Feng Qingbai not only had his weapon seized, but was almost pierced through the heart by the other party’s sword-manipulation technique. Instead of feeling utterly humiliated and flying into a rage, his eyes gleamed with an unusual brilliance, as if finally thinking, “Now *that’s* more like it.”

Jianghu customs still needed to be observed. Having been rescued by Lu Fang, Feng Qingbai stood behind this renowned “half-sword immortal” and offered his thanks.

Looking at the dashing figure with sleeves full of sword qi, Feng Qingbai felt a pang of envy. He was merely relying on his family background and sect to have achieved his current state. Although his talent was not bad, he was still unworthy of being hailed as “unparalleled” or “one in a century.”

Lu Fang was different.

Lu Fang was the kind of person who would be the most exceptional swordsman in any world.

Lu Fang, his back still turned to Feng Qingbai, chuckled, “You’re welcome. If you wish, I can continue to watch your back, provided you have the courage to reclaim that sword.”

Feng Qingbai reached out and rubbed his left shoulder, feeling somewhat helpless. He shook his head, saying, “It wouldn’t be difficult up there, but unfortunately, here, I’m destined not to retrieve that sword.”

Lu Fang nodded. “Then you can watch the battle nearby.”

Feng Qingbai smiled knowingly. “We’ll meet again on this vast journey. I’ll be sure to repay this debt in the future.”

This time, Feng Qingbai had descended, spending a great favor from his sect to help him traverse the ten thousand mountains with ease. He had played the role of a banished immortal who awakened his knowledge of self for over a decade, abandoning his identity as a sword cultivator, seizing a relatively decent physical body, and starting over as a pure martial artist and swordsman of the Jianghu, challenging various experts. The benefits were there, but far from enough for Feng Qingbai to achieve what his master called “from afar to near.”

Before descending, Feng Qingbai had a heart-to-heart talk with his master. Sword cultivators, besides their swords, also had natal flying swords, which represented the “far,” capable of killing enemies invisibly from tens or hundreds of feet away. Jianghu swordsmen, on the other hand, emphasized being invincible within three feet, which was the “near.”

Therefore, Feng Qingbai had to comprehend the Way of the Sword from close range.

Fortunately, watching the white-robed swordsman and Lu Fang wield their swords was also a form of cultivation.

Feng Qingbai possessed this level of insight and mentality.

As for today’s victory or defeat, Feng Qingbai didn’t care. In fact, most banished immortals didn’t come to this mortal realm for “invincibility” or “total victory.” It had more to do with their personal state of mind and overcoming inner obstacles.

Ya’er slumped against the base of the wall, drenched in sweat, barely managing to stop the gushing flow of blood. She didn’t even dare to look down at the wound.

The pipa-playing woman, who had been smashed into the wall, was covered in blood and dirt. After struggling for a while, she finally fell to the ground and leaned against the wall, using it for support to stand up. She glanced at her beloved pipa, which had traveled the Jianghu with her for so many years and was now a broken mess. She was too weak to pick it up. Without looking at the battle on the street, she pressed a hand against the wall and staggered forward, her face a ghastly white, as if she was going to a place she absolutely had to reach.

Ma Xuan had not regained consciousness, and might never have the chance to do so in this lifetime.

Zhou Shi’s forehead was covered in a layer of fine sweat. Just a glimpse of the white-robed swordsman’s sword-manipulation made Zhou Shi feel like a massive stone was pressing on his heart, almost suffocating him.

It wasn’t easy to activate those beads and have them take root in the ground. He first needed to sever and extract a wisp of internal energy, carefully infuse it into the beads,

and then, according to the immortal array diagram privately taught by his father, Zhou Fei, arrange the beads like chess pieces, forming a strategic formation. Only then was it considered complete. During this process, he couldn’t make a single mistake. Each bead contained the “immortal energy” that Zhou Fei had scoured and collected from all over. Zhou Fei had once let him use divine weapons to attack the beads at will, but Zhou Shi couldn’t damage them in the slightest.

He had followed his father to the capital of Nanyuan Kingdom this time, thinking he had everything under control, mostly with the mentality of joining in the fun. He only needed to hide in the shadows behind his father and Ding Laomo, watching the tigers fight and others die, but Ding Ying acted unpredictably, forcing him to risk himself alongside Ya’er.

