The old Daoist truly looked at the scrawny little girl for the first time.

A tall Daoist priest, and a little girl thin as a bamboo pole.

A world of difference.

Under the Daoist’s gaze, the little girl, who had been banging her head against the well wall in a desperate attempt at release, felt as if she had drunk a bowl of cool tea in the height of summer, and not just any tea, but a plum syrup drink served in a large white porcelain bowl from a wealthy household. Suddenly, the pain vanished, and she gasped for air, leaning against the outer edge of the well, timidly looking at the old immortal. Driven by instinct, her eyes darted around, searching for where the old man had hidden that “pearl.”

This was a case of “no sooner forgotten than done.”

Fortunately, this Daoist’s attitude towards humanity, especially good and evil, was different from ordinary people. He didn’t mind the little girl’s reckless search, but he had already figured out her identity, and was even more annoyed by the old scholar who kept saying, “Scholars only borrow things.”

Years ago, the two had made a bet. The sour old scholar, relying on his rogue behavior and shrewish tactics, won a token from him, promising that if he ever encountered someone holding the token, he would protect their life. The old Daoist accepted the loss and agreed, but he held a grudge against the old scholar. Later, they met again and exchanged Taoist arts. They sat down and talked about principles near the border of Lotus Paradise. Otherwise, even a small Lotus Paradise, despite its thin spiritual energy and the difficulty of materializing the Great Dao, couldn’t withstand their clash of Dao. In the end, the old scholar was still trying to take advantage of him. But at some point, besides these things, that shameless old codger had secretly planted such a pawn in Lotus Paradise. It was indeed darkness under the lamp.

The old Daoist stared at the little girl before him, his gaze clear and indifferent, like the sun hanging high in the sky, never caring about human warmth or the world’s praise or criticism.

In a few blinks, the old Daoist saw through the little girl’s entire life.

As expected.

The old Daoist glanced at a certain mansion, let out a cold snort, and his resentment lessened slightly. After some thought, he understood the old scholar’s general intention. After some mental calculation and deduction, he thought it was feasible. The old Daoist was unusually hesitant. He turned his head and looked towards the southern city wall, and let out a surprised “Eh?” The old Daoist was actually a little astonished.

The old Daoist gently flicked his finger, striking the little girl’s brow, and she froze.

With a wave of his sleeve, ripples appeared around the well. The old Daoist took a step and vanished. In that square inch of land, the river of time began to flow backward. Even the tiny, invisible things, including the rules of heaven and earth, began to reverse. The little girl “picked up” the books, and finally the scene froze on the action where she wanted to spit into the well.

She was a little confused, and inexplicably felt a sense of fear. She shook her head and finally didn’t dare to be wild. Holding the stolen stack of books, she ran away quickly.

Ox-Nose Mountain was twenty miles south of the capital.

On the ravaged city wall, sparsely stood Grandmaster experts who had come from the city to admire the “battlefield ruins.” Yu Zhenyi and Zhong Qiu had temporarily stopped their life-and-death struggle. At this moment, Yu Zhenyi was silently sensing the flow of aura on the city wall, as well as the pure sword intent remaining in the world. Zhong Qiu didn’t have so many thoughts. He rested his hands on a broken battlement and gazed into the distance.

Liuli flew to Yu Zhenyi’s side. The closer it got to the city wall, the slower the flying sword’s speed became. After reaching the city wall, it trembled slightly, as if it was afraid.

The Knife Sharpener Liu Zong followed Liuli to the rampart, jumped onto a dilapidated wall, and sat cross-legged. The boning knife in his hand was badly damaged. The old man stretched out his thumb and gently stroked the mirror-like blade. He had been arrogant all his life, and in the end, he was beaten so badly by a sword. What goes around comes around.

Tang Tieyi, the Great General of Northern Jin, with the “Refiner” saber at his waist, slowly ascended the city wall, chose an open space, stood firm, gripped the hilt, and exuded a powerful aura.

