The old man looked ordinary. If not for the sword strapped to his back, he would have seemed as unremarkable as any commoner.
Compared to the man himself, the sword on his back drew far more attention.
It was a rusty sword.
The blade was antiquated and devoid of any luster.
Yet it was etched all over with dense, fine markings.
Every single line exuded an indescribable charm.
They were not decorative patterns.
They were patterns formed by condensed sword intent.
Faded red cord was wound round and round the hilt, and at its end hung a small copper bell.
The copper bell was also heavily tarnished with rust.
Yet at this moment, it swayed gently, again and again.
With every sway, a ripple of invisible sword intent dispersed outward.
That sword intent was not fierce, nor overbearing; it did not even hold the slightest shred of killing intent.
It merely spread out quietly like ripples on water, layer after layer, completely neutralizing He Bailou’s fist force.
“It’s you.”
He Bailou slowly pulled back his fist, the shock in his voice far outweighing any irritation.
“You truly are still alive.”
“What, were you hoping so dearly that I was dead?”
The old man looked up, revealing a weathered face etched with deep wrinkles.
He Bailou fell silent for a moment, then let out a cold harrumph.
“You certainly arrived at just the right time.”
“A coincidence?”
The old man ambled into the clearing. With every step he took, the rusty sword on his back let out a low hum, as if carving a path for him.
The lingering remnants of fist force saturating the field parted on their own before him.
He reached Chen Zui’s side and glanced sideways at him.
“Lad, that shout of ‘Senior’ just now—were you calling for this old man?”
Chen Zui leaned against his spear shaft. A streak of blood still hung from the corner of his mouth, yet he grinned nonetheless.
“If Senior won’t acknowledge it, this junior will just have to call for someone else.”
“How did you know this old man was here?”
“I didn’t,” Chen Zui answered honestly. “I guessed.”
“Guessed?”
Chen Zui nodded.
“Back when I was tangled with an assassin from the Ghost Gate Chamber, that person suddenly retreated in a panic. I figured it was because they sensed your sword intent.
Going by the time, you should have been arriving around now as well.
And I gambled that you would step in to help.”
“So that’s why you agreed to take two punches from He Bailou?”
The elder stared at Chen Zui for a good while before suddenly reaching out and clapping him gently on the shoulder.
The tap carried no force whatsoever, yet it sent a warmth through Chen Zui’s shoulder, remarkably calming the churning blood in his chest that had been violently shaken by the fist force.
“You’re an interesting junior.”
The old man withdrew his hand and shifted his gaze to He Bailou.
“Old He, consider this punch taken on his behalf by this old man. How about it?”
He Bailou crossed his arms over his chest, his expression revealing neither pleasure nor anger.
“You really do love stealing the spotlight.
Could it be you couldn’t tell that my second punch was meant to feed him blows, tempering his martial arts?”
The withered old man with a sword on his back gave a dry laugh.
“Is it that I love stealing the spotlight, or that you’re dead-set shameless?
Do you think this junior walking the Path of the Spear resembles you walking the Great Path of the Fist in your youth?
You ought to know that the Path of the Spear has been in decline for hundreds of years.
Meanwhile, the Great Path of the Fist you pursue is only limited on this side of Grand Zhao; over in Grand Shuo, there are plenty of Fist Grandmasters.
Speaking of which, your path is far broader than this lad’s.
Putting it nicely, you were tempering him; putting it bluntly, you were trying to pull up seedlings to help them grow.
Even if my master were here, he wouldn’t dare claim he could offer guidance.
Yet here you are, heaping praise onto your own face.”
He Bailou blinked in slight surprise at those words, then burst into hearty laughter.
“Haven’t seen you in decades, and you’ve actually learned the skill to play with words.”
“Can’t be helped. I’ve spent all these years around scholars, so it was inevitable I’d pick up a few of their bad habits.”
By this point, how could Xie Jiuzhen, standing nearby, still fail to grasp the situation?
He had thought that as long as he brought up the court-bestowed titles, He Bailou and Liu Yinsheng would have no choice but to take action.
Yet of He Bailou’s two punches, one was taken head-on by the kid, and the other was an intentional feeding of blows.
Meanwhile, Liu Yinsheng had stood atop the city wall from start to finish, never once unsheathing his sword.
He Bailou was going easy, and Liu Yinsheng was just watching the show.
These two Grandmasters had never come to assist the Jinyang Sect at all.
And right now, this withered old man with a sword on his back who suddenly appeared was undoubtedly the Sword Attendant they had been waiting for.
Yet He Bailou was actually chatting and laughing with him, reminiscing about the old days.
What baffled him even more was that Old Immortal Qiu, Qiu Baisheng, whose whereabouts had been unknown all along, had arrived here from outside the city alongside this Sword Attendant.