If his father died, there was still a chance. But if he, Zhou Shi, died, wanting to be resurrected and return to the world as the original Zhou Shi would be as difficult as ascending to the heavens.

Moreover, with his father’s temperament, if he, Zhou Shi, died prematurely, he might not even bother to look at his corpse, and definitely wouldn’t waste a single ounce of effort.

The reason Chen Ping’an didn’t press the attack, besides Lu Fang’s intervention, was that he was still familiarizing himself with the weight of the long sword and the amount of true energy needed for its various flying trajectories. The more precise, the better. A swordsman manipulating a sword, the so-called “as natural as using one’s own limbs,” was only just crossing the threshold. More importantly, he had to enter a state of “telepathy,” a pseudo-state that imitated sword cultivators controlling their natal flying swords. It was like a rough imitation, but even counterfeits had their own true meaning and were worth studying.

Lu Fang was actually hesitating all along.

Because Ding Laomo was nearby.

Once he chose to go all out to deal with the white-robed swordsman, he could easily be attacked by the eccentric Ding Ying. Ding Ying’s attacks never followed any rules or took anyone’s identity into consideration. He might even use all his strength to deal with a minor martial artist he disliked. Furthermore, Lu Fang was worried about the safety of the hairpin-wearing noble Zhou Shi.

Just then, Lu Fang and Chen Ping’an simultaneously looked in the same direction.

It was a tall and slender old Confucian scholar in a green robe. His demeanor was stern, clearly that of a mountain-peak grandmaster who was one of the best in this world. However, he didn’t interfere with the confrontation between Chen Ping’an and Lu Fang, but instead turned from the street into an alley, heading towards the courtyard where Chen Ping’an was temporarily staying.

National Preceptor Zhong Qiu had confronted Ding Ying.

If one were to ask who in this world dared to use their fists to directly confront Ding Laomo, and put up a magnificent fight, and be willing to fight to the death, it wouldn’t be the immortal Yu Zhenyi, who vaguely surpassed the realm of martial arts, nor would it be Lu Fang, whom he overlooked. It was only Zhong Qiu.

With this, Lu Fang truly had no more worries.

Lu Fang slowly drew his sword. With every inch that Da Chun was drawn from its scabbard, the world gained another inch of brilliant light, dazzling and blinding. Even Xiao Lian’er had to squint her eyes.

The thin, withered little girl, who always wished that everyone couldn’t see her, shrank on the bench. While even Xiao Lian’er had to squint, she instead widened her eyes, carefully staring at the sword light as it spread from one inch to two inches. She didn’t flinch even with her face covered in tears. When Da Chun was halfway out of its sheath, she suddenly turned her head away, feeling as if she was going blind. Even with her eyes closed, her “vision” was still a white expanse. She reached out her skinny, chicken-claw-like hand and gently wiped her face.
She watched the man draw his sword, captivated by the sheer beauty of the spectacle, yearning to grasp it within her palm.

Each morning, as she strolled past stalls laden with fragrant delights, her eyes and stomach would yearn for the steamed delicacies. An urge to snatch and flee would seize her, to hide away and gorge herself, leaving none for others, wishing them all to starve.

Zhong Qiu arrived outside the mansion, the courtyard gate ajar, and strode directly inside.

Ding Ying, upon seeing this martial artist who had elevated external martial arts to their pinnacle, greeted him with a smile: “Sixty years have passed since our last meeting. Zhong Qiu, if my reckoning is correct, you must be in your seventies now?”

Zhong Qiu glanced at the reflection on the window and the activity within the side room, his brow furrowing slightly.

Ding Ying, standing on the steps, remained unperturbed by Zhong Qiu’s silence, and continued, “You doubted my words back then. Do you believe me now?”

Ding Ying had seen much in this world. In a century of Jianghu, only a handful of individuals had caught his discerning eye, and of that select few, some had already perished.

Zhong Qiu was one of them.

The world held Yu Zhenyi in high regard, believing that while Minister Zhong Qiu was indeed accomplished, he still paled in comparison to Yu Zhenyi, the ethereal being who had ascended from the mountains into the sea of clouds.