In comparison, Arm Saint Cheng Yuanshan, who was still hiding under the bridge for shade, was truly an insult to the Grandmaster title.

Zhou Fei and Lu Fang also came to the south city wall together, followed by Flower-Wearing Lang Zhou Shi and Clogs-Wearing Ya’er.

Fan Wan’er of Mirror Heart Pavilion also carefully ascended the city wall, not daring to enter the rampart openly from the city paths on both sides. Therefore, she used her lightness skill to climb the inner wall and chose a position between the State Preceptor of Southern Garden and the Dragon Martial Great General of Northern Jin.

The battle on the city wall had evolved into a battle outside the city.

From the city wall where the crowd stood to the Ox-Nose Mountain line, dust flew, as if an Ao fish was turning its back, overturning the earth.

The merchants and travelers on the post road outside the south city had long dispersed.

Ding Ying not only went against the tide, moving forward step by step, delivering punch after punch, forcibly dispersing Chen Pingan’s river of sword qi, but also, at the cost of his injuries, closed in on him, forcing Chen Pingan to meet the enemy with sword moves. Ding Ying turned the ordinary into the miraculous, no longer confined to the branches of martial arts schools, but used everything for his own purposes. All his moves were similar to, yet vastly different in spirit from, the ultimate techniques of Grandmasters like Yu Zhenyi.

A palm struck straight at Chen Pingan and his sword, but the gale would start behind Chen Pingan and explode.

In the blink of an eye, wisps of sword qi swirled like vortices, with unpredictable trajectories.

After knocking Chen Pingan to the ground, Ding Ying, with his clothes tattered and hair disheveled, didn’t linger at all. He almost simultaneously swept down the city wall, always maintaining the distance between them within two arms’ lengths, never giving Chen Pingan a chance to comfortably unleash his sword skills and sword intent to their peak. Ding Ying could assert that every sword of the white-robed immortal before him was comparable to a full-force sword from the historical Sword Immortal Sui Youbian.

Of course, this didn’t include Sui Youbian’s three ascension swords.

Back then, the female Sword Immortal had good fortune and in the dark, most likely occupied nearly half of the world’s martial luck, and could not simply be regarded as Sui Youbian.

Therefore, Ding Ying knew very well that this world’s Heavenly Dao didn’t reject martial artists from ascending purely with brute force, and even allowed Sui Youbian to absorb martial luck. That was why Sui Youbian failed to ascend back then. Her body withered away, and she had already turned into dust before returning to the world, her soul vanished. Ultimately, she lacked the strength and couldn’t blame others.

Ding Ying slammed a fist into the center of Chen Pingan’s sword. The blade bent into a large arc, and the tip of the long sword almost pierced his shoulder. Chen Pingan had no choice but to extend his joined fingers and stick them to the tip of the sword, reversing the arc created by Ding Ying’s punch. He retreated, skimming across the surface of the water, instantly sliding dozens of feet on the post road.
Seeing that Ding Ying unexpectedly didn’t press his advantage, Chen Ping’an felt no relief. He immediately activated the “Swordplay Canon’s” Spirit-Anchoring Stance, unleashing sword qi to defend his surroundings.

Fist gales, like rainbows, seven or eight materialized streams of vibrant energy surged forth, crashing against the sword qi.

Chen Ping’an shifted his footing, creating booming sounds as sword qi and fist gales annihilated each other almost simultaneously, erupting in radiant bursts, like elite cavalry units from two nations meeting their end at the border.

Ding Ying, at a distance, threw punch after punch, devoid of any formal stance or technique, just simple punches delivered at will.

With each punch, he took a light step, closing the gap by two *zhang* (approximately 6.6 meters).

By the time Chen Ping’an managed to nullify all the fist gales, Ding Ying was already engaged in close-quarters combat, preventing Chen Ping’an from catching his breath.

Chen Ping’an retreated as he fought, while Ding Ying’s momentum soared.

The peak of Chen Ping’an’s momentum lay in that first sword strike on the city wall.

