Qing Tong, whose sleeves swept the ground, was like jade shattered instantly by a single punch, his form splitting in two.

Qing Tong was no longer the ethereal figure with exceedingly long sleeves. In his place appeared a Yang God’s external avatar, an elderly man, powerfully built, with knotted muscles in his arms, snow-white hair and beard, and bare feet.

The old man wore a slightly surprised expression, his feet sliding backward a dozen feet on the smooth, mirror-like ground before he managed to stop, shaking his wrist.

This seemingly insignificant action was like a dragon shaking its scales, his fist intent gushing forth like a surging river, manifesting a golden aura visible to the naked eye. The fist罡 was as thick as water, gleaming brilliantly, making the elderly martial artist, who claimed to be half a god, appear like an immortal deity standing amidst incense smoke.

Qing Tong, who had tempered his physical resilience to the extreme, seemed quite surprised. How could a pure martial artist, only at the first layer of the Qi Ascendant Realm, especially one who had fallen from the tenth realm of the Return to Origin Stage, possess such great strength?

Qing Tong’s gaze turned playful as he glanced into the distance at the Night Wanderer sword, still suspended in mid-air.

Clearly, this was a pure fist-based challenge.

Of course.

Would a sword cultivator who hadn’t even reached the Jade Pure Realm challenge a Flying Ascent Realm cultivator with swords?

What else would it be but courting humiliation?

A crimson Daoist robe stood where Qing Tong had been, its sleeves billowing, rustling like wind colliding within them.

Compared to Qing Tong’s flowing, imposing fist intent, Chen Ping An’s fist intent appeared extremely restrained.

Qing Tong was in no hurry to act. He wouldn’t have to seek out this neither-human-nor-ghostly fellow; he would deliver himself.

Frankly, with such a difference in realms, Qing Tong could stand still and take dozens of punches, then return just one to end it all.

Since the young martial artist before him had no face, there was no expression to read.

Qing Tong only saw the figure slightly arch his back.

Here it comes.

Qing Tong narrowed his eyes, slightly increasing the speed of his pure Qi circulation within his body, causing various phenomena to appear within the miniature world of his body: lightning flashing in the sky, and mountains and rivers trembling on the earth.

This was still only a nascent form of Qing Tong’s divine path, merely an empty shell.

Once a martial artist truly reached the pinnacle of the legendary Ascendant Realm, their physical body would become a palace of ten thousand gods, and their pure Qi would become the incense path connecting Heaven and Earth, leading to the divine palace.

I am the god.

Qing Tong, relying on his painstaking efforts, accumulating bit by bit, had tempered his physique for so long but still hadn’t laid a solid foundation. Instead, he had taken a shortcut, building a castle in the sky.

The opponent’s approach was an arc, swift as lightning, so fast it was like a white horse flashing past, the trailing afterimage like a fiery dragon.

Qing Tong still stood in place, simply sidestepping slightly, neither dodging nor evading, extending a palm to meet the opponent’s fist.

The collision of fist and palm created a sound like the tolling of a great bell, and a ripple of fist罡, as large as a lake, suddenly appeared in the vast void behind Qing Tong.

Qing Tong grasped the opponent’s fist, suddenly lifted it upward, and was about to kick out.

However, he had to change his mind. The hand that had been behind his back flashed to the front, raised to cover his face.

Then he was kicked in the palm, the back of his hand slamming heavily into his face, and Qing Tong’s figure retreated again.

Qing Tong wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, the sound of fine silk tearing emanating from his snow-white robe.

The crimson-robed figure, now standing where Qing Tong had been, had one arm hanging limply, twisted in a unsettling way. His shoulder twitched, and a series of clicks came from his joints as the entire arm rapidly rotated, instantly returning to normal.

The white-haired old man smirked and crooked a finger.

Again.

The two figures suddenly appeared and disappeared, their fist intents colliding, leaving countless afterimages, one crimson, one snow-white, a dazzling display like a hundred flowers blooming.

Qing Tong deliberately refrained from truly retaliating, only parrying.

He would use this opportunity to carefully assess the highly touted young Hidden Official, to see what he was truly capable of.