But Ding Ying had always looked down upon Yu Zhenyi, reserving his admiration solely for Zhong Qiu.

During the turbulent wars of the Southern Yuan Kingdom sixty years ago, Ding Ying was deeply involved. Yu Zhenyi and Zhong Qiu were merely youths who had seized opportunities amidst the chaos. After the war’s conclusion, Ding Ying encountered the inseparable pair and prophesied that Zhong Qiu would undoubtedly become a grandmaster.

Zhong Qiu posed two questions to Ding Ying.

“What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

“What are we doing?”

“Let’s sit and talk.” Ding Ying settled onto a small stool, casually flicking his sleeve to send another stool floating beside Zhong Qiu. As the latter sat, Ding Ying slowly began, “Before answering your questions, allow me to ask you, do you know where you are?”

Zhong Qiu’s expression turned solemn. “I am aware that there are heavens beyond heavens.”

Ding Ying nodded with a smile. “Rather than searching for mere traces of banished immortals in ancient records, I prefer a more direct approach. Over the past sixty years, I’ve personally slain quite a few, some enlightened, some still dreaming, and gleaned much from their lips.”

He stamped his foot. “This place is called Lotus Root Paradise, one of the seventy-two blessed lands. We may feel that the four kingdoms, along with the uncharted territories, are vast, but to those banished immortals, they are but miniature. According to them, our Lotus Root Paradise is merely a mid-tier blessed land. Their assessment of a blessed land’s rank hinges not only on the abundance of spiritual energy, but also the population. Lotus Root Paradise may not be geographically vast, but it is fertile ground for martial arts talent, making it a prime location for banished immortals to temper their hearts.”

Zhong Qiu had sought the truth for many years and harbored suspicions, but hearing Ding Ying reveal the secrets of the heavens caused even his serene grandmaster’s heart to stir, a hint of anger surfacing on his face.

Only now did Zhong Qiu begin to understand the pressure Yu Zhenyi carried.

Having cultivated immortal arts, Yu Zhenyi stood taller and saw farther than anyone else, save for Ding Ying. This granted him a detachment from worldly strife, even the shifting tides of the four kingdoms’ courts, that others could scarcely comprehend.

Ding Ying chuckled. “But the truly peculiar aspect of Lotus Root Paradise stems from one…”

Here, Ding Ying trailed off, laughing softly, and gazed skyward. “A person? An immortal?”

Ding Ying continued, “It’s said that entering this place is far more challenging than entering other blessed lands, dependent on that fellow’s mood, or perhaps their discerning eye. In the homelands of those so-called banished immortals, our Lotus Root Paradise on Willow Leaf Continent is relatively obscure, rarely mentioned compared to Cloud Cavern Paradise, controlled by the Jade Tablet Sect. If Zhou Fei and Lu Fang are akin to aristocratic scions dispatched to govern distant lands, their careers progressing in an orderly fashion, many others are merely individuals who stumbled in by accident.

Whether they can leave depends solely on luck.”

Zhong Qiu pointed skyward. “So, that heaven beyond heavens is called Willow Leaf Continent?”

Ding Ying’s smile was playful. “Who told you it must be directly above us?”

Zhong Qiu fell into contemplation.

Ding Ying rarely encountered individuals worthy of his words. Devoid of the airs of a peerless master, absent the arrogance the world attributed to him, he resembled a patient old tutor, imparting knowledge and resolving doubts for his students. “Now, I can answer your second question: What are we doing? Every sixty years, the top ten masters who have made the list and survived can be chosen by that fellow to leave this place, and thereafter, each receives a great opportunity. The superior ascendants ascend with complete bodies and souls, while the inferior are only able to have their souls taken elsewhere.”

Zhong Qiu inquired, “So, Reverence Manor digs three feet into the ground to find the true top ten masters and appraise them, to prevent anyone from deceiving or sneaking past the selection? Furthermore, to prevent those who hide too deeply, it intentionally adds those fortunate items that can cause cultivation to skyrocket, and those who slay banished immortals will obtain divine weapons, to encourage the top twenty to gather and kill each other?”

