That’s the word: complexity.

His sword techniques were infinitely intricate. The sword style with the most moves in the Great Jin Dynasty was undoubtedly the Huashan Southern Peak Town Peak Sword Technique: Myriad Transformations, Thousand Illusions, One Thousand Three Hundred Cloud Mists. This technique boasted thirteen hundred forms, a sheer test of human memory; merely recalling them was difficult, let alone mastering them.

Song Chi’s style, while not reaching thirteen hundred forms, was astonishingly complex, yet not cumbersome.

The move “Flourishing Splendor” looked exquisitely beautiful, especially when paired with his exquisite sword, the Fanchí Sword, possessing an ineffable aesthetic grace. It was as if one were gazing upon a bustling, prosperous city, but the more one felt this sensation, the deeper they sank into the technique, and the more apparent its fearsome power became.

If the previous move was one of beautiful proliferation, the next, “Hurry of Strings and Sharp Pipes,” was utterly riotous.

“Etiquette and Red Tape” offered no such beauty, but carried an inexplicable, commanding force that made one feel inexplicably uncomfortable under its onslaught.

“Luxuriant Branches and Dense Foliage” involved such rapid, numerous, and complex movements that the sword’s phantom images multiplied, making it impossible to discern the real blade from the illusory ones.

“Myriad Names” was a technique of bewildering variation. In truth, it was a single stance capable of spawning a hundred offshoots, each one sickeningly convoluted—a fitting namesake. Should Song Chi be allowed to unleash this sequence of complex forms successfully, they would ultimately coalesce into a single, ultimate move: the Chì Strike.

This was the essence of the Fanchí Sword Art. All preceding movements embodied Fan (complexity), while the subsequent Chì (blaze/intensity) was but one strike.

Of course, this single strike held the greatest destructive power.

Song Chi had always been supremely confident in his Fanchí Sword Art. This style was not his own creation; generally, one had to reach the Sword Intent realm to qualify as a founder. His Fanchí Sword Art was created by the renowned female cultivator, Yu Chi Fanchí, famed in her lifetime for her beauty. That cultivator endured a lifetime of restraint and suffering. Though she never outwardly erupted, her final years were spent between quiet contemplation before ancient Buddhas, yet the fire of her resentment burned fiercely. She refused to be merely a plaything, which led to the creation of that final, singular strike, Chì. In fact, Yu Chi Fanchí had never reached the Sword Intent realm; she hadn't created the art through supreme skill, but through the crucible of her entire life.

In the past, relying on this technique, Song Chi, while not invincible, rarely met his match.

Therefore, initially engaging Lu Yuan in close combat, he felt no significant apprehension.

The reality of the clash, however, revealed something amiss. No matter how his Fanchí Sword Art shifted and morphed, Lu Yuan dismantled it with seemingly casual, utterly simple strikes, as if this profoundly esoteric art were easily broken.

Damn it. When exchanging long-range sword energy attacks, he had sensed Lu Yuan’s skill was formidable, but only in genuine close combat did he realize Lu Yuan’s swordsmanship wasn't just formidable—it was terrifying. Moreover, Song Chi slowly became aware that he had been drawn into Lu Yuan’s swordsphere, his very movements now dictated beneath the arc of Lu Yuan’s blade. What level of swordsmanship was this? ……

Shangguan Qing and Nangong Bai both wore looks of utter disbelief. At this point, it seemed Lu Yuan was destined to win. How could this be? Lu Yuan was so young, yet so powerful? Nangong Bai privately conceded he might not win against Lu Yuan. Shangguan Qing, conversely, was certain he could defeat Lu Yuan; Song Chi had been his subordinate who lost to him years ago. But considering his own age and Nangong Bai’s youth, how could Lu Yuan possess such strength? This meticulously planned sequence, which was supposed to be flawless, was on the verge of collapse, all because of this young man’s mastery of the blade.

Of course, Shangguan Qing remained utterly steadfast. As an immortal cultivator nearing the Longevity stage, his will was ironclad; such things would not easily shake him. His original plan was to seize Lu Yuan’s assets under this guise, transitioning from mere manager to absolute owner. If these industries fell under his control, he would secure immense resources, perhaps allowing him to finally break through to the Longevity stage. Success would grant him considerable status within the Great Jin Nation and secure a foundation for his descendants, even if the acquisition lacked upright legitimacy.

Nangong Bai’s thoughts mirrored Shangguan Qing’s. Managing things for someone else was never as satisfying as owning the source of wealth directly. Such maneuvers usually only occurred when the master was weak and subordinates strong. They dared not act while Li Yuanbai was alive; they had only managed to sacrifice Murong An as a scapegoat after angering the dying Li Yuanbai with the assassination attempt on Lu Yuan. Once Li Yuanbai passed, they began to stir, only to find that the new master, though ostensibly weak, was proving anything but.