Faced with that single strike, even Ding Ying, arrogant to the point of seeing only Heaven as his equal, could only retreat in dismay, his very temperament beginning to shift.

Ding Ying’s peak momentum, however, resided in moments of disadvantage, in swimming against the tide of the sword qi torrent.

After that, Chen Ping’an began to decline, but strangely, Ding Ying also failed to maintain that momentum and state of mind.

The scattered sword qi, no matter how fierce it appeared, like a bursting dam, Ding Ying was confident he could withstand, at most giving Chen Ping’an an opening to breathe after landing a sword strike, thereby costing Ding Ying his initiative.

But the sword qi condensed into a single, surging tide, Ding Ying could only avoid its direct force.

Three *li* (approximately 1.5 kilometers) outside the city, near the official road, stood a small hillock.

Ding Ying used two fingers to flick aside the sword tip, then suddenly exerted force with his palm, striking Chen Ping’an’s chest.

Chen Ping’an, like a kite with a severed string, crashed into the hillock.

Ding Ying had actually blasted Chen Ping’an straight through the small hill, like an arrow piercing an enemy’s chest.

Dust billowed into the sky.

The power of Ding Ying’s palm was evident from the fact that Chen Ping’an’s sword, Changqi, was flung into the air, reaching its apex before starting to fall. Inevitably, it would land near the hillock closer to Ding Ying.

Ding Ying narrowed his eyes, unable to discern Chen Ping’an’s miserable state. Without slowing his advance, Ding Ying hesitated, unsure how to deal with the sword ahead. Should he strike a drowning dog, seize the sword, and hurl it back toward the city wall, keeping it as far as possible from the battlefield, leaving the young immortal without a blade? Or should he use it as bait, setting a deadly ambush for Chen Ping’an at the opportune moment?

However, his opponent directly dispelled all of Ding Ying’s thoughts.

Ding Ying’s heart suddenly tightened in alarm, his hair standing on end. He immediately halted, planting his feet heavily on the ground, assuming a magnificent boxing stance. Fist gales rained down, rapidly pounding the area between the sword and the crest of the hill. Yet, despite Ding Ying’s swift reaction, a streak of snow-white endured the barrage, leaping high from the hilltop, grasping with a hand. Changqi, already fallen near his feet, rose several *chi* (approximately one-third of a meter), perfectly grasped in his palm.

To burst through Ding Ying’s storm of fist gales, he was clearly at his limit, but with a sword in hand, Chen Ping’an still had to deliver this strike.

Whether the sword’s power would be greatly diminished, perhaps only tickling the invigorated Ding Ying, or inflict a negligible scratch.

Chen Ping’an didn’t dwell on it.

In this bizarre world, on that street, everyone inexplicably wanted to kill him, as if no one cared who Chen Ping’an truly was, whether he was good or bad, or why he had appeared in the Nanyuan Kingdom’s capital.

This utterly dreadful feeling was the same as when Chen Ping’an saw Liu Xianyang in his sickbed and walked alone toward the covered bridge.

He vowed then that he could never be like that again, forced to act like a dog, begging Heaven for justice.

Chen Ping’an had studied the Swordplay Canon for a considerable time, but what truly captured his essence wasn’t the scripture itself, but three other sword techniques.

Master Qi, in the dilapidated ancient temple, effortlessly cleaved open Liu Chicheng’s formation with a single sword strike.

In the battle alongside the Old Sword Saint of Shuishui Kingdom, Song Yushao, Chen Ping’an had once used this technique to cleave through golden armor.

Within the literary saint Old Scholar’s landscape painting, there were two swords. Chen Ping’an had grasped a semblance of the sword spirit’s strike on the city wall of Nanyuan Kingdom, and then delivered it, almost making Ding Ying concede he was only second best in the world.

Chen Ping’an also possessed a sword aimed at Mount Sui, the great mountain of the Central Earth Continent.

These were the three swords.

