The child, consumed by utmost terror, paradoxically felt a lessening of fear. Alone in the world, a mere child who had barely grasped the rudiments of literacy, he knew nothing of compromise. His face contorted with hatred, he gritted his teeth and demanded, “What’s your name?”

The old man’s smile was laced with amusement.

The child added, “I will kill you! I will avenge my parents, my grandparents!”

The old man, a silver lotus coronet atop his head, pointed to himself and chuckled, “Me? People of the world, be they righteous or villainous, all seem fond of calling me Old Demon Ding. Disciples of the sect, when they meet me, will likely address me with reverence as Grand Supreme Patriarch. As for my true name, Ding Ying, it has been many years since I last used it.”

The old man inquired, “And what is your name?”

The child’s voice trembled, yet he strove to speak with force, “Cao Qinglang!”

The old man jested, “You have chosen a name that is far too auspicious, coupled with your appearance, be wary of being pummeled when you venture into the world.”

With a flick of his sleeve, a gust of formidable wind buffeted the window paper of the side room, causing it to hum, yet the fragile paper remained unscathed. It was as if something within the room had been driven back.

The child, unable to perceive the profound subtlety of this skill, merely flushed crimson with anger. “You’re spouting nonsense!”

His family now deceased, the name bestowed upon him by his parents had become the child’s last remaining solace.

The old man, unperturbed, noticed several hens pecking about the courtyard.

He rose and entered the kitchen, retrieving a handful of rice from the rice bin. Returning to his seat, he scattered the rice on the ground. The hens promptly flapped their wings and rushed over, devouring the grains with gusto.

The old man smiled. “The world fears me, yet observe, they do not.”

He stooped, leaning forward. “Does this not imply that so-called masters, grandmasters, emperors, and generals are all inferior to a chicken?”

The child, consumed by hatred, had no inclination to ponder such things. He merely glared at the merciless fiend, lamenting his lack of strength. A thought stirred within him – there was a wood-chopping knife in the kitchen, though not particularly sharp. In this capital city, a relatively prosperous family such as his could afford to hail the passing charcoal vendor. The knife was merely for show.

The old man gazed at the heavens, speaking to himself. “Of course, that is not the case. Ignorance breeds fearlessness. At times, when a hawk soars across the sky, the field mice hasten to protect the grains beneath their paws. Within this realm, such individuals are not numerous, yet they are not scarce either. They are barely superior to commoners, yet they can perceive that shadow. Such as Yu Zhenyi of Songlai Kingdom who turned to cultivation, that old cook in the Nanyuan Kingdom’s Crown Prince’s residence, and the sutra-chanting old monk of the Vajra Monastery.”

At this, Ding Ying rose, dusted off his sleeves, and flicked his fingers. Time and again, true energy coalesced into threads, striking towards the window of the side room.

Ding Ying’s movements were too swift. The emerald green true energy continuously gathered by the window, forming points of starlight, akin to a dazzling celestial river.

“And then there are the outsiders, those who come with ill intentions. We call them Immortals Descended. They wander the mortal realm, like comets streaking across the sky, arriving and departing in haste. As for how the world changes, how much havoc they wreak, or how dreadful a mess they leave behind, they are unconcerned.”

“They care not for the joys and sorrows of the mortal world.”

Ding Ying smiled, miming the act of turning a page, then gently clapped his hands, as if closing a book. “These individuals are like those who, in their leisure, glance at a page from a trivial book. Once the page is turned, it is forgotten. Whether the page speaks of ‘the collapse of rites and music,’ ‘blood flowing for a thousand miles,’ or ‘the devastation of all living things,’ they care not.”

“A clan steeped in thousand-year-old rituals, a sage’s abode filled with the fragrance of books, produces a monstrosity who defiles it beyond recognition.”

“A small, secluded kingdom produces an ambitious emperor who, ignorant of military affairs, recklessly engages in warfare, resulting in the death of half the nation’s youth in two decades.”

The child could comprehend none of this, lost as he was in hatred. “Then what did you do?”

The child from the alley, Cao Qinglang, sobbed, “All you did was kill my parents, my grandparents…”

Cao Qinglang, his voice filled with sorrowful cries, “What kind of hero are you? You are an unpardonable fiend!”

The old man, as if deliberately to torment the child, mimicked his sobbing sounds, then burst into laughter.

It was unclear whether this was childlike innocence or sheer madness.

The child trembled with rage.

Ding Ying laughed. “In truth, what does what those Descended Immortals do have to do with me? Nothing. I merely seek an excuse to kill, to kill interesting individuals.”