“As for that Reverence Manor, which causes a stir, its secrets are numerous, deeper than you or I can fathom. Without Reverence Manor’s ‘knocks’ every twenty years, the world would not be so chaotic.”

Ding Ying chuckled. “However, there are loopholes that can be exploited.”

Zhong Qiu, as befitting the Minister of the Southern Yuan Kingdom, understood immediately. “The strong become stronger, huddling together for warmth, striving to act together and ultimately divide the benefits. Not just in the past, but also this time, Yu Zhenyi is acting in this way, regardless of good or evil, trying to bring together the top twenty masters as much as possible, in order to target you, Ding Ying, while simultaneously besieging the banished immortals.”

Here, Zhong Qiu frowned again, looking at Ding Ying, seemingly puzzled.

Ding Ying laughed heartily. “You are correct. The truly safest approach is for the top ten to be sensible and lean toward me early on, seeking protection. As long as I leave the Demonic Sect and act fairly, diligently, establishing good rules for the entire world, then those who hope to make the list can rely on their own abilities and talents, and I will appraise where you, Zhong Qiu, rank, and whether Yu Zhenyi has made it into the top three. Then, at least within these sixty years, the world will be at peace, there will be no need to fight until our brains splatter, we can simply learn from each other.”
Zhong Qiu pondered carefully, confirming that Ding Ying wasn’t just spouting nonsense.

Ding Ying tapped his knee lightly with his finger, appearing particularly relaxed and at ease. “But I find it all rather… uninteresting.”

Zhong Qiu asked the same question again, “What do you want to do?”

Ding Ying waved his hand, still not answering the question, instead changing the subject, “You just need to know that the situation has changed this time. There’s no ‘Ten People’ or anything anymore. The three who survive until the end and ascend can each take five, three, and one person respectively from this world.”

Ding Ying emphasized, “Any three people.”

Zhong Qiu’s expression remained unchanged.

Ding Ying tugged at the corner of his mouth, “Even the dead are acceptable, as long as they actually existed in history. If you choose those dead people, not only will they come back to life and have their intelligence restored to normal, but they will also become utterly loyal puppets. Isn’t that fascinating?”

Several figures immediately flashed through Zhong Qiu’s mind.

Wei Xian, the founding emperor of the Southern Garden Kingdom, whose spear techniques were divine, hailed as the greatest vanguard general in a millennium.

Lu Baixiang, the founder of the Demonic Sect, the most notorious demonic leader of the past five hundred years.

The Sword Immortal Sui Youbian, whom even Yu Zhenyi admired.

And Ding Ying’s predecessor as the number one in the world, the utter madman Zhu Lian.

These individuals had all been undeniable paragons in their time, but without exception, they had definitively died in this world. Emperor Wei Xian died of old age at one hundred and twenty, Lu Baixiang died in an ambush by dozens of top experts, and Sui Youbian died during her attempted sword ascension, witnessed by countless people who saw her fall back to the mortal realm, her flesh melting away, her body dissolving into ashes. Zhu Lian, severely wounded, died at the hands of Ding Ying, and that silver lotus crown was taken from Zhu Lian’s head and placed atop Ding Ying’s.

Zhong Qiu asked, “Why?”

Ding Ying smiled, “You ask me? Who am I supposed to ask?”

Zhong Qiu stared directly into Ding Ying’s eyes, “You, Zhou Fei, and Lu Fang… that’s already three people.”

Ding Ying chuckled, “So now you have two choices: kill Lu Fang, or join forces with Yu Zhenyi and try to kill me.”

Zhong Qiu remained silent.

Ding Ying said playfully, “But I advise you to wait a bit. Maybe you won’t have to kill Lu Fang.”

Zhong Qiu asked, “If you were to leave, which three people would you take?”

Ding Ying pointed to Cao Qinglang, standing at the kitchen door. “If I were to leave, I would only take him.”

Zhong Qiu glanced at the child, puzzled. “His aptitude isn’t particularly outstanding.”

Ding Ying simply smiled without offering an explanation.

Unrestrained, Lu Fang unleashed his first sword strike.

After a single sword, from Lu Fang’s standing position to the end of the street, a gully half a zhang high had been cleaved open.

