that move that would harm the enemy a thousand and lose yourself eight hundred, that harms others without benefiting yourself.

Qing Tong's aura changed completely. He touched the ground with the tip of his foot. The great hall beneath him couldn't bear the weight, instantly turning into dust, dirt and dust flying.

After throwing an active punch, the figure in the crimson dharma robe blocked with both hands. His entire body, on the ground within the city, used his back to carve a huge trench.

The white-haired old man appeared on the street, walking beside the trench. He strolled leisurely, still having the leisure to ask, "That fist duel between Cao Ci and you in the Gong De Forest, he must have held back, right? By how much?"

The reason for this question was not that Qing Tong was deliberately trying to disgust people or look down on Chen Ping'an's martial arts level.

Being able to be compared with Cao Ci was itself a form of high regard.

Now, it wasn't just the Hao Ran World that thought so. In fact, it was probably the case in all four worlds, except perhaps the Five Colors World, where Ascension City dominated.

Chen Ping'an leaped out of the trench. The dharma robe on his body was still spotless.

His next action made Qing Tong want to laugh. Chen Ping'an, who had been knocked down by a single punch, actually gently hopped a few times, as if stretching his muscles and bones.

But Qing Tong soon couldn't laugh much anymore. It wasn't fear of the opponent, but anger.

Because Qing Tong, who claimed to know a few big talismans, saw that around the crimson dharma robe, firelight flickered first, specks of light, then turned into ashes that scattered.

It was the scene of dozens of talismans burning out simultaneously.

Using the residual spiritual energy ripples of those talismans, Qing Tong, as a Flying Ascension Realm talisman grandmaster, quickly deduced the common function of those two types of talismans.

Used to slow down movement, not only increasing the burden on hands and feet, but also using the qi practitioner's body to suppress the martial artist's physique.

When it came down to it, this guy had deliberately made his own punches slower!

Qing Tong had seen those who showed their sharpness to the fullest, those who were arrogant and domineering. But one so young who dared to be so overconfident? This was truly a first.

Was he deliberately seeking death?

It seemed the other guessed Qing Tong's thoughts. Although there was no verbal exchange, Qing Tong also guessed the other's thoughts.

I may not be able to beat you to death, Senior, but if you only use your martial artist identity, can you beat me to death?

I doubt it.

Qing Tong nodded. Sure enough, he had a reason to detest these sword cultivators.

Especially a sword cultivator who practiced fists and martial arts, a young sword cultivator.

---

Earlier, Xiao Mo hadn't wanted to stay and be a hindrance, so he had retreated backward over a hundred li, sat down cross-legged, and placed that green bamboo staff horizontally across his knees.

Qing Tong, as a qi practitioner and a Flying Ascension Realm cultivator, wasn't all that strong.

Otherwise, when he encountered Xiao Mo earlier, this Qing Tong would have just closed the door and refused to see him, directly driving him away.

The only thing Xiao Mo was relatively interested in was Qing Tong's so-called "knowledge of a few big talismans" at the end.

The weight and level of his own young master's fists and feet had no fixed measure.

The first layer of realm was the general sense of "friendly sparring." This was further divided into two types: one was suppressing the realm, which itself was divided into suppressing how many realms; the other was not suppressing the realm at all.

The second layer of realm was when a victory or defeat needed to be determined. For example, during the fist duel with Ye Yunyun of Pu Mountain, the talismans on their hands and feet that were about equal had to be removed.

But the spectators at that time were not of a high enough realm. Instead, Xiao Mo, though he hadn't appeared at the Zhe Xian Peak, was on the Luo Bao Shoal side of the Qing Yi River. Xiao Mo had still paid attention. In fact, the young master hadn't removed all the talismans at that time. He had retained about two to three tenths of the talismans used to suppress the speed of his punches.

But Chen Ping'an's movements were too fast, happening in an instant. So even Ye Yunyun hadn't seen it clearly.

Finally, the current state was the last type. This itself was divided into two types.

This required understanding Chen Ping'an's mindset. Was it to determine victory or defeat with someone, or to decide life and death?

That fist duel between Chen Ping'an and Cao Ci, which went from the Gong De Forest all the way to the firmament of the Confucian Temple, was probably the second-to-last type. Although both sides had held back somewhat, having had a private gentleman's agreement to each hold back twenty percent of their strength, under that premise, that fist duel was a truly unadulterated and thrilling one, where each had exerted themselves to the fullest.

Layer by layer, advancing step by step.

Each step of the staircase had a different view.

Then today, at this time and in this place, Chen Ping'an was in the last posture.

Xiao Mo lifted his head and gazed into the distance. On the battlefield, the young master was throwing punches, as always a delight to the eyes.

Xiao Mo suddenly remembered something. He just didn't know whether that Pu Mountain Yun Cao Tang lineage—being both qi practitioners and capable of cultivating martial arts—had any karmic connection with this wutong tree. Could it be some kind of "branching out" of this Qing Tong?

In the distance, a small path appeared out of thin air, paved with golden wutong leaves, like a spirit snake slithering toward Xiao Mo.

Qing Tong had previously split into two. The true form was unseen. The pure martial artist of the yang spirit incarnated body was fist-fighting with Chen Ping'an. Now, the yin spirit departed from the body, traveling far, walking on this small path. It was a youth of handsome and refined appearance, even surpassing a beautiful woman. He wore a high crown and a broad belt, his appearance truly Dao-like.

He was draped in a meticulously refined dharma robe, a genuine one adorned with stars and bearing the moon. On the snow-white robe, faint specks of starlight formed strange phenomena. Behind him, a round, glowing moon phase was manifested.

When Qing Tong's yin spirit stopped, only a short distance from Xiao Mo, he pinched his fingers together, lit an incense stick, and began timing. Qing Tong smiled and reminded, "Within the time of two ke, if Chen Ping'an can't defeat me, then I'll have to see you out."

Xiao Mo nodded.

When the time comes, if you see the young master out, I'll see you off.

This Qing Tong yin spirit sat cross-legged, accompanying Xiao Mo in looking out toward that arena. He sighed emotionally, "Parting from you, fellow Daoist, for ten thousand years, and meeting again, I'm glad you're still well. Truly great fortune."

Whether in the content of his words or his demeanor and tone, this "youth" exuded a sense of world-weary authority.

But in Xiao Mo's eyes, the aura of decay was too heavy. It unaccountably reminded him of an unnamed fellow Daoist he had met during his travels in ancient times, sitting by the water gazing at the sky, sorrowful and contemplative, surrounded by fresh and fragrant herbs, unforgettable in their unworldliness.

