Chapter 707: The Iron Blade's Thirst (Part 2)
The Second Master of the Tang family had a handsome face.
But when he habitually smiled without a sound, it always appeared exaggerated and ridiculous.
Wang Po disliked that kind of smile, because it struck him as too obscure, as if it concealed many unfathomable emotions.
Years ago, when he first arrived at Wenshui and saw the other man in the Tang family ancestral hall, he had disliked him from the very start.
Back then, the Second Master of the Tang family, looking at the ragged Wang Po, shifted his eyes slightly and smiled silently, just like looking at a stray dog on the street or a poor relative seeking shelter from the rain under the eaves.
At that time, Wang Po, looking at his face, felt an extremely intense impulse, or rather, a craving.
He wanted to swing the iron blade in his hand and smash the Second Master of the Tang family's face and smile into a pulp.
But out of respect for Old Master Tang, and for the sake of his job as the account keeper, he did not act on it.
And so that craving remained buried deep in his heart, and over the years, it had not diminished in the slightest.
Until today, when he saw the Second Master of the Tang family push open the door of a teahouse on the street, that handsome face breaking into a shameless, silent smile—Wang Po could no longer suppress his impulse.
A debt of gratitude was indeed as heavy as a mountain, but his iron blade had also been thirsty for far too long.
And so, he swung the iron blade.
In Wenshui, when they were both still young, he had not been able to shatter the mocking smile on the Second Master of the Tang family's face—not because he couldn't, but because he didn't want to. He was holding back.
Now, he no longer wanted to hold back. He wanted to strike, and so naturally, he could hit.
The Tang family's secret Ten Thousand Gold Leaf Movement Technique was indeed elusive and profoundly mysterious, but in Wang Po's eyes, it was nothing.
In his second month at Wenshui, Old Master Tang had personally gone to the account room and taught him that very technique.
He didn't even need to draw his blade; the iron blade was still in its sheath, and he could already beat the Second Master of the Tang family speechless.
The Second Master of the Tang family sat in the snow, his face covered in blood, his eyes filled with an indescribable venomous resentment.
"My Tang family was trying to save your life... Since you don't care and want to throw it away, then go ahead and die."
Wang Po stood up, gripped his iron blade again, and had struck him once—this naturally meant he had rejected the Wenshui Tang family's request.
He was going to kill Zhou Tong together with Chen Changsheng, which meant he would face Tieshu head-on.
"How can you call it throwing away a life when it hasn't even begun?"
Wang Po looked at the Second Master of the Tang family and said, "This is where you fall short of me, of Xun Mei, of Xiao Zhang, and the others."
At the dawn of this era of wildflowers in bloom, some remarkable names were written.
Wang Po, Xun Mei, Xiao Zhang, Liang Wangsun, Xiao De...
Few still remembered that, at the very beginning, there was a surname of Tang on that list.
"They are just like you—neither in talent nor in fortune can they match me, and they have never been able to catch up. But they never gave up; they kept chasing."
Wang Po's gaze fell on the end of the snowy street.
He knew Xiao De was there, and Xiao Zhang might also appear.
Liang Wangsun had taken refuge back in Xunyang City, while Xun Mei would never appear again.
"Cultivation and combat are the same thing. Until the final moment, you cannot determine victory or defeat. In the end, Xun Mei caught up with me at the Tian Shu Ling, and Xiao Zhang still retains that possibility."
Wang Po withdrew his gaze, looked at the Second Master of the Tang family, and said, "But you, that year in Wenshui, fought me once, decided you could never be my match, and turned instead to guessing people's hearts and learning strategies... That was surrender. From that moment on, you became a waste, with no chance of ever defeating me. In this lifetime, you will never match me."
The Second Master of the Tang family was stunned, his expression dazed.
Wang Po's voice was very calm, with no deliberate mockery—he was merely making a cool, objective judgment.
But anyone could sense a certain feeling from these words, a feeling of looking down from above.
Because his words were filled with the concept of "invincibility."
This was what it meant to be a strong one.
Against opponents who were equally renowned in the world, Wang Po's realm might be higher, but he certainly couldn't crush them.