Even the natives like Ya’er and Zhou Shi, and even Feng Qingbai, were dumbfounded, as if they had been transported to their hometown, the continent of Tongye.

Smiley-Face’s smile became even more vivid.

Benefiting from the shade of a large tree, he had become friends with Lu Fang during his lowest days. He had accompanied him to the Spring Tide Palace out of youthful impulse, a seemingly generous act of jointly facing death with Lu Fang. However, Lu Fang knocked Smiley-Face unconscious at the foot of the mountain and went up alone to challenge Zhou Fei. When Smiley-Face woke up, Lu Fang was sitting beside him, no longer the disappointed man drowning in alcohol.

For many years after that, Smiley-Face was the only one allowed to ascend Lu Fang’s Bird’s Eye Peak and descend alive.

Zhou Shi was most helpless; wasn’t the formation he had painstakingly laid out completely useless?

The only flaw was that the young white-robed swordsman had actually fled.

The moment Lu Fang unleashed his sword, the swordsman seemed to know he couldn’t withstand the overwhelming power of the strike, and he moved laterally, then directly smashed through a wall and disappeared.

Lu Fang surveyed his surroundings, not believing that the man had already retreated.

Seemingly casually, he slashed out a sword, cleaving a doorway into the wall.

Dust flew, and a white-robed figure could be faintly seen dodging the flood of sword qi before disappearing again.

Lu Fang knew clearly that if this continued, neither of them could hurt the other. His killing power surpassed the other man’s, but the other man could evade every one of his strikes.

Unless someone was determined to exchange a life for a life.

For example, if Lu Fang were to retract most of his sword qi, giving the other man a chance to get close.

Or if the other man were willing to gamble, able to withstand Lu Fang’s attacks and defenses, and then kill Lu Fang with a single punch.

Lu Fang lifted his sword upwards.

A giant arc of crescent moon sword qi appeared in the air, whistling away.

The white-robed figure hurriedly abandoned his forward rush, descending rapidly to dodge the sword qi.

Lu Fang floated onto the top of the wall in a single step.

Having dodged several times, Lu Fang had yet to see Feng Qingbai’s sword, which was peculiar.

Lu Fang only saw the man standing on the upturned eaves of a distant rooftop, his sleeves swaying slightly, with a vermilion wine gourd at his waist. He wasn’t just ethereally detached; his rich fist intent merged with the heaven and earth, weighty yet pure, extremely rare. Even Lu Fang, famous in Tongye continent, had to admit that this young, banished immortal with his eclectic martial arts, if he could leave Lotus Flower Paradise alive, would certainly achieve great things in the future.

If a fishing rod couldn’t catch a fish, then he would have to change his approach and cast a wide net.

Lu Fang raised his arm and flicked his sword.

Apart from the one he held in his hand, thirty-six identical famous swords, Great Camphor, hovered before Lu Fang, like infantry forming a battle array, orderly and heavily guarded.

One by one, the longswords slowly moved forward, then suddenly accelerated, piercing through the air.

Chen Ping’an sprinted across the rooftops, dodging and weaving. Streams of sword qi, transforming into white rainbows, exploded around him like leeches clinging to bone.

Lu Fang controlled the thirty-six sword qi Great Camphors, using them as crossbow bolts. As long as Chen Ping’an created distance, he would advance appropriately, always maintaining a distance of thirty zhang, not giving Chen Ping’an a chance to rush to his front in one breath. Lu Fang was naturally drawing his sword to kill Chen Ping’an, not to play a game of cat and mouse. But Lu Fang would set traps for Chen Ping’an, determining when Chen Ping’an could get close and when he would mistakenly believe he could decide the outcome with a single punch.

However, before the thirty-six swords were used up, the man began to run towards Lu Fang, his light steps stepping left and right, not following a straight line.

Lu Fang was slightly surprised, sneering inwardly. He was coming?

His fingers moved slightly, and the last six flying swords suddenly scattered, drawing arcs in the air, ultimately converging at a single point.
That place was precisely where his fist was destined to pass.

In a fleeting instant, six flying swords detonated behind him with a thunderous roar, creating a spectacular display.

As expected, he could be even faster.

Lu Fang betrayed neither surprise nor the slightest panic.