Ten thousand years ago, a hundred flowers bloomed, the sky was high and the earth vast, boundless and unrestrained. There was no lack of extraordinary people and strange events.

Xiao Mo put away some stray thoughts and smiled faintly. "For you, it is certainly a matter of fortune."

Qing Tong was silent for a moment, then self-deprecatingly said, "It's like killing the conversation stone dead."

Because the implication of this Xi Zhu fellow Daoist's words was: You have survived by luck, but I have survived to this day by true skill, by a set of swordsmanship.

Ten thousand years ago, even among those so-called "earth immortals" who had attained the Dao, with similar realms, the difference in skill level and killing power was like the difference between clouds and mud.

Sword cultivators were the undisputed first-class Daoists.

In the human world at that time, even the ancestor of this wutong tree was still considered ordinary. Indeed, very ordinary.

The reasoning was simple: just talk about plants and trees. If each traced their own ancestors, could they count them all?

Just talk about that conflict between water and fire. How many mountain ranges, rivers, and plants on earth were destroyed? Countless.

Like Xiao Mo, who had once passed by this tree and only glanced at it a few times. This was only because this tree, in a great fire, had been scorched but not killed—dead wood springing to life, regaining its vitality.

For this visit to the doorstep, if Xiao Mo hadn't been by the young master's side, "Fellow Daoist"? Just polite words. What fellow Daoist? They weren't friends, nor were they on the same path.

So this reunion after ten thousand years was like a scion of a wealthy family with the highest social standing sitting down to chat with a nouveau riche who had suddenly become wealthy.

Qing Tong shook his head. "You all being able to become sword cultivators—isn't that also an extreme, even greater stroke of fortune?"

"And look at us spirit creatures of flowers, plants, and trees. No matter how good our luck, even after successfully cultivating our form, which of us has become a sword cultivator?"

"At the beginning of cultivation, opening the aperture is not easy. We are already the most difficult among sentient beings. Just the matter of cultivating form, not to mention compared to humans, but even compared to you, Yuan Shou, Yang Zhi, and the like, it's not just that our efforts are half effective and results doubled—before successfully cultivating forms, because we cannot move, facing those sudden heavenly disasters and human calamities, not to mention the physical damage, just the suffering of our initial Dao hearts—you who are favored by fortune on the path of cultivation wouldn't understand."

"Great floods, great fires burning mountains, the calamity of war, the destruction of violent winds and rain—countless disasters, too many to mention. Realms that you achieve in just two or three years, as if in one go, are often the heights of the Dao that we spend our entire lives seeking but never attaining."

Xiao Mo bluntly replied, "What do I need to understand that for?"

Qing Tong was momentarily speechless. This was exactly the sword cultivator style—the same stinking attitude unchanged for ten thousand years!

Xiao Mo glanced at the incense stick and asked, "Half a step into the Divine Arrival? In today's martial world, is there such a saying?"

Qing Tong smiled. "Those who travel a hundred li often give up at the ninetieth."

So Qing Tong didn't say his martial arts realm; just said Returning to Truth first layer, which showed considerable sincerity.

Xiao Mo detected the change in the other's heartstrings and sneered, "You don't even dare to bring your true form here to reminisce, and you talk about sincerity?"

Qing Tong, of course, knew that one of this fellow Daoist's innate abilities was the ability to sense hearts. He didn't care about this little bit of heart voice being detected by Xiao Mo. But he couldn't help teasing, "Xi Zhu Fellow Daoist, having followed the young Hidden Official on his travels through the Hao Ran World for so long, you must have heard the saying, 'Do not listen to what is contrary to propriety.'"

This fellow Daoist, whom Chen Ping'an called Xiao Mo, as one of the famous ancient great demons, naturally had a true name: Zhu Zhi. It had the same pronunciation as the modern "zhizhu" (spider).

But these two characters were too obscure. Moreover, with the changes over time, there had been several changes in font. Now, aside from the "Shuo Wen Jie Zi" dictionary and a few scattered records like "spinning silk to make a web, weaving a net to seek food, benefiting in the dark night," everything else had become a thing of the past.

But Qing Tong knew quite a bit about "Xiao Mo's" exploits. Besides his fondness for dueling with sword cultivators and his expertise in one-on-one combat, he once set an ambush. During two cycles of the sun and moon, along the trajectory of a "Heavenly Dao," when it rose and fell cyclically, Xiao Mo captured it, trapped it in his web... First, he swallowed the bright moon, then captured the great sun. He swallowed the moon into his belly and had already begun to refine it, causing a huge commotion. The master of the moon had the Green Bird send a message to the various departments of the Celestial Court's Thunder Ministry, which then issued an edict throughout the world, ordering the arrest and execution of this demon sword cultivator who had violated the heavenly laws. Xiao Mo, naturally not one to wait for death, endured quite a few heavenly thunders, but he also personally slaughtered many bureaucratic gods under the Thunder Ministry's Execution and Investigation Department. The human earth immortals attached to the Thunder Ministry were not a few in number. Anyway, this Flying Ascension Realm sword cultivator demon, who was good at both offense and defense, killed one whenever he met one, killed a group whenever he met a group. That escape was simply a refining of swords and a training of cultivation.

Finally, the Celestial Court was enraged. It was rumored that not only would one of the twelve high-ranking gods, the main official of the Thunder Ministry, descend to the mortal world to capture Xiao Mo, but another high-ranking god would accompany him. However, for some unknown reason, it ended up being a loud thunder with a small raindrop, ending inconclusively. But after that, Xiao Mo also restrained himself a lot. Of course, "restrained a lot" was relative to his previous lawlessness and unruliness. Those earth immortals who accidentally ran into this great demon sword cultivator still had a very miserable fate.

To tell the truth, Qing Tong was very surprised to see Xiao Mo again this time and find him so... restrained, his swordsmanship so understated.

Xiao Mo asked, "Fellow Daoist Qing Tong, why do you have a prejudice against me?"

Qing Tong asked suspiciously, "When did I ever have a prejudice against you?"

Xiao Mo reached out and gently tapped his green bamboo staff. He laughed and said, "Your prejudice against sword cultivators isn't strong enough?"

I, Xiao Mo, am a sword cultivator.

Qing Tong was speechless for a moment. He was silent for a long time before he revealed his heart. "You sword cultivators, relying on one sword to break ten thousand methods, look down on everyone. Arrogant and unruly, addicted to killing, only caring about your own pleasure in swinging your swords, completely disregarding the life and death of all beings under heaven. You look down on the cultivation of all your fellow Daoists."

Xiao Mo nodded, not denying the truth of this. He asked with a smile, "You've suffered at the hands of sword cultivators before?"

Upon hearing this, Qing Tong's face instantly darkened. Obviously, the old matter he was thinking of was definitely not a happy one.

