He felt a surge of intense desire to visit the Canghai Sword Sect, to compare it with the Mei Residence. The latter was like an ant next to an elephant.
His ambition was to become the greatest under heaven, yet staying confined within the Mei Residence, even with ferocious practice, made it unattainable. Learning in isolation would not suffice; he needed to broaden his horizons.
Gong Qingyun stated coolly, “The Canghai Sword Sect is one of the Seven Great Sects of the world, and their Canghai Swordplay is famed as peerless. Miss has deep karmic fortune, favored by Abbess Zhuxi. To be accepted into the Canghai lineage!”
Li Muzhan chuckled, “The Canghai Sword Sect!”
Gong Qingyun continued, “Both Elder and Younger Miss have high martial arts skills, having cultivated the introductory techniques of the Canghai Sword Sect.”
“The introductory martial arts of the Little Canghai Sword Sect?” Li Muzhan sighed.
Mei Ruolan’s martial arts were exquisite, surpassing his own, yet she had only mastered the rudimentary skills of the Canghai Sword Sect. Truly, comparing oneself to others was enough to drive one mad.
“Envious?” Gong Qingyun glanced at him sideways.
“Indeed,” Li Muzhan smiled candidly.
Gong Qingyun said lightly, “People are the same, but fate differs. Each has their destiny. You became a monk, and a monk you shall remain for life. I was born into wealth, carefree, focusing solely on martial arts cultivation. As for the Eldest Miss, she bears heavy responsibility from childhood; though her position appears glorious, her path is fraught with difficulty.”
Li Muzhan laughed, “Senior Sister believes in fate?”
“Yes, I believe in fate!” Gong Qingyun nodded, tilting her head back to gaze through the branches at the vast expanse of the evening clouds. Her eyes gradually grew distant.
Li Muzhan smiled, shaking his head.
One should not judge by appearance. Senior Sister Gong seemed sharp and stubborn, suggesting a nature that would refuse to yield. He had never expected her to actually believe in fate, to want to fight against it.
Li Muzhan drifted away, a soft rustling sound coming from afar. He returned quickly, smiling, “Junior Sister, let’s go over there.”
Gong Qingyun retracted her gaze, looked at him, saw his beaming smile, and snorted lightly, “What trickery are you plotting now?!”
“You’ll know when we get there,” Li Muzhan replied with a smile, turning to leave. Gong Qingyun followed.
It was only about twenty meters, and suddenly the area opened up. Four tree stumps lay on the ground where four massive trees had stood, revealing a wide stretch of sky. Looking up, one could see the sky filled with crimson clouds.
Nearby lay a pile of leaves and branches. The four large trees had been fashioned into a massive bed, easily twice the size of an ordinary couch, neatly shaped, simple and ancient in design.
Except for lacking varnish, it was indistinguishable from a regular bedstead.
Gong Qingyun was astonished, pointing at it and turning to ask, “This—did you make this?”
“How is my craftsmanship?” Li Muzhan asked with a smile.
Gong Qingyun examined the bedstead; the joints were seamless, quite aesthetically pleasing. She shook her head, “I really didn’t expect—”
“My father was a carpenter; it’s just a little family skill,” Li Muzhan said with a smile.
“Senior Sister, let’s sit on the bed and talk,” Li Muzhan ascended the platform and sat cross-legged.
Gong Qingyun hesitated for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed.
Li Muzhan formed a hand seal and said with a slight smile, “I will meditate for a while. Senior Sister can lie down and recuperate.”
“Mm,” Gong Qingyun nodded but did not lie down.
The sudden end to their conversation left her inexplicably disappointed, but she forcibly suppressed it, acting as if nothing was amiss.
Li Muzhan smiled and entered meditation, his expression peaceful, completely still like a statue.
Gong Qingyun sat first, watching Li Muzhan for a while. Seeing that his eyelids hadn't moved and he was truly in concentration, she lay down and gazed upward at the sky.
The sky, full of colorful clouds, was magnificent. She was captivated.