Qing Tong remained calm, tilting his head back to avoid a sweeping leg, his body leaning back slightly, but suddenly raised his arm, his palm like a blade, chopping down.

The opponent’s figure flashed away. Qing Tong retracted his hand, shifted sideways, instantly covering a hundred feet, and leaned in with his shoulder, violently sending the crimson-robed figure flying.

Chen Ping An landed in the distance.

Qing Tong scoffed.

In the end, just a body of flesh and blood.

Although there was no sign of exhaustion, far from being at his limit, if Chen Ping An was only this fast and this strong, then he was truly a case of reputation exceeding reality.

Of course, this kid probably still had some trump cards up his sleeve, not yet revealed.

Qing Tong asked with a smile, “Do you need me to suppress my realm and feed you punches?”

Or was this guy bored, testing his martial arts level, physical strength, and the path of his fist techniques?

Chen Ping An remained silent.

Qing Tong thought for a moment and began to actively move for the first time, a lightning-fast shift that instantly took him tens of miles away.

Unexpectedly, the crimson figure was already tailing him. Qing Tong was slightly surprised, smiled slightly, twisted his ankle, and reappeared tens of miles away, but the opponent still followed like a shadow. Qing Tong shot into the sky, a white rainbow rising rapidly, his speed increasing by thirty percent, but Chen Ping An still kept up, throwing a punch at Qing Tong’s brow. Any Jade Pure Realm Qi Refiner or Ascendant Realm martial artist would probably have their head explode from this seemingly light punch, instantly becoming a headless corpse.

Qing Tong simply turned his head slightly and pressed his palm against the opponent’s forehead. Suddenly exerting force, with a bang, the crimson-robed figure fell diagonally to the ground, smashing a large depression into the mirror-like surface.

However, the opponent wasn’t entirely unsuccessful in being knocked down. Qing Tong was somewhat annoyed, pinched his fingers together, held them to the side of his face, and wiped away the bloodstains.

It wasn’t even an injury, just a bit embarrassing.

Qing Tong exclaimed in surprise, something was strange.
The opponent clearly showed no signs of forcefully summoning a surge of pure Qi, yet he managed to reverse his course with incredible speed, delivering another punch aimed directly at him.

Qing Tong attempted to discern the underlying principle of this punch, narrowing his eyes and revealing a solemn expression for the first time. He began to carefully examine the subtle flow of the fist’s aura, such as the tremor of muscles and bones in Chen Ping’an’s arm as he threw the punch, the movement of Qi and blood, and the expansion of meridians. These “mountain ranges” of flesh and blood, along with the flowing direction of “rivers” of Qi, represented, in the eyes of a martial arts grandmaster, the path of the fist, the route through which the fist’s intent travelled. Compared to mere flowery techniques, this hidden principle and method within the body was the true foundation of a pure martial artist.

After enduring five or six punches, Qing Tong still failed to grasp the fist’s path. He only vaguely sensed that Chen Ping’an’s punch was profound and exquisitely mysterious.

Seamless and complete.

Because this punch was by no means a simple “repetition” of the same move.

Just like tracing calligraphy, no matter how similar, they were still two separate characters in essence, always possessing subtle differences.

And a difference of a hair’s breadth was a difference of a thousand miles.

Even more strangely, the angle of Chen Ping’an’s punch and his body posture were clearly different each time.

However, the flow rate of that pure Qi remained the same, like a river rushing to the sea, with consistent depth and width of the riverbed. Responding to countless changes with constancy, taking the opposite approach, changing in myriad ways while remaining true to its essence.

It was as if the destination of this punch, the estuary where it entered the sea, was the same.

Even the spirit and energy of Chen Ping’an as he delivered this punch were identical to those of the previous punch, without the slightest deviation.

This filled Qing Tong with a mixture of surprise, shock, and a considerable amount of delight.

Could a fist be practiced and delivered in such a way?

But after a dozen or so punches, Qing Tong began to realize something was amiss. Why did it feel like this punch had no end?

Was it possible that as long as he could withstand it, Chen Ping’an could continue punching endlessly?

Not only was the intent of the fist stacking, but the speed of his crimson-robed form was also increasing, shifting and maneuvering with a speed comparable to a Celestial’s *Shrinking the Earth*.