Beyond them, there were two more swords, but Chen Ping’an was hazy, because he was unfamiliar with those who wielded them, separated by great distance. Chen Ping’an had yet to comprehend enough of their essence to unleash them.

One was Wei Jin of the Wind and Snow Temple, breaking the sky with his sword, his sword arriving before he did.

The other was Xu Ruo, the Mohist hero, whose sword, drawn a mere inch from its scabbard, created a mountain range before him.

Chen Ping’an held Changqi. His current sword was akin to Qi Jingchun casually using a locust-wood sword to effortlessly shatter Liu Chicheng’s White Emperor City Hunyuan Formation.

A hint of hesitation resurfaced in Ding Ying’s heart, the familiar feeling again. Carrying the might of Heaven, mortals could only endure. On the city wall, he had retreated. Should he retreat this time as well?

In the sky above Ding Ying, a man and a sword.

Chen Ping’an slashed down.

A golden line appeared between heaven and earth.

Having learned fist techniques, one must throw a punch. Having learned swordsmanship, one must deliver a strike.

At least let others hear what he had to say.

In that instant, Ding Ying’s mind cleared, his heart steeled.

Retreat with one sword, retreat with two, retreating with every sword, where would Ding Ying retreat to? How could he ever wrestle with Heaven?!

Let this immortal named Chen Ping’an be Heaven himself! Defeat him, then defeat the greater Heaven. This would usher in a new order of clarity between Heaven and Earth, a separation of the divine and mortal!

Why not simply let Ding Ying become Heaven?!

Ding Ying laughed heartily, forming hand seals. His spirit soared, his yin spirit wandering the world in broad daylight.

This yin spirit, with one hand behind its back and the other raised to shield its head, spoke in a voice that was not loud, yet resonated deeply within Ding Ying’s heart, “If I were to vanish from the world, would Ding Ying become stronger?”

This was, of course, a soliloquy.

Ding Ying remained silent, but a thought flickered in his mind like a scoffing smile: “How my cultivation goes, I cannot control. The rules must still be followed. But my will can only grow, no need for idle words. Even if my very soul were to vanish, leaving only the flesh of Ding Ying, what then? Things would remain as they are.”
Moments later, Chen Ping’an, Long Breath in hand, landed with a somewhat embarrassed expression.

It turned out that when he unleashed that sword, Chen Ping’an’s pure Qi was already at its limit, a forced effort. However, the “meaning” behind that sword was too grand, while Chen Ping’an’s current strength was too meager. Thus, he failed to muster the power, resulting in a grand display with little substance.

Even Chen Ping’an, a fellow who disregards everything else when fighting, felt a bit ashamed.

As for the Yin God, who had braced himself to be cleaved asunder by the sword, only his hand and arm had dissipated. He looked on in confusion, retreating several steps back into Ding Ying’s body.

Both sides tacitly ceased hostilities for a moment.

Chen Ping’an replenished his Qi.

Ding Ying needed to soothe his spirit even more.

In this instant, both Chen Ping’an and Ding Ying’s minds found “great stability,” like anchors dropped into water.

The old Daoist priest by the wellhead arrived on the city walls, smiled, and made a decision.

None of the Grandmasters on the city walls, not even the exiled immortal Zhou Fei, whose power was completely intact, noticed the old Daoist’s presence.

Only Fan Wan’er, with a sudden flash of intuition, glanced in that direction, but found nothing and quickly averted her gaze.

Yu Zhenyi looked around, sighing, “Cultivating immortal techniques, walking on eggshells. I thought I could at least put up a fight against Ding Ying, but I’m still far from his match. Is Ding Ying truly the darling of this world? Is there really no hope for cultivators to rise?”

Zhou Fei clicked his tongue in amazement, “Old Devil Ding is trying to monopolize the Martial Luck, huh? Did Ding Ying suddenly figure something out and gain the world’s recognition? That can’t be right, we’re all still kicking, how could Ding Ying receive such a massive boon? It’s not like the Lu Clan Dynasty in that small Precious Bottle Continent, where the emperor lost his mind, saw that the dynasty was doomed, and decided to throw everything away, secretly giving half the nation’s Martial Luck to his son…”

Zhou Fei rambled on, secretly enjoying the spectacle, as those who watch a show never mind it being a bit chaotic.

Lu Fang asked, “How do you know about the petty affairs of that little Precious Bottle Continent up north?”

Zhou Fei smiled, “I’m still the head of the Jiang Clan, after all. How could I completely ignore the affairs of the Vast Sky? People often send me dreams.”

Lu Fang was puzzled, “That works?”

“It costs money.”

Zhou Fei winced, feeling the sting of the cost, and said indignantly, “A spring night worth a thousand pieces of gold is nothing! My yearly dream costs so much that it could empty mountains of gold and silver.”

In the distance, Yu Zhenyi frowned. The silver lotus crown in his hand trembled. The petals suddenly opened, and a glimmer of ghostly green light escaped its confines, flashed away, and sped south of the city.

When fortune arrives, heaven and earth conspire.

From all directions, faint, ethereal glows converged upon Ding Ying.

Ding Ying closed his eyes, receiving this vast and mighty martial fortune from heaven and earth.

Suddenly, Chen Ping’an’s magical garment, the Golden Nectar, billowed, no longer appearing as a snow-white robe, reverting to its true form as a golden robe.

Not only that, but Flying Sword Initial One from the gourd at his waist shot out.

Furthermore, Flying Sword Fifteen flew over from afar.

Chen Ping’an stood atop the hill, Long Breath in hand, sword Qi flowing through his arm. Initial One and Fifteen circled around him. Old friends reunited, these two little ancestors, who never quite got along, were more jubilant than ever.

The sleeves of the golden Nectar billowed. Chen Ping’an suddenly gripped Long Breath tightly, causing his sleeves to flutter and rustle.

It was just a small hill.

Yet someone shook their clothes on a thousand-foot peak.

Chen Ping’an and Ding Ying, above and below the mountain.

Each had taken a step higher, reaching a brand-new summit. Both in terms of cultivation and state of mind, they had reached the pinnacle.

Ding Ying opened his eyes, glanced at the wine flask at Chen Ping’an’s waist, and laughed, “After the battle, I’ll drink that wine for you.”

Chen Ping’an patted the sword gourd at his waist, signaling that if he had the ability, he could take it himself afterward.

The battle resumed.

This time, it was no longer about tangling within the distance of two arms, now near, now far. Within a mile radius, there was abundant sword Qi and robust Gang Qi.

They fought all the way to Ox Mountain, scattering dust and rocks, from the foot of the mountain to the top.

Ding Ying was sent crashing down from the mountaintop to the foot by Chen Ping’an’s sword.

But Chen Ping’an’s second sword was met by Ding Ying, who rose from the ground and punched him back to the summit.

Ding Ying slowly ascended, and each casual punch of his Gang Qi was like the arm of a hundred-foot-tall divine spirit, repeatedly swinging down and smashing onto Ox Mountain.

Chen Ping’an simply destroyed it with a sword.

Ding Ying, having gained the martial fortune of heaven and earth, even separated his Yin God again, turning it into a golden dharma body as tall as Ox Mountain, clenching its fists and pounding Ox Mountain again and again.

Chen Ping’an should have switched to the Cloud-Steaming Great Swamp stance, which was designed for close-quarters combat, but after gripping Long Breath, he had no intention of switching to fist techniques. Even as both he and his sword were hammered down along with the summit of Ox Mountain by the golden Yin God, he still insisted on facing the enemy with his sword. The dust of Ox Mountain had long obscured the sky, and huge rocks were constantly rolling down, creating landslides and mudslides that engulfed countless trees and plants.

The towering Ox Mountain was gradually being shortened.

But on the summit, the golden robe remained standing.

Ding Ying’s true body walked to the latest so-called summit, dust flying and the light dim.

Taking advantage of Chen Ping’an’s sword to block the Yin God’s palm pressing down, shattering the dharma body’s entire hand and sending golden light splattering in all directions, Ox Mountain seemed to be experiencing a golden rain.

Ding Ying sprinted forward in a straight line, smashing a fist into Chen Ping’an’s forehead.

A speck of golden light flew in an arc from Ox Mountain, crashing heavily onto the ground hundreds of feet away.

That slender golden trajectory resembled a golden arch bridge.

Ding Ying’s fist, imbued with perfect divine intent, struck out swiftly.

It was also a magnificent sight like a white rainbow hanging in the sky.

Coincidentally, the place where the white rainbow landed was where that speck of golden light was.

Chen Ping’an was knocked back another hundred feet or so.

Ding Ying was extremely annoyed by Chen Ping’an’s resilient physique. Even though he had leveled Ox Mountain by several dozen feet, that fellow still seemed oblivious, continuing to strike with his sword. Ding Ying roared, “This punch, even death won’t stop you?!”

The huge Yin God behind him leapt over Ox Mountain, and with one foot touching the ground, its body leaned forward, with the other foot just stepping on Chen Ping’an’s head.

Compared to merely being able to grip Long Breath,

As the two fought more and more fiercely, with increasing enjoyment, sword Qi continuously exploded near his hands and arms, and the magical robe, Golden Nectar, which withstood the Yin God’s pounding, almost had its spiritual energy collapsing above Chen Ping’an’s head.
Chen Pingan’s spirit was completely immersed in the contest with Ding Ying, not even having time to adapt to the changes in the spiritual energy. Naturally, it seemed that its existence was a matter of course.

Even the pain of having spiritual energy hammered into his body, as if by a deity, Chen Pingan didn’t care, treating it as no different from the hardship of practicing boxing.

As for the numerous and chaotic spiritual energies seeping into his skin, flesh, and bones, and then into his acupoints, Qi Mansion, and soul’s heart lake, Chen Pingan had no time to care.

The mountains were high, the waters treacherous, and the road was long and obstructed.

Chen Pingan single-mindedly looked into the distance, and the stumbling blocks on the road under his feet seemed to naturally avoid him. The road was still the same one, without taking a new path, so those stumbling blocks became a part of Chen Pingan’s life journey.

The Golden Body Dharma Idol stomped down, creating a large pit in the ground.

Ding Ying struck a “natural” boxing stance, his Daoist intent almost becoming “whatever the mind imagines, becomes reality.”

One hand, palm facing the sky, was placed horizontally in front of him, and the other hand clenched a fist, heavily hammering it into the palm of his hand.

A punch came down.

Wind and clouds surged, the sky darkened, and a bolt of lightning as thick as several people embracing a tree struck down from the sky.

The Yin God had already retreated, arms crossed, watching coldly.

Bolts of lightning crashed into the pit.

The continuous lightning poured down on Chen Pingan, who was bending over and standing at the bottom of the pit, like torrents of floodwater washing over his Golden Brocade Dharma Robe, flowing down rapidly.

Ding Ying’s eyes turned golden, and for the last time, he struck his palm with his fist. From the cloud sea, as if it were a Thunder Pool, the thickest snow-white lightning fell, but it did not strike the pit. Instead, it slowly descended and was grasped by the Yin God Dharma Idol, like holding a long sword.

Then, it began to rush forward, gently tossing the “long sword” in its hand forward.

Finally, both hands gripped the long sword intertwined with thunder and lightning, standing on the edge of the pit, the sword tip pointing downwards, heavily striking towards the top of the head of the person in the pit!

It should be known that this sword, in addition to the power of thunder it contained, also held Ding Ying’s understanding of the sword path.

Ding Ying twitched the corner of his mouth, put his hands behind his back, and said, “I know you’ve come. Will you only truly reveal yourself after Chen Pingan dies? You are indeed generous. This banished immortal, Chen Pingan, is truly the best whetstone. What, are you afraid that my strength is too weak and not worth your effort?”

