Two flying swords pierced through the wall, heavily injuring Zanhua Lang (Flower-Adorned Gentleman), who had just retrieved all his prayer beads.

Immediately following, Lu Fang, who had seized the initiative and gained the upper hand, was beaten back down the street by a relentless barrage of fists. The final blow slammed him deep into the wall.

Finally, Zhong Qiu, the national preceptor of Nanyuan Kingdom, arrived to conclude the battle.

Zhong Qiu, hailed as the foremost expert in the world, repelled the young man with a single strike, rescuing the defenseless Lu Fang.

Taking the opportunity, Feng Qingbai retrieved his own sword. He had even considered returning Da Chun (Great Camphor) to Lu Fang, but Zhong Qiu’s sudden appearance dissuaded him, lest he overcomplicate matters.

Feng Qingbai exhaled a long breath. If Zhong Qiu’s punch had landed on his temple, he would likely have to rely on his sect’s resources to bail him out. Otherwise, he would be doomed to endless reincarnations in Lotus Blessing Land, his cultivation constantly eroded and dissolved, merging into this world – the cosmos as a furnace, all things as copper, such is the principle.

And that person’s acolyte was responsible for fanning the flames of discord.

That person never appeared, unwilling to face the world. Only a young Daoist boy, wielding a banana leaf fan, was in charge of the overall operation of Lotus Blessing Land. He also interacted with the Earth Immortals of Tongye Continent who were qualified to access the secrets within. Before Feng Qingbai descended, he had been led by his sect’s patriarch, a Jade Purity Realm elder, to meet that boy, who spoke so bluntly, yet even the founder treated him as an equal.

Having arrived in Lotus Blessing Land, a mere decade or so felt like a lifetime ago.

In the depths of his being, Feng Qingbai felt a premonition that his endeavor to temper his Daoist sword heart would mostly end here. If fortune favored him, he might at best obtain a Xianjia artifact of magic treasure rank.

After all, his combat strength was intact, while Lu Fang had already fallen, perhaps even suffering damage to his Dao heart. Even returning to Tongye Continent would be a great trouble.

Descended immortals, descended immortals, it sounded wonderful, but in reality, it was not so. Only those like Zhou Fei, who advocated “what difference is there between not enjoying life and being mere vegetation or livestock” were carefree and at ease, as they did not involve themselves in the fundamental principles of cultivation after their descent.

But for people like Feng Qingbai and Lu Fang, it was extremely dangerous. The predecessor, Tong Qingqing, even as the revered Mistheart Pavilion’s sect master, one of the four grandmasters of the world, had been forced to hide for decades and had yet to reveal herself, a prime example.

Gathering his scattered thoughts, Feng Qingbai began to review the battle, trying to glean as much understanding as possible.

He had been observing the peak clash from afar, as the stones of other mountains can be used to polish one’s own jade. This was leveraging the momentum of the heart’s landscape on the path of cultivation, similar in principle to the Buddhist practice of visualization.

In Feng Qingbai’s eyes, the battle at the peak of Lotus Blessing Land was no less intense than the Golden Core or Nascent Soul battles of Tongye Continent.

The exchange between the young man in white robes and Lu Fang was already so spectacular. If Ding Ying and Yu Zhenyi, the final heavyweights of the righteous and demonic factions, were to ultimately clash, what kind of sight would it be?

Feng Qingbai had initially been pessimistic about Chen Pingan, because Lu Fang was indeed a sword immortal prodigy renowned throughout Tongye Continent. Even under immense suppression, in the spiritually barren Lotus Blessing Land, he had gone against the current and found a new path, once again touching the threshold of the sword path. Lu Fang’s sword was effective both in ranged attacks and close-quarters defense.

But the outcome was unexpected.

The divine hand that broke the deadlock was that the person had seen that Lu Fang would definitely save Zhou Shi.

According to Jianghu rumors, Lu Fang and Zhou Fei were mortal enemies, and Lu Fang had even drawn his sword to ascend the mountain, engaging in a life-or-death battle with Lu Fang at Spring Tide Palace, which was undeniable.