The sun soon set, and dusk descended. Eventually, the night surged up, drowning everything around them. Darkness enveloped the earth. Gong Qingyun first stared at the sky, mesmerized by the evening glow. Later, as twilight gathered, she rose to sit cross-legged, regulating her breathing and circulating her energy, conserving strength.
She knew Li Muzhan would not let the matter rest easily; he was bound to stir up trouble.
After an unknown period, she suddenly heard a sound near her ear. Opening her eyes, Li Muzhan was already off the bed, tidying the quiver on his back.
Seeing her awake, Li Muzhan stopped his movements and smiled, “Senior Sister is awake?”
“Are we leaving soon?” Gong Qingyun asked.
Li Muzhan said, “Logically, the latter half of the night would be best, but I can’t wait. I’ll go scout first.”
“I’m coming too!” Gong Qingyun leaped off the bed. Li Muzhan nodded, “Go carefully. Follow my hand signals.”
“Okay,” Gong Qingyun agreed. The two headed south. Reaching the edge of the woods, they saw two lines of fire dragons soaring into the air.
The path was lined with lanterns on both sides, looking like two winding fire dragons from a distance. The bluestone path was illuminated clearly.
Gong Qingyun frowned, “No good.”
With such an arrangement, even with superb Qinggong, they would surely be discovered attempting to ascend, leaving no escape.
Li Muzhan shook his head with a wry smile, “We’ll have to force our way through!”
He turned and said, “Senior Sister, you go ahead first. I’ll kill a few people and come back; I won’t go deep inside.”
Gong Qingyun shook her head, “I’ll go with you!”
Li Muzhan said, “Senior Sister, your Qinggong is not as good as mine. If we have to flee later—”
Gong Qingyun replied, “Then forget it. Let’s go back now!”
“Sigh,” Li Muzhan finally agreed with a reluctant, bitter smile, “Alright, let’s return.”
So the two hurried back to their original spot.
The Mei Residence party had already left, traveling south along the road. They reached a small town and found Mei Ruolan and the others at a household there.
Seeing the two return safely, Mei Ruolan breathed a sigh of relief. Li Muzhan didn't say much, only offered a bitter smile, then headed straight into the town and rushed towards Wohu Mountain.
Wohu Mountain was utterly silent; all things rested without a sound.
Under the moonlight, Li Muzhan swept swiftly along the treetops, descending from the woods to land directly on the bluestone path, then sped upward.
After traveling a dozen zhang, a deep grunt sounded: “Who goes there?!”
Li Muzhan’s hand moved; the Ice Jade Bow opened and closed, shooting out a dark streak of light silently.
A muffled thud was heard, and a bald, sturdy man lay on the steps, an arrow from the Yan Xiao set piercing his chest, motionless—already dead.
Li Muzhan didn't even look at him, stepping over the body, continuing upward. The Ice Jade Bow simultaneously fired another arrow upward.
A faint whistling sound followed by another muffled groan.
His Flying Cloud Arrow technique was becoming increasingly skilled; profound internal energy imbued each shot. Although the lanterns were lit, it was still dimmer than daylight; the arrows flew soundlessly, impossible to guard against.
“Who goes there?!” A furious roar echoed through the forest.
The silence was broken, followed by a series of whistles, rising and falling, until the entire Wohu Mountain was alerted, as if a fierce tiger had awakened.
Amidst hurried footsteps, numerous torches appeared above the bluestone path, making it as bright as day.
Li Muzhan looked up. Twenty-odd bald men stood above, filling ten layers of steps. Under the light of the torches, their gleaming heads shone.
Holding the torches, they stared fixedly at Li Muzhan, saying nothing, their eyes cold and fierce.
Disturbing their sleep in the middle of the night had ignited their fury; they wished to slice Li Muzhan into a thousand pieces and feed his remains to the dogs immediately.
Facing them, Li Muzhan smiled slightly, drew an arrow, and nocked it.
With a “Chi!”—a faint whistle—a streak of dark light flashed out.
With a crisp “Ding!”, a burly man swung his saber, chopping down the dark streak.
This man was powerfully built, bare-chested, with a lifelike, fierce tiger head embroidered on his chest.
