Two figures approached each other on the long, flagstone street, Chen Ping’an and the chess stall positioned squarely in the middle.

To Chen Ping’an’s left stood a woman veiled in white gauze, clad in an aquamarine robe with crimson silk wrapped around her waist, cinched by a jade belt. She cradled a pipa, her lithe figure swaying with seductive grace.

On his right loomed a hulking man, easily eight feet tall, bare-chested, his muscles bulging, yet sporting a pair of bright pink trousers.

This pair hardly looked like ordinary townsfolk accustomed to the crowing of roosters and barking of dogs.

The man radiated a palpable bloodlust, making no attempt to conceal his surging battle intent. He glared at the fellow holding the crimson wine jug, who, while taller than most able-bodied men from the Nanyuan Kingdom, possessed delicate features that hardly made him a youth.

The man boomed with laughter, “Outlander, I am Ma Xuan, from beyond the Great Wall. Some busybodies have given me the nickname ‘Pink Vajra.’ Yesterday, someone offered a thousand taels of gold for your head, claiming your martial arts are unfathomable, and that despite your youthful appearance, you might be an old monster like Yu Zhenyi! I’ve brought my paramour along, so tell me, will you commit suicide to keep your corpse intact, or shall I crush you to dust with my bare fists?”

The man’s thundering voice caused an uproar at the chess stall. The crowd, abandoning chessboards and benches, scattered in all directions. This was a street brawl that could lead to murder! They dared not get involved. According to the old-timers of Scholar Lane, there had been several clashes between martial arts masters in the Nanyuan capital’s history, battles that shook the heavens and shattered the earth, reducing entire neighborhoods to rubble. Afterwards, hundreds of families would be left in mourning.

Through the thin veil, watching the panicked flight of the townsfolk, the woman’s lips curled into a smile. Her right hand moved to pluck the strings, ready to kill with her music, severing heads with sonic blades.

But she abruptly stopped. Her face bloomed into a smile, “Since this gentleman doesn’t enjoy the entertainment, I won’t bother.”

It turned out the white-robed stranger was staring at her, making her feel that the moment she dared touch the strings, he would abandon the Pink Vajra and focus solely on her.

She was here to help her old flame earn a thousand taels of gold, not to act as the main force in a losing battle. She had accepted this job because she and Ma Xuan, the Pink Vajra, were a rare and perfect team. One fought in close quarters, engaging in brutal hand-to-hand combat, while the other provided ranged support and harassment. They were seamless, and even if they couldn’t defeat a grandmaster outside the top ten, they could certainly escape.

Chen Ping’an felt bewildered. Why were they targeting him? First, the celestial maiden Fan Wan’er, the so-called banished immortal, and now someone was offering a thousand taels of gold. So, in broad daylight, these two individuals, reeking of blood and malice, had appeared. If he hadn’t intervened, those fleeing civilians would likely already be dead.

Compared to the imposing Ma Xuan, Chen Ping’an paid more attention to the woman.

The exquisite pipa, crafted from a single piece of precious purple sandalwood, revealed hidden depths to Chen Ping’an. Near the strings, wisps of bloody aura and dense, inky death energy intertwined, radiating outwards.

Yet, no vengeful spirits had arisen from the pipa. Chen Ping’an found this odd. Based on his experiences traveling throughout the Treasure Bottle Continent and the Tung Leaf Continent, with so many souls slain by the pipa, the accumulated resentment should have manifested some spectral phenomena, like at the Flying Eagle Fortress.

The frail little girl sat on a stool at the base of the wall, muttering, “No one can see me… no one can see me…”

As for why she hadn’t fled with the others, she had hesitated, but somehow felt safer staying here.

Chen Ping’an inquired, “If I offer two thousand taels of gold, can you tell me who is behind this?”

The woman lowered her head, covering her mouth, and giggled coyly. Because of the pipa she held, the movement dramatically accentuated her chest.

Ma Xuan glanced at her, his eyes burning with desire. He scolded with a laugh, “You saucy wench! Gone for a few years, and you can’t resist a pretty face! After this job, let’s find a place to wrestle. Can you give me a discount? A hundred taels of gold per session is too much for anyone to afford!”

Chen Ping’an sighed. “No deal?”

The man strode forward, laughing heartily. “We’ll talk after we’ve twisted your head off, alright? I’ll tell you everything you need to know, everything you shouldn’t! How about that?”

The pipa-wielding woman walked slowly, stopping a hundred paces from Chen Ping’an. She gently shook her wrist, gathering her energy.

Ma Xuan suddenly stomped down, shattering the flagstones beneath his feet. His massive form instantly closed the distance to within ten feet of Chen Ping’an. His pink trousers clung tightly to his thighs, creating a whistling sound from the speed.

