The Zhenqi, only the innate Zhenqi that transcended ordinary martial arts, could instantly unleash such devastating power, capable of bypassing the defense of the protective arm vambraces to directly assault Xiao Yifan’s internal organs.
However, by the time this powerful inner-force cultivator reacted, he had lost any chance to signal his two fellow disciples.
The very moment his body began to collapse as if weightless and unsupported, Zhuang Yuan and Xiao Yilin lunged forward simultaneously, like attacking birds.
Their movements instantly reached their limit. A master of the Ninth Layer of Inner Force and one of the Tenth Layer simultaneously unleashed their signature skills, striking He Yiming with their strongest attacks without reservation.
Zhuang Yuan’s entire body seemed to ignite with a faint red flame—the manifestation of his fire-elemental technique pushed to its extreme. Around him, the searing aura subtly carried a hint of sulfur, and even the fabric of his own clothing began to show signs of turning scorched yellow.
Even when facing He Quanxin’s palm strike earlier, he had held back and not gone all out. But now, a dire warning blared in his mind. Though he faced only an inconspicuous youth, under the crushing pressure of an intense crisis, the palm he now sent forth was absolutely the most powerful strike of his life.
Although Xiao Yifan lacked Zhuang Yuan’s raw strength, his speed had the upper hand. Just as He Yiming released his grip on Xiao Yifan’s arm, Xiao Yifan was already behind him, his arm whipping out like lightning towards the vital point on his back.
The sleeve of his arm billowed wildly, though there was no wind, before suddenly tearing apart. This happened because he had poured the maximum instantaneous inner force he could muster into the golden vambrace. Amplified by this arm treasure, the inner force had grown so potent that it became essentially uncontrollable, causing the sleeve to rupture and expose the vambrace’s dazzling golden gleam.
A piercing wind howled, sounding like the wailing of ghosts and the howling of wolves, screeching directly toward He Yiming’s ears. Any cultivator with developed inner force could sense the sheer power of this strike. If it had truly connected with the center of his back, even a master of the Tenth Layer of Inner Force would be thoroughly crippled.
To relieve Wei by attacking Zhao—this was the tactic he employed.
Facing the full-force assault of two supreme experts, He Yiming’s face and eyes remained utterly devoid of expression. In this moment, his spirit soared infinitely; all emotion vanished from his heart. Looking at them was akin to observing busy ants, completely devoid of sentiment.
He raised both hands gently, pushing outward with his palms in an oddly curved motion, instantly batting away Xiao Yilin’s arm. Then, his other palm met Zhuang Yuan’s fire-infused strike.
There was no sound, yet it filled the hearts of both attackers with an inexpressible shock.
Their powerful offense felt as if it had struck a bale of cotton, generating a frustrating inability to exert force. The power emanating from He Yiming’s hands seemed minimal, yet their own strength simply could not penetrate this layer of cotton to harm him in the slightest.
Immediately following this, He Yiming’s hands moved fluidly. His speed was not particularly fast; it was like practicing martial arts in an open field, and the technique he employed was the widely circulated Soft Palm (Mian Zhang) from the water-elemental cultivation arts.
Yet, in his hands, this seemingly ordinary Soft Palm unleashed incredible power.
His palms either pushed, lifted, drew in, or pulled. These clear, visible movements possessed a potent magic, creating a vortex within several meters around him that he firmly controlled.
Neither Zhuang Yuan nor Xiao Yilin, after exhausting every measure, could break free from this invisible whirlpool.
Their complexions had turned ashen. At this point, they understood only too well how unfathomably deep this young man’s power was, and they knew that the fallen Xiao Yifan was likely doomed. But now, unable to look after anything else, they could only struggle within the vortex, seeking desperately to escape.
Although this was the first time He Yiming used the Water-elemental Soft Palm against an opponent, the true essence of the technique was vividly expressed through his hands. Especially the ability to command space, that glue-like tenacity, he manifested to perfection.
In the eyes of Zhuang Yuan and Xiao Yilin, He Yiming now resembled a massive, terrifying, humanoid spider. Every palm strike he launched was like a strand of silk being cast out. This spider silk possessed immense stickiness, wrapping them tighter and tighter in successive circles.
Even Xiao Yilin, with his innate light-body movement technique, felt an increasing inability to struggle free. If not for the terror of death driving them to resist submission, they might have already given up fighting.
Slowly, they became like insects glued to a spider’s web; though they thrashed their wings desperately, they only became more tightly bound, with no possibility of escape.
The only sliver of hope they clung to was that He Yiming’s Soft Palm did not seem to possess great destructive power. Aside from this terrifying clinging ability, it appeared incapable of inflicting substantial physical damage. This, perhaps, was the sole reason they could continue holding on.
In truth, He Yiming’s hands were moving casually, but his focus was concentrated entirely on the opponents’ feet.