He licked his lips and chuckled, “Little monk, you refuse the road to heaven and choose the gate to hell. Have you come to die?!”
Li Muzhan raised an eyebrow. This group was indeed extraordinary. Though the sheer number of torches made it as bright as day, making stealth attacks difficult, being able to cleave a wild goose feather arrow in mid-air with one saber strike was no small feat.
He put away the Ice Jade Bow, drew his sword, and glided forward a dozen zhang, arriving before the burly man like a gust of wind, thrusting directly at his heart.
The man brought his saber down again. Li Muzhan’s sword tip flicked upward, meeting the blade.
With a clear “Ding!”, the man’s long saber was deflected. Li Muzhan seized the opportunity to stab, piercing the man’s heart, then pulled the blade out and sidestepped.
A “Chi!”—a jet of blood shot out, grazing his side and splashing onto the bluestone steps.
The burly man pointed a finger at him, his mouth moving, then suddenly blood surged up. Before he could utter a sound, he slowly collapsed, supported by the man beside him.
From Li Muzhan’s advance to the clash and the sword piercing and withdrawing, it was only an instant—so fast the other burly men had no time to react.
“You deserve death! You deserve death,” a sallow-faced man snarled through gritted teeth, veins bulging like writhing earthworms on his neck, looking hideous.
The Ghost Head Saber made a sharp qiangdu sound and slashed down fiercely, a flash of cold, white light aimed at Li Muzhan’s head.
Li Muzhan’s sword tip flicked up, striking the blade body, knocking it aside diagonally, and he followed up with another thrust.
He was using his mind for two purposes, cultivating his internal arts ceaselessly; his progress was rapid, his internal strength now profound. Combined with his divine physical power and the integration of the Kai Gong Jue, the force contained in his sword was astonishing.
“Ding!” A sword extended from the side, parrying his blade.
The sallow-faced man stepped back, cold sweat prickling his back, his expression changing.
He switched his saber to his left hand, shook his right, and gestured forward, saying gravely, “Brothers, this one is tough. Let’s all attack together!”
“Attack together!” the crowd roared in unison.
They were bandits; there was no need for martial world etiquette. Any means that downed the opponent made them heroes.
However, the bluestone steps were narrow, allowing only two men abreast at a time.
Two thin men stepped forward, their long swords attacking simultaneously, the glint of their blades spreading like spilled mercury, probing every angle.
The two looked identical, both with long, thin faces and narrow, sinister eyes—clearly twin brothers. Their swordplay was dense, their coordination as if they were one person.
The Kai Gong Jue and the Wu Ying Sword Art merged, increasing their power. Li Muzhan wielded his sword like lightning, his strikes infused with tremendous force. Yet, despite their exquisite swordsmanship, the two could not gain the upper hand.
This made the onlookers gasp in admiration. A short man said, “Twelfth Brother, this monk is formidable. Be cautious, perhaps we should wake the Boss!”
The sallow-faced man turned his head and glared, “Nonsense! It’s just one person. You need everyone involved? Are we all just good-for-nothings?”
A muffled sound interrupted his words.
The two turned to look. Li Muzhan was withdrawing his sword. Blood erupted from the heart of the man on the left, and he slowly fell backward, caught by the man behind him.
His sword slipped from his grasp. Li Muzhan snatched it up, lightly shook the blade, and laughed heartily toward the sky, his spirit soaring: “If you have guts, come on!”
Executing justice on behalf of heaven gave him absolute confidence and boundless bravado.
He originally didn’t intend to dawdle; when writing a book, one should just write, why waste breath? But looking at the subscription numbers, his heart turned cold. It seemed this book was going to starve.
A high of two fen per thousand characters, or a low of three fen. He wrote frantically all day, from morning until eleven at night. Everyone only needed to spend two or three mao—spending these three mao meant he could survive and continue writing. Saving these three mao meant he had no way to live.
However, saving money was understandable. Perhaps his skill was too poor to be worth the expense. He was deeply grateful to those who had subscribed; thank you all for your support. I will certainly work hard and write seriously, with even greater effort.
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