Every punch landed true, and over a dozen thunderous booms resonated from Qing Tong’s body.

After the twentieth punch, Qing Tong had no choice but to grit his teeth and take a step back, adopting a proper, ancient fighting stance for the first time. However, it differed greatly from the current stances. His fingers were joined together like a sword incantation, while the other hand formed the Five Thunder Seal. As this stance was taken, each of the seven orifices in Qing Tong’s face shone with a luminous light, like the intersecting light of the Big Dipper’s stars. His exhales and inhales sounded like thunder rumbling across the wilderness, and in an instant, his fist struck out.

He exchanged a punch with Chen Ping’an.

Yet, he still failed to interrupt the continuous intent of the opponent’s fist. Qing Tong endured another five punches, but he didn’t remain idle either. After a moment of hesitation, he returned only two punches to Chen Ping’an.

He simply refused to believe it. Chen Ping’an, a martial artist at the Qi Enhancement stage, with his physical resilience, had taken a total of six punches from him. Furthermore, the act of delivering this fist technique itself would damage the martial artist’s own body. Was he truly unafraid of falling back down in cultivation after failing to defeat him? Falling from Returning to Origin back to Qi Enhancement was still within the tenth realm, but what if he fell from the Pinnacle Realm to the Mountain Peak Realm?

Blood trickled from all seven orifices of Qing Tong’s face. Although his appearance was ferocious, his injuries were not severe. However, within his inner world, there was considerable activity. A black dragon, manifested from the remaining essence of pure Qi, coiled atop a mountain peak, creating clouds and mist. In another crucial acupoint, purple clouds rose, and within them, a large white serpent was transforming into a divine dragon. On a “flat plaza” atop its massive head, a set of golden lightning runes, seemingly engraved on a jade plaza, appeared and disappeared intermittently.

This was the immense advantage of Qi Refiners who also practiced martial arts. Once they crossed the two thresholds of Golden Body and Pinnacle Realm, all kinds of methods could be forged into one, complementing each other and making it difficult to distinguish between spells and fist techniques.

The eyes of the tall, old man manifested unusual phenomena once again, one golden and one silver, shining brightly. However, this phenomenon was fleeting.

At the same time, an imperceptible ripple appeared between Qing Tong and Chen Ping’an, like a mirror blocking Chen Ping’an’s path.

In the mirror was a figure in crimson robes, delivering a punch identical to Chen Ping’an outside the mirror.

The figure in the mirror seemed to be testing the fist with Chen Ping’an.

Almost without thinking, Chen Ping’an simply closed his eyes, and the mirror instantly shattered. The next moment, he smashed the mirror into fragments.

But the strange thing was that the “self” behind the mirror was not an illusion. Instead, a genuine punch continued to be delivered, following the same path as before, albeit a little stiffly.

Without any hesitation, Chen Ping’an accelerated the circulation of that pure Qi once again, and the intent of his fist surged severalfold. His figure suddenly sped up, and for the first time, he used his left hand, slashing horizontally with a hand blade to sever the head of that “self.”

Qing Tong, who had retreated far from the battlefield, couldn’t help but curse inwardly. Young and ruthless.

Come to think of it, he was a sword cultivator who had grown up step by step on the battlefield in the Sword Qi Great Wall, amidst piles of corpses.

Chen Ping’an suddenly stopped, suspended in the air, his figure hunched over. His cold gaze swept around, continuing to maintain the fist’s intent like a divine drummer, while surveying his surroundings. He saw that as Qing Tong retreated, he had also erected mirror after mirror. Within the mirrors, a dozen figures in crimson robes, still in the posture of the previous punch, were surging towards Chen Ping’an from all directions, who was located in the center. The people were fake, but the punches were real.

He wondered how long these “mirrored images” could be maintained.

Chen Ping’an silently murmured, and his crimson figure bloomed like a flower.

He chose a method that Qing Tong considered the most inferior, as if fighting against himself, using fist against fist.

A dozen mirrored images shattered almost simultaneously, and chaotic fist intent scattered wildly in all directions. Eventually, the sky seemed to be pouring down a torrential rain of crimson.

Chen Ping’an spoke for the first time, his voice hoarse, like a whetstone grinding against a blade, and said in a deep voice: “Exchanging fists to learn from each other is a skill. But if you rely on the methods of a cultivator, using spells to imitate this punch… I advise you not to do so.”

Although these bizarre mirror images, capable of mimicking Chen Ping’an and his fist intent for a moment, were extremely mysterious and seemed more like a type of spell of a Qi Refiner, they were indeed a type of fist technique.

However, Qing Tong had also secretly made some small movements in addition to that.
Qing Tong squeezed out a forced smile, feeling somewhat embarrassed to have his less-than-honorable actions exposed by a junior. “I couldn’t resist for a moment, but I’ll stop now.”

He already possessed the innate advantage of a higher cultivation realm, and using arcane arts to steal punches was indeed a bit unbecoming.

Evidently, Qing Tong remained quite relaxed during this exchange of blows, displaying a master’s composure that wasn’t feigned.

The only problem was that Qing Tong noticed Chen Ping An, despite throwing quite a few punches, seemed to be bottomless.

Qing Tong’s three punches just now, although far from his full strength, should have left ordinary grandmasters, especially pure martial artists outside the demon race, half-dead.

Could it be that the current state of the young Hidden Official simply didn’t show any signs of damage on the surface?

Furthermore, Qing Tong couldn’t help but wonder, during the perilous exchange of punches just now, how could this kid still spare the extra mental capacity to observe all his subtle movements?

Qing Tong smiled slightly, “A blank and empty world is far too monotonous, so let me create a battlefield to add some excitement.”

With a flick of his fingers, a city appeared out of thin air, its vastness possibly comparable to the capital of the largest dynasty in the Central Earth Divine Continent.

Within the city, magnificent buildings stood row upon row, with marketplaces scattered throughout. Outside the city stretched continuous mountain ranges and vast rivers. A solitary peak rose abruptly from the flatlands, towering above, with clouds as its belt.

Qing Tong stood on the ridge of a grand hall, one hand behind his back and the other palm open. “Chen Ping An, I will only spar with you for the time it takes an incense stick to burn.”

His implication was that he was preparing to fight seriously, no longer just helping to feed punches?

Looking at the young man who had gained great fame but appeared pitiful, Qing Tong sneered. If it weren’t for his Hidden Official status, his title as a closed-door disciple of the Literary Sage, the Wen Temple’s deep regard for him as a meritorious individual, and the presence of “Xiao Mo” by his side…

Today, you wouldn’t even see my true form, let alone this earlier session of taking punches without retaliating.

If you lose this martial exchange, Chen Ping An, you should give up, obediently leave, and we’ll go our separate ways, never interfering with each other again.

I won’t hinder your efforts to find and fix problems in this Tong Ye Continent, but you shouldn’t pester me either.

Of course, don’t do anything rash, like moving half of the Sword Qi Great Wall here. Such actions would harm yourself as much as your enemy, benefiting no one.

Qing Tong’s aura underwent a complete transformation. With a tap of his toes, the grand hall beneath his feet crumbled into dust, scattering in the air.

After taking the initiative with a punch, his crimson Dharma robe acted as a shield, and his entire body carved a massive trench across the city as his back scraped along the ground.

The white-haired old man appeared on the street, strolling leisurely along the trench, with a refined air as he asked, “During your martial exchange with Cao Ci in the Merit Forest, he definitely held back. How much power did he reserve, specifically?”

The reason for this question wasn’t simply Qing Tong trying to be unpleasant or looking down on Chen Ping An’s martial cultivation.

Being compared to Cao Ci was already a form of high regard.

Not only did the Restrained World think so, but in fact, probably all four other worlds besides the Five Color World, where Flying Ascensions City dominated, shared this view.

Chen Ping An leaped out of the trench, his Dharma robe remaining spotless.

His next actions made Qing Tong want to laugh. Chen Ping An, who had fallen to the ground after taking a single punch, lightly bounced a few times, as if stretching his muscles.

However, Qing Tong soon couldn’t laugh anymore, not out of fear, but out of anger.

Because Qing Tong, who claimed to know a few great talismans, saw sparks flashing around the crimson Dharma robe, like scattered stars, which then turned to ashes and dissipated.

It was the scene of dozens of talismans burning away simultaneously.

Based on the residual spiritual energy ripples of those talismans, Qing Tong, as a Flying Ascension realm talisman expert, quickly deduced the common effect of those two types of talismans.

They were used to slow down his movements, not only increasing the burden on his limbs but also using the power of a cultivator to suppress a martial artist’s physique.

In the end, this guy was deliberately slowing down his punches!

Qing Tong had seen those who were sharp and exposed, those who were arrogant and domineering, but it was the first time he had encountered someone so young who dared to be so presumptuous.

Was he seeking death?

As if the other party had guessed Qing Tong’s thoughts, although there were no words spoken, Qing Tong similarly guessed the other party’s mind.

I may not be able to defeat you, senior, but can you defeat me with just your martial artist identity?

I doubt it.

Qing Tong nodded, indeed, there was a reason why he detested these sword cultivators.

Especially a sword cultivator who also practiced boxing and martial arts, a young sword cultivator.

Earlier, Xiao Mo, not wanting to get in the way, had retreated more than a hundred miles, sat down cross-legged, and placed the green bamboo staff across his lap.

Qing Tong, as a Qi cultivator at the Flying Ascension realm, wasn’t that strong.

Otherwise, when he encountered him earlier, Qing Tong wouldn’t have closed his doors and refused visitors, directly driving people away.

Xiao Mo was only interested in Qing Tong’s remark about “knowing a few great talismans.”

His Young Master’s punches had no fixed measure, either in lightness or heaviness.

The first level was the so-called sparring in the general sense, which was further divided into two types: suppressing the realm, which was divided into suppressing several realms, and not suppressing the realm at all.

Then the second level was about determining a winner, such as the previous martial exchange with Huang Yi Yun of Pu Shan, removing those insignificant talismans from his limbs.

However, the spectators at the time didn’t have a high enough cultivation realm. On the contrary, Xiao Mo, although not present at the Banished Immortal Peak, but at the Fallen Treasure Beach of the Green Garment River, Xiao Mo paid attention and actually noticed that his Young Master hadn’t removed all the talismans, but had left about twenty to thirty percent of them to suppress the speed of his punches.

It was just that Chen Ping An’s movements were too fast, a matter of an instant, so even Ye Yunyun didn’t see it clearly.

Finally, there was the current state, which was also divided into two types.

This involved Chen Ping An’s state of mind. Was he just competing for victory, or fighting to the death?
The fistfight between Chen Ping’an and Cao Ci, from the Merit Forest all the way to the Wenmiao (Confucian Temple) canopy, was probably the second-to-last kind. Although both sides held back, having a gentleman’s agreement to reserve 20% of their strength, under that premise, the fight was truly satisfying and unrestrained, each giving their all.

Layer upon layer, progressing gradually.

Each level of the staircase revealed a different vista.

And today, at this very moment, in this very place, Chen Ping’an was displaying the final kind of stance.

Xiao Mo gazed up, observing the battlefield. The young master’s punches were, as always, pleasing to the eye.

Xiao Mo suddenly recalled something. He wondered if the Pu Shan Yun Cao Tang lineage, being both Qi refiners and practitioners of martial arts, had any affinity with this Wu Tong (Phoenix Tree), perhaps being some kind of “branching out” of this Green Copper tree spirit.

In the distance, a small path materialized out of thin air, paved with golden fallen Wu Tong leaves, snaking towards Xiao Mo like a spirit serpent.

Green Copper, previously split into two, its true form unseen, had a pure martial artist Yang spirit fighting Chen Ping’an, while its Yin spirit detached and wandered afar, walking on this path. It was a handsome youth, more beautiful than any woman, wearing a tall coronet and loose robes, with a very Taoist appearance.

Adorned in a meticulously refined Daoist robe, truly worthy of bearing the weight of stars and moon, the snow-white garment faintly displayed the phenomenon of starlight, with a treasure-like moon phase manifested behind it.

When Green Copper’s Yin spirit stopped, only a foot away from Xiao Mo, it pinched two fingers, lit an incense stick to mark the time, and reminded him with a smile, “If Chen Ping’an can’t win against me within two quarters of an hour, then it’s time to bid farewell to our guests.”

Xiao Mo nodded.

At that time, you will see the young master off as a guest, and I will see you off to your departure.

This Yin spirit of Green Copper sat cross-legged, watching the arena with Xiao Mo, and exclaimed, “After ten thousand years apart, to meet again, to find you well, is truly fortunate.”

The “youth,” whether in words or manner, possessed an air of old age.

But in Xiao Mo’s eyes, it carried too much decay, inexplicably reminding him of an unnamed Daoist friend he met during his travels long ago, who gazed at the sky by the water, lost in sorrowful thought, with the freshness of fragrant herbs, a sight that cleansed the mundane.

Ten thousand years ago, all schools of thought blossomed, the heavens were vast and the earth was wide, unrestrained and unfettered, and there was no shortage of extraordinary people and events.

Xiao Mo suppressed some distracting thoughts and smiled, “For you, of course, it’s fortunate.”

Green Copper was silent for a moment, then self-deprecatingly said, “Seems I’ve killed the conversation.”

Because the unspoken meaning of this Joy Candle Daoist friend was, you survived to this day by luck, while I have survived to this day through genuine skill, through my swordplay.

Ten thousand years ago, even among the so-called Immortals, the Earth Immortals, of roughly the same realm, the difference in skill and lethality was like comparing mud to clouds.

Sword cultivators were undeniably the first-rate Daoists.

In the human world at that time, this old ancestor of the Wu Tong tree was still considered ordinary, truly ordinary.

The reason was simple. Just speaking of plants and trees, if you counted each of their ancestors, could you even finish counting?

Just consider that war of water and fire, how many mountains, rivers, and plants of the human world were destroyed? Countless.

Just like Xiao Mo, who had only glanced at the tree a few times when passing by, and that only because this tree had survived a great fire, burned but not dead, withered wood meeting spring, revitalizing itself.

This visit, if Xiao Mo weren’t following the young master, Daoist friend? A polite phrase only. What friendship? They were neither friends nor on the same path.

Therefore, this reunion after ten thousand years was like a noble son of a wealthy family sitting and chatting with a newly rich upstart.

Green Copper shook its head, “That you could become sword cultivators, isn’t that an even greater stroke of fortune?”

“Look at us, these flower, grass, and tree spirits. No matter how good our luck, even if we successfully refine our forms, which one of us has become a sword cultivator?”

“From the beginning of cultivation, awakening our spiritual wisdom is already the most difficult among all sentient beings. Just refining our forms, not even comparing ourselves to humans, but comparing ourselves to you, and Yuan Shou, and Yang Zhi, we have to put in far more than twice the effort. Before we successfully refine our forms, and because we cannot move, facing all kinds of sudden natural and man-made disasters, not to mention our physical bodies, but the ordeal our embryonic Dao hearts endure, you fortunate fellows on the path of cultivation would not understand.”

“Great floods, mountain-burning fires, the calamities of war, the destruction of violent storms, countless disasters. Many realms that you seem to achieve in just two or three years are heights of the Great Dao that we strive for our entire lives without achieving.”

In response, Xiao Mo bluntly said, “Why would I understand that?”

Green Copper was momentarily speechless. This was a sword cultivator for you, an odious habit unchanged after ten thousand years!

Xiao Mo glanced at the incense stick and asked, “Half a god? Is there such a saying in today’s martial arts world?”

Green Copper smiled, “He who walks a hundred li considers ninety as half the journey.”

Therefore, Green Copper didn’t mention its own martial arts realm, only saying Returning to Origin, a level of sincerity.

Xiao Mo sensed the change in the other party’s heart and sneered, “Not even daring to come here in your true form to reminisce, what sincerity are you talking about?”

Of course, Green Copper was well aware of one of this Daoist friend’s innate abilities. It didn’t care that this bit of its innermost thoughts might be perceived by Xiao Mo, only teasingly said, “Joy Candle Daoist friend, having traveled the vast world with the young Hidden Official for so long, you must have heard the saying ‘Do not listen to what is improper,’ right?”