Feng Qingbai had been in Lotus Blessing Land for over a decade, while the young man had only arrived recently. Logically, he should have been even more unfamiliar with the pinnacle figures of this world. Feng Qingbai couldn’t understand why, in a battle where the bystander should have been clearer than the participant, the young man seemed to not only have descended with a complete physical body and soul but was also well-versed in many secrets. Was that why he had broken the rules, being regarded as a rebellious subject by the Heavenly Dao here, and thus had to be suppressed and eliminated?

Although his injuries were severe, with his entire shoulder mangled, fortunately, it was only external wounds. Zhou Shi managed to stop the bleeding with the Spring Tide Palace wound-healing elixir made by Zhou Fei. He leaned against the wall next to Ya’er, forcing a wry smile as he said, “I’ve already done my best.”

The dashing Zanhua Lang had once attracted countless beauties, making them blush with shyness, but now he had lost his flair and was only a fallen figure.

Ya’er was trying her best to suppress her chaotic Qi with a secret technique of the Demon Sect. This was a martial arts treasure from Hanging Flower Gate, one of the three branches of the Demon Sect, with the effect of making withered trees bloom. It was rumored that a certain master of Hanging Flower Gate had seduced the Mistheart Pavilion’s holy maiden of that generation, allowing him to glimpse half of the “Return to Simplicity Sutra”. The sutra could make people regain their youth. The Hanging Flower Gate’s master was truly a genius, reverse-engineering the sutra and transforming it for his own use, compiling this demonic secret manual. However, the aftereffects were huge. Those who used it could forcibly suppress severe injuries, but they would rapidly age, accelerating the decay of their physical bodies. The heroic figures of Hanging Flower Gate had only used this technique in life-or-death battles with no other recourse.

Ya’er’s face was ashen, and streaks of white hair even appeared at her temples.

Zhou Shi sighed. If he handed her a bronze mirror at this moment, would the most self-admiring Ya’er directly suffer a Qi deviation and go mad?

Zhou Shi didn’t know if he was comforting her or himself, “Don’t worry, my dad will be here soon. When I’m safe, you won’t die either.”

Farther away, near a wall, a broken pipa lay forlornly on the ground, its owner nowhere to be found. Every now and then, there were traces of blood on the ground.

When Chen Pingan stood up, Feng Qingbai, who was holding his long sword, Zhou Shi, who was slumped on the ground, and Xiaolianr, who was checking Lu Fang’s injuries, all felt a tightening in their hearts at the same time.

Lu Fang “pulled” himself out of the wall and landed gently, his figure unsteady. Xiaolianr wanted to reach out to support him, but Lu Fang shook his head. With a wave of his hand, he summoned Da Chun back to him. The sword sheath combined with the blade mid-air, and once again, he used the long sword as a crutch. Lu Fang’s profound cultivation in Lotus Blessing Land had plummeted to the bottom. The ten-fist Godly Drumming style, relentless and uninterrupted, had almost shattered Lu Fang’s spirit, whose physique was not particularly outstanding.

Lu Fang’s eyes were dim, and he turned to Xiaolianr, whose true name was Qian Tang, and said, “Allow me to rest for a moment. Accompany me for a drink.”

Xiaolianr nodded in melancholy.

Just like their first encounter in the Jianghu, he was once again a man in despair.
Lu Fang chose to strike first this time, not only to protect Zhou Shi, but also for his friend, Qian Tang, nicknamed “Smiling Face”. Although Smiling Face wasn’t among the top twenty cultivators in the world, before arriving in the capital of Nanyuan Kingdom, Lu Fang had mentioned taking Qian Tang back to his hometown to see the real Immortal of Wind Manipulation. Though Lu Fang’s words were calm, the soaring spirit unique to the Bird-Viewing Peak Sword Immortal was palpable even to a blind man like Smiling Face.

The two left the street together.