Xiao Yilin, especially, maintained a profound and inscrutable footwork. If He Yiming’s strength hadn't definitively surpassed his own by such a margin, Xiao Yilin might have already slipped out of the Soft Palm’s range of control.
After overhearing their conversation, He Yiming had resolved to kill them all; this feeling was so intense and irreversible.
However, after dispatching Xiao Yifan, a thought suddenly struck him—he recalled the innate light-body movement technique displayed by the Xiao brothers at the Yuan family estate. It was this technique, originating from the Cloud and Rain arts, that had sparked his immense interest and provided sudden insight.
Thus, he used the Soft Palm to restrain the two men close by, allowing him to observe and experience it slowly.
Personal experience was indeed vastly different from mere observation. Though he lacked the detached clarity of an outsider, he found himself conversely drawn deeper into the sensation.
In his perception, Xiao Yilin was not a man but had transformed into a mass of mist, constantly shifting in strange configurations, while his own hands formed an invisible wall, trapping this mist within.
It was unclear how long this sensation persisted, but He Yiming suddenly realized the mist had dissipated, vanishing as if consumed under the harsh glare of the sun.
Startled, he snapped out of that wondrous state.
His gaze shifted. Xiao Yilin had already fallen to the ground, his eyes unfocused and scattered. His entire body was saturated with sweat, looking as if he had just been dredged from water. To He Yiming’s senses, his muscles were soft and pliant, entirely lacking the powerful aura of a cultivator. Instead, he resembled a person paralyzed for years, utterly devoid of resilience. Moreover, his body twitched faintly, his breathing shallow—it seemed that even if left alone, he could expire at any moment.
Heavy, labored gasps, like an old ox pulling a cart, reached He Yiming from his side. He turned to look.
Zhuang Yuan was still circling him, but under the encompassing power of He Yiming’s palms, he had no chance to break through.
Every clash with He Yiming’s fists and palms drastically drained his inner force, and by now, he was at the end of his tether, appearing ready to collapse at any second.
At this point, He Yiming finally understood.
Although he hadn't intended to kill them outright, his underlying resentment meant he could not show mercy to these two.
The power in his palms was maintained at a constant intensity, functioning like a massive millstone, grinding down the inner forces of both men bit by bit.
This sensation was terrifying; Zhuang Yuan and Xiao Yilin would have preferred the swift death of Xiao Yifan over being worn out to death so ignominiously. But at this stage, their survival was beyond their control; they could only spin according to the baton He Yiming conducted them with.
It was only when one of them finally collapsed from exhaustion that He Yiming awakened to the situation.
At this moment, the arrogance, shock, anger, and resentment that had filled Zhuang Yuan’s eyes were gone. Like Xiao Yilin, he was left with a vacant bewilderment, as if his consciousness was clouded.
Completely spent, all pretense of emotion had vanished. Perhaps the only thought left in his mind was the desire to lie down and sleep, regardless of anything else.
The fact that he was still standing was almost pure instinct, a survival urge alone supporting him.
For some reason, He Yiming felt no surge of excitement. He simply sighed deeply, abruptly increasing the force in his palms by a few measures. With a gentle strike, he knocked Zhuang Yuan’s arm aside, and silently pressed a spot on his chest.
Powerful Zhenqi surged out like a swift current, instantly pulverizing all his internal organs into dust.
Zhuang Yuan’s steps abruptly ceased. A sound of profound relief escaped his lips as he exhaled. In this final moment, he seemed to awaken from his daze, but his gaze held only a look of pleasure at being released.
He Yiming glanced down at the bodies on the ground, then looked up at the sky.
The horizon was still dark and gloomy, but he knew the dawn was approaching swiftly.
The three bodies on the ground could not be left here. Although He Yiming knew nothing about their master other than his name, Lü Xinwen, the fact that he could produce such disciples, and their profound confidence in Lü Xinwen, meant this master’s strength could not be less than theirs—perhaps he had even reached the realm of Innate mastery.
Encountering such figures unexpectedly made even He Yiming let out an involuntary sigh of resignation.
He gathered the three men from the ground. Though their combined weight was significantly more than his large broadsword, they still posed no burden to him.
He strode toward the mountain range where he had practiced with his greatsword earlier.
His speed, while not matching the Xiao brothers, was certainly not inferior to Zhuang Yuan’s, supported as he was by innate Zhenqi.
By the time the first ray of sunlight touched the horizon, he had ascended the mountain.
He struck the earth several times, gouging out a large pit. After a moment of hesitation, He Yiming reached out and removed the golden vambraces from the two Xiao brothers. He then fumbled through their remaining possessions.
The most valuable item they carried was undoubtedly that bottle of Essence Golden Pills, aside from some money such as gold ingots. As for the innate light-body manual He Yiming had hoped to find, it was nowhere on them.
After collecting these items, He Yiming tossed the three corpses into the pit, sweeping the surrounding soil over them a few times. Though this mound was crude, it served as a makeshift grave.
Suddenly, He Yiming recalled the cloaked figure he encountered during the Cheng family’s birthday celebration in Taicang County.