Ten feet was nothing. The seemingly petrified fellow still hadn’t moved. Ma Xuan sneered, “Daring to arouse my woman’s desires, you deserve to die!”

No longer holding back, he accelerated his fist, aiming for Chen Ping’an’s head.

Chen Ping’an’s mind raced. Without delaying a dodge, he leaned backward, his feet firmly planted on the ground.

These pure martial artists here seem rather bold. When facing an enemy, they even have the leisure to chat? Are they not afraid of exhausting their momentum, leaving themselves vulnerable during the transition between old and new strength?

His fist missing, Ma Xuan knew something was amiss. He immediately dispersed the flow of qi throughout his body. Although a grandmaster of external martial arts, he was still cautious. He feared his honed physique might not withstand the attack, so he reluctantly abandoned his offense and shifted entirely to defense. Qi flowed through his body’s meridians, causing his skin to shimmer like gilded bronze.

Chen Ping’an kicked upwards, striking Ma Xuan in the abdomen. The force sent him flying into the sky.

With a twist and a flip, Chen Ping’an landed upright, his feet shifting slightly left and right, narrowly avoiding four concentrated “strings.”

The woman employed the three techniques of “nian” (plucking), “gun” (rolling), and “tiao” (flicking). Her five fingers danced with dizzying speed, yet the pipa remained silent. However, a glimmer of crystalline light suddenly appeared before her, vanishing in an instant.

Chen Ping’an weaved across the street, each time barely evading the frigid strands of the strings. Those razor-sharp threads crisscrossed in the air, a chaotic barrage, like dozens of crossbows firing a volley of arrows, engulfing the area.

Ma Xuan performed a “thousand-catty drop,” landing heavily on the street, slamming his hands down like hammers.
The woman was clearly observing Ma Xuan’s movements, timing her actions perfectly. As Ma Xuan descended, the threads emanating from the pipa lessened their intensity, ensuring they wouldn’t hinder his offensive momentum.

Chen Ping’an vanished from his spot. The burly man was taken aback. His fist couldn’t be retracted in time, and it crashed heavily onto the street. Ma Xuan, with his ape-like arms, bent his knees, his fist impacting the earth, causing the stone slabs to shatter and scatter.

Chen Ping’an reappeared beside Ma Xuan, one hand pressing down on his shoulder. He slightly increased the force, causing Ma Xuan to sink heavily, his knees burying themselves into the stone pavement.

Ma Xuan roared, attempting to shake off the hand that felt like a thousand jun in weight. But the figure merely pressed down again, forcing him to sit heavily on the ground. The golden hue that signified his near-perfected external martial arts began to dissipate on its own. His internal Qi began to flow chaotically and uncontrollably. Ma Xuan was terrified to his core, his soul scattering in fear.

After a “sparring session”…

Chen Ping’an finally realized a truth: this martial artist who followed the path of external arts had Qi that was far too scattered.

His outward aura and martial intent were genuine, a true realm of martial Qi refinement, but it was like a house built with poor materials. In calm weather, it would be fine, but when faced with true storms, it would easily collapse.

His Qi was impure and disordered, seeking quantity over quality. It was far from “pure.” It was more like a martial artist attempting to follow the path of a Qi refiner.

The woman holding the pipa simply ceased her finger movements, a sigh of melancholy escaping from behind her veil.

The difference in strength was too great. She and Ma Xuan had stumbled upon an iron wall this time.

This seemingly young, white-robed young master was likely a hidden grandmaster, infinitely close to the “Top Ten in the Realm.”

A member of the Demonic Sect? Another heaven-defying prodigy emerging after Old Devil Ding? Was he seeking to unify the martial world?

Or was he a direct disciple meticulously trained by Old Immortal Yu Zhenyi, a trump card to counter Old Devil Ding’s reappearance in the martial world?

The situation was a tangled mess.

The pipa-wielding woman felt the same way.

She and Ma Xuan should never have gotten involved.

Someone clapped softly on the wall. “Impressive, impressive. No wonder you were temporarily placed on the list. You’re indeed worth our serious attention.”

The woman looked up and instantly felt as if she’d fallen into an ice cave. Squatting on the wall was a man with a stiff smile. His face remained unchanged for ages, like a badly made mask that had taken root, never to be removed.

Smiling Face, Qian Tang.

Outside the Top Ten, this man was arguably the most troublesome grandmaster in the world, if not the only one. He was also the most eccentric of the heretical demons. He didn’t indiscriminately kill innocents, but when he encountered experts of the same realm, he would relentlessly hound them. The Eight-Armed Divine Spirit, Xue Yuan, from the older generation of the Top Ten, had declined in strength due to age, falling out of the rankings. However, a lean camel is still bigger than a horse. A certain overlord from one of the Demonic Sect’s Three Gates had almost died under his Eight-Armed Divine Ability, but when faced with Smiling Face, Qian Tang had harassed him for an entire year, nearly driving him insane.