Before leaving, Lu Fang cupped his fist in thanks to Zhong Qiu, then left Zhou Shi with a “good luck” warning.

They arrived at the wineshop where the woman sold liquor. Seeing the man who had stolen the sword, the woman disregarded his strong muscles and began to curse. Lu Fang placated her with much effort before she reluctantly brought two jugs of the cheapest wine to the table, slamming them down. Qian Tang almost couldn’t resist slapping the gossiping woman to death.

Lu Fang took out an ancient jade flute from his robes and handed it to Smiling Face, saying in a deep voice, “For the next twenty years, I may have to trouble you with two arduous tasks. First, carry this with you at all times and find my reincarnation. If you are near me, the flute will grow scalding hot, giving you a feeling. Second, seek out a long sword named ‘Chao Yuan’. This task is not compulsory; it may become someone else’s sword, like this Da Chun.”

Smiling Face looked astonished.

“My mind is made up.”

Lu Fang didn’t explain further. “Take the flute and drink this wine, then leave Nanyuan Kingdom quickly. Your presence here will only hasten my demise.”

Smiling Face had never seen Lu Fang so serious, so he carefully took the flute and nodded in agreement.

After drinking the somber wine, Smiling Face looked at his close friend. Lu Fang said calmly, “If you truly find me, don’t interfere, especially don’t deliberately teach me martial arts.”

“I will remember.”

Smiling Face stopped smiling, his voice cracking with emotion.

Lu Fang showed no sentimentality. After silently seeing Smiling Face out of the wineshop, he turned to look in a certain direction and scoffed, “You can show yourself now. This head of a banished immortal is yours for the taking, if you have the skill.”

A stooped old man emerged from the corner, coughing as he walked. If Smiling Face Qian Tang had stayed with Lu Fang, he would have recognized the frail old man. Xue Yuan, the Eight-Armed Spirit, was among the top ten cultivators of the older generation. Twenty years ago, he was pushed out of the top ten and had been declining ever since, barely clinging to the bottom of the ranks. Smiling Face had once harassed him for a year with his agility, making him a laughingstock in the martial world.

Lu Fang sighed inwardly.

He didn’t expect his words at Gu Niu Mountain to come true.

Yu Zhenyi had secretly gathered heroes and named Ding Ying, Zhou Fei, Tong Qingqing, and Feng Qingbai, four banished immortals, as targets for encirclement. Lu Fang had jokingly asked if he counted as one of them. Now, it seemed the answer was clear. It might not have been Yu Zhenyi’s original intention, but seeing Lu Fang heavily injured and defeated, with Yu Zhenyi’s cold nature, he naturally wouldn’t miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

“To think the Bird-Viewing Peak Sword Immortal has fallen to such a state. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it,” Xue Yuan cackled, mocking Lu Fang. The old man was missing several teeth as he slowly walked towards the wineshop. It was hard to imagine that this was once the top external martial artist before Zhong Qiu.

Lu Fang laughed, “Yu Zhenyi is generous, sending you to pick up the scraps.”

Xue Yuan bent over, stopping twenty paces from the wineshop entrance. “True Immortal Yu is a celestial being of this era, not a mortal like this old man. He wouldn’t look twice at such an opportunity. Besides, Sword Immortal Lu still has three or four points of strength left. He still has some chance of defeating an old man like Xue Yuan, wouldn’t you say?”

Lu Fang sneered, “Great Sword Immortal? Have you ever seen one? Are you worthy?”

Xue Yuan chuckled, “Not worthy, not worthy. Whatever Sword Immortal Lu says is the truth.”

Lu Fang’s eyes were full of derision.

Xue Yuan met Lu Fang’s gaze and shook his head. As the Eight-Armed Spirit straightened his back, like a dragon raising its head, Xue Yuan’s aura changed completely. This was the grandmaster’s presence that a member of the top ten should have. Xue Yuan’s face turned grim and terrifying, filled with accumulated resentment and indignation. “You high and mighty banished immortals all deserve to die! Yes, it’s that look in your eyes, Lu Fang, even though you’re now a plucked phoenix worse than a chicken, you still look at everyone in the world like that, like ants!”