The old man raised his arm, miming the motion of a cleaver, repeatedly lifting and lowering his hand as if chopping meat. “One Descended Immortal, two Descended Immortals, three, four, chop them to death. Apart from them, there are those ‘top ten, excluding me’ and the subsequent ‘bottom ten’. Those who are intriguing, I keep. Those who displease me, I kill along with them.”

Amidst the child’s sobs,

Ding Ying glanced at the sky.

This time, it was different from sixty years ago.

That was why he had chosen to remain here rather than act himself. After all, he still possessed a touch of madness, the temptation to challenge nine or even more top experts single-handedly. Sixty years prior, someone had attempted to do just that, seeking to monopolize the world’s martial fortune, and had suffered a miserable defeat.

If the young master of that flying sword could survive, surprising everyone,

Then he, Ding Ying, would depart from this place, making that person’s survival less of a surprise.

Ding Ying knew that this world was akin to raising gu.

Deep within Ding Ying’s heart lay a secret unknown to others. To unravel this enigma, he cared only about one thing: If he allowed these sixty years of gu-raising to come to naught,

Would that person come to see him?

Who would ultimately stand before him?

Prior to that, there were two crucial aspects.

First, Zhou Shi had to die in the street, drawing both Lu Fang and Zhou Fei into the game.

Second, the master of the flying sword had to die as well.

Ding Ying glanced back at the window, smiled, and felt that it presented no great difficulty.
A hawk-nosed old man walked along the bustling streets of the Nanyuan Kingdom’s capital. He emanated an air of authority that brooked no defiance. Clearly a man of the northern lands, his tall frame towered above the crowd, drawing curious glances from the local populace. Surrounding him were several lithe men and women, their eyes gleaming with sharp alertness. They merely cast a sidelong glance to quell the inquisitive gazes. The old man, amidst this city renowned for its virtue and prosperity, felt a sense of unease. Accustomed to the boundless horizons and desolate silence of the northern borderlands, he found the teeming masses rather disquieting. Just as his mood began to sour, a wiry man hurried towards him from afar, speaking to him in the tongue of the steppes, informing his esteemed teacher that the person they sought had been found near a place called Kejia Bridge, not far from their current location.

The old man instructed his disciple to lead the way, and they soon crossed a weathered stone bridge, arriving at a shop situated by the water’s edge. It turned out to be a silk and brocade store. The old man ordered his disciples to wait outside, and stepped across the threshold. The shop was sparsely populated, with no other patrons present. Behind a low counter, only the head of a man with thinning hair and unrefined features was visible.

The shopkeeper, upon seeing the old man, chuckled. “Well, well, what a rare guest. These days, nothing surprises me, but seeing you here, it’s like the sun rising in the west! I don’t understand. Although Zhou Fei’s son tipped me off that you were coming, I didn’t really believe it. I thought it was just a ruse to get me to come out of hiding and help his old man out of trouble.”

The shopkeeper went around the counter, gestured for the hawk-nosed old man to find a seat, and spoke without reserve, “Grandmaster Cheng, please, have a seat, or else I’ll have to crane my neck to talk to you. It’s exhausting.”

The old man, who had traveled from afar, didn’t take offense. He sat down on a crude chair intended for guests and went straight to the point. “If I didn’t distrust the Ten-Man List of the Reverence Pavilion, I wouldn’t have risked coming here. Neither you nor I are ranked in the top five. There’s a high probability of an accident. Feng Qingbai, the undoubtedly celestial being, Ya’er, the grand-disciple of Old Devil Ding, and Zhou Shi, the son of Zhou Fei, are already three of them. Who knows if there are any other old snapping turtles lurking beneath the surface?”

The shopkeeper nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly.

The gathering of the four Grandmasters, Yu Zhenyi, Zhong Qiu, and others, on Mount Guiniu, was merely a public spectacle, a diversion for the masses.

The Reverence Pavilion’s decision to announce the Ten-Man List in the capital of Nanyuan Kingdom was the truly significant and subtly cunning key.

The old man from the northern borders sneered, “I wield a spear, you wield a saber, just like Zhong Qiu. We all follow the path of external martial arts, unlike the old fox Yu Zhenyi. As long as it’s a life-or-death battle, we’ll inevitably suffer injuries that leave hidden problems. The three of us probably won’t last another sixty years. For this opportunity, I’ve fought my way here, and I need to settle accounts for all the accumulated ailments on my body!”

As he finished speaking, the old man gently slapped the armrest of the chair. The chair remained intact, but the shop floor beneath its legs had already developed a dense network of cracks.