For example, Xiao Zhang and Liang Wangsun.
Yet in actual combat, he had never lost, and he often won with overwhelming force.
It was because in terms of momentum, willpower, mindset, and his understanding of the world and his own heart, he was far superior.
Looking at Wang Po, Tieshu's face showed admiration, and many emotions stirred within him.
Each generation produces its own talents, each leading the way for decades, but who, in those years, could hold such a commanding lead over their peers, possess such boldness?
Not to mention that these decades were the era of wildflowers in bloom, where countless brilliant cultivators emerged like bamboo shoots after spring rain.
Yet Wang Po, with just a blade, had suppressed the strong or geniuses of his generation, making it hard for them to breathe or rise above.
No one had ever done anything like this, except Zhou Dufu.
Admiration and emotion ultimately led to vigilance and unease across the entire world.
Zhu Luo, willing to die himself to see Wang Po dead, was a case in point.
Since Wang Po was not prepared to heed the Wenshui Tang family's advice, then of course he would kill Wang Po—in fact, he was somewhat eager to do so.
Just like that day at Tanzhe Temple.
Because now, whether it was him, Bie Yanghong, or Wu Qiongbi, they still had the ability to kill Wang Po.
If they didn't act quickly, if a few more days passed, if two more snowfalls came, what then?
A few more days, two more snowfalls, and perhaps they would no longer be able to kill Wang Po.
This realization was deeply unsettling.
Even the starry sky covering the mortal world would tremble in fear.
Would a second Zhou Dufu truly appear in the mortal world by then?
No, even the mere thought was not permitted.
Tieshu looked at Wang Po and said, "I'm sorry."
Whether for the Oath of the Starry Sky, for bullying the younger with age, or for the fact that humanity would lose a future giant—it all warranted an apology.
Wang Po did not respond to his apology, because in his view, he might not lose today's battle.
Yes, the entire continent would not believe he could win, even if he was Wang Po.
But he himself did not think that way.
Because the night rain in Xunyang City was fierce, the fallen leaves at Tanzhe Temple were beautiful, and the layered cold willows by the Luo River, like mist, could no longer obscure his eyes.
Wang Po raised his iron blade, pointing it at Tieshu, his movements steady and simple.
Yet the iron blade trembled slightly.
That was not fear, but the thirst for battle, the courage to challenge.
From Tanzhe Temple to the snowy street, many days had passed, and he had not drawn his blade once.
Everyone knew that the next strike would undoubtedly be the strongest of his life.
Between him and Tieshu, there was only a table's distance. Logically, raising the blade would touch Tieshu's clothes.
But when he raised the blade, it was as if a great river had opened between them, making it seem very far away, the iron blade unable to reach Tieshu's garments at all.
Was this vast distance the gap between the sacred domain and the mortal world?
Could his iron blade ignore this distance and fall upon the starry sky?
No one knew.
When Wang Po had not yet drawn his blade, infinite possibilities existed.
When he drew, it meant that infinite possibilities collapsed into a single truth.
The entire world was waiting to see that one truth, not knowing who would be unable to bear it in the next moment.
At this moment, Tieshu made a choice.
This choice was simple, yet it represented centuries of experience.
He chose to strike first.
He would not let Wang Po draw his blade.
He decided to give Wang Po no chance to draw at all.
Whatever the truth of that strike might be, he no longer wished to see it.
Because his goal was to kill Wang Po, not to receive Wang Po's blade.
Once he decided to strike first, no one could be faster than him.
Unless his opponent was also a strong one in the sacred domain, or a sanctified Xu Yourong or Nanke.
Wang Po was not.
And so, Tieshu's hand landed on Wang Po's blade first.
At this moment, Wang Po's blade was still in its sheath.
The snow falling from the sky suddenly froze.
A thunderclap rang out across the long street.
The buildings on both sides of the street were reduced to dust.
The countless tens of thousands of snowflakes frozen in the air also turned to powder.
Smoke and dust cleared, the street was empty, and Wang Po and Tieshu had vanished without a trace.
But that thunderclap did not disappear; it lingered on, continuous and unbroken.
Finally, it fell upon the Luo River.