Lu Fang remained impassive.

But he knew his last battle was today. It was not enjoyable. It was like that with the young man earlier, and even more frustrating to fight Xue Yuan, who was taking advantage of his weakened state.

At that moment, Xue Yuan, who had just dropped his pretense, was like a god descending to earth, but his body instantly stiffened. Someone had grabbed his neck from behind, lifting him higher and higher.

Xue Yuan was like a snake struck in its vitals, unable to even struggle, his feet rising further and further from the ground.

The man who ambushed the old man had a warm voice and laughed, “What if we see you as ants? There’s nothing wrong with that. That’s what you are.”

With a *crack*, Xue Yuan’s neck was broken, and the man lightly tossed him onto the street.

The wineshop woman screamed, and the customers shouted about murder and scattered like birds and beasts.

Without Xue Yuan blocking the view, the man was a handsome young master, none other than Zhou Fei, who had come from the Vajra Monastery.

Zhou Fei was still carrying a head that refused to close its eyes, which he threw forward and dropped in front of Lu Fang. The head rolled, splattering blood.

It was Smiling Face Qian Tang.

Zhou Fei then casually threw out the jade flute.

Lu Fang slowly crouched down and gently wiped the face of the head, allowing his friend to close his eyes. Staring blankly at Smiling Face, Lu Fang didn’t look at Zhou Fei, nor did he pick up the flute. He only asked in a trembling voice, “Why?”

Zhou Fei was silent for a moment, then answered irrelevantly, “When did Lu Fang become a sentimental waste? You came here to break free from emotional entanglement, but in the end, you can’t see through it. Fine, even if it’s a wasted trip. But now, you can’t even pick up or put down a dead man’s head that’s no better than a stranger. Lu Fang, even if you return to Tongye Continent, don’t even think about entering the Upper Five Realms. I believe you won’t even be able to stay in the Nascent Soul Realm!”

Zhou Fei crouched down. “Tell me yourself, what was your purpose in coming here? I, the dignified head of the Jiang family of the Jade Decree Sect, have been with you in this Lotus Paradise, wasting so much time. What was my purpose?”

At some point, the sword Da Chun lay quietly at Lu Fang’s feet, along with the jade flute and the head, all lying on the street.
Far behind Zhou Fei stood a bevy of peerless beauties, some with slender figures like willow branches, others with full forms resembling the ripe grains of autumn.

Lu Fang raised his head. “Why didn’t you seek out Zhou Shi first?”

Zhou Fei chuckled, his voice laced with chilling arrogance. “A son may be lost, but more can be born. But if you, Lu Fang, were to die in this Lotus Root Blessed Land, would I waste another sixty years of my life?”

Zhou Fei stood up and beckoned a still-charming woman to his side. “Go, accompany your esteemed Senior Brother Lu, whom you once admired so deeply, for a drink. It’s been so many years; you must have so much to say.”

The woman’s face paled.

Zhou Fei patted her cheek. “Be good, and listen.”

The ground trembled, and Zhou Fei’s form vanished.

The women scattered like startled birds, their sleeves fluttering, ribbons dancing in the air. The sight was a bewitching scene, leaving the passersby on nearby streets entranced.

Lu Fang stood and said to the woman, her face both familiar and alien, “Shall we sit and chat?”

The woman trembled, nodding her head.

The two sat opposite each other. The tavern owner hid behind the counter, squatting down. Lu Fang fetched two jugs of wine himself. Before Lu Fang could pour, the woman, long accustomed to serving others in the Spring Tide Palace, quickly rose and filled Lu Fang’s cup before pouring one for herself.

Lu Fang didn’t look at the face that had once broken his heart. He merely glanced at the delicate jade hands, preserved like those of a maiden. He raised his wine bowl and smiled.

