SS CH85

Not long after Ye Fusheng left Netherworld Valley, Chu Xiwei received the news.

He hadn’t slept all night and had spent most of the day in the forbidden grounds. When he returned to the Liufeng Residence and found it empty, his melancholy hadn’t even fully risen before he saw Er Niang.

Before leaving, Ye Fusheng had specifically asked Er Niang to pass on a message: if Chu Xiwei came looking for him, he shouldn’t worry; he was just accompanying the Ghost Physician to Huadeng Town and would return shortly.

Receiving this message, Chu Xiwei felt his heart settle slightly, even if his expression remained dark. Er Niang was, after all, a cautious and meticulous woman who had spent years assisting in managing the internal affairs of the Hundred Ghosts Sect. Recognizing the situation, she added, “The Ghost Physician and Young Master Ye haven’t been gone for long. If the Master wishes to go take a look, there is still time.”

Chu Xiwei scuffed his foot against the threshold for a moment before finally giving a grumpy hum of agreement.

By the time he galloped into Huadeng Town, the sky had already turned dark. He quickly located the hidden sentry stationed in the town, learning that the Ghost Physician had gone to the human traffickers, while Ye Fusheng had gone off wandering on his own.

Mentally cursing Sun Minfeng to hell and back, Chu Xiwei had no choice but to ask around along the way. Fortunately, someone reported seeing a white-haired Daoist dragging a man toward the east.

At the mention of a white-haired Daoist, Chu Xiwei instantly thought of Duanqing, whom he had seen briefly in Guyang City. This person should have been a friend rather than a foe, but after hearing of the tragic past from Shen Wuduan earlier today, he couldn’t put his heart at ease.

Ten years of life and death separate them in a vast haze. Moreover, even though Ye Fusheng had been schemed against back then, he had still committed a grave mistake. Who could guarantee that Duanqing would still treat him as he did before? Who could be certain that upon seeing Ye Fusheng, Duanqing wouldn’t seek revenge on behalf of his deceased wife?

Over the years, Chu Xiwei never took himself seriously, but he absolutely dared not show the slightest negligence toward the people he held in his heart—especially when that person was Ye Fusheng. With this thought, he absolutely could not let the two of them remain alone together. He immediately utilized his qinggong to pursue them, only to arrive and witness this exact scene.

He didn’t know where he found the strength, but he forcefully shoved Duanqing aside and rushed forward to support Ye Fusheng’s swaying body. Seeing the blood dripping profusely through the man’s fingers stung Chu Xiwei’s eyes as if they had been stung by a venomous scorpion, a bone-deep agony. Panicking, he reached out to transfer internal energy to stabilize his injuries.

Unexpectedly, Duanqing suddenly closed the distance, raising a palm to separate the two of them. Both furious and anxious, Chu Xiwei cast aside all etiquette expected of a junior. The barely suppressed internal energy of the Qilu Jing in his chest erupted into pure killing intent. Stepping half a pace to shield Ye Fusheng behind him, he clenched his right hand into a fist and met Duanqing’s palm head-on.

The internal energy of the Qilu Jing followed a bizarre and unpredictable path, known for growing stronger when facing a strong opponent. However, upon their collision, Chu Xiwei felt the opposing palm was as light as nothing, possessing no force whatsoever. Instead, his own striking power plunged into it like a clay ox plunging into the ocean, vanishing without a trace.

He recalled his conversation with Shen Wuduan earlier that day:

“Senior Gu was the Jinghong Blade master of the previous generation. Had she survived, her martial arts cultivation would likely have surpassed Xie Wuyi, who holds the title of ‘Number One Blade Under Heaven’. In that case…” Chu Xiwei had paused before posing a question he’d harbored for a long time, “Who exactly is Daoist Duanqing?”

Sitting in the courtyard, Shen Wuduan had merely picked up a chess piece and slowly placed it on the board, smiling. “One sword, three blades, east, south, west, north… Duanqing hails from the Tianshang Palace. While alive, his senior martial brother Ji Qingyan held the grand title of the ‘Eastern Daoist.’ That man once joked that he had suffered three defeats in his entire life, one of which was to his junior martial brother, Duanqing. What kind of person do you think… Duanqing is?”

A few simple words were enough to strike terror into one’s heart.

With Chu Xiwei’s current capabilities—despite the hidden dangers of his cultivation method—his martial prowess was outstanding. Yet, this was the first time he looked at a person and felt the undeniable sensation of “unable to fight.” Not even Helian Yu or his Yifu Shen Wuduan could make him feel outmatched before a battle even began.

Even so, Chu Xiwei shielded Ye Fusheng completely. With chilling eyes, he said, “This person’s life has been entrusted to me. Even if he has committed a thousand wrongs, I ask the Daoist to settle the matter with me.”

Duanqing glanced at Ye Fusheng, who had yet to recover behind him. Showing neither anger nor amusement, he repeated ambiguously, “Settle the matter with you? If this poor Daoist wants his life, will you give it on his behalf?”

“If you have the capability, come and take it.” Chu Xiwei found Duanqing’s attitude strange, but the Daoist maintained a deadpan expression, his voice devoid of any emotional fluctuation. Unable to figure him out, Chu Xiwei decided to just play it straight to the end.

“Interesting.” Duanqing withdrew his palm and spoke slowly, “Your temper is exactly like Shen Liu’s when he was young, just a bit more foolish.”

Ye Fusheng, having just recovered his senses, wanted to say something but couldn’t hold back a laugh, which immediately dissolved into earth-shattering coughs.

This bout of coughing startled Chu Xiwei. Just as he reached out to check his pulse, he saw Duanqing reach past him to touch Ye Fusheng. Fury erupted in his heart; he slammed his arm out to deflect the hand and launched an attack.

In an instant, the two were locked in close combat, leaving Ye Fusheng completely ignored on the sidelines. He hastily wiped the dirty blood from his face, rubbing his chest as his breathing gradually smoothed out, staring dumbfounded as the two exchanged blows in a lively brawl.

The onset of the Youmeng poison was always excruciating, especially since it eroded a person’s consciousness, sinking them into misery. However, Duanqing had first used a single finger to agitate the internal energy in his entire body, and when the poison flared, he delivered a palm strike to the crown of his head. The force of that strike wasn’t tyrannical, just incredibly bizarre. It rapidly spread downward from the top of his skull, seeping into his limbs and bones, merging with Ye Fusheng’s own internal energy, and guiding it to envelop the residual Youmeng poison wreaking havoc in his meridians. It was essentially using a sharp knife to cut through a tangled mess—a bit agonizing, and certainly a bit terrifying.

A surge of poisoned blood had been forced out. Although it couldn’t eliminate the remaining poison, it had safely guided him through this crisis. But before he could even regulate his breathing, Chu Xiwei had charged in halfway and picked a fight with his Shifu’s spouse.

The moment Ye Fusheng saw Chu Xiwei’s red eyes, he cursed internally. This brat was incredibly stubborn and had definitely misunderstood the situation. Looking at how he fought, it was as if he were risking his very life.

He wasn’t worried about Duanqing—after all, even though Daoist Duanqing rarely fought while he was growing up, the man was a formidable figure who could make him instinctively cower. He was only worried about Chu Xiwei’s unspoken hidden danger, terrified that the kid would play himself to death again.

The longer Chu Xiwei fought, the more alarmed he became. He sought speed, intending to win through overwhelming force. Yet Duanqing remained unhurried. His martial techniques flowed flawlessly, consistently utilizing the technique of deflecting a thousand catties with four taels to neutralize Chu Xiwei’s power. He didn’t seem to use much profound internal energy, but rather borrowed his opponent’s force to strike back. It flowed endlessly like a high mountain stream, leaving one feeling utterly powerless.

The Tianshang Palace had isolated itself from the world for many years, and their disciples were rarely seen wandering the Jianghu. Thus, he didn’t have a deep understanding of this sect’s martial arts, only knowing it followed the path of “peaceful and righteous, using softness to overcome hardness.” Yet, using these eight words to describe Duanqing’s martial arts failed to capture its adaptability and underestimated its formidable strength.

As anxiety grew in his heart, the internal energy of the Qilu Jing began to act up. His strikes lost their measure, becoming exceptionally ruthless, every move targeting a vital spot. Watching this, Ye Fusheng was terrified. Just as he was about to step in and break up the fight, Duanqing nailed him to the spot with a single icy glare.

Gritting his teeth, Ye Fusheng still used his qinggong to rush toward Chu Xiwei. Unexpectedly, the man’s mind was already clouded, his heart filled entirely with murderous intent. Who knew if he even recognized him or not, but he actually swung a palm strike right at his head.

As Ye Fusheng raised his arm to block the strike, Duanqing grabbed the back of his collar, yanked him behind his back, and said coldly, “This person’s cultivation method has gone wrong. His martial aura is floating, and he was already in danger of qi deviation. I warned him in Guyang City, but he didn’t take it to heart… Step back. Once he enters this state, he recognizes neither family nor friend. If you dare step forward, he will dare to kill.”

Listening to this, Ye Fusheng felt his heart pound with fear. “Is there no way to calm him down?”

Duanqing replied, “Knock him out and drag him back.”

Ye Fusheng: “…”

After speaking, Duanqing raised his flute to his lips. Pressing his fingers against the holes and channeling his internal energy, he blew a short, sharp, broken note. To Ye Fusheng, it merely sounded a bit grating, but to Chu Xiwei, it exploded in his brain like thunder, instantly shattering his concentration and scattering his soul.

His churning internal energy suddenly stagnated. Seizing this momentary daze, Ye Fusheng closed the distance, unleashing three rapid strikes to seal three major acupoints, then turned his palm into a blade and chopped down on the back of his neck. The man who had been thrashing madly just a second ago dropped obediently without even a grunt.

Ye Fusheng scrambled to catch him, barely preventing the Sect Master of the Hundred Ghosts Sect from face-planting into the dirt. Turning around, he saw Duanqing lower his jade flute, staring coldly at their unsightly posture.

For some inexplicable reason, he suddenly felt cowardly: “Shiniang…”

“Let’s go. We’re going to find Shen Wuduan.” Duanqing retracted his gaze, showing neither joy nor anger. Daring not to guess his mood, Ye Fusheng hurriedly supported Chu Xiwei and cleared the path ahead, heading toward the location he had agreed upon with Sun Minfeng.

Shen Wuduan was drinking at the Qingxu Pavilion.

A man who loved elegant affectations, he always drank from white jade goblets or glazed cups. Now, however, he sat in the desolate garden, leaning against a large willow tree stripped of its leaves, shaking a palm-sized silver flask in his hand.

This wine flask had once been crushed by Ye Fusheng in a fit of agitation. Later, he had found someone to carefully repair it, leaving only a faint scar. In Shen Wuduan’s eyes, however, it left a bitter taste. It felt as if everything from the past had become completely unrecognizable; even if they forced the pieces back together, it was just a fake, patched-up mirror.

Those years of drinking, singing, and flicking swords had all scattered to the wind. He had never admitted to growing old, but after Qin Liurong passed away, he felt a deep sorrow. Now, knowing of Gu Qifang’s death and Duanqing’s unknown whereabouts made him even more miserable.

The meager amount of ‘Canglu’ in the small silver flask had long been finished. Shen Wuduan had filled it with undiluted ‘Tianren Zui,’ taking casual sips. They say ‘wine poured into a sorrowful gut only breeds more sorrow.’ Even with his tolerance of a thousand cups without getting drunk, drinking more than half a flask was starting to take its toll.

Shen Wuduan’s vision began to blur, seeing double of everything. His already muddled brain turned completely into mush. Even when he vaguely saw someone push the door open and enter, it took him a full two beats to ask, “Who… hic…”

A cold voice, both somewhat unfamiliar and somewhat familiar, rang out: “You’ve drank too much.”

“N-no! You…” Shen Wuduan stared at the newcomer with hazy, drunken eyes. At first glance, all he saw was an expanse of white. “You… who are you? Y-you dare boss me around?”

Duanqing: “…Heh.”

Supporting Chu Xiwei alongside Sun Minfeng, Ye Fusheng heard Duanqing utter that single syllable and instantly felt a chill run down his spine. In his experience, whenever his Shiniang let out that ambiguous “Heh,” it meant he was in a bad mood and wanted to loosen someone’s bones.

Having just stepped one foot over the threshold, he hurriedly yanked it back upon hearing this, turning to Sun Minfeng: “We should probably wait a bit before going in.”

Before Sun Minfeng could voice his question, a muffled thud echoed from the courtyard, sounding exactly like someone face-planting into the ground.

Duanqing snatched the wine flask with one hand and kicked over the rattan chair out from under Shen Wuduan with his foot. Before the drunkard sprawling on the ground could even get angry, he hauled him up by the collar, meeting his eyes directly. His voice was as cold as shattering ice and slicing snow: “Shen Liu, open your eyes and look closely. Who is this poor Daoist?”

A surge of internal energy pierced viciously into his pulse. Even if Shen Wuduan had drunk a full catty of ‘Tianren Zui,’ this alone would have scared him sober. His entire body shuddered. Before he could even throw a palm strike, his eyes focused clearly on the face before him.

The usually smiling and unflappable old master of the Hundred Ghosts Sect was struck dumb as a wooden chicken. From his gaze to his complexion, his entire face screamed the word “disbelief.”

After a long time, he spoke as if sleepwalking: “You… Duanqing?”