The old man’s personal disciples outside the shop sensed the shifting energies within. They were on high alert, their breathing heavy.

The shopkeeper chuckled. “Your disciples aren’t very talented. Didn’t I hear that many years ago, you found an incredibly gifted wolf cub in the grasslands? You’ve been carefully training him all these years. He shouldn’t be inferior to those darlings of heaven, Ya’er and Zhou Shi, right?”

The old man named Cheng said indifferently, “He’s dead. Too much talent isn’t a good thing.”

The shopkeeper was indignant. “Cheng Yuanshan! Even tigers don’t devour their cubs! Do you have any humanity?”

The old man who had traveled thousands of miles from the northern borderlands to the Nanyuan Kingdom was none other than Cheng Yuanshan, the Arm Saint, ranked eighth among the Ten.

After joining the Ten-Man List of the Reverence Pavilion twenty years ago, he had quietly gone to the grasslands and quickly became a guest of honor to the lord of the steppes.

Cheng Yuanshan glanced sideways at the short, old man who had been living incognito in the Nanyuan Kingdom. “Liu Zong, how dare you lecture me? Grinder, grinder, what do you, Liu Zong, like to use to sharpen your blade?”

The Blade Grinder Liu Zong chuckled darkly.

Cheng Yuanshan was puzzled. “I just arrived here, and the Nanyuan Kingdom is Zhong Qiu’s carefully managed territory. Which side is Zhong Qiu on this time? At first, I thought it was Yu Zhenyi, but now it seems uncertain. What does Old Devil Ding want? He’s the one who least needs to do anything, yet he came to the capital of the Nanyuan Kingdom. What’s he up to?”

Shopkeeper Liu Zong, after being referred to as “Blade Grinder” by Arm Saint Cheng Yuanshan, experienced a brief surge of power, but then slumped back down, transforming back into the listless old shopkeeper. He pointed at Cheng Yuanshan and teased, “You, you just like to overthink things.”

But Cheng Yuanshan knew very well that Liu Zong hadn’t neglected his cultivation at all these years. In fact, he had even made further progress.

Yet in the Nanyuan Kingdom, with Zhong Qiu sitting beside the palace for so many years, there had been no earth-shattering news. Without a whetstone, how could Liu Zong’s martial arts improve instead of regress? In addition to secretly slaughtering experts in the northern borderlands, Cheng Yuanshan had also secretly infiltrated the south many times, killing two Jianghu grandmasters who had hoped to join the top ten, all to hone his state of mind in dangerous battles, daring not to slack off in the slightest.

Cheng Yuanshan said, “Zhou Fei is reckless in his actions, too much like those historical celestial beings. This time, he has also relied on Ding Ying. Is it a blessing or a curse? Give me the inside scoop. Liu Zong, I can’t trust anyone else, but you’re the exception.”

Liu Zong smiled, “Why should I trust you?”

Cheng Yuanshan said solemnly, “There are countless so-called martial arts fanatics in the Jianghu, but in my heart, the only true martial arts fanatic is you, Liu Zong. You, Ding Ying, Zhong Qiu, and Yu Zhenyi, are among the few survivors of that chaotic battle back then. Those ten, some died, some disappeared, but only you marginal figures gained opportunities. Ding Ying obtained the Daoist crown left behind by the celestial being, Yu Zhenyi obtained a secret immortal manual, I don’t know what Zhong Qiu got, but you, Liu Zong, voluntarily abandoned that demonic saber, just because you already had one by your side. Only you could make such a choice.”

Liu Zong stroked his sparse beard and smiled, “How would you, an outsider who didn’t personally participate in that disaster, know such secrets?”

This matter could be said to be the most sensitive spot in Liu Zong’s life. He couldn’t talk about it with ordinary people, but when Arm Saint Cheng Yuanshan took the initiative to reveal it today, the Blade Grinder Liu Zong still felt somewhat pleased with himself.
Cheng Yuanshan spoke with complete candor, “The new master chosen by that demonic blade ‘Refiner’ was personally slain by my hand, though I failed to retrieve it.”

Arm Saint Cheng Yuanshan, ever proud and arrogant, held the likes of Tong Qingqing of Mirror Heart Pavilion, who were on the ranking lists, in utter contempt. As for those ten others beyond the top ten, as assessed by busybodies, Cheng Yuanshan had once declared outright that they were fit only to serve him tea, remove his boots, or guard his courtyard. Not a single one of the ten renowned masters of the realm could enter the discerning eyes of Arm Saint Cheng Yuanshan.