The woman breathed a small sigh of relief. After a moment’s hesitation, she rose again and retrieved the small jade flute and the Great Catalpa Sword from the street outside. Even the head of Smiling Face was taken and placed on another table in the tavern. She sat back down, finally offering a delicate smile.

Lu Fang held his wine bowl in one hand, turning his gaze to the empty street.

He seemed to see a pair of young lovers, chasing and playing under the sun.

In Zhong Qiu’s eyes, there was only the young man in white robes. He spoke, “When you and I fight, no one will interfere. So, you may put your whole being into each strike.”

Zhong Qiu added, “If anyone still tries to attack you in secret, I, Zhong Qiu, will definitely kill them, even if it’s Ding Ying or Yu Zhenyi.”

Chen Ping’an raised the back of his hand, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. A wound was visible on his arm, revealing white bone. To block Lu Fang’s sword, a large tear had been ripped from the sleeve of his snow-white robe. This was the first time the Golden Ritual Robe had been damaged. Though its magical properties were suppressed, its resilience remained, which speaks volumes of the deadly power of Lu Fang’s swordsmanship.

After speaking, Zhong Qiu began to walk forward.

His steps seemed slow, but each stride covered two or three yards, and there was not the slightest ripple of energy.

Zhong Qiu was the National Preceptor of the South Garden Kingdom, and also a renowned scholar skilled in both calligraphy and painting.

Every word and sentence he spoke followed the proper rules. Every punch and kick he threw adhered to proper principles.

Those who reach the peak of perfection are called Sage of Literature and Grandmaster of Martial Arts.

Zhong Qiu was both.

Ding Ying looked down on all martial artists, yet held Zhong Qiu in high regard, and there was a reason for this.

Chen Ping’an stood rooted to the spot, unmoving.

Zhong Qiu’s “leisurely stroll” reminded him of the scene when Ding Ying entered the White River Temple’s main hall.

The old man in the bamboo building of Fallen Phoenix Mountain, with his invincible bearing, Chen Ping’an could only vaguely comprehend. The disparity in cultivation was simply too great, the distance between them too far. Chen Ping’an couldn’t grasp the essence of it.

The old man of the Cui surname’s martial arts were too profound. Although he wasn’t forcing Chen Ping’an to grow prematurely, his guidance on each step of Chen Ping’an’s ascent after reaching the Fourth Realm was, in fact, not so beneficial.

However, the unique meaning of Ding Ying and Zhong Qiu, their oneness with Heaven and Earth, was something Chen Ping’an had pondered. The first time, he had felt little. The second time, it held more flavor, and he could finally begin to taste it.

Zhong Qiu simply walked towards him in this way, without the overwhelming momentum of Pink Vajra Ma Xuan, without the treacherousness and insidiousness of Smiling Face, and without the fearless advance and undisguised sharpness of Feng Qingbai’s assassination attempt.

Zhong Qiu’s shoulders shifted almost imperceptibly. He wore a green robe, and the subtlety in his shoulders was like passing clouds beside an ancient pine.

Zhong Qiu’s fist arrived before Chen Ping’an, without the slightest leakage of fist-force, without the immense din of wind and thunder.

Because Zhong Qiu’s fist was so strange, Chen Ping’an was momentarily distracted, hesitating whether to use the Divine Man Drumming style to meet the enemy, striving for a decisive blow, or to use a defensive fist based on the Spirit Suppression Head from the *Sword Arts Classic*. Fortunately, Chen Ping’an abandoned both options at the first moment, retreating, his body sliding backward. At the same time, relying on instinct, he raised his arm, his palm shielding his face.

Zhong Qiu’s fist struck Chen Ping’an’s palm.

It stopped at the point of contact.

But Chen Ping’an was slammed hard on his face by the back of his own hand.

He flew backward, crashing down.

With a twist of his body, his two snow-white sleeves fluttered in the air, and he stood again three yards away.

Zhong Qiu still held one hand behind his back, saying calmly, “Distraction is unacceptable.”

