As Ye Jingyu and Xuanyuan Jing battled fiercely, Bing Ming, who was fleeing toward the southwest, was intercepted by a shadowy figure cloaked in gray.

It was an elder whose hair was entirely white and whose face was etched with deep wrinkles, his posture so stooped he seemed perpetually on the verge of collapsing into a coffin.

Yet, this frail, near-death figure held Bing Ming utterly immobile. Anyone capable of paralyzing a Martial Saint must possess a truly terrifying aura of power...

“Senior, might I ask the purpose of your stopping a junior like myself!” Bing Ming stood perfectly still, regarding the stooped old man nearby with a measured respect in his voice.

At his level of attainment, he inherently understood that any individual who could compel him to halt must be one of the ancient, long-established powerhouses. What else could he call such a figure but 'Senior'?

“This old man acts on another’s request. I wouldn't ordinarily seek trouble with you. However, with that other brat being besieged by so many, it would diminish my stature to join that fray. Therefore, I’ve come to escort you back to Medicine City. Be compliant, and I guarantee I won’t trouble you at all on the journey!” A low, resonant voice emanated from the elder.

“Oh? Senior must not be affiliated with the Gongsun family? Why then are you seeking to place a burden upon this junior?” Upon hearing the demand to return to Medicine City, Bing Ming’s brow arched in clear confusion.

“No choice. Years ago, I was grievously wounded in the Tiangang Mountain Range by the Eightfold Dragon Kings and was clinging to life when a young man from the Gongsun family saved me. Today, he called upon me, and how can a debt of such magnitude go repaid? You must come back with me!” The old man spoke calmly, his voice still a deep, almost guttural rumble, as if torn directly from his throat.

The mention of the Eightfold Dragon Kings sent a jolt through Bing Ming’s spirit. Those were legendary Eighth-Rank Desolate Beasts. Forget Grandmasters—even a Martial Saint would have zero chance of survival encountering one, unless pitted against some other legendary figure of equal standing. The fact that this man escaped the Dragon Kings’ clutches proved his strength had surpassed the Martial Saint realm, ascending into the legendary Martial God territory.

It was a realm Bing Ming still struggled to comprehend, much less confront. Indeed, with the advancement of martial cultivation, the gap between successive tiers widened exponentially the further one progressed.

A mere Master, possessing peerless martial arts, might occasionally challenge a Grandmaster. A Grandmaster, unless they were an anomaly like Ye Jingyu, stood no chance against a Martial Saint. And for a Martial Saint to overcome a Martial God? That was sheer fantasy. The disparity between a Martial Saint and a Martial God was akin to the difference between a mortal and a Martial Saint—no matter how many came, all would be slaughtered...

Thus, upon realizing the man before him was almost certainly a Martial God, Bing Ming knew escape was impossible.

But he was Ye Jingyu’s shadow, the successor of Xiao Cangtian; he could not dishonor his lineage. Even knowing he was vastly outmatched, he slowly drew his iron sword.

To fight even when defeat is certain—he swore he would not be taken back to Medicine City alive. At least dying at the hand of such an imposing figure was far preferable to falling to the Gongsun family.

“This junior, Bing Ming, asks for your guidance, Senior!” Drawing his iron sword, Bing Ming cupped his hands in a respectful salute before the elder, his tone remaining deferential.

Seeing Bing Ming draw his iron sword, the old man’s expression remained utterly unchanged, though a faint light flickered within his cloudy eyes.

“Since you insist, then this old man shall offer you a brief lesson or two!” the elder stated mildly, taking a single step forward. In virtually the same instant, he materialized directly in front of Bing Ming, unleashing a simple palm strike aimed precisely at his sternum...

Though he anticipated the unimaginable might of the Martial God realm, the instantaneous appearance of the old man before him still sent a shockwave through Bing Ming’s core. With no time for deeper thought, he instinctively raised his iron sword to guard his chest. The elder’s palm landed squarely upon the blade.

With a sharp crack, the iron sword remained intact, yet Bing Ming felt a sudden, searing agony across his chest. His body was hurled backward violently, blood erupting from his mouth in torrents, as if that single strike had indeed slammed directly into his heart...

With a dull thud, Bing Ming crashed heavily onto the ground, kicking up clouds of dust. The elder made no further move, instead standing in place, hands clasped behind his back, observing the fallen warrior.

“How was that? What do you think of my technique, ‘Striking Through the Mountain’?” the elder asked lightly.

Bing Ming did not answer immediately. He struggled back onto his feet, raising his iron sword once more. True essence surged through his internal meridians, and the core within his Dantian blazed with streams of watery-blue light, causing his sword to hum.

“Senior’s mastery is supreme; this junior is humbled. Now, please observe this junior’s sword technique!” Bing Ming spoke, yet his form vanished from the spot. When he reappeared, he was already suspended in mid-air, his iron sword vibrating rapidly. Countless streaks of icy sword energy shot forth, transforming into a flurry of watery-blue blades that pierced toward the elder standing below.

A flicker of surprise crossed the elder’s eyes, but his body did not move an inch. Facing the whistling torrent of sword energy, he merely raised his right hand slowly and waved his sleeve with a seemingly languid motion. A gust of strong wind formed instantly, sweeping away every sharp blade into nothingness.

However, at that moment, a figure shot forward and appeared directly before the elder. A black iron sword materialized suddenly near the elder’s throat, aimed straight for his heart.

Facing the thrust aimed at him, the elder seemed to have anticipated it entirely. His right hand, appearing from nowhere, clamped down and firmly seized the black iron sword mid-strike.

Bing Ming was startled once more. He knew his 'Piaoruo Shuangyin Sword' might not be able to slay the opponent, but it should at least cause him some trouble. He never imagined it would be caught so effortlessly.

Even so, there was no trace of fear in Bing Ming’s eyes. He channeled his True Essence, and the black blade immediately erupted with streams of watery-blue light—an aura of absolute frost that seemed to drastically lower the ambient temperature. Any ordinary person, even a Martial Saint, would be forced to release their grip under such chill. Yet, the two fingers holding Bing Ming’s sword remained utterly still. Then, a faint hum escaped the elder’s lips: “The Piaoruo Shuangyin Sword...”

Hearing this, Bing Ming’s expression shifted dramatically...