Above the city walls.

Yu Zhenyi’s face was gloomy.

Zhong Qiu chuckled and said, “How is it? Do you still think you are an accomplished immortal?”

Zhou Fei reached out to support his forehead, his tone resentful, lamenting, “Damn it, we are in Lotus Root Paradise, not the Great World. The spiritual energy is at your disposal. You two are too… Alright, after I go back, I must find this Chen Pingan. No matter what his current realm is, I must get to know him. It would be best if he could serve as a patron of my Jiang family. What does it matter if his realm is low…”

Lu Fang interrupted his friend’s rambling and sneered, “The premise is that the guy isn’t dead.”

Zhou Fei sighed, removed his hand from his forehead, and looked towards Mount Gu Niu, “Difficult.”

In addition to the bolts of lightning crashing down, Ding Ying’s roaming Yin God Dharma Idol held a sword and stabbed towards Chen Pingan’s head.

Without any suspense, even though Chen Pingan wore the Golden Brocade Dharma Robe, even with Chu Yi and Shi Wu’s best efforts to block it, he was still struck by this sword and penetrated deep into the ground.

After Chen Pingan disappeared, the long sword in the Yin God’s hand shattered, the sword intent and lightning collapsing together in the pit. The pit echoed the cloud sea in the sky, also resembling a rippling Thunder Pool.

The overall situation was settled.

Ding Ying’s mind was tense, preparing to meet the true opponent.

As expected.

On the summit of Mount Gu Niu, not far from Ding Ying, stood an unusually tall old Daoist, who said indifferently, “You are merely mutually sharpening stones.”

Ding Ying was about to speak.

The old Daoist sneered, “Seeking death. But it doesn’t matter, this life of yours, Ding Ying, still has some meaning.”

In the Great World, a pure martial artist, the fourth realm refines the soul, and the fifth realm refines the spirit.

Chen Pingan, whose physical body was driven into the ground by that sword, did not get up to fight again.

But in the Thunder Pool of the pit, a young sword immortal in a golden robe appeared, full of vigor, with two fingers joined, sweeping across in front of him.

A sword hovered in front of him.

The same as Chen Pingan on the city wall before.

But the difference was that behind this golden-robed banished immortal, there was also a young man wearing straw sandals and hemp clothing, whose face was younger than the banished immortal.

A sword appeared in the world.

The banished immortal Chen Pingan in front of him smiled and said, “I have a sword?”

Just as the straw-sandaled Chen Pingan behind him rushed forward, grasped the sword, and leapt high, just like when he cut down Mount Da Yue Sui Mountain, loudly saying, “It can move mountains!”

This sword went out.

Where was the world’s number one Ding Ying? The world was completely without the old demon Ding.

Because the entire Mount Gu Niu was gone, leveled to the ground by a single sword.

In the pit, Chen Pingan, taking advantage of the Jin Li’s lack of lightning suppression, shook his robe, broke through the earth’s constraints, and “pulled” himself out of the mud. The two Chen Pingan, soul and spirit, both returned to his body, and slowly walked out of the pit along the hillside.

An aged voice with a hint of a smile, whether it was sarcasm or mischievousness, said, “This sword is not bad.”

Chen Pingan took down the wine pot from his waist, took a hearty gulp, and asked, “Are you the Eastern Sea Daoist that Old Sword Immortal Chen spoke of? Is this the View of Observing the Dao?”

The old Daoist who appeared beside Chen Pingan shook his head with a smile and said, “There is no View of Observing the Dao. Where I am, the Daoist temple is there.”

Chen Pingan raised his sleeve and wiped the blood from his face, but as soon as he wiped it clean, his face was covered in bright red again, and asked, “Can I curse a few times?”

The old Daoist smiled and said, “See for yourself.”

Chen Pingan’s face remained unchanged, and he continued to wipe away the blood, “Senior’s Daoist magic is boundless, amazing, amazing.”

The old Daoist nodded and said, “The child is teachable.”