This Daoist friend whom Chen Ping’an called Xiao Mo, as one of the famous ancient great demons, of course, had a true name: Zhi Zhu. Pronounced the same as “spider” in later generations.

However, these two characters were too rare, and over the years, there had been several changes in writing styles. Now, besides the “Shuowen Jiezi” (Explaining and Analyzing Characters) and a few scattered records similar to “Spitting silk to form nets, seeking food, advantageous in the dark,” everything else had become fleeting smoke.
Qingtong, however, knew quite a few of “Xiao Mo’s” heroic feats. Besides his fondness for dueling with sword cultivators and his skill in one-on-one combat, he had once laid an ambush upon one of the “Heavenly Dao” trajectory routes, where a certain pair of celestial bodies cyclically rose and fell. Xiao Mo captured one, trapping it within a net… first swallowing the bright moon, then seizing the great sun. He had already begun to refine the moon he had swallowed, causing a great commotion. The Lord of that Moon sent a message via the Green Bird to the various departments of the Heavenly Court’s Thunder Division, then issued a decree to the world, ordering this demon-race sword cultivator, who had violated the heavenly laws, to be escorted to an execution platform for execution. Xiao Mo would hardly submit to death; he endured numerous bolts of heavenly lightning and personally slew many officials and deities under the jurisdiction of the Thunder Division’s Bureau of Execution. Furthermore, there were a few human earth immortals who were affiliated with the Thunder Division, but this airborne sword cultivator of the Ascension Realm, adept at both offense and defense, killed them one by one or in groups. That escape was practically a process of forging a sword and cultivating.

In the end, the Heavenly Court was enraged. Rumor had it that not only would one of the Thunder Division’s twelve high-ranking deities descend to capture Xiao Mo personally, but another high-ranking official would accompany him. However, for some reason, the matter ultimately fizzled out, ending with a whimper instead of a bang. But after that, Xiao Mo became much more restrained. Of course, this “much more restrained” was relative to his previous lawless and unrestrained behavior. Earth immortals who carelessly stumbled into the clutches of this great demon sword cultivator still suffered a terrible fate.

Frankly speaking, Qingtong was quite surprised to see Xiao Mo again, behaving so… restrained, and drawing his sword so subtly.

Xiao Mo asked, “Why does Daoist Qingtong have a prejudice against me?”

Qingtong was puzzled and replied, “When did I have a prejudice against you?”

Xiao Mo lightly tapped his green bamboo staff and laughed, “Isn’t your prejudice against sword cultivators quite significant?”

I, Xiao Mo, am a sword cultivator.

Qingtong chuckled silently, and after a long silence, he revealed his innermost thoughts, “You sword cultivators, relying on your ability to break all laws with a single sword, are arrogant, unruly, bloodthirsty, caring only about your own pleasure in wielding your swords, completely disregarding the lives and deaths of the world and its people, and dismissing the cultivation of fellow Daoists.”

Xiao Mo nodded, not denying this fact, and asked with a smile, “Have you suffered at the hands of sword cultivators?”

Upon hearing this, Qingtong’s face instantly turned gloomy, clearly thinking of an old matter that was definitely not a happy one.

Xiao Mo said understandingly, “Don’t force yourself to speak if you don’t want to.”

He was not one to listen to complaints, nor did he want to hear any… last words.

Qingtong’s body remained motionless, only his fingers flicked a fallen phoenix tree leaf, like a wooden puppet fanning the wind.

Qingtong slowly said, “Many years ago, three young sword cultivators traveled together. During their travels, they had a dispute with a group of patrolling deities under the command of armored warriors. I unfortunately approached the battlefield, and my Great Dao suffered considerable damage.”

Those three young men later became the pinnacle sword cultivators of the human race: Yuanxiang, Guanzhao, and Longjun.

Qingtong raised his hand and swiped his fingers across his cheek, and a series of tiny characters appeared on his face, as if he had suffered the punishment of tattooing, with words branded on his face.

Xiao Mo glanced at them, they were ancient characters that roughly recorded the glorious achievements of that battle. He nodded and smiled, “That’s something Yuanxiang would do.”

Because that Yuanxiang was carefree, arrogant, and always… the cheapest and most mischievous.