Xiao Mo said considerately, "If you don't want to talk about it, don't force yourself."

Not someone who liked listening to tales of woe, nor was he willing to listen to... last words.

Qing Tong's body remained motionless. He only used his fingers to twirl a wutong leaf, like a wooden puppet fanning itself.

Qing Tong said slowly, "Many years ago, there were three young sword cultivators who traveled together. During their journey, they got into a dispute with a group of gods who were patrolling the human world under the command of some armored ones. I unfortunately was near the battlefield and suffered considerable damage to my Dao."

Those three young men later all became peak human sword cultivators. They were Yuan Xiang, Guan Zhao, and Long Jun.

Qing Tong raised his hand, his two fingers brushing across his cheek. A series of tiny characters appeared on his face, as if he had suffered the punishment of tattooing.

Xiao Mo glanced at it. It was ancient script. It roughly recorded the heroic achievements of that battle. He nodded and smiled. "That's something Yuan Xiang would do."

Because that Yuan Xiang had a lively temperament, was arrogant and domineering, and had always been the sharpest-tongued and most troublesome.

For instance, stealing wine from Luo Bao Shoal was exactly the kind of thing Yuan Xiang would do. Once or twice could be tolerated, but he even came a third time.

The crux was that after Yuan Xiang finished drinking the wine, he said it didn't taste good.

If he weren't, Xiao Mo wouldn't have chopped him.

But in the later battle of ascending to heaven, Yuan Xiang was also one of the human sword cultivators who died the most heroically.

So much so that Yuan Xiang died without even seeing the gate of the old Celestial Court. It was said that during his journey with his sword, amidst continuous fighting, this old sword cultivator, who had been a chatterbox his whole life, never spoke a single word.

This old sword cultivator was the first to ascend to heaven, walking higher and higher. Besides non-stop swinging of his sword, sending out brilliant sword lights of immense momentum, connecting heaven and earth, the sword cultivator himself remained silent, soundless. It was as if his only words, unwritten, were three words.

I die first.

He resolutely sacrificed himself, becoming a martyr.

Xiao Mo asked, "Apart from this personal grudge?"

Qing Tong sneered. "Later, there was also a last-generation sacrificial officer of the Sword Qi Great Wall. He moved stealthily and also came here. Our conversation was still very unpleasant."

At that time, after this person secretly left the Sword Qi Great Wall, he didn't go directly to the Li Zhu Cave Heaven in Bottle-Gourd Continent. Instead, he first landed on Tongye Continent.

Qing Tong said a few words to try to get close, only to be met with a cold shoulder. Of course, this wasn't the main reason. There was another reason why they couldn't reach an agreement.

But there was no need to elaborate on this to Xiao Mo.

After that, there was a young man from a foreign land, not yet a sword cultivator, who ascended to the land of Tongye Continent from the Fu Ji Sect. At that time, he carried a longsword on his back, named "Sword Qi Soaring"!

It was Chen Qingdu's abandoned sword, unused for many years.

It was like the Elder Sword Immortal of the Sword Qi Great Wall, even though he was across a whole world, using such a method that didn't require his personal presence, warning Qing Tong to protect the young man's path carefully, or else bear the consequences.

Damn you, Chen Qingdu! Even if you had that surnamed Chen, the sword-carrying youth, bring me a message, it would be fine. Or use some simple little secret technique, you, Chen Qingdu, secretly say hello to me. How difficult would that be?

Thinking back to those days, among the many human sword cultivators, Chen Qingdu's aptitude was not the best, his cultivation speed was not the fastest, and his flying sword's rank was not the highest. Yet, in the end, it was this person who walked to the highest point of the sword path.

Moreover, compared to the arrogant sword cultivators of the world who looked down on everyone, Chen Qingdu was considered one with a very good reputation. He was always taciturn, usually didn't cause trouble, only practiced his sword diligently, rarely went out, and traveled only a few times.

But a series of subsequent events proved.

The silent one, when he occasionally speaks, it is like thunder.

Xiao Mo clicked his tongue. "Fellow Daoist Qing Tong, what exactly is going on with you? Are you naturally incompatible with sword cultivators?"

Qing Tong neither confirmed nor denied this. He looked over at the battlefield and asked curiously, "Aren't you worried about Chen Ping'an at all?"

Xiao Mo remained silent.

The young master was thorough in his affairs; outsiders need not worry.

Right now, Xiao Mo's only thought was how to persuade the young master to allow him to swing his sword to his heart's content.

Not to mention his identity as a dead soldier, but even as a retainer, he was about to become unworthy of his position.

Coming to Tongye Continent, especially after entering this place, Xiao Mo understood something.

No wonder the sword path luck of Tongye Continent was the lowest among the nine continents of Hao Ran.

Whether it was the overall number of sword cultivators or the number of top-tier sword cultivators, this Tongye Continent could be described as "shabby."

Of course, it wasn't that Qing Tong's natural aversion to sword cultivators could fully dictate the situation and single-handedly create this bleak situation where there were so few sword immortals. Qing Tong was just a wutong tree; he really didn't have that kind of ability.

But precisely because it was in charge of the luck of an entire continent's mountains and rivers, imperceptibly, over time, the accumulation of small things led to big effects. The top influenced the bottom. This influence became profound.

Ultimately, the entire Tongye Continent—its sects, its cultivators, the hearts of its people, the advantages of time, place, and harmony—all began to tilt and shift, forming a kind of active choice.

And a wutong tree not moving from its spot, along with the isolation of the entire Tongye Continent—liking to close the door, viewing the sky from the bottom of a well—was also a kind of invisible Dao resonance.

Overall, it was just a simple old saying: those who share the same family don't enter the same household.

The Bi Xiao Fellow Daoist of Luo Bao Shoal was like the behind-the-scenes head of the Tongye Continent household. Of course, there was also Qing Tong, the puppet at the front, together maintaining this family estate.

Unfortunately, this Bi Xiao Fellow Daoist had already departed for the Azure Firmament World.

Otherwise, the young master's journey in Tongye Continent would probably have been much smoother.

That Qing Tong yin spirit, while watching the battle, reached out and curled a strand of hair at his temple. He looked toward the flying dust and dirt of that city and asked with a laugh, "Still not worried about his safety now?"

Earlier, he was just fulfilling his duty as a host, which could be considered a gift to Chen Ping'an. Next, this young Hidden Official would have to watch his step.

Qing Tong pretentiously tilted his head and closed his eyes, not looking at the scene of the crimson dharma robe being knocked onto the street and plowing through the ground.

He took the initiative with one punch, and your young master had no means to resist.