Just what on earth had they been talking about?
“Old Immortal Qiu!”
Xie Jiuzhen jerked his head up.
“The Jinyang Sect is willing to offer half of its entire fortune!
We only ask Old Immortal Qiu to take action, capture this insolent brat, and avenge my Jinyang Sect’s disgrace!”
At those words, even He Bailou furrowed his brows slightly.
Half of their fortune.
With the imperial court’s backing over the years, the Jinyang Sect had expanded wildly throughout the Three Northwest Provinces, amassing an astronomical sum of wealth.
For the sake of Meng Huaiguang, Xie Jiuzhen was willing to pay such an immense price.
Yet Xie Jiuzhen knew clearly in his heart: if Meng Huaiguang was ruined, the Jinyang Sect’s future was gone.
Without a future, no amount of wealth was anything more than meat on someone else’s chopping block.
“We implore Old Immortal Qiu to intervene!”
Xie Jiuzhen let out another roar, the veins on his forehead bulging.
His eyes darted toward a figure standing by the city gate.
The man wore a gray robe. He was tall and slender with a lean, refined face, appearing no more than forty or fifty years of age.
His black hair was tied back casually behind his head, yet two streaks of frosty white at his temples added an air of vicissitude.
He stood there with his hands behind his back, devoid of even the slightest hint of outward aura, looking even more casual than He Bailou.
Yet the moment everyone’s eyes landed on him, they could not help but hold their breath.
Qiu Baisheng.
One of the only five Earthly Immortals in the Grand Zhao Dynasty.
First Rank realm.
The Peak of the Martial Dao.
Such a figure who lived only in legends had truly come to this small frontier city!
With a slow step forward, Qiu Baisheng appeared directly in front of Xie Jiuzhen.
Seeing this, Xie Jiuzhen hastily scrambled forward on his knees and prostrated himself before Qiu Baisheng.
“Old Immortal Qiu! I beg of you, save the Young Master!”
Qiu Baisheng did not look at him. He simply looked down to inspect Meng Huaiguang’s injuries, his gaze pausing briefly over the four spear holes that were still oozing blood.
He crouched down slowly and pointed a single finger at the center of Meng Huaiguang’s brow.
An exceedingly gentle stream of internal energy passed through his fingertip into Meng Huaiguang’s body, coursing through every limb and bone, reconnecting the ruptured meridians one by one.
The bleeding from the four spear holes stopped.
A trace of color returned to Meng Huaiguang’s deathly pale face, and his weak breathing gradually stabilized.
Xie Jiuzhen was overjoyed and thanked him repeatedly:
“Thank you, Old Immortal Qiu! Thank you, Old Immortal Qiu! The entire Jinyang Sect is boundlessly grateful!”
“No need for thanks.”
Qiu Baisheng withdrew his finger, his tone flat.
“I merely stemmed his bleeding and reconnected several meridians to preserve his life.”
The smile on Xie Jiuzhen’s face froze slightly, sensing that there was more to those words.
Sure enough.
Qiu Baisheng stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze slowly sweeping across Xie Jiuzhen’s face. His voice was not loud, yet it rang crystal-clear in the ears of every person present.
“However, his tendons and hamstrings are severed, and his dantian has been damaged by spear intent. Even if his injuries heal, he will never practice martial arts again.”
Xie Jiuzhen shuddered violently, all color draining from his face in an instant.
“Old Immortal Qiu... what did you say?”
“Did I not speak clearly enough?”
Qiu Baisheng said indifferently.
Xie Jiuzhen felt the world spinning around him, a loud buzzing filling his head.
Ruined.
The Young Master whom the Jinyang Sect had poured its entire sect’s resources into nurturing, the martial arts genius upon whom they pinned all their hopes, was ruined.
He snapped his head toward Chen Zui, his eyes brimming with frenzied hatred.
Curling his five fingers into claws, he was about to pounce at Chen Zui!
“Halt.”
Qiu Baisheng’s voice was faint, yet it caused Xie Jiuzhen to freeze mid-motion.
“The imperial court fostered the Jinyang Sect intending for it to take root in the Northwest, to serve as an obedient pawn that could rein in restless border factions when necessary.
Yet your Jinyang Sect has thrown its weight around in the Northwest over the years; its reputation has long rotted to the core.
Now, the Young Master you pinned all your hopes on has had his martial arts completely ruined.
The Jinyang Sect...
no longer needs to exist.”
Xie Jiuzhen whipped his head around, staring at Qiu Baisheng in disbelief.
“What... what did you say?”
Qiu Baisheng did not reply. He merely looked down and brushed off nonexistent dust from his cuff.
“Sword Saint Liu, Fistmaster He, it’s time for us to leave.”
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