Chen Ping’an clenched and unclenched his left hand, the numb sensation in his palm, as if struck by lightning, was finally swept away.

Zhong Qiu laughed, “You’re too clever. If there wasn’t this test, I wouldn’t be sure if you were a left-hander. The ten punches you threw at Lu Fang, you were probably certain that Lu Fang would die without a doubt, so you deliberately switched between left and right fists, six left and four right. I suppose you were already preparing for the next great battle at that time, right?”

Chen Ping’an didn’t speak.

Zhong Qiu didn’t mind. “The reason I’m forcing myself to speak with you, against my own temperament, is because I was being rather unfair when I threw that punch to save Lu Fang earlier. So, just now when you were distracted, I held back and didn’t strike with lethal force. Next, I won’t be polite with you.”

Zhong Qiu turned to Feng Qingbai and the others and said, “No one is to touch the little girl on the bench. Otherwise, don’t blame me for indiscriminately killing the innocent…”

In a flash, Chen Ping’an arrived behind Zhong Qiu, swinging his arm and then suddenly shaking his forearm, a fist劲 bursting out like an arrow, striking Zhong Qiu on the back of the head.

Zhong Qiu arched his back, his spine rising like a mountain, his ribs moving like swimming dragons. He didn’t move an inch, forcibly enduring Chen Ping’an’s powerful and fierce fist.

Because Chen Ping’an hadn’t used the Divine Man Drumming style, his stance was too large, and the momentum was too great. Against a grandmaster as skilled as Zhong Qiu, it was likely that this punch would have missed.

A pure martial artist, whose skill is profoundly honed, can be unaware and unseeing, yet sense danger and avoid it. They can even kill someone approaching their bed in their sleep, and then continue to sleep soundly, a horrifying feat.
Chen Ping’an’s punch was just a common, wholehearted strike. However, Zhong Qiu unexpectedly stood firm as a mountain. Thus, achieving a quick success and retreating became difficult. Zhong Qiu countered with a punch to Chen Ping’an’s ribs, sending him flying. But Zhong Qiu’s second punch was met by Chen Ping’an’s kick, denying him the chance to strike a fallen foe.

The two separated again, standing their ground.

Zhong Qiu smirked. So, this National Preceptor of Nanyuan was doing this on purpose, to make up for his sneak attack, and also as bait.

They charged at each other almost simultaneously.

Often, within a small space, their fists either missed each other or exchanged light blows like dragonflies skimming water. This fight was surprisingly silent.

It was the complete opposite of the earth-shattering battle between Chen Ping’an and Lu Fang earlier.

Zhou Shi couldn’t understand at all.

The banished immortal Feng Qingbai was slightly better, as he had encountered some martial arts grandmasters from Tongye Continent.

A truly majestic punch should be like a boulder thrown into a lake, using ripples to create external injuries and trigger internal damage.

Zhong Qiu had once used a single punch to leave a master of physical conditioning bedridden for years, his skin beneath his clothes shattered like porcelain, not to mention the internal damage to his organs.

The skinny little girl on the small stool, hearing the schoolteacher’s words, was overjoyed. She grinned widely and imitated Chen Ping’an and Zhong Qiu’s punches, without a care in the world.

Finally, the first minor victory was decided.

Chen Ping’an’s fist was deflected by a cunning elbow, and Zhong Qiu pushed him in the chest with a palm. His body leaped over the ravine and crashed into the wall on the other side.

Zhong Qiu stepped over the ravine carved out by Lu Fang’s sword.

However, Chen Ping’an didn’t falter like the pipa girl and Lu Fang before him. He shook his shoulders and straightened his clothes. As the shattered wall stones tumbled down, Chen Ping’an was about to make a move when Zhong Qiu’s punches suddenly became much faster. One punch after another, ten punches in an instant.

Six with the left fist and four with the right.

It was Zhong Qiu’s imitation of the Divine Mortar style, even the order of the left and right punches was identical.

Even stranger, after Zhong Qiu’s ten punches, the high wall was still not completely broken open, and Chen Ping’an was still trapped inside.

Chen Ping’an didn’t just wait for his doom. Too familiar with the Divine Mortar style, and after battling with Zhong Qiu, he roughly understood the attack pattern. Four of Zhong Qiu’s ten punches were blocked by him.

But after six punches landed firmly on his body, Chen Ping’an’s mouth oozed blood. Especially the last punch, which made Chen Ping’an’s body shudder.

Even though it was the first time imitating someone else’s style, Zhong Qiu, who was still calm and composed in his punches, was about to deliver another ten punches when he immediately retreated several steps. Retreating further, he dashed backwards across the ravine. It turned out that at the moment when Chen Ping’an seemed exhausted, his body in the wall rebounded slightly. In that instant, Zhong Qiu felt a chill down his spine, and without thinking, he took the initiative to abandon the favorable situation, choosing to withdraw.

Zhong Qiu was unusually vigilant. He still underestimated this young man’s ability to endure pain, and almost fell for it.

Chen Ping’an was a little regretful. He was just a hair’s breadth away from successfully delivering a Divine Mortar punch.

So Zhong Qiu’s ten seemingly counterfeit punches were wasted.

After Chen Ping’an landed lightly, he slowly walked towards the ravine.

Zhong Qiu smiled wryly.

I learned your fist style, and you learn my footwork?

But Zhong Qiu narrowed his eyes.

The grand stance he had created had nothing to do with fist techniques or moves, but rather focused on building a back as solid as a mountain, shoulders as fluid as clouds, elbows as sharp as eagle beaks, and finally the hands and fists, all in one smooth motion. Once such a frame was built, constantly honing it was like a mountain taking root in the earth. The opponent’s punch or sword, no matter how fierce or exquisite, was always fighting against Zhong Qiu’s entire spirit.

Such a stance, privately named “Peak” by Zhong Qiu, even if a grandmaster of external martial arts like the Eight-Armed Divine Xue Yuan were to watch and steal it with wide eyes, seeing it again and again, he probably wouldn’t be able to truly see the inner essence. Imitating the form was not difficult, but without years of dedicated study, resembling the spirit was impossible!

But this young man in front of him already had some of the spiritual meaning of his stance.

The two faced each other again, separated by a ravine.

Chen Ping’an took a deep breath. Rarely did he speak proactively during a fight, “Does your stance have a name?”

Zhong Qiu nodded and smiled, “It’s called Peak. When I first comprehended it, I was young and vigorous, feeling that if I continued to practice, I would definitely be able to stand at the pinnacle of the world. Later, I became too lazy to change it. Among my ten direct disciples, most have practiced for twenty or thirty years, and haven’t reached your level of understanding after just a few glances. Truly worthy of being a banished immortal.”

Chen Ping’an suddenly smiled, “The earliest boxing manual I practiced was called Mountain Shaker Fist.”

Zhong Qiu laughed, “Is my fist higher than the mountains, or can your fist shake the mountains? Shall we try?”

Zhong Qiu took a step back, squatted slightly, raised one hand high, tilted his wrist slightly, and held his palm as if embracing something, while the other hand clenched into a fist and retracted in front of his chest.

Even standing still, Zhong Qiu at this moment still made the onlookers on the entire street feel a suffocating sense of impending storm.

This was the first time the number one hand in the world truly assumed a proper boxing stance.

Chen Ping’an’s heart was as still as water.

This trip to the capital of Nanyuan to find the Guan Dao Temple had been going on for so long that it had even made Chen Ping’an feel restless, delaying his fist and sword skills. During this time, many people and things were seen and then forgotten, but some things, which were not taken to heart at the time, after fighting Zhong Qiu, were both a flash of inspiration and a culmination of accumulated knowledge.