For example, stealing wine from Luobao Beach was something only Yuanxiang would do. One or two times could be tolerated, but he even did it a third time.

The key was that Yuanxiang said it didn’t taste good after drinking it.

If Xiao Mo didn’t cut him down, who would?

It’s just that during the ascension battle later on, Yuanxiang was also one of the most valiant and willing human sword cultivators to die.

So much so that Yuanxiang didn’t even see the gates of the old Heavenly Court before he died. Rumor has it that this man was constantly fighting on his way with his sword, and the old sword cultivator, who had been a chatterbox his entire life, remained silent throughout.

This old sword cultivator took the lead in ascending to heaven, going higher and higher. Besides delivering his sword non-stop, one after another brilliant sword light, majestic and earth-shattering, the sword cultivator himself remained silent, as if the only thing that existed were his silent three-word last words.

I’ll die first.

Selflessly sacrificing himself, he became a martyr.

Xiao Mo asked, “Besides this personal grievance?”

Qingtong sneered, “Later, there was also the last offering official of Sword Qi Great Wall, acting suspiciously, who also came here and had a very unpleasant conversation with me.”

After this person quietly left Sword Qi Great Wall, he did not go straight to the Li Zhu Cave Heaven in Treasure Bottle Continent, but first landed on the shores of Tongye Continent.

Qingtong had said a few ingratiating words, but ended up being rebuffed. Of course, this was not the main reason. There was another reason why they couldn’t agree.

But there was no need to explain this in detail to Xiao Mo.

After that, there was a foreign youth who was not yet a sword cultivator, who came to Tongye Continent from the Fujizong Sect. At that time, he carried a long sword on his back called “Sword Qi Great”!

It was Chen Qingdu’s sword that he had abandoned and not used for many years.

Just like the old sword immortal of Sword Qi Great Wall, even though they were separated by a continent, he was just using this method of not needing to come in person to warn Qingtong to protect the youth carefully, or else bear the consequences.

You, Chen Qingdu, could have at least asked that young man surnamed Chen to give me a message. Or, with some simple little secret technique, how difficult would it have been for you, Chen Qingdu, to give me a signal in secret?

Thinking back then, among the many human sword cultivators, Chen Qingdu’s aptitude was not the best, his cultivation speed was not the fastest, and the grade of his flying sword was not the highest, but in the end, it was this person who reached the highest point of swordsmanship.

Moreover, compared to the arrogant sword cultivators of all races in the world, Chen Qingdu had a very good reputation. He was always taciturn, never causing trouble, only practicing his sword diligently, and rarely going out, and the number of his travels was very few.

But a series of facts later proved.

A consistently silent person occasionally speaks, and it is like thunder.

Xiao Mo clicked his tongue and said, “Daoist Qingtong, what exactly is wrong with you? Are you inherently incompatible with sword cultivators?”

Qingtong remained noncommittal, looking at the battlefield and asking curiously, “Are you not even a little worried about Chen Ping An?”

Xiao Mo remained silent.

The young master does things thoroughly and does not need outsiders to worry about him.

Now Xiao Mo’s only thought was how to persuade the young master afterward to allow him to deliver his sword happily.

Not even mentioning his status as a death warrior, just as an attendant, he was about to become derelict in his duties.

Coming to Tongye Continent, especially after entering this place, Xiao Mo understood something.

No wonder Tongye Continent’s sword dao luck is the least of the Nine Continents of Vastness.
Whether one speaks of the overall number of sword cultivators, or the count of those at the very peak, this Tongye Continent can only be described as “sparse.”

Of course, it cannot be said that Qing Tong’s natural aversion to sword cultivators is solely responsible for orchestrating this situation, single-handedly creating the bleak landscape of so few sword immortals. Qing Tong is, after all, just a Wutong tree; it truly lacks such power.

However, due to its position as the guardian of the continent’s fortune and destiny, it subtly and imperceptibly influenced the situation. Over long years, little by little, the effect accumulated, and those above imitated those below. This influence became profound.

Ultimately, the entire Tongye Continent – its sects, cultivators, the very hearts of its people, the celestial timing, geographical advantages, and harmonious interactions – all began to show a preference, a deviation, forming a kind of active choice.