One incense stick, two ke of time. Wouldn't it be a bit too hard to endure?

If, by accident, he beat Chen Ping'an until he dropped a realm, then had to be carried back to Xian Du Mountain to attend the sect ceremony, wouldn't that be a bit inappropriate?

Could it be that that old scholar, who had only recently been restored to his divine position in the Confucian Temple, would pester him relentlessly, using public office for private revenge?

Actually, the person Qing Tong feared most now was not someone else, but this Sage Wen, who had merged with the Dao of three continents.

Xiao Mo smiled. "Only an embroidered pillow who hasn't fought a few real battles, a flower shelf who has never truly experienced a life-and-death struggle, would ask such an... idiotic question."

Then Xiao Mo added, "Sorry, I'm just discussing the matter as it stands, not intentionally targeting Fellow Daoist Qing Tong."

Qing Tong gave a hollow laugh.

It was not underestimating the enemy. It was just that a certain height, after all, had its limits and bottlenecks.

Especially since Chen Ping'an had taken a trip to the Barren Wilderness World and had also dropped a realm.

Otherwise, even that Cao Ci, who was at the peak of his martial arts path, if he were only at the Qi Flourishing first layer and traveled here, facing a half-step Divine Arrival pure martial artist, what could he do?

It was precisely at the entrance of the Tai Ping Mountain ruins on this Tongye Continent that Chen Ping'an had just recently broken through to the Qi Flourishing first layer of the Stopping Realm, and he did so as the strongest ever, going to that "mountain peak."

The momentum was so strong, the commotion so great, with Qing Tong's keen perception, he had noticed it at the time.

But at that time, Chen Ping'an was in a fight with Han Yushu of the Wan Yao Sect in the San Shan Blessed Land. One relied on the innate divine ability of his flying sword, the other on his talisman mastery. Each set up their own small world. Qing Tong didn't dare to explore recklessly, especially since Jiang Shangzhen of the Yu Gui Sect was also sitting at the mountain entrance at that time.

The territory of Tongye Continent was very large, almost equivalent to two Bottle-Gourd Continents. But this wutong tree had taken root here for ten thousand years. It was like in the depths of the earth, following the example of the Xi Zhu fellow Daoist beside it, spinning a spider web. The vast mountains and rivers of a continent, the common disturbances—it didn't need to know, and it didn't bother to know. But as long as it was a person or event that could cause its Dao heart to tremble, Qing Tong, whether out of duty or to cherish its own Dao practice, would try to investigate thoroughly, for both public and private reasons.

For instance, when that smelly ox-nosed Taoist priest from the Guan Dao Guan on the East Sea acted against the old ape carrying the sword, Qing Tong knew about it. But from beginning to end, it didn't dare to get involved. After all, Qing Tong had the identity of a Demon-Suppressing Tower, just not as explicitly stated as the Zhen Bai Ze of the other eight majestic towers.

Fourteenth Realm cultivators were already extremely rare. Counting them up, adding up all the worlds together, there was only that small handful of peak cultivators.

And that old temple master, with his extremely high Dao age, was among this small handful of peak mortal-world cultivators, the most famous for his unpredictable temperament, cunning mind, and heaven-reaching means.

He was hailed as the proudest scholar in the world, Bai Ye, wielding an immortal sword, the undisputed number one in killing power. The monk Shen Qing's Golden Body, unparalleled in invincibility, was also recognized by all worlds.

And the old temple master's vast supernatural powers, seemingly not biased towards either side, but since he could be equally famous as Bai Ye and Shen Qing, these two Fourteenth Realm great cultivators, alongside the old blind man of the Ten Thousand Mountains...

Qing Tong had seen with his own eyes, heard with his own ears, and even personally experienced it.

Just one thing: how many cultivators in the world, over the long ages of several thousand years, had been constantly "seeking the Dao" with the Dao Ancestor?

And this one, once known as "invincible since coming out of the cave, sparing others when possible," the Master of Bi Xiao Grotto, and this Xiao Mo with his yellow hat and green shoes, were very close friends.

This was a matter known to all the earth immortals of the human world ten thousand years ago.

It was a kind of friendship that couldn't be forced or envied.

It wasn't about who was clinging to whom. It was just a compatibility of temperament and a resonance of Dao between the strong.

Thinking of this, Qing Tong couldn't help sighing emotionally. "Fellow Daoist Xiao Mo, with your realm and status, where can't you go? Why not go beyond the heavens to refine your sword, slowly cultivate to the Fourteenth Realm, and then return to the human world?"

Xiao Mo turned his head upon hearing this and stared blankly, asking, "'Xiao Mo'—is that something you can call me?"

Qing Tong was immediately silent.

As I said earlier, the one with a heavier killing intent was actually Chen Ping'an, not this ancient sword cultivator using the Dao name Xi Zhu.

But at this moment, it was instantly reversed.

However, Xiao Mo soon ignored Qing Tong, because on the street within the city, Chen Ping'an had, for the first time, removed all the talismans.

Seeing this scene, this Qing Tong yin spirit suddenly burst out laughing. It seemed he simply couldn't help it. At first, there was some restraint, but later the laughter became uncontrollable. After a while, he finally stopped laughing. He lowered his head slightly, extended a finger to wipe the corner of his eye, let out a few intermittent chuckles, then straightened his face, coughed a few times, and turned to Xiao Mo, saying, "Sorry, sorry. I just found it so amusing, I couldn't help myself. Please forgive me, forgive me."

Xiao Mo wasn't angry at Qing Tong for this kind of heartfelt emotional expression.

If it could be said that the earlier fist duel in the blank space was both of them practicing, warming up, just a sparring match.

Then now, within that city, the two sides in confrontation had both begun to show some true skill.

While delivering punches, the burly old man inadvertently revealed a section of his arm. On it, densely packed golden talisman characters appeared, actually engraved on the white bones beneath the muscles.

The content of the characters included both chapters of immortal family Dao formulas and a Buddhist scripture, as well as various ancient talisman diagrams that had been long lost.

Qing Tong's entire arm seemed to have been refined into a white bone mountain range. On the cliff faces of that mountain, countless cliff-side inscriptions were visible, like immortal talismans used to strengthen the mountain body and stabilize the peaks. Ultimately, one arm was a single dragon vein. The skin, flesh, sinews, and veins, on the other hand, seemed like dispensable appendages.

The figure in the crimson dharma robe was smashed into a tall city wall. He used his elbow to break through the rubble, forcibly pulling himself out of the wall.

But Qing Tong, who had just consecutively hit Chen Ping'an's forehead and chest, didn't press the advantage. Because, having exchanged two punches for one and gaining a clear upper hand, Qing Tong had noticed that this punch from Chen Ping'an was unusual.

