Li Muzhan laughed, understanding the situation, and shook his head with a sigh. Fan Peiyao’s beautiful face flushed crimson, like a piece of red jade, her delicate anger laced with frustration. “You, Feng, speak such nonsense! Utter slander!” Xiao Yuan glanced at her, then at Li Muzhan, a slight, knowing curve playing on her lips.
Li Muzhan said, “Miss Fan, let it go. People’s mouths are their own; you cannot control what they say. The innocent need no defense. Do not let it anger you.”
Fan Peiyao eased the tension in her sword stance, chiding him, “He is always so disrespectful to the Master; it truly is infuriating!”
Feng Baishan sneered repeatedly. “Why should I respect him? Because he stole my woman?!”
Li Muzhan vanished in a sudden blur, reappearing behind Feng Baishan and leaning in to grab him.
Feng Baishan, far superior to Fan Peiyao, moved with practiced ease. A swift sword thrust shot toward the space behind him, aiming precisely for Li Muzhan’s palm—fast and accurate.
Li Muzhan rotated his wrist, intercepting the blade tip with the back of his hand.
Clang… A sharp report, like metal striking metal, echoed. The longsword was knocked loose, embedding itself silently in the adjacent wall, sinking in as if through soft tofu.
Li Muzhan pressed the advantage, capitalizing on Feng Baishan’s momentary numbness, and struck his chest with his left palm.
Bang! Feng Baishan flew backward, smashing through a table, which disintegrated mid-air with a crash, scattering into a pile against the wall’s base.
Feng Baishan landed atop the heap of broken wood, wincing in pain, and bent over, spitting out a spurt of blood.
Li Muzhan advanced slowly, hands clasped behind his back, looking down from above. “Young Master Feng, do not speak carelessly. Calamity stems from the mouth. This is not Thunder Sword Peak!” Feng Baishan looked up, glaring at Li Muzhan, his handsome features twisted into a terrifying grimace. With a sudden, sharp cry, he dissolved into a shadow lunging at Li Muzhan.
Li Muzhan delivered a swift kick, momentarily halting Feng Baishan’s momentum, sending him flying back to violently collide with the wall. Thud! The muffled sound shook the room.
Ptooey. Feng Baishan spat another jet of blood.
Fan Peiyao quickly interjected, “Master…”
Li Muzhan smiled. “Rest assured, I will not kill him.”
Fan Peiyao looked at him, a delicate furrow of worry creasing her brow.
This Feng Baishan was clearly not a magnanimous person; offending him could bring about fatal retribution. She blamed herself—if she hadn’t been present, Master and Feng Baishan would never have become entangled. Yet, she forgot that Li Muzhan and Feng Baishan had crossed swords before and already harbored enmity. Back then, though she held no romantic feelings for Feng Baishan, she didn't particularly dislike him. But seeing the way he lost all composure and revealed his true nature around Li Muzhan, she felt nothing but disgust. A true man should possess a broad mind; to be petty and calculating was truly contemptible, just like a petty woman.
Noticing her anxiety, Li Muzhan laughed. “Do not worry. I am returning to the military camp today. His master is too formidable; he wouldn't dare cause trouble at the camp!”
Fan Peiyao let out a deep breath, a smile blooming on her face.
In her heart, she admired the Master; he was a true man—broad-minded and stalwart, yet capable of yielding when necessary, never pretending to be stronger than he was.
Feng Baishan wiped the blood from his lips and sneered, “Hmph. A monk may flee the temple, but he cannot flee the grounds. You hide back in your military camp like a turtle, but what about them!” He glanced at the three women—Mei Ruolan and the others—with a triumphant, chilling sneer.
Fan Peiyao frowned, an expression of distaste crossing her features.
Li Muzhan’s face darkened. A flash of golden light briefly sparked in his eyes before receding. He turned to look at Mei Ruolan. Mei Ruolan’s delicate eyebrows were tightly drawn, her bright eyes growing increasingly veiled and distant.
