# 459
Chapter 459 – A Heavy Blow
Zhou Ping stared at his empty hands, surprise flickering in his eyes.
Across from him, Baili Pangpang had snatched the chopstick and was practically glowing with excitement.
He’d stolen a chopstick from the Sword Saint!
Worth it!
He might get pummeled, but in a way, he’d still beaten the Sword Saint!
Zhou Ping snapped out of his daze, silently pulled a second chopstick from his pocket…
Baili Pangpang’s grin froze.
Ten minutes later.
Having been thrashed twenty times in a row, Baili Pangpang lay flat on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling, brain short-circuited.
Lin Qiye and Cao Yuan dragged him off the floor. An Qingyu stepped up third, squaring off against Zhou Ping.
An Qingyu’s direct-combat strength was weak, and he didn’t pull out his trump card 【Lament】 either; he was beaten just as one-sidedly as Cao Yuan and Baili Pangpang.
But unlike them, the harder An Qingyu got hit, the more excited he became!
His eyes locked onto Zhou Ping’s body as if the Sword Saint were some endangered species, bright and eager, itching to dissect him.
The stare made Zhou Ping’s skin crawl.
When it ended, An Qingyu limped toward the edge of the warehouse, glancing back every few steps, reluctant to leave.
“…Next.” Zhou Ping spoke slowly.
Jialan and Lin Qiye exchanged looks, stood, and walked calmly to the center.
She had changed back into her deep-blue hanfu; black hair tied with a cord hung to her waist. She raised her pale hands and took a fighting stance.
She flashed forward, rushing Zhou Ping.
Zhou Ping stood motionless, showing no intention of attacking.
Jialan closed in, ancient grappling arts unleashing a dizzying flurry of fists. Zhou Ping simply evaded. After ten-odd seconds, realizing she only knew how to punch, he shook his head slightly.
His right hand lifted; a sword-sound rang as the wooden chopstick drifted toward her palm—
—and Jialan caught it.
Zhou Ping: ?
The chopstick, wrapped in fierce sword-qi, lay clamped in her fist; her expression never changed, as though she held nothing more than disposable tableware.
Crack—!!
She snapped it in half.
Zhou Ping: ???
He stared blankly at the stub left in his hand. A fist-wind brushed his ear; he darted back, gaze utterly transformed.
She’d caught his sword-qi bare-handed?
Are you kidding?
Even if it was only a chopstick, the sword-qi on it was no joke!
Zhou Ping studied her, then tossed the broken piece aside. Index and middle fingers together, he slashed the air.
Razor-sharp qi surged like a tide, crashing over Jialan—yet she stood immovable, a needle in a storm, the sword-qi feeling no stronger than a breeze.
She crouched slightly, then charged straight through the tempest, fists clenched.
“Sword Cage.”
Zhou Ping murmured; thick sword-qi erupted around him, stabbing into the ground and forming an invisible prison that locked Jialan in place.
She struggled, but couldn’t budge.
After a long effort she sighed in resignation.
Zhou Ping pondered, then waved; the cage vanished.
“Enough. Next.”
Jialan trudged to the edge and sat, unaware her friends were staring at her like she was a monster.
“Sister Jialan… awesome!” chief fanboy Baili Pangpang blurted. “You fought the Sword Saint for five whole minutes, came out without a scratch, and even broke his chopstick! You’re insane!”
At the heartfelt praise Jialan lifted her head, a small smile tugging her lips.
She turned to Lin Qiye beside her and said seriously, “Be careful.”
“Mm.”
Lin Qiye nodded, rose, and walked to the center.
Ten minutes later.
A bruised and swollen Lin Qiye lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought…
They weren’t even in the same weight class.
Without Jialan’s freakish defense, facing a Human Apex left him no chance. He’d thrown everything in—every Forbidden Ruin except soul-possession—and Zhou Ping broke it all with a single sword-strike. For the first time he truly tasted absolute power差距.
Exchanging glances with Cao Yuan and Baili Pangpang, they all saw the bitterness in each other’s eyes.
Of their five-man team, only Jialan had escaped unscathed; the other four had been pounded to the edge of despair. Yet there was nothing to be done.
“That’s it for today. Go rest.” Zhou Ping tossed the words over his shoulder, ignored them, and walked back inside.
They could only look at one another, prop each other up, and hobble to their rooms.
…
That night.
Bright moon, few stars.
The five sat on the concrete outside the warehouse around a small campfire, silent.
Except for Jialan, the other four were mummified in bandages, heads lowered, watching the flames, thoughts unknown.
Today’s training had cracked their confidence.
Since leaving the Purification Chamber they’d handled everything—primeval forests, Fengdu, the Gusu fog, even wiping out the Baili clan—relying on their own strength. Success had bred a quiet arrogance, and today it had been smashed to pieces.
Before a true powerhouse they saw how small they still were; the blow was heavy.
“…What do you think Sword-Saint senior is doing?” Baili Pangpang broke the silence. “He’s been locked in his room since afternoon, skipped dinner.”
“No idea.” Lin Qiye shook his head.
He could probe with mental perception, but trying that on a Human Apex was pointless; the moment his psyche reached the door Zhou Ping would notice.