This punch wasn't too heavy, but the fist force was quite troublesome. Several key qi mansions within Qing Tong's body were in considerable motion. On the arm engraved with talismans, hundreds of golden characters and several talisman diagrams became dim in almost an instant, like swathes of ash falling silently.

After that, Qing Tong became increasingly cautious.

A streak of crimson roamed through the streets and alleys. A white rainbow was much more straightforward, always following a straight line, heading directly for that crimson dharma robe darting around like a fish. Buildings along the way collapsed and exploded. Once Qing Tong got his hands on him, Chen Ping'an was often sent crashing through several hundred zhang, like tunneling doors through the city. On the other hand, when Qing Tong took a punch, he would mostly just shake a bit, soon returning the favor to Chen Ping'an.

The only abnormal thing was that Qing Tong discovered that Chen Ping'an, along with those earlier punches that could scatter the golden talismans, was repeatedly using five types of fist techniques. It was like a temporary cramming practice. From the initial slight unfamiliarity to gradual proficiency, the growth of fist intent couldn't be called a sudden leap forward. But with Qing Tong's eyesight, one could say that the change from Chen Ping'an's first punch to his last, in terms of skill improvement alone, was visible to the naked eye.

Qing Tong kicked the guy flying backward over a hundred zhang. The young martial artist's back directly smashed through the mansion of a wealthy family. Outside the wall, under a large tree on the street, the crimson dharma robe used his elbow to gently brace against the tree trunk, stopping his momentum.

Following the new path, Qing Tong slowly walked out of the hole in the wall and asked with a smile, "Self-created?"

If not for the divine essence of these fist techniques being not yet complete, they would be some of the best punches in the world.

Chen Ping'an smiled. "He created them."

It was the five types of fist techniques of Cao Ci.

During the earlier fist duel at the Confucian Temple, Cao Ci had said he had created over thirty types of fist techniques, and had used less than half of them at the time.

Today, Chen Ping'an had imitated five of them: Tan Hua (Epiphyllum), Liu Shui (Flowing Water), Long Zou Du (Dragon Entering River), Ling Jiu Shan (Vulture Peak), and Shen Xiao (Divine Thunder).

Cao Ci didn't mind others learning his fists at all.

Most people couldn't learn them.

Even the small handful of martial artists who could barely catch up with Cao Ci's back weren't much better off.

"Those who learn from me live; those who merely resemble me die."

If someone else said this, it might be arrogance, inevitably carrying some suspicion of condescending preaching.

But for Cao Ci to say it, it might just be an extremely calm and reasonable truth.

Even Chen Ping'an wasn't really trying to learn these punches. The only use was to "find different ways" to temper his physique.

Different fist techniques, paths, and logic could hone different mountain and river territories within the human body. This was the meaning of martial artists sparring, using the stones from other mountains to polish one's own jade.

Qing Tong laughed loudly. "Is this also stealing fists?"

Chen Ping'an corrected him. "Learning fists."

Qing Tong asked doubtfully, "Is there a difference?"

While speaking, Qing Tong's feet intertwined with a flicker of lightning, as if treading on two thunder formations. It was still a fist technique, but the effect was equivalent to the immortal art of shrinking the ground.

In a flash, Qing Tong had already reached out and pressed the forehead of the figure in the crimson dharma robe. He charged forward wildly, while simultaneously delivered a swift punch to the other's throat.

Stealing fists or learning fists—as a Stopping Realm martial artist, who couldn't do that?

This punch, Qing Tong was imitating Chen Ping'an's Divine Man Beating Drum style. His right hand's five fingers hooked like a claw, firmly pressing on the forehead. Although his right hand felt like it was hitting a rapidly spinning millstone, even if five fingers bled and the tiger's mouth split open, Qing Tong's left hand continued to punch nonstop. He wanted to see how many punches his own continuous fist intent of striking while the iron was hot could support, and how many the other could endure. Would his own fist intent break first, or would the other's physique show signs of cracking first?

In the blink of an eye, Qing Tong had delivered nineteen punches of unknown names. The two figures had already "walked" several li within the city.

During this time, Chen Ping'an suddenly accelerated his "retreat" form three times. Qing Tong followed suit perfectly, exactly matching Chen Ping'an's speed, like a cat toying with a mouse.

But Qing Tong had to admit that his nineteen punches were not light in force, but unfortunately, the spirit wasn't quite there.

Among martial arts grandmasters, learning fists was simple, but also difficult. It was easy to achieve seventy to eighty percent formal resemblance. But learning fists was difficult because it was hard to grasp the essence, to accurately see through the flow path of the other's mouthful of pure true qi. This path was like a long immortal family Dao formula with complex text and obscure content. For Mountain Summit Realm, especially Stopping Realm martial artists, if you only learned a fist technique in form, what was the point? Without getting the method, it was just a chicken rib.

But Qing Tong wasn't discouraged. He could just practice tens of thousands of repetitions later. If tens of thousands weren't enough, then hundreds of thousands.

All the fist techniques in the world were ultimately dead. Only the person delivering the punch was alive.

Qing Tong stood firm, changing his pure true qi for the first time.

Both sides had already left the city. Chen Ping'an, like a kite with a broken string, fell to the ground in the distance.

Qing Tong smiled. "About one ke left until the incense stick burns out. Are you up to it?"

Chen Ping'an stood up, took a deep breath, exhaled a breath of withered aura, and then suddenly seemed to change into a different person. From a previously apathetic, elderly man, he became a spirited, vigorous young man. He reached out and gripped the hilt of a narrow saber at his waist, and laughed, "If we're just talking about the level of your fist techniques, it's really hard to match half a step into the Divine Arrival. Or is it that what you're really best at is using weapons?"

Qing Tong crossed his arms and laughed, "Even if I'm bare-handed, isn't it more than enough to beat you?"

Moreover, Qing Tong hadn't truly exerted himself fully.

He was afraid that by accident, if he got too carried away and couldn't hold back, he might knock the other down a realm, or simply beat him to death.

Qing Tong glanced at the stacked sabers at the other's waist and extended a hand. "If you want to use a saber, feel free."

Chen Ping'an smiled. "You seem to have forgotten to say, after the two ke are up, how exactly do we determine victory or defeat?"

Qing Tong said, "We fight until one side admits defeat?"

Chen Ping'an nodded. "Alright then."

He slowly drew the Zhan Kan saber from its sheath. The narrow saber was extremely long, its shine like water.

Chen Ping'an then opened his palm and directly gripped the blade itself. He wiped his hand across the edge, and as if receiving a decree on that blade edge, it radiated a bizarre, multicolored glow.