Situ Hong watched Lu Yuan’s overwhelming strength against Song Chi, initially finding it hard to credit, but ultimately feeling genuine relief. Why was Situ Hong so fiercely loyal? The reason was simple: Situ Hong harbored a deep, unrequited love for Li Yuanbai. As a young girl, her family had suffered ruin, leaving her utterly alone and vulnerable. It was then that Li Yuanbai extended his hand in aid. From that moment, Situ Hong adored him. Alas, Li Yuanbai already had a wife. Situ Hong could only love in secret. After Li Yuanbai’s wife passed away, Situ Hong considered making her move, but saw how deeply and singularly Li Yuanbai grieved for his wife, and she abandoned the thought. Though Li Yuanbai was gone, Lu Yuan was the successor he designated, his disciple. Therefore, she had to support him, regardless of what happened—this was the source of Situ Hong’s unwavering loyalty.

The world is rife with myriad loves and hates. Even immortal cultivators cannot escape the temptations of the Six Desires and the Mortal Dust. Only the extremely rare, like the peerless Yan Cangtian, manage to transcend these worldly bonds, or perhaps a languid soul like Lu Yuan, who manages to accrue fewer entanglements and stir less dust. The Six Desires and the Mortal Dust churn endlessly; once immersed, cultivation becomes fraught with difficulty.

Meanwhile, Situ Hao’s eyes were wide with shock. Four years prior, his strength was comparable to Lu Yuan’s; Lu Yuan had been at the bottom of the Ten Great True Disciples, while he was the Eleventh. Yet, in these four years, he had developed immensely, changed significantly, and he could no longer fathom Lu Yuan’s sword techniques or the heights of his sorcery. However, Situ Hao understood that Song Chi was one of the most formidable men under his grandfather’s command. If such a figure could not subdue Lu Yuan, just how powerful had Lu Yuan become now? Situ Hao secretly seethed with resentment: Why him? Why didn’t he possess Lu Yuan’s talent? His lineage was superior, and he had exerted himself more diligently.

As for the other onlookers, they were simply spectators enjoying the show.

Naturally, they were also stunned by Lu Yuan’s sheer power. To possess such strength at such a young age was like viewing a perfectly executed painting; any viewer with normal appreciation instantly recognized its quality, even if they couldn't articulate precisely why—they simply knew it was masterful, akin to the Along the River During the Qingming Festival. After their initial shock at Lu Yuan’s prowess subsided, their inner states did not shift drastically, unlike the key figures whose minds churned with various calculations. Thus, the onlookers remained just that—onlookers. —————— The eerie, blood-red longsword hovered before Song Chi’s eyes.

If the tip moved just a fraction further, it would pierce Song Chi’s throat. At the ninth level of Body Refinement, one could only survive severed limbs; a punctured throat now meant certain death.

“Martial Uncle Song, your swordsmanship is unremarkable,” Lu Yuan remarked, gazing at Song Chi.

Song Chi’s face twisted into an expression of bitterness mingled with profound disbelief. He was a well-known figure, yet he was defeated by a junior. What irony! Senior Brother Sima had sent him for this task, but he hadn’t expected Lu Yuan’s mystical energy to be so much stronger than legend suggested, nor his swordsmanship. None of the previous intelligence mentioned Lu Yuan possessing the Dusk Sword Intent. Where did Lu Yuan learn it? Perhaps Senior Brother Li assisted him with a secret method before his passing? If they knew Lu Yuan grasped the Dusk Sword Intent entirely on his own, what would their reaction be?

“Martial Uncle Song, this Fanchí Sword, I’m afraid, must remain here.” Such was the rule of the dojo challenge.

Generally, dojos permitted visitors to challenge their masters. If the challenger won, proving no one within the dojo could defeat them, they could claim the main plaque—a devastating loss of face for the dojo. If the challenger lost, they forfeited their prized sword, which was displayed as a trophy, symbolizing the dojo’s glory. Of course, this applied when challenges were made boldly. In public duels, participants usually preserved face, engaging in minor, private bouts where victory was known only to the involved parties—a courtesy exchanged for future favors. However, this time, Sima Changbai intended for Song Chi to deliver a crushing public humiliation to advance his scheme. Unexpectedly, Lu Yuan’s strength far exceeded expectations; the planned humiliation failed, and instead, Song Chi was humiliated, forced to surrender his Fanchí Sword.

Song Chi knew the rules and felt a wave of helplessness. He had never anticipated losing. Had he foreseen this possibility, he would never have brought such a beautiful weapon as the Fanchí Sword into the fray.

Lu Yuan laughed heartily and tossed the Fanchí Sword to Situ Hong. “Situ, this blade is for you. A beautiful sword bestowed upon a fair lady.”

Situ Hong smiled faintly. “Master, I will keep it safe for now. I shall return it when the Master marries, so he may present it to the future mistress of the estate—a sword so beautiful and steeped in legend.”

Lu Yuan chuckled. This battle was over, but he knew its influence was far from extinguished. On the Northern Peak, arguments were sure to flare up anew. The physical contest had concluded, but the political wrangling was just beginning. (I plan to include a compendium of famous swords midway through the narrative, published in the public chapters. This story is fundamentally a simple classical Xianxia narrative focused on swords and techniques. I also request monthly votes; please contribute any you have.)V