Yet, today, in meeting Liu Zong, he was exceedingly courteous, even subtly willing to place himself beneath the other.

From this, it was clear that Cheng Yuanshan’s arrival in the capital city of Nanyuan was fraught with a complete lack of confidence.

Liu Zong poked a finger into his mouth, extracting a stray strand of meat from the previous meal from between his teeth, flicking it away with a casual gesture. “The skill of a butcher is best judged by the knife he wields most comfortably. How long can it be used for skinning, chopping, and boning? The worst must be replaced in two or three years. Better ones last for seven or eight. But mine has been with me since my debut in the martial world, nearly forty years now.”

Liu Zong chuckled, “Killing those veiled and elusive banished immortals, now that’s the real challenge. After sharpening this blade for decades, let it not become a useless ‘dragon-slaying’ technique from some old book. Let them come, let them come all the same.”

A poor scholar, journeying to the capital for the imperial examinations, was eagerly awaiting his beautiful bride. For her sake, he disregarded even the sage’s teaching of “a gentleman keeps away from the kitchen.”

They met on the road, encountering each other in the martial world. Though she was six years his senior and often joked about not being a good woman, he found it mattered not.

To play such enchanting melodies on the pipa, evoking the heroic fervor of the battlefield and the melancholic sighs of the boudoir, she could not be truly wicked.

A peculiar fellow had approached him, speaking of a certain martial world woman.

The scholar believed that if the man’s words about that woman were true, then she was indeed utterly heartless.

However, the scholar felt that the woman he knew was different. He believed her to be a virtuous woman, learned and reasonable, gentle and refined, and so beautiful that he could marry her and live with her until their hair turned white.

He was waiting for her to return home.

He thought of sharing all his innermost feelings with her when he saw her again.

King Kong Temple, the foremost monastery in the Nanyuan capital, was also the largest and most populous Buddhist sanctuary in the realm.

Within the temple, nestled in a secluded and remote location, stood a humble thatched hut. The door stood open, revealing an empty room containing only an old monk and a meditation cushion.

A slender and handsome young master, surrounded by a constellation of over a dozen exquisite beauties, slowly approached the unremarkable hut. The women ranged in age from thirteen or fourteen to forty, all of them stunningly beautiful. Had anyone from Revered Beauty Pavilion been present, they would have recognized among them renowned celestial maidens and heroines, as well as noblewomen from influential families – all peerless beauties in their respective domains.

Prayer flags stood erected around the hut.

The young man, resembling a noble son on a pleasure trip with his beauties, explained the origins and meanings of Buddhist terms such as “ten directions,” “forest,” “instant,” and “prayer flags.” Many of the women, born into privileged circumstances, possessed considerable knowledge, and some playfully pointed out a few of the young man’s errors. He offered no defense, merely stating that customs differed from place to place, and that the interpretations in his hometown were more in line with Buddhist principles.

The meditating old monk opened his eyes, smiling as he inquired, “Benefactor Zhou, now that you have obtained Ding Ying’s promise and secured your place, why do you still come here?”

The young man surnamed Zhou raised a hand, signaling the women to remain behind, and walked towards the hut alone, laughing. “To beg for a golden Arhat body for my unworthy son from the venerable monk.”

Approaching the threshold, he paused, courteously asking, “Should I remove my boots? I fear I may sully the venerable monk’s pure abode.”

The old monk smiled. “The mud on your boots is without blemish. In Benefactor Zhou’s heart, does removing your boots make any difference?”

The young man sighed. “You bald-headed fellows always spout useless nonsense, grandly calling it ‘Zen insight’. I truly cannot abide it.”

He gestured towards the sparsely furnished room. “It seems devoid of all things, yet you remain here.”

The old monk lamented. “Benefactor Zhou possesses the roots of wisdom, understanding all principles. It is a pity that you are unwilling to turn back.”

The young man nonetheless removed his boots, stepping over the threshold and plopping down on the edge of the doorway. Raising an arm, he pointed towards the beauties behind him, who varied in figure and charm. “If they are the Dharma that I seek, how would you, monk, advise me?”

The old monk grimaced. “To exchange quips with you banished immortals is truly exhausting.”

The young man feigned piety, lowering his head, clasping his hands together, and chanting “Amitabha” with a smile.

The old monk’s face, already gaunt and bitter, wrinkled further, his brows furrowing in distress.

A common ruffian would never be able to enter King Kong Temple, and even dignitaries of Nanyuan would struggle to find this thatched hut. Yet, the seemingly callow young man before him was named Zhou Fei.

He was the fourth-ranked grandmaster in the realm, possessing martial arts so profound that to call them the pinnacle would not be an overstatement. Furthermore, he was skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting.

The women and wives who were fond of him did so in truth. Perhaps initially forced against their will, with beloved men or even faithful wives devoted to their husbands and children, they were abducted to the mountain by Zhou Fei or the claws of the Spring Tide Palace. However, after living together day and night, whether for a few short months or as long as three to five years, even a decade, not a single one could remain untouched by Zhou Fei or refrain from developing genuine feelings for him.

This was simply an absurd anomaly of the martial world.

The lower echelons of the martial world often depicted the “Mountain Emperor” of the Spring Tide Palace as a bloated, pig-like monstrosity or a violent brute prone to killing. In truth, however, regardless of the martial world feuds, Zhou Fei was not only dashing and debonair but also eternally youthful in appearance, at least to those women he desired.

Zhou Fei chuckled, “A father and son, ascending together. Isn’t that something to anticipate?”

The old monk sighed. “The golden body from White River Temple was indeed hidden here before, but when Benefactor Ding reappeared in the capital after sixty years, it was immediately moved to the Nanyuan royal palace. Benefactor Zhou, you are too late.”

Zhou Fei gazed intently into the old monk’s eyes, and after a moment, changed the subject, asking, “I heard there’s a blue garment drifting about the capital, invisible to mortal eyes. Have you seen it, old monk?”
Before the old monk could answer, Zhou Fei narrowed his eyes and emphasized, “I hope you saw it!”

A palpable killing intent emanated from him.

The old monk remained silent, as if practicing a vow of silence, or perhaps weighing the pros and cons.

Zhou Fei was a man of his word. Once he declared he would wipe out the Vajra Temple, he would see it done, leaving not a single novice monk or sweeping monk alive.

Zhou Fei laughed heartily, withdrawing the substantial killing intent. “The Arhat golden body and flying celestial robes from the Southern Yuan Kingdom, the protective treasure armor from the Songlai Kingdom, and the demon blade from beyond the Great Wall that can break all sorcery. In the past sixty years, four treasures have appeared in the world. For those already among the ten strongest, acquiring them would solidify their position. For those close to the top ten, it would be like adding wings to a tiger, offering a chance to squeeze out some unlucky soul.”

The old monk seemed to have made up his mind, shedding all burdens. His expression relaxed as he asked Zhou Fei in a casual tone, “Patron Zhou, is Buddhism flourishing in your homeland?”

Zhou Fei tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That place? Hard to say.”

The old monk continued, “Some books record fragments of speech from you banished immortals, saying that those who attain enlightenment can incinerate vast swamps with a single gesture, shatter mountains with a fist, conjure flying swords with a breath, take a man’s head from a thousand miles away, traverse great rivers and seas on the wind, and capture dragons with one hand. Is this true?”

Zhou Fei was about to speak.

A woman in white drifted over and landed outside the hut, her face filled with fear. “Young Master has been seriously injured in Zhuangyuan Lane.”

Zhou Fei’s face darkened with displeasure. “What?”

The beautiful young woman, with a detached and serene appearance, hesitated, then knelt with a thud, trembling.

Zhou Fei’s mouth twitched. He slowly reached up and covered his forehead. “Lu Fang, Lu Fang, you are not only a fool but also useless, unable to even protect my son…”

His hand on his forehead, as white as jade, formed a claw, as if wanting to tear open his skull.

Zhou Fei lowered his hand, gently patted his knee, and then abruptly waved his sleeve backward.

The stunning woman kneeling outside was sent flying like a ragdoll, exploding into pieces in mid-air before she could even land. The women behind her parted to avoid the spray of blood, but none dared to show the slightest resentment.

“Perhaps it’s not a bad thing,” Zhou Fei said, exhaling deeply. He chuckled, “Old monk, let’s continue our conversation. After we finish, I’ll go settle some family matters.”

The old monk was speechless.

Zhou Fei didn’t press him. He asked, “How was he seriously injured?”

Realizing the woman was already dead, Zhou Fei reached into his sleeve and rapidly performed a series of hand seals, a technique unrecorded in any Buddhist or Taoist scripture in this world.

Outside, the faint figure of a woman appeared, still terrified even in death. She timidly floated toward Zhou Fei, her lips moving silently.

But only Zhou Fei could clearly “hear” her.

The old monk sighed.

Beyond people, there are greater people. Beyond the heavens, there are greater heavens.