Qing Tong was slightly puzzled. Was this allowed? To be precise, the other hadn't cheated.

Chen Ping'an hadn't used the methods of a qi practitioner. It seemed more like a spontaneous act of forging, tempering?

Qing Tong suddenly asked, "Is that really the Zhan Kan?"

Chen Ping'an, wielding the saber in his right hand, didn't answer the question directly. He drew another saber from its sheath with his left hand and laughed, "Guess again."

Qing Tong's heart shook greatly.

He stared fixedly at the guy holding two sabers.

Qing Tong sensed a dangerous aura.

Without a shred of underestimation, Qing Tong actively assumed an ancient fist stance again.

His vast fist intent, like a cultivator manifesting a dharma form, materialized a strange picture scroll around Qing Tong.

Someone was playing a pipa, with only a head and limbs, no torso.

A headless person was making gestures as if playing a bamboo flute.

A woman, only her upper body remaining, was strumming a zither, as if cut in half by the zither.

Someone without arms had a jie drum hanging at their side, shaking their head and swaying, as if beating the jie drum.

All kinds of bizarre forms, mind-boggling.

And what irritated Qing Tong the most was that legendary "Executioner," one of the twelve high-ranking gods. Regarding this divine weapon, just the words "Lucky is the one who sees this blade" made Qing Tong feel a sense of disgust and even fear.

If the Zhan Kan was merely the most effective at suppressing dragon-like creatures.

Then this "Xing Xing," which had vanished for ten thousand years, upon its reappearance, I believe that whether one was a pure martial artist or a cultivator, no one would want to personally witness this blade.

Chen Ping'an walked forward, wielding both sabers. The Zhan Kan radiated five colors, while the Xing Xing, on one side of its edge, was pitch black, as if opening up a Taixu boundary. Especially at the tip of the blade, it dragged an extremely fine glazed line of light, a terrifying sight of the blade edge cutting through the river of time. The figure in the crimson dharma robe moved unhurriedly, laughing, "Rather than wait until you've been slashed countless times, this immortal cocoon shattered, severely damaged, and requiring hundreds of years to repair, only then would Senior Qing Tong take out a suitable weapon to fight back? Wouldn't that be too late? Wouldn't losing face be even greater? If it were me, I wouldn't bother with such trivial matters of face. Be practical. Winning this spar is the priority."

The earth trembled violently. Deep underground, thunder rumbled repeatedly. Chen Ping'an's figure had already vanished from sight. A large pit had appeared under his feet.

The pipa player, who only had a head and torso, was shattered in one slash.

The headless flute player, body and flute together, vanished into ash with a flash of saber light.

The zither-strumming woman, with only an upper body, was pierced through the chest by the Zhan Kan. The figure in the crimson dharma robe appeared. He extended his arm, holding the narrow saber, lifting the former high into the air.

The speed of movement and saber drawing were too fast.

Chen Ping'an seemed to have entered a certain state, his body following the fist?

This should have been a major martial arts taboo.

Qing Tong had already retreated to the city wall, looking down at the saber-wielder outside the city.

The other person seemed to be... laughing silently.

Those strange phenomena were only half-real, half-fake things condensed from fist intent, and wouldn't harm Qing Tong's physique in the slightest. But the figure in his line of sight made Qing Tong wary for the second time.

The first time was merely because of the Xing Xing, an external object.

This time, it was the person himself.

His entire aura was too strange.

It wasn't just wantonness, cruelty, or violence. But describing it as cold, deathly still, or purely emotionless also wasn't accurate.

It was like humanity had reached another extreme.

Qing Tong no longer dared to be the slightest bit careless. He raised his hand and condensed a massive blade, similar to a glaive, emerald green, inscribed with layers of talismans, glowing with treasure light.

Standing on the city wall, Qing Tong held the saber with both hands, swung it behind his back, the spine of the blade against his back. He sneered, "The blade has no eyes. If you unfortunately end up missing a limb or two, don't blame others. You asked for this."

Chen Ping'an gently twisted his wrist, instantly pulverizing the graceful form of the zither-strumming woman. He looked up at the white-haired old man and smiled, "Let me tell you a truth: Those who talk too much in a fight are not good fighters."

The Qing Tong yin spirit, who had been watching from afar, had previously been quite relaxed. When Chen Ping'an drew the Xing Xing, he became a little uneasy. When Chen Ping'an attacked, using only the Zhan Kan to force the yang spirit incarnated body back to the city wall, he casually dropped the golden leaf in his hand, turned his head, and asked, "What's going on?!"

Xiao Mo grabbed his Walking Mountain Staff with both hands. "Ask for yourself."

The yin spirit and yang spirit were already connected in heart and mind, and could be completely regarded as one person.

Qing Tong's yin spirit sighed. "If this keeps up, it will be difficult to end."

Xiao Mo was a little surprised. How come it felt like this yin spirit was a bit unusual.

But it didn't matter. Xiao Mo's attention was still on the battlefield where both sides had returned to the city.

What was the hurry? The good show was just beginning.

In fact, Xiao Mo didn't know exactly what the young master thought about this fist duel, or specifically how he planned to proceed.

Xiao Mo only knew one thing: the young master hadn't truly shown his trump card yet. This meant there was still a lot of fighting to be done.

Because Chen Ping'an had once revealed his background to Xiao Mo. He had only created two fist techniques, which were connected to his swordsmanship.

One punch was named "Pian Yue" (A Sliver of Moon) by Chen Ping'an, the latter of the two extremes of extreme simplicity and extreme complexity.

The first time he used this punch was in the capital of Great Li, dealing with that group of proud sons of heaven who almost caused a major disaster.

The reason why qi practitioners hated dealing with sword cultivators the most, and the most troublesome aspect of a sword cultivator's natal flying sword, wasn't just the brute force of "one sword breaking ten thousand methods." It was also that after the flying sword injured someone, the residual sword energy would continue to stir up trouble for a long time, causing lasting damage and destruction to the small universe of the human body.

Cao Ci's fist technique "Tan Hua" (Epiphyllum) was like this. Chen Ping'an's "Pian Yue" was even more so. If this punch landed on an opponent, the fist intent would spread quickly and covertly, like countless ghost-written talisman cliff inscriptions appearing within the enemy's small universe of mountains and rivers. It was almost irreversible. It would be a lasting affliction to their Dao. The injured person, wanting to repair it, would have to grind away those stone carvings, like a craftsman having to flatten them with a knife or smash them with a hammer.

Xiao Mo glanced at the wutong leaf that Qing Tong had discarded.

A leaf is a world. It was a picture scroll similar to a fleeting scene, just not involving the river of time.