In his hand, the true Great Camphor, he swept out a horizontal sword strike.

The sword qi coalesced into a single line.

This sword seemed to cleave the capital city of Nanyuan in two, dividing it into upper and lower realms.

Chen Ping’an advanced instead of retreating, pressing forward fearlessly, and smashed a fist towards the incoming sword light.

Blood splattered before him.

Lu Fang’s eyes remained indifferent as he simply unleashed his sword strike.

First above, then below, then left and right.

But in that instant, Lu Fang, relying purely on instinct, stepped upon the rooftops, a flying sword overhead, soaring towards Chen Ping’an from behind.

Lu Fang felt a lingering fear.

Feng Qingbai’s sword, it seemed, had always been hidden near the wall. The seemingly reckless collision to break the sweeping sword strike was not for a punch, but a display of swordsmanship, a pincer attack from both ends.

Chen Ping’an reached out and grasped the long sword.

Only a sliver of space remained to deal Lu Fang a fatal blow.

But there was no regret on his face, as he silently chanted “Go!”

Lu Fang was horrified. He had no time to warn the hairpin-adorned gentleman, Zhou Shi, on the street below. Disregarding everything, he threw the Great Camphor in his hand towards the wall.

Lu Fang focused his spirit, employing true sword manipulation, to prevent any mishaps, lest he kill the man he meant to save.

Feng Qingbai’s sword pierced through the wall, aiming directly for the back of Zhou Shi’s head.

Almost simultaneously, Lu Fang’s Great Camphor, slightly angled, slammed into the wall, crashing down upon the flying sword from above.

At the critical moment, the Great Camphor struck the flying sword with force, causing it to descend, barely piercing Zhou Shi’s shoulder. The sheer force of the penetration caused the hairpin-adorned gentleman to stagger forward.

Lu Fang abruptly looked up.

A white-robed figure fell like a shooting star, descending from the hole in the roof and appearing before Lu Fang, a fist already upon him.

Lu Fang was struck and sent sliding backward, smashing through the wall. A second fist followed swiftly.

The God-Man Drums!

Lu Fang, caught on this direct path, endured nine solid blows of the God-Man Drums. He retreated all the way, smashing the wall previously stood upon by Laughing Face and Chen Ping’an into utter ruin.

Lu Fang tried to control the Great Camphor to aid himself, but found he dared not, focusing all his energy on protecting his physical body.

The Great Camphor was, after all, just a divine weapon of this world, not Lu Fang’s lifebound sword, left behind in the Tongye Continent.

Chen Ping’an resolutely delivered the tenth punch.

Lu Fang crashed through the building on the other side of the street, just like the pipa-playing woman before him, ultimately vanishing into the wall, bleeding from all seven orifices, in utter disarray.

But Chen Ping’an paid the price for his insistence on delivering that punch.

A figure appeared by his side, a fist striking Chen Ping’an’s temple.

It was as if a bell had been struck against his skull.

Chen Ping’an flew back dozens of feet, half-kneeling on the street, next to the ravine cleaved by Lu Fang’s sword qi.

The one who interrupted Chen Ping’an’s God-Man Drums, dressed in the green robes of a Confucian scholar, stood there, one hand behind his back, the other holding a fist before him, calm and composed.

Chen Ping’an turned his head, spitting out a mouthful of black-blue blood, and wiped his mouth.

The withered little girl, located precisely between the Nanyuan Grand Tutor and Chen Ping’an, had remained curled up on her small stool against the wall from beginning to end.

She quietly glanced at the white-robed figure. He was formidable, but now he looked rather pitiful.

Perhaps it was her imagination, but she found that the one who told her to sit still, the one who had been struck so miserably, as he slowly stood up, was looking at her, even as he locked eyes with the old scholar-like figure.

As if to say, “Don’t be afraid?”

She knew full well that her life was tied to his. If he died, she would likely die too.

Yet she couldn’t help but feel a surge of resentment, wishing he would be beaten to death by that old turtle.

This emotion was inexplicable.

Just like when she first saw the little snowman in the small wooden box.

She loved it so much, but since she couldn’t have it, she would smash it, destroy it, kill it.

She felt there was nothing wrong with that.

First, set a small goal, such as 1 second: