SS CH93

Having made up his mind, Duanqing didn’t linger in the Ruoshui Temple. After giving Xuansu a few more instructions, he left with Ye Fusheng.

He chose a small mountain path where the tree canopy rolled like waves and human presence was scarce, revealing a picturesque, tranquil serenity of quiet years. However, although Ye Fusheng was a newcomer, he had an excellent memory, and no matter how he looked at it, this didn’t seem like the direction to the Qishuang Courtyard.

It wasn’t until they reached a clearing amidst a bamboo forest that Duanqing stopped and turned around. “Are you not going to ask why I am having you go?”

“When Shiniang does something, naturally there is a reason.” Ye Fusheng crossed his arms. “First, it’s likely because Xuansu-shixiong is just stepping into the Jianghu. His martial arts are good, but he lacks experience, so having someone accompany him is more appropriate… Secondly, I suppose it has something to do with me personally, right?”

Duanqing nodded. “The ‘Youmeng’ poison in your body has penetrated your lungs and organs. Ordinary external force can only temporarily suppress it; it is not a long-term solution.”

Ye Fusheng narrowed his eyes. “Wuxiang Temple has a way?”

“Not Wuxiang Temple,” Duanqing replied. “But this Martial Arts Assembly.”

The Martial Arts Assembly would gather countless figures from all walks of life in the Jianghu. There was no telling what kind of capable and extraordinary individuals might be among them. Rather than clinging to a corner, idling away time, and waiting for his remaining life to vanish in the blink of an eye, it was better to seize every opportunity and fight for a chance.

Understanding his meaning, Ye Fusheng said, “Thank you for the reminder, Shiniang.”

“This Martial Arts Assembly will certainly not be simple. You must be cautious.” Pausing, Duanqing continued, “You now have your own profound considerations, so there is no need for me to say much. This time, I will have Elder Duanheng escort you there.”

Ye Fusheng was startled. “Are you not going, Shiniang?”

Duanqing’s gaze sank slightly. “My internal cultivation is about to break through a bottleneck. I need to cultivate in quiet seclusion for a few days.”

Ye Fusheng was instantly curious. Counting this reunion, it was only the second time in his entire life he had seen Duanqing use martial arts. Although he didn’t know exactly what realm the man had reached, it was likely still several streets ahead of his own.

However, today’s Ye Fusheng was a far cry from the Gu Xiao of the past. Though he had passed the age of youthful arrogance, very few martial artists weren’t fond of a good fight. Ye Fusheng was confident he wouldn’t lose to the Gu Qifang of back then, but he was incredibly curious about the perpetually reserved and unfathomable Duanqing.

Furthermore…

Ye Fusheng’s gaze swept over Duanqing, taking in his frost-white hair and tall, bamboo-like posture. Even his face retained the prime elegance of a man in his early thirties, showing absolutely no signs of aging.

Yet, from the moment Gu Xiao began forming memories, Duanqing had looked exactly like this.

Over twenty years had passed. He had grown from a short, tiny child into a tall, full-grown man, yet Duanqing remained exactly the same as before. Time seemed to have frozen on this person; aside from the frost in his hair and the snow in his eyes, there were no other traces of time.

But how could there possibly be an immortal person in this world?

As Ye Fusheng pondered this, his hands moved. He bowed and smiled, “Speaking of which, I’ve grown this old, yet I’ve never once received Shiniang’s guidance. I wonder if I might fulfill that regret today?”

His cheeky grin practically begged for a beating. Daoist Duanqing glanced at him and granted the request.

The moment Duanqing nodded, Ye Fusheng kicked off the ground, shooting forward like a startled swan skimming water. The Jinghong Blade at his waist hissed out of its sheath; while the resonant hum still vibrated, the blade’s edge had already reached Duanqing’s face.

His slash was incredibly fast. Just as Duanqing moved to block, secondary power surged. The blade flipped with his wrist, rippling like water to disperse the opposing force. Three feints flashed by in an instant before the true blade targeted Duanqing’s throat. It was so bizarre and unpredictable that even Duanqing couldn’t block it in time.

The Jinghong lineage prioritized speed and ingenuity, emphasizing agility and ferocity. Over the years, Ye Fusheng had long mastered these principles on the border of life and death, but the unresolved knots in his heart had naturally dragged down his hands and feet.