Otherwise, if Qing Tong could extract so much flowing time, he would have been a Fourteenth Realm cultivator long ago.

The mountain leaders of Tongye Continent were the Tongye Sect and Yu Gui Sect, locked in a north-south confrontation.

This related to an old story from many years ago. These two long-lasting "Sect" heads didn't appear out of thin air. They were born in response to destiny.

According to the young master, that former Little Master, now the Rite Sage, had made some attempts.

The earliest was in a Fire God Temple in the capital of Great Li, where he met Feng Yi. Because of those Hundred Flower Brews sealed with ten-thousand-year clay, Chen Ping'an saw through the mystery at a glance, guessing the wine was a kind of tribute. Feng Yi, prompted by the conversation, first brought up a thread, mentioning three tribute targets, actively talking about those Fengdu Ghost King's Six Palaces, which were on a different path from the mortal world, and the Green Lord of Fang Zhu Mountain, who held immense authority, controlling all earthly cave heavens, blessed lands, and earth immortal registries... In short, these all belonged to some "new" rites established by the Rite Sage. Later, Chen Ping'an followed the vine to get the melon, privately asking his teacher for more insider information.

At the same time, the Rite Sage had personally invited Master San Shan Jiu Hou. According to the heavenly secrets leaked by Lu Chen, Chen Ping'an believed that when San Shan Jiu Hou erected the stele "Tai Ping Huan Yu Zhan Chi Wan" (Pacifying the World, Slaying Fools and Stubborn) back then, it was precisely to cooperate with the Rite Sage. He was willing to come out of retirement to help the Rite Sage re-establish the heavenly laws, originally specifically targeting ghostly beings under heaven. Chen Ping'an guessed that if the Rite Sage's move had been successful, encompassing everything, it was estimated that the later Dragon-Slaying Campaign wouldn't have happened.

But none of this was the most exaggerated. Another thing his teacher said was truly shocking.

The human world once had the chance to give birth to a Master of the Human Dao!

This was an extremely risky measure, equivalent to the Rite Sage peeling off a piece of his own Dao.

And once successful, proving the feasibility of this action, the status of the Confucian Temple might not rise but actually fall a step, like a court official in later ages assisting a Daoist ruler, creating a peaceful and prosperous world never seen in ten thousand years...

Later, Chen Ping'an even browsed the secret archives in the Gong De Forest of the Confucian Temple. Sure enough, he had an unexpected find. It was during that period that a Daoist monarch from the Central Continent Divine Land had once cut a wutong leaf into a Gui-shaped token and bestowed it upon his younger brother. This was what the secret archives of the Confucian Temple's Gong De Forest called "Giving a Wutong Leaf to Enfeoff a Younger Brother" and "A Leaf to Make a Marquis." A kingdom was established on the banks of a large water named Fen Du on Tongye Continent. The main tributaries of this great river at that time were the Hui River and Shu River. Today's Buried River and Phosphorus River of the Great Quan Dynasty were only insignificant sections or tributaries of that time.

Unfortunately, for whatever reason, the Rite Sage ultimately couldn't accomplish this matter.

The battle within the city had nearly destroyed half of it.

Every collision of blades was a torrential rain of sparks. The buildings around both sides were swept away like autumn leaves.

The Qing Tong yin spirit's expression was grave. Fortunately, his painstakingly forged dharma blade was of very high rank. Otherwise, not to mention going up against that Xing Xing, even the Zhan Kan would put him at a great disadvantage.

Xiao Mo stretched lazily and asked, "That Daoist whom my young master respectfully calls 'Patriarch Lu'—what is his background?"

Qing Tong was somewhat distracted and answered casually, "The Pure Yang True Man was a true attained Daoist. His hometown was in the Hao Ran World, but the place where he became famous was the Azure Firmament World. He was hailed as the number one Golden Core. He once traveled through the Lotus Flower Blessed Land and became fast friends at first sight with the old temple master. The old herb master Ni Yuanzan of the Yun Ku Blessed Land, and later Yu Zhenyi, all imitated the Pure Yang True Man to a certain extent."

There was an ancient chess manual attributed to the Pure Yang Daoist. The manual had no name and was not widely circulated. In the preface to the manual, the traveling Daoist had a poem: "Invincible since coming out of the cave, sparing others when possible."

Thus, according to the naming conventions of many world-renowned calligraphy copybooks, it was revered by knowledgeable people as the "Lan Ke Pu" or alternately the "Chu Dong Pu." The entire manual contained nine chapters on chess theory, totaling thirty-six chess games.

It was a chess manual compiled by the Pure Yang True Man after traveling through the Lotus Flower Blessed Land. When the Daoist left the blessed land, the old temple master, who seemed to appreciate this outsider, who was not very high in realm at that time, personally escorted him out of the territory. In the central region of Tongye Continent, which later became the Qi He City of the Great Quan Dynasty, this gave rise to the ruins of that immortal descending on a crane to ascend to heaven.

It was like the red leaves in a ditch, often related to inscribed poems. Many poems of Hao Ran, when discussing the wutong tree, often associated it with wells.

For example: "Enter the gate, purple mandarin ducks; golden well, double wutong trees." Also like: "Leaving the country, the traveler goes far; returning to the mountains, autumn dreams are long. Wutong leaves fall into the well; one leaf flies into the Milky Way."

The gate to the Lotus Flower Blessed Land was actually a well.

Regarding this point, Chen Ping'an, who was currently in the battlefield, must have had a personal experience.

Within the city, at a battlefield, the dust settled.

The white-haired old man had blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. Especially the entire arm holding the saber, almost all the muscles had collapsed. This yang spirit incarnated body of Qing Tong looked at the crimson-clad man rising from the ruins and couldn't help sighing, "You're truly not human."

If this guy hadn't lost his yin spirit and yang spirit incarnated body due to his Dao integration, otherwise the trio, plus the twin sabers and that longsword hovering outside the city—that would be truly troublesome.

The Qing Tong yin spirit unconsciously glanced at that incense stick.

Xiao Mo smiled. "Doesn't this count as the wheel of fortune turning?"

Qing Tong changed the subject. "Have you never thought of going to the Azure Firmament World to find old friends?"

Xiao Mo smiled. "No hurry."

Qing Tong seemed to want to say something but stopped.

Xiao Mo said, "I know. Until now, the you in the city is still holding back. You're waiting for the moment when the two ke are up."

Qing Tong shook his head. "Without the limit of one incense stick, dragging it out like this, even if Chen Ping'an had those two sabers, he would still inevitably lose."

Xiao Mo asked doubtfully, "One incense stick, two ke—whose handiwork is that?"

Qing Tong was helpless.

Within the rules allowed by the Confucian Temple, some benefits involving mountain and river luck, Qing Tong's Demon-Suppressing Tower and the supremely transcendent Guan Dao Guan, they were like dividing the spoils on the spot.

And the Guan Dao Guan only "picked the highest," while the wutong tree here got the leftovers.

During that deeply influential Tai Ping Mountain disturbance back then, a sword-carrying old ape killed Zhong Kui, the righteous man of the Da Fu Academy.

Because according to the deduction results of the Barren Wilderness military camp, Zhong Kui was said to be equivalent to five Immortal Realm sword cultivators.

After the white ape succeeded, it was immediately pursued for ten thousand miles by the enraged Old Celestial Master, who used the Bright Moon Mirror and shrank the land. The white ape was severely injured and eventually fled to a detached palace on a broken dragon vein, where it rendezvoused with that "young Daoist" of Tai Ping Mountain. Then the old temple master easily found their tracks. At a summer resort, anciently known as the Fen Du Dragon Palace, the old temple master appeared unexpectedly. He stood on the ruins of the Dragon Locking Platform, an underground structure similar to a "domestic punishment" place where the Dragon Palace of the great river had formerly used for torture.

The white ape was casually thrown by the old Daoist into the Lotus Flower Blessed Land, losing all its intelligence and having to cultivate anew.

Because of a single "discordant word" from the young Daoist, his already incomplete soul completely left his body, his skin sack collapsing limply.

The former's soul drifted out from the body, was grabbed by the neck by the old Daoist, and his fate was exactly the same as the white ape's.

It was really just because of one word, a form of address that by all rights should have been appropriate.

Calling the old temple master "Senior."

But in the old temple master's eyes, it became: "You, a demon, calling me 'Senior' and calling yourself 'Junior'? Are you calling me a fucking old beast?"

However, the remaining soul of this demon, about one soul and four spirits, the old temple master didn't beat it to ashes with a sleeve. Instead, he showed it leniency and deliberately left behind that Lotus Crown, also leaving it on the Dragon Locking Platform.

But he didn't let it run wild either. This great demon's soul was imprisoned within that crown, firmly pinned deep in the mountain root of the Tai Ping Mountain prison ruins.

To this day, it hasn't been able to escape.

The old temple master had also secretly acted, using heaven-reaching methods to fool the heavens, effectively reserving a part of the mountain and river luck for Tai Ping Mountain, preventing it from completely dissipating.

Otherwise, during the subsequent war, all the Tai Ping Mountain cultivators died, and the entire mountain was shattered everywhere. It was like a leaky sieve or a hollow bamboo basket. Where could it retain any flowing water?

Tongye Continent was vulnerable at a single touch. In an instant, the mountains and rivers sank. It was quickly occupied by the demon army. It was probably Zhou Mi of the Wen Sea trying to show goodwill to the old temple master, so he didn't touch that Lotus Crown, nor did he open the Tai Ping Mountain ruins as a mountain and river ferry. He only rewarded the demon cultivator who had been hidden in Hao Ran for many years, giving additional compensation to the true form of the remaining soul. As a result of this misfortune gaining fortune, this demon is now a great demon dominating a region in the Barren Wilderness World.

In fact, this is why after the Bright Moon Mirror was completely shattered, the area of the Tai Ping Mountain ruins could still possess a lingering residual Dao charm.

This led to several local forces, including Xiao Long Qiu, later coveting this chicken rib of Tai Ping Mountain.

On the Dragon Locking Platform, some of the old temple master's words were even more "rebellious," causing Qing Tong's Dao heart to tremble. Yet, he couldn't avoid hearing them. He couldn't even act deaf.

It was clear that this smelly ox-nosed Daoist priest had forcibly dragged him onto a pirate ship.

During that time, the old temple master said something to that junior that was like a final verdict.

If you don't dare to kill Chen Ping'an, you've missed a huge opportunity.

Because killing this person would be a great merit for the Barren Wilderness World. The old temple master could also conveniently "take Chen Ping'an" into his Daoist temple, greatly elevating the position of his cushion.

What the smelly ox-nosed Daoist priest meant by "cushion" was naturally the entire Guan Dao Guan, which was the Lotus Flower Blessed Land connected to the Lotus Flower Cave Heaven.

As for why Chen Qingdu lent Chen Ping'an his sword, the old temple master gave part of the truth at that time.

"It is to transfer certain karmic consequences onto Chen Ping'an's shoulders."

When he was young, he carried a "Sword Qi Soaring" on his back, returning from the Inverted Suspended Mountain to the Hao Ran World, wandering through Tongye Continent with the sword on his back.

Tongye Continent had a Demon-Suppressing Tower, which led to the Lotus Flower Blessed Land.

The young Hidden Official carried the true name of a great demon.

He merged with half the Sword Qi Great Wall.

One man guarding the city, surviving by luck, seeing the light of day again.

Time and fate? Time or fate. Every bite and drink, is there not heavenly determination?

Xiao Mo glanced at the incense stick. He grabbed his Walking Mountain Staff and slowly stood up.

The incense stick was about to burn out.

Qing Tong asked, "You wouldn't be..."

He had just breathed a sigh of relief because victory or defeat seemed already decided. But when Xiao Mo stood up, the Qing Tong yin spirit had to tighten his heartstrings again.

Could it be that he wanted to break the rules and choose to take action?

Xiao Mo smiled. "You've misunderstood."

The battlefield had already moved outside the city. Both sides had each exchanged a mouthful of pure true qi.

They were separated by that solitary, towering mountain peak, each on the front and back of the mountain.

Having traveled with Xiao Mo to many places, besides repeatedly practicing that sword-light teleportation technique, when in seclusion within the Cave Heaven cultivation ground of Xian Du Mountain, Chen Ping'an was more like a genuine cultivator, indeed earnestly practicing cultivation. As for learning martial arts and practicing fists, he did, but outsiders would think it sounded simple, while in reality, doing it was as difficult as ascending to heaven.

Half a punch.

Repeatedly, endlessly, he only practiced half a punch.

But he never could get the method, could even be said to be unable to find the door. Since he couldn't even achieve formal resemblance, what was the point of talking about spiritual resemblance?

And this half-punch happened to be embedded in Chen Ping'an's human-body mountains and rivers.

It was the half-punch of an Eleventh Realm martial artist.

The figure in the crimson dharma robe sheathed his sabers and began to retreat rapidly. When he had opened up a distance of several hundred li from that towering mountain, he began to sprint forward.

In a flash, Chen Ping'an's form vanished into thin air.

In order to deliver this punch, during his forward sprint, before his form disappeared, Chen Ping'an even had to quickly remove the two narrow sabers and