Smiling Face squatted on the wall, picking up a clod of dirt and tossing it lightly. He chuckled, “If you continue to deliberately hold back your strength, you’ll kick the bucket, not at his hands, but at mine.”

“Right, Ma Xuan? And that big-chested woman, what’s your name again?”

Ma Xuan, whose shoulder had been pressed down by Chen Ping’an several times, suddenly erupted with a surge of powerful Gang Qi. His aura increased countless times compared to before.

The woman holding the pipa also put on a set of fake fingernails that glowed with a faint light. All pretense of flaunting her skills was gone as she began to heavily pluck the pipa strings.

Ma Xuan threw a ferocious backhand punch.

Chen Ping’an extended a hand to block the punch, borrowing the momentum to slide backward, his feet lightly gliding across the surface like two chess pieces.

Between Ma Xuan and Chen Ping’an, two hair-thin, emerald-green silk threads intersected. Two cracks appeared on the walls on either side.

If Chen Ping’an had retreated even a moment later, he would have had to face this sneak attack head-on.

Ma Xuan turned around, first glancing up at the eternally smiling face on the wall. He snorted coldly, spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the ground. His internal organs had been injured when Chen Ping’an kicked him into the air. The burly man reminded the woman behind him, “You harlot, if you don’t show some real skills, we’ll have a hard time getting through this today.”

The woman said fiercely, “It’s all your fault! Where in the world can you find such hard-earned money!”

Ma Xuan grinned. “How would I have known that this gold was so hot to handle? We agreed to all deal with Old Devil Ding. I thought this guy was just small fry.”

Chen Ping’an’s attention was focused more on the smiling face on the wall.

He was testing them, or rather, trying to see through the depths of this martial world.

They were also trying to see through Chen Ping’an’s true background.

The smiling face on the wall clapped again. “Interesting, interesting. Did everyone think of the same thing?”

Just then, a handsome young man walked slowly out of the crossroads. He wore an apricot blossom in his hair and carried two bloodied heads in his hand.

The Flower-Adorned Gentleman, Zhou Shi. He stood at the corner, looking at Chen Ping’an from afar. He smiled and raised the heads in his hand, gently tossing them on the ground.

Behind him, a stunning woman wearing wooden clogs slowly walked out. She slowly passed Zhou Shi, stepping from the dirt onto the stone pavement. The sound of “drip, drip, drip” became clear and crisp. She also carried two heads in her hand, casually tossing them onto the street.

She smiled charmingly and said, “Young master, my master said, as long as you hand over the wine gourd, that child will live. Otherwise, the family of five will be reunited in death. These days, young master has been wandering around the capital of the Southern Garden Kingdom, clearly a kind-hearted person. Can you bear it?”

In the depths of the alley, inside the house, an old man wearing a silver lotus crown was sitting on a stool, basking in the sun. Beside him was a child, shivering, his face covered in snot and tears.
The old man smiled faintly, “No need to fear. Your innate talent is exceptional. I plan to make an exception and take you as my disciple. Perhaps you could even become the next Master of the Demon Sect. Why weep? You’ve only lost a few relatives, yet you have the chance to possess an entire Jianghu. Child, you’ve studied some books; you should be able to calculate this equation. If you continue to cry, you’ll distract me, and I won’t be able to trap that little scoundrel in the house. I might just have to kill you along with him.”

The old man raised his head, gazing into the distance. “Yu Zhenyi, Zhong Qiu, let me be frank. I have promised to protect Zhou Fei. I advise you to first eliminate Tong Qingqing and Feng Qingbai, then come to deal with this old man. Besides, another outsider simply means another opportunity. Whether or not you kill me is no longer so important. Did you truly believe I would be tempted by a mere Arhat Golden Body? You underestimate me, Ding Ying, too much. However, I can tell you a tremendous piece of good news. Killing that man on the street isn’t just worth ten. In addition to his life, coupled with that wine gourd and the legendary immortal flying sword inside the house behind me, it’s worth at least thirteen.”

The old man lazily said, “How about we both change our strategies in accordance with the situation? Slaughtering that brat would provide far more opportunities for choice.”

Presumably, having received a definite reply, the old man chuckled with derision.

On the street, Chen Pingan surveyed his surroundings, his voice grave, “There is no need to continue plotting against my state of mind.”

Both Smiling Face and Zanhua Lang felt it was utterly absurd, unsure why he would utter such a sentence.

Only a middle-aged man leaning against a tree in the distance, embracing his sword, who had been dozing off, opened his eyes. His expression was now devoid of any trace of listlessness. He sneered, “Indeed, just as I suspected.”