At that time, he had only intended to seize what he thought was a manual, but the sheer power of the Thirty-Six Mountain Opening Forms had killed that figure instantly.
It wasn't his first time killing someone, so he had handled the aftermath with relative calm.
Yet, reflecting now, his actions then seemed no different from what he had just done to Xiao Yifan. Except the Xiao brothers proved to be even more ruthless.
He sighed softly. Could it be that within every person’s heart lurked such terrible thoughts and impulses? Some revealed them due to their overwhelming strength, while the vast majority were forced to keep them buried deep because they lacked that same power?
A bitter smile touched the corner of his mouth. If that were true, this world was truly terrifying.
Suddenly, a drop of water landed on his head.
He looked up in surprise. It had begun to drizzle lightly in the forest without him noticing.
An indescribable sense of restlessness welled up in his heart. He leaped up suddenly and began running toward the mountaintop at top speed.
The peaks that were difficult for ordinary men to scale were not quite flat ground to He Yiming, but they certainly didn't impede him significantly. He moved like a large ape, lightly kicking off the trees with his feet. Each bound carried him a considerable distance, and before long, he reached the summit of the high mountain.
By now, the mountain rain was intensifying, the droplets merging into a sheet that hung before his eyes.
The rustling of wind-swept leaves accompanied the rhythm of the rain, sometimes heavy, sometimes soft, seeming to transform into moving musical scores within his heart.
He gazed out far, where layers of dense fog permeated the mountain range.
In the rainwater, these clouds and mists seemed to be cleansed, revealing a spectrum of brilliant colors.
Instantly, clouds blossomed radiantly, like competing buds of purple-red flowers; like charming young women swaying their silk skirts in a dance; even like countless fiery-red camellias blooming across the mountainside, laughing and vying for beauty.
He Yiming’s soul also felt as if it had been washed by this sudden mountain rain; every speck of worldly dust was instantly scrubbed clean.
He had not a single worldly thought left in his mind. His eyes were clear and pure, like those of a newborn infant, surveying the world with innocent curiosity.
In his mind, a mass of mist reappeared—a constantly swirling, unpredictably changing mist.
The unpredictable Cloud and Rain Imprint (Yun Yu Yin) from the martial arts stage at the Cheng family’s wedding reception in Taicang County.
The bizarre and elusive footwork of the Xiao brothers at the Yuan family estate in Zheng Tong Prefecture, impossible to trace.
And everything he had just personally experienced and gained insight from Xiao Yilin—at this moment, it all seemed to erupt fully.
He Yiming slowly closed his eyes. He no longer observed the world with his sight, but felt it with his spirit.
In his mind, this ceaseless mountain rain, these heavily churning clouds and mists, gave him a feeling of ultimate wonder.
The majesty of nature was so immense; he, an Innate realm master, seemed insignificant here.
The constantly churning mist in his mind gradually coalesced into a human figure. Slowly, this figure sharpened, performing various magical movements continuously within his consciousness.
In these movements, he could see shadows of the Cloud and Rain Imprint, and also the peculiar footwork of the Xiao brothers. But more than that, through the shifting of this figure, he saw the fine rain falling overhead and the clouds swirling between the peaks.
He stood there silently atop the peak, absorbing the immense, incredible breath of nature. His entire being seemed to merge with the heavens and the earth at this moment.
His consciousness seemed to detach from his body, soaring through the magnificent mist, eventually becoming a part of it.
Suddenly, the figure in his mind grew distinct. His movements were no longer chaotic but formed a perfect system, ethereal and formless, like the drifting clouds and mist of nature itself.
Finally, this figure stopped moving.
And at that precise moment, He Yiming clearly saw who this figure was: himself...
His eyes snapped open. He looked up. The mountain rain had ceased at some unknown point, and the red sun hung high overhead, radiating warm light.
Before his eyes, the clouds that had encircled the peaks had receded. As far as his gaze could travel, the distant high mountains were clearly visible.
He realized then that this mountain he stood upon, which had seemed so tall, was merely a small mound among the surrounding peaks.
In the distance, the mountains were majestic, overlapping ranges, peaks abruptly jutting out, towering into the clouds—how imposing and undeniably grand they were.
He let out a breath. A sudden thought struck him.
After stepping into the Innate realm, he felt like he had just summited this mountain. Yet, before him lay countless more, larger peaks awaiting his climb.
Gazing at the seemingly endless horizon, his heart filled with excitement. With a loud cry, he unleashed a long, triumphant roar that echoed between heaven and earth...
P.S.: Wishing all brothers and sisters a refreshed spirit for the Year of the Tiger, full of dynamism... May all the little babies grow up strong and robust (the little boys and girls are too cute)... May all the youths grow up broad and mighty (well, the ladies perhaps don't need that)... May all middle-aged and elderly people remain vigorous and experience their second spring in life (don't think impure thoughts, those who do will not dream of Mengrushenji).