Gu Qifang’s burial was like shedding half the burden of his life into the yellow earth. Now, with a light heart and swift body, the blade in his hand moved as naturally as his own arm or fingers. Executing the same “Flying Catkins” move now, the power was leagues apart from before.

This slash was like a clear breeze delivering willow catkins—floating and weightless, yet perfectly evading the opponent’s defensive block, cutting close to the skin in the blink of an eye.

Under heaven, all martial arts can be broken except speed. For Ye Fusheng to reach the pinnacle of “fast” was to achieve the ultimate path.

A trace of gratification quickly flashed through Duanqing’s eyes. Shifting his footing, he leaned to the left, and the Jinghong Blade grazed right past his shoulder. With a flick of his wrist, Ye Fusheng brought the blade back around, exchanging another seven moves in the blink of an eye.

He unleashed seven consecutive strikes, incorporating chops, slashes, and thrusts. Strangely, even though Duanqing was clearly weaving right through the blade’s path and his speed couldn’t match the Jinghong Blade, the edge seemed stuck to an invisible force field, deviating away every single time.

With sharp eyes and fast hands, Ye Fusheng saw that Duanqing wasn’t truly attacking yet. Instead, he was borrowing force to strike back, using Ye Fusheng’s own blade momentum to guide his movements, keeping the battle firmly controlled within a square inch.

Guided by Duanqing’s hand, Ye Fusheng involuntarily stumbled three steps forward. Seeing Duanqing bring a palm back toward his chest, Ye Fusheng’s empty left hand seized the opening. As fingers met palm, Ye Fusheng felt his finger strength completely dissolved by the strike. However, he also seized the momentary gap to retreat five steps. Planting his right foot and violently twisting his waist, he unleashed a horizontal sweep with the “Swimming Dragon” move.

The “Swimming Dragon” possessed a fierce momentum, seemingly capable of sweeping away a thousand soldiers. Duanqing didn’t take it head-on. Flying backward, he drew the jade flute from his waist, flipped mid-air, saw right through the phantom afterimages, and landed steadily right on the Jinghong Blade.

Sinking his hand, Ye Fusheng sent a shockwave to force Duanqing off. He watched the white-haired Daoist spin mid-air, aiming his upper body downward and plunging the jade flute straight toward the crown of Ye Fusheng’s head!

The jade flute had no edge, yet its sharp aura stung like a cut. If Duanqing had been holding a sword, Ye Fusheng knew this would be a fatal strike.

Daring not to meet it with brute force, he slipped away like a swimming fish. Before Duanqing even touched the ground, eight slashes flew out in rapid succession, so fast they seemed to merge into a single move, leaving only flashes of cold light with no visible blade.

Like a sudden torrential storm, indistinguishable yet omnipresent.

From what could be seen so far, Duanqing’s martial arts followed the path of orthodox righteousness; whether punches, palms, or sword moves, all were imbued with clear, pure intent. Ye Fusheng, however, relied on the Jinghong Art to follow a path of bizarre swiftness, the very epitome of “attacking when unprepared and surprising the enemy.” For a moment, he actually seemed to hold the upper hand.

Yet, despite the blade flashing like rushing thunder and lightning, Duanqing remained unhurried.

Impatience and impulsiveness are the greatest taboos for martial artists, yet these flaws can only be washed away by time. Ye Fusheng had just entered this age, but Duanqing had long surpassed it.

He had practiced the Limitless Art since his youth. Ten-plus years in the Jianghu had ground away his jagged pride until no flesh or blood remained, leaving only unyielding bones. The hot-blooded passion was gone, replaced by a heart as still as stagnant water. Later, he left the Jianghu for the deep mountains. Spring flowers, autumn moons, summer thunder, and winter snow gradually faded from his eyes. By now, all creations in heaven and earth were but mayflies in the vast ocean to him, let alone success or failure.

Only when victory and defeat are no longer held in the heart can the mind be free of distractions and become invincible.

Ye Fusheng had indeed achieved “agile as a swimming dragon, graceful as a startled swan,” but it was not enough.

Eight slashes erupted almost instantly, with the final “Jiinglei” striking late but arriving first. Yet, the jade flute in Duanqing’s hand executed only a single move.

It seemed to be a sword technique, yet not quite.

A profoundly simple move, executed only when the blade had already drawn a thin red line, yet it flowed like water bypassing strange peaks and mountains, threading flawlessly through the gaps of the eight slashes without snagging a hair.