When he first moved into that residence, because he often had to pass by the nearby martial arts school, Chen Ping’an idly sat in an unnoticed shadow, secretly watching those “martial artists” and “old hands” in the eyes of the common people practice boxing. The teaching master was an old man, revered by his disciples, who, in addition to secretly teaching stances, footwork, and fist styles, would also talk about his past adventures in the martial world. But in Chen Ping’an’s eyes, the old man’s boxing was truly mediocre.

That time, Chen Ping’an quickly left quietly.

Later, when he couldn’t find any clues about the Taoist temple, he went to the martial arts school again, as a way to relax.
At that time, the old master of the martial arts hall was watching his disciples practice their stances, hands clasped behind his back, spouting vague martial arts principles. “When one branch moves, a hundred branches sway. Our internal martial arts rely not on sound or form, but on feeling the ‘jin’ (劲, intrinsic strength). Only when you reach that level have you truly arrived.” He continued, “The muscles and bones must be relaxed, the skin and hair must be ready to attack. Once, someone ambushed me from behind, but purely out of instinct, I turned and threw a punch, nearly killing him!”

Chen Ping’an found it amusing, but then the old master did something rare that Chen Ping’an had never seen before.

It made him look at the old man with new eyes.

The old man had a young man, who had just become an inner disciple, stand still. Then, he had two people grab his hands firmly, stretching his arms taut. Two more people squatted down and tightly hugged the young man’s legs at the knees. After that, the old man began to adjust the spinal column, not just superficially kneading the muscles, but starting from the disciple’s neck vertebrae and smoothing all the way down. In the martial world, this was called “correcting the Great Dragon” (校大龙), a technique that transcends the boundaries of internal and external styles!

Finally, when the old man pressed down on the tailbone (尾闾, *weilü*), he suddenly applied a gentle force. The disciple shuddered, his hair standing on end like a dense forest.

The young disciple’s struggle caused the two senior brothers holding his arms to sway, being pulled a step forward. The two holding his legs barely moved.

The old man was somewhat disappointed, but said nothing.

If all four people holding the limbs had failed to maintain their balance, then the disciple would be considered a good martial arts talent. This inner disciple who had his “Great Dragon corrected” had decent aptitude, but certainly no great future.

Chen Ping’an had watched with great interest at the time, but didn’t give it much thought afterward.

Until this very moment, inexplicably cornered here, facing a continuous barrage of battles, surrounded and almost certain to die, Chen Ping’an suddenly understood.

Before fighting Lu Fang, his fist techniques were freely flowing.

But his state of mind hadn’t kept up.

But after fighting Zhong Qiu, his state of mind had caught up a bit.

Especially after learning Zhong Qiu’s grand stance and remembering the “correcting the Great Dragon,” Chen Ping’an felt a stirring in his heart. An idea arose, and he involuntarily began to walk forward with the initial six steps of the Mountain-Shaking Fist stance, not caring whether his fist intent was contracted or released. Unconsciously, he stepped into the air.

But Chen Ping’an, after a million punches of practice, as he took his fifth step, his entire spine, as if correcting the Great Dragon on its own, emitted a series of cracking sounds like popping soybeans.

Zhong Qiu burst forward, throwing a punch, wanting to knock the youth, whose momentum was surging, back off the ravine!

Chen Ping’an, as if riding the wind, also threw a punch.

They were an arm’s length apart, their fists striking each other’s chest almost simultaneously.

Zhong Qiu’s green robe fluttered chaotically, instantly disappearing down the street with a thunderous rumble. If someone were looking down at the capital city of Nan Yuan Kingdom from the air, they would see a long, straight line torn through the city. Zhong Qiu, pushed back twenty *zhang* (丈, approx. 3.3 meters) by the punch, had barely managed to stop his momentum, his legs already deeply embedded in the ground.

Although only lightly injured, Zhong Qiu had ultimately lost.

The figure in the white robe stood beside the ravine in the street, not having taken a single step back.

If we were to only speak of this world, Zhong Qiu could no longer be considered the foremost expert under the heavens.

But within an arm’s reach, Chen Ping’an was invincible.

First set a small goal, like 1 second: