She was extremely close to the Cloud-Turning Carriage, with the nearby knoll barely thirty zhang high. Xuanyuan Yiren leaped, reaching the summit of that small hill, and instantly, the scene below flooded her vision.

Her almond eyes immediately contracted; her pupils shrinking. She froze in place, stunned and vacant. For a moment, she forgot how to react at all. What captured her sight was the dazzling, breathtaking sword hanging in the distant mid-air, and the person wielding it—serene, confident, and ethereal as an immortal!

The sword shadow was only three feet long, and the sword energy merely seven zhang. Yet, as the single strike descended, it seemed to fill heaven and earth. It was ethereal and fluid, its trajectory utterly unpredictable.

A few words flashed through Xuanyuan Yiren’s consciousness involuntarily. At this moment, only these two phrases could describe her current feeling: This sword strike was limitlessly marvelous! Unrivaled in this generation!

"Is that Zong Shou? Impossible. He has a Dual-Meridian Body, no internal energy? How could he unleash this strike?"

Even among the supremely talented senior brothers back at Danquan Sect, she had never witnessed them execute swordsmanship of this caliber!

Not even their sect elders had ever possessed such spiritual acuity!

As she mumbled in bewildered disbelief, Li Yunniang followed closely, ascending the knoll. She glanced below, her expression intensely complex.

"Miss, when the young lord mentioned he slew the Cunning Sword Ren Qianchou, and the Ten Thousand Blood Killers Li Xieling—that statement was actually true. Li Xieling truly died by his hand. And he took less than three breaths to cut down the Cunning Sword Ren Qianchou..."

Xuanyuan Yiren’s delicate body shook again. For an instant, her consciousness became hopelessly chaotic, a blank slate. Only fragmented memories surged up from the depths of her mind.

"I, Zong Shou, stand tall and upright; why would I need a woman to protect me? You should have sensed it in the rear courtyard yesterday. Miss Xuanyuan, aside from a Martial Grandmaster of the Mortal Realm, is there anyone in this world who can match me?"

"Who else could it be? Besides me, who else here could kill them?"

"Miss, if one day you discover that Young Lord Zong Shou is not the cripple the world believes him to be, but a young prodigy even stronger than the Ten Thousand Blood Killers Li Xieling—for him, those who wish to kill him are merely ants and chaff, pathetic clowns not worth—what would you do, Miss?"

These short sentences echoed incessantly. Xuanyuan Yiren unconsciously bit her delicate lower lip tightly.

It was true; those words were actually true. Her fingernails dug painfully into her flesh; her lower lip throbbed painfully, beads of blood welling up. She was truly in reality.

Li Xieling was indeed killed by him, and the one before her eyes, unleashing a sword strike akin to a celestial being descending from the heavens, was indeed Zong Shou.

That unreal, hazy sensation vanished instantly. The image of the young man—unable to cultivate yet possessing firm resolve, kind-hearted yet somewhat profligate, and slightly lazy in temperament—fused in a single instant with the figure before her, a person capable of shaming every favored scion in the Donglin Cloud Continent, becoming one and the same.

And in Xuanyuan Yiren’s chest, a feeling arose that was difficult to categorize.

Was it joy? Relief? Emotion? Excitement? Annoyance? Shame?

Xuanyuan Yiren could not distinguish; she felt a flood of conflicting emotions, every flavor churning within her.

Hu Qianqiu was also squinting, gazing upward. His look was equally mesmerized, captivated by the sword shadow, filled with surprise and admiration. For the first time, a serious light shone in his eyes.

"Well struck by one who attacks best when moving from the Nine Heavens above! This sword strike truly leaves no trace! Exquisite..."

Even with his Xuanwu Sect attainment, he dared not meet the edge head-on. His figure instantly retreated ten zhang, only moving forward to slash with his saber once Zong Shou's momentum slightly waned!

Blade and sword crossed, but they did not collide; instead, they narrowly grazed past each other.

This pattern repeated for dozens of strikes, continuously interweaving with perilous closeness. It was as if two people were separately dancing with their blades and swords under a moonlit night, entirely unconnected. However, observing the momentum of the weapons, even a slight deviation would have resulted in bodies severed in two.

Zong Shou’s eyes did not even blink once. Hu Qianqiu, on the other hand, was immensely excited, his face flushed, seemingly reveling in it and thoroughly enjoying the exchange.

To the surrounding onlookers, however, the perception was different. While Hu Qianqiu’s saber was broad, unrestrained, decisive, and overwhelmingly powerful, Zong Shou’s sword seemed far more profound. The sword light was illusory, always thrusting from the most inconceivable angles, impossible to predict. Yet, it lacked any of the strange, eerie quality of the Cunning Sword; it was fluid to the extreme, shifting gracefully, wielded with effortless freedom.

It seemed as if every stroke contained the ultimate truth of the Way of the Sword—Sword Charm, Sword Momentum, and Sword Intent were all present.

As they were engrossed in the spectacle, they suddenly felt a similar 'momentum' erupt nearby. The onlookers turned in surprise to see Chu Xue watching Zong Shou’s sword with evident delight, her expression animated. Her personal 'momentum' flickered, also extraordinarily fluid and seemingly poised for flight.

These assembled individuals were all exceptionally intelligent. With a single thought, they understood the meaning behind Zong Shou’s earlier statement.

'He who attacks best should move from the Nine Heavens above.' The sword intent in that strike was likely perfectly suited for this girl, subtly conveying guidance.

Zong Yuan felt a pang of secret jealousy in his heart. To grasp the 'momentum' of the Martial Dao before even breaking through to the Innate Realm—how high would this girl's future reach? It would certainly surpass his own. He dared not lose focus for long, muttering a quick thought before directing his gaze back to the fierce combat.

Gusts of vital wind surged everywhere, saber energies radiated outwards, and sword energies crisscrossed the area, completely extinguishing the campfire.

However, the sky was beginning to lighten. Streams of sunlight pierced the clouds from the east, making the glint of the blades even more dazzling.

Just as the momentum of both the blade and the sword swelled to their absolute peak, becoming ever more brilliant, Hu Qianqiu let out a soft sigh of regret.

"Young Lord's True Essence is becoming disordered. Shall we settle this move with a decisive result?"

"Good!"

Zong Shou's chest and abdomen churned with surging blood; he could not speak, so he agreed with a simple affirmation. Then, the sword light suddenly erupted, shimmering with lightning and manifesting a thousand layers of blade shadows, sweeping out in a massive wave. This time, it was a completely different style, showing no fear in colliding head-on with Hu Qianqiu's Seven-Foot Tiger Tyrant Saber. All strength was gathered and concentrated again and again, building up and intensifying, only to explode suddenly at the instant the blade and sword met.

The blade and sword light became several times faster in that single moment.

It was nearly too fast for the sight of everyone present to follow, rendering it almost indiscernible.

Yet, Zong Shou's final sword strike was like a fleeting epiphyllum; just as it bloomed most brilliantly, it began to recede.

"Clang!"

With a deafening resonant clang, Zong Shou’s figure abruptly flew backward. His entire body seemed utterly drained of strength, unable to support itself. Staggering, he could only use his sword to prop himself up, preventing a collapse, a trickle of fresh blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

But there was no pain in his eyes; instead, they were filled with the satisfaction of having fought with every fiber of his being.

Hu Qianqiu stood still, holding his saber upright. He seemed frozen, staring at the large sleeve of his right arm.

The crowd was puzzled until they saw a piece of his cuff slowly detach and slide to the ground.

In that instant, the area around the two Cloud-Turning Carriages fell into absolute silence. Everyone stood mute, as if they had lost the ability to speak.

After several dozen breaths, Hu Qianqiu suddenly erupted into wild laughter, filled with relief and excitement: "I lost, and I lost well! This battle today was truly exhilarating, utterly cathartic! It seems I, Hu Qianqiu, underestimated the young lord. Is this your sword? Unmatched in the world! In ten years—no, in just seven years, your sword, Young Lord, will be invincible!"

Before the words faded, Hu Qianqiu slashed his saber out. This strike was utterly sudden. The moment the onlookers blinked, the hundred-zhang-long, majestic saber energy reached Zong Ling’s side.

It sliced past Zong Ling’s body, missing by the narrowest margin, sweeping toward the area behind him, pulverizing Feng Xiao, who had been stealthily retreating, along with the Mortal Realm Innate expert.

Flesh and blood scattered, countless specks of crimson spattering everywhere. More than half of Zong Ling’s body was instantly dyed red. He remained motionless, his gaze completely unfocused, staring blankly into the distance, not daring to wipe anything away.

"He was quick to realize what was happening! But do you think you can escape in front of me? You dared to be arrogant before me, didn't you? Show me some more of that arrogance!"

Hu Zhongyuan’s eyelids twitched, but he offered no further remonstrance. His own father had been suppressed and frustrated for a long time, enduring countless humiliations at Qiantian Mountain over the past three months. Now that the need for restraint was gone, his explosive outburst was uncontrollable, and any means were fair game.

Their Iron Tiger Clan also needed to use the head of this commoner to signal their allegiance to the young lord.

If anyone was to blame, it was only Zong Ling for having bad luck. At this moment, Hu Qianqiu was like a human typhoon; even Hu Zhongyuan dared not provoke him.

Thinking back, this Zong Shou Ling was truly detestable—having no real ability, yet pretending to be a paramount expert?

Unlike their young lord, who possessed peerless swordsmanship but understood the wisdom of laying low—though perhaps he lay too low... Just as he was thinking this, Hu Zhongyuan met a cold gaze sweeping over him—it was Hu Qianqiu. His heart plummeted instantly. He knew his father’s methods too well; they were brutally forceful, and a severe beating was likely imminent.

Zong Yuan, sprawled on the ground, showed a trace of mocking relief. He knew things would turn out this way.

Zong Ling must be weeping miserably in his heart right now. Among these people, who truly was the fool?

However, he couldn't muster even a shred of schadenfreude. The martial truths he had just grasped held no weight now; he had no heart to savor them.

By the time Zong Shou was free, Zong Yuan would likely be dead too.

Xuanyuan Yiren stood atop the mountain peak, staring blankly, her delicate hands clenched tightly.

He won—he actually managed to gain a slight edge over Hu Qianqiu. Even though the latter had restrained the vast majority of his true power, fighting Zong Shou with strength below that of a Martial Grandmaster, the mastery of the Martial Dao could not be faked—