To Ye Fusheng’s eyes, the move wasn’t incredibly fast. He could clearly trace the trajectory from the flute’s raise to its approach, and he caught the momentary cold flash in Duanqing’s eyes.

It felt like a hand gently reaching out to touch his throat, yet Ye Fusheng couldn’t dodge it.

It wasn’t that the jade flute pierced through human nature; it was that the move itself isolated a person into a sharp sword.

The residual force of his Jinghong Blade hadn’t faded, yet the jade flute was already resting against his throat.

Lightly, without a shred of force.

Yet a chill ran down Ye Fusheng’s back, cold sweat dotting his forehead.

Duanqing used no internal energy for this move. Ye Fusheng didn’t feel the slightest pain, yet in that instant, he sensed a bone-deep killing intent—not directed at him, but inherent to the move itself.

Reducing complexity to simplicity, returning to the origin, yet entirely unavoidable.

For a moment, the bamboo forest was dead silent. It wasn’t until Duanqing withdrew the jade flute that Ye Fusheng snapped out of it as if waking from a dream, sheathing his blade.

A thin red line marked the side of Duanqing’s neck. Ye Fusheng had controlled his strength perfectly, only breaking the surface of the skin, letting out barely a bead of blood. Unbothered, Duanqing wiped it away with his sleeve. “You are very good.”

Ye Fusheng looked at him, his tone slightly heavy. “Shiniang’s move just now was better.”

“I only took advantage of my age. In the end, I am no longer your match.” Duanqing looked at him. “The name of Jinghong is no longer shamed in your hands.”

“On this journey, your disciple will certainly not fail expectations,” Ye Fusheng replied.

“In that case, go back and pack your belongings,” Duanqing nodded. “Exit the bamboo forest, turn left, head west, and you will see the Qishuang Courtyard.”

Hearing the implication that Duanqing had other matters to attend to, Ye Fusheng didn’t press. Bowing, he headed toward the Qishuang Courtyard.

Duanqing watched him walk far away before turning around and taking a small path in the opposite direction.

The path grew increasingly remote and desolate. Duanqing walked slowly, finally stopping before a cliff face nearly half an hour later.

This was a massive stone door weighing at least a thousand catties. Reaching out, Duanqing pressed a slightly protruding stone brick, and the door slowly lifted upward.

Inside was a rather spacious cave. Pulling out a fire starter, Duanqing lit the oil lamps on the walls, dispelling the darkness and illuminating a small stone stele within.

Like the one before, four characters were carved into it with finger-condensed sword qi. However, these were much older, the strokes already blurring, though one could vaguely make out the words: The Sea of Bitterness is Boundless.

Yet upon the engraved stele lay dried, blackened bloodstains and several chaotic, bloody handprints. Upon closer inspection, they all belonged to a single person.

Duanqing didn’t look at the stele. He simply walked further in, eventually reaching a rather tightly constructed stone chamber.

Compared to his residence in the Qishuang Courtyard, this looked much more like a place for human habitation. A stone bed, a table, chairs, clothing, bedding… it had everything. However, a thin layer of dust covered it all, indicating it hadn’t been lived in for about a month.

Brushing aside the wide cloth covering the stone bed, Duanqing sat cross-legged, closed his eyes tightly, and silently calmed his inner breath.

After a long time, he opened his eyes, his already detached face turning a few degrees colder and harder.

His fingers brushed over the jade flute at his waist, feeling a tiny crack. Under the lamplight, he examined it closely for a while, and only then did a trace of softness slowly appear in his cold, ruthless eyes.

This was the mark left by the blade’s edge. The force had been restrained exactly to thirty percent, not a fraction more or less, perfectly controlled.

While Duanqing’s move earlier wasn’t unparalleled under heaven, it had been a very long time since he had met a worthy opponent.

Setting the jade flute down, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small pouch.

Two peach blossoms were embroidered on the pouch. The one on the left was smaller, with crude, clumsy stitching; the one on the right was larger, as exquisite as a painting.

But looking closely, one could distinguish that they were stitched by the same hand; the differing skill levels suggested the embroiderer had made them at different times.

Opening the pouch, he revealed several pieces of broken jade, which vaguely resembled what was once a fine quality jadeite.

With great patience, Duanqing pieced the fragments together bit by bit until they formed a complete, circular jade pendant. Only then did he speak, his voice light and his tone faintly warm: “He is no longer the man he used to be. If you have awareness in the Yellow Springs, you should be comforted.”