Their gazes met and exchanged several times. Mei Ruolan slowly shook her head. Li Muzhan offered a wry smile, then turned back to Feng Baishan, saying lightly, “Since that is the case, we shall see.”
He smiled at Fan Peiyao, bid farewell, and departed, the three women following him out.
Fan Peiyao watched them go, then turned to fix Feng Baishan with a cold stare. “You, Feng, I truly never realized you were such a despicable wretch!”
“What, are you heartbroken? Worried?” Feng Baishan sneered, leaning on the wall and slowly straightening up.
Fan Peiyao let out a cold laugh, turned, and left, slamming the door shut with a bang.
Feng Baishan collapsed to the floor, slamming his fist down heavily. Thump! The muffled sound cracked a large hole in the flooring, immediately followed by a Waaah as he spat up another mouthful of blood.
He ground his teeth, his handsome face contorted with vicious fury. In his mind, he roared, vowing to tear that vile monk limb from limb, to slice him into ten thousand pieces to quell the hatred in his heart.
Regarding Li Muzhan’s sudden surge in martial prowess, he remained unconcerned, assuming it was merely some secret technique, nothing significant. Thunder Sword Peak also possessed such hidden arts, though he always valued his life and never used them. Furthermore, his mastery of the Thunder Sword was unparalleled; he had no need for secret skills. This time, he hadn't been prepared; secret techniques, however good, required some preparation time.
He raged and roared internally, his murderous intent boiling over. After a moment, he managed to calm his agitated emotions, sat down to regulate his breathing for a short while, and then rose to leave.
He secretly resolved that when his master arrived, he would not only kill the bald donkey but also seize his three wives, and then capture Sister Peiyao as well.
It was a pity Sister Peiyao was too innocent, like a blank sheet of paper, too easy to trust others. However, he understood that she would never be attracted to that bald donkey. Setting aside his plain appearance, which could not entice women, the fact that he kept three wives at his side meant a proud woman like Sister Peiyao would never share a man with others. Still, even if Sister Peiyao wouldn't marry him, the fact that she held some favorable opinion of him was enough to ignite his jealousy—he could not tolerate her harboring feelings for another man. This obvious bald donkey had to die! He had to die! he roared in his heart.
The night was hazy, a bright moon hanging high in the sky, casting down soft, clear light that draped the entire Tianlong City in a gentle white veil.
The nights in Tianlong City blazed with lamps, even more vibrant than the day.
But not every street was brightly lit. On some streets, where the surrounding residents were less affluent, only two or three lanterns swayed in the wind, their flickering lights casting a certain dimness over the avenue.
Feng Baishan walked with his hands behind his back, his pace unhurried, his expression composed, showing no sign of injury. He sauntered down this dimly lit street.
He was taking a shortcut, aiming to reach the Fan Residence before Fan Peiyao. This route was half the quality of the main road, but he had enough time; he was not rushed. Moreover, no matter the urgency, he always maintained his demeanor—unhurried, at ease, and carefree.
This street was quite narrow, barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast. On the irregularly paved bluestones, beneath the hazy moonlight, he could see small blades of grass stubbornly and resiliently sprouting through the cracks.
He curled his lip, deliberately stepping on the little weeds with every footfall, crushing them under his print. The grass beneath found it hard to survive. He smiled proudly.
Suddenly, he stopped, slowly raising his head. His eyes flashed brilliantly, his gaze shooting directly toward the top of the wall. He sneered, “Who goes there? Come out!”
Silence reigned around him, not even a breeze, only the hazy moonlight weaving a sheer veil over the surroundings.
Feng Baishan’s hand rested on his sword hilt, and he sneered again, “Sneaking about, afraid to show your face?!”
“Alas…” A long, slow sigh echoed, followed by a light whistle.
A sudden flash of cold light erupted. Feng Baishan drew his sword, illuminating the vicinity and reflecting on his stern, handsome face.
A vague figure stood atop the opposite wall, hands behind his back, robes fluttering, exuding an air of effortless grace.
Clink… A sharp sound, and the sword light scattered, its intensity greatly diminished.
Feng Baishan staggered back, his sword piercing the wall and bending into an arc, which stopped his backward momentum. He took a deep breath, suppressing the surging blood, and slowly drew his sword back. He shook it once, flicking off the dirt, and stared intently at the figure opposite.
“Are you Mingkong?” Feng Baishan asked in a deep voice, holding his longsword horizontally before his chest.
The figure on the wall remained silent. With a flick of the hand, a whoosh sounded—a streak of white light tore through the air, like lightning striking from the void.
As Feng Baishan moved, before he could even swing his blade, the white light had already pierced through his body and sunk into the bluestone behind him, silently.
“Ah…” Feng Baishan’s body trembled once, followed by a muffled groan. His movements froze, and the longsword slowly slipped from his grasp, falling onto the bluestone with a clang. He pitched backward, lying motionless, his life already extinguished.
…………,………………,……,…………
Li Muzhan floated down, landing lightly, and walked slowly to Feng Baishan’s side. He looked at him—a bloody hole in his forehead, his eyes wide open in vacant surprise. Li Muzhan shook his head, moved behind the corpse, stomped his right foot, and a hidden dagger flew out of the earth, transforming into a streak of cold light as it slipped into Feng Baishan’s sleeve.
He extended his left hand and inscribed a few words on the wall before gracefully departing. A sigh drifted leisurely into the air, lingering and refusing to dissipate.
After reaching the completion of his Qi Membrane, a qualitative change had occurred. The Little Dragon Form had achieved mastery, simultaneously, the Vajra Indestructible Divine Art had advanced to the muscle-training stage, and the Vast Sea Divine Art had leaped to the seventh layer. The Vast Sea Divine Art merged with the military's internal energy, being completely retamed and made subservient to his will. His cultivation had increased severalfold; compared to before, it was the difference between heaven and earth.
His skill with the flying knife, having risen commensurately, was now overwhelmingly powerful.
He calmed his mind to reflect, realizing his previous understanding of the cosmic operation was too superficial. The mysteries of the physical body were truly boundless. He recalled reading Daoist classics, which described the formation of the body: beginning with a single spark of the primordial spirit, then the spirit transforming into Qi, then Qi transforming into essence, forming flesh and blood, and finally shaping the body. The foundation of Daoist or Buddhist cultivation rested upon this principle: cultivation was a journey against the heavens, refining essence, training Qi, achieving transformation, all to strengthen the primordial spirit.
He had studied martial arts from both the pugilistic world and the military. He found the military methods to be the most orthodox path: first refining essence, then training Qi, thereby strengthening the spirit. But military arts were difficult to start and slow to advance, demanding relentless effort at every step. Had it not been for his Heaven-Observing Divine Illumination Scripture, he could never have achieved his current cultivation.
Folk martial arts had taken a shortcut: first using the spirit to bolster Qi, then Qi to bolster Qi, and finally using amassed Qi to strengthen the spirit, bypassing the crucial step of refining essence. They were easy to start but lacked purity and long-term staying power. It was like cultivating the Vast Sea Divine Art; without the assistance of military martial arts, breaking through the sixth layer would be as difficult as ascending to the heavens, perhaps taking an unknown number of years.
He pondered carefully and realized that Qi also possessed different levels. The first layer was mere vital energy, which the mind could not command, as if they were strangers with no connection. The second layer was the current state of Qi—heavy and dense, capable of connecting with the mind and being commanded at will. Based on his estimation, there was likely another layer above this one, a pinnacle he had not reached, but lacking tradition and direct experience, he could not deduce what it was. Just as, after killing Feng Baishan, he could not fully predict the severe consequences that might follow.