Chapter 129: One Finger Flicks Them Away, Endless Leeks
With this fresh leek delivered right to his door, Hong Yuan didn’t waste words and got straight to the point.
His gaze fell on Nan Guyun, and various pieces of information about the Flower Stream Sword Sect surfaced in his mind.
The monks of Vajra Temple usually spent their time chanting sutras and accumulating wealth, as well as tending to female devotees, but they also did some proper work.
For example, collecting all sorts of information on the two major sects, Profound Ice Sect and Flower Stream Sword Sect.
Subduing demons and exorcising devils, resolving crises and aiding the distressed—these minor matters could wait a hundred or eighty years, but competitors had to be taken seriously.
Since the three belonged to different prefectures and were too far apart, sending people to splash black dog blood at each other’s mountain gates, blow up alchemy furnaces, or steal sect leader seals was quite difficult to pull off.
But analyzing and dissecting the martial arts of the other two, thinking of countermeasures, and establishing secret files on important figures from those two sects—these were necessary tasks.
In Vajra Temple’s archive library, the wariness toward the Flower Stream Sword Sect even surpassed that toward the Profound Ice Sect.
Because Vajra Temple and Profound Ice Sect were both established “big factories,” relatively stable, while the Flower Stream Sword Sect was a “nouveau riche” that had broken the old order and risen forcefully.
Sharp and exposed!
Among the Flower Stream Sword Sect, the most weighty and noteworthy figure was none other than the current sword lord Feng Nanyan.
There were countless people in the world who practiced swordsmanship, as numerous as carp crossing the river.
And among these millions upon millions of uncountable swordsmen, Feng Nanyan was the most brilliant pearl, qualified to vie for the top.
The research materials on Feng Nanyan’s background, personality, and martial arts nearly filled an entire main house in Vajra Temple.
This showed their vigilance toward him.
Nan Guyun was one of Feng Nanyan’s disciples.
He raised his gaze and met that unusually young face; the other wore a warm smile, his tone mild, yet Nan Guyun could hear the unmistakable refusal in it.
This was a feeling he had never experienced before.
Ever since Nan Guyun had achieved proficiency in swordsmanship, whether traveling the jianghu or within his sect, even facing his sect elders, no one had ever asked him to “draw his sword” in such a manner.
Yet facing this figure in robe, standing with hands behind his back—Daoist Ten Thousand Calamities—Nan Guyun felt not the slightest anger; the impression he gave was like facing a towering mountain or vast river, something no human could contend with.
The main reason Nan Guyun had been taken in by Feng Nanyan was his innately powerful spirituality, far beyond the ordinary.
Before this, Nan Guyun had some doubts about the news that Daoist Ten Thousand Calamities had defeated several top masters single-handedly, suspecting there might be some inside story.
Now, seeing him in person, all doubts vanished; this Daoist Ten Thousand Calamities was perhaps even stronger than the rumors.
Nan Guyun’s palm was already on the sword hilt, but the Precious Sword, usually wielded like an arm or finger, now felt heavier than a thousand catties, impossible to draw for a long time.
Hong Yuan watched quietly, not urging him.
Nan Guyun took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
His mind cleared of stray thoughts, and a sharp aura seemed to swirl around his body.
After one breath, he suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze sharp and intimidating once more, like sword and lightning.
He was, after all, at the Force Microscopic Level, a first-rate swordsman; no matter how terrifying the feeling the other gave him, he couldn’t just not draw his sword and admit defeat.
“Daoist Ten Thousand Calamities wants to see my Flower Stream Sword Technique; how could I disappoint you…”
Nan Guyun spoke slowly, his broad hand suddenly reaching out; with a clear, resonant sword cry of “clang,” shimmering light swept across the entire courtyard.
A streak of flying rainbow emerged from the sheath in response, the sword body like a pool of autumn water; as the cold, sharp chill spread, Nan Guyun gave a light shout: “Please give pointers, Daoist!”
In his shout, Nan Guyun’s footsteps drummed densely like beats, fine yet swift as wind; as his figure closed in, faint afterimages trailed behind.
Then his long sword sang out, harmonizing with the “drumbeats,” fierce sword light flashing up, suddenly transforming into a flowing rainbow that shot forth.
The speed of this sword was truly like a startled swan and flashing lightning; with a flash of sharp gleam in midair, it had already reached Hong Yuan’s chest.
Hong Yuan remained still, his expression calm, as if watching a brilliant meteor; his robes billowed loudly, and faint dense sounds emanated from around him.
Immediately after, “ding ding ding”—continuous crisp rings like gale and sudden rain struck the sword edge; Nan Guyun only felt bolts of lightning falling, spreading along the sword body, making his own body somewhat numb.
The swift sword momentum slowed at once; as he tried to muster his force, he saw Daoist Ten Thousand Calamities’ chest heave, spitting out a stream of force with a “pu,” straight at the sword edge.
Bang!
The sword edge trembled violently, and Nan Guyun’s tall frame shook simultaneously, as if struck by a great hammer; he hurriedly used the Force Dissipation Method to channel the force into his feet.
With a “crack,” the hard green stone ground underfoot cracked inch by inch; Nan Guyun flicked his wrist and thrust out another sword.
With this sword, his entire aura changed again, as if merging into one with the sword in his hand; the next moment, airflow roared in midair with a “hua la,” and a point of crystalline gleam bloomed.
It started as a tiny point, but in an instant became clusters of gorgeous “flowers.”
These were not real flowers, but sword light; Nan Guyun split one sword into over a hundred rays of splendor, instantly filling Hong Yuan’s vision with streaming lights.
“Flower Stream Sword Sect’s three secret swords, Flower Shadow Streaming Light Sword?!”
Hong Yuan watched as Nan Guyun’s sword momentum shifted, like a hundred flowers blooming together or heavenly maidens scattering flowers, radiant and dazzling to the extreme.
Amid this splendor hid numerous killing moves; even a Microscopic Level Grandmaster could be taken out by one sword if not careful.
Streaks of sword light traced unpredictable paths, swiftly weaving into a sword net that enveloped Hong Yuan entirely, then suddenly contracting toward the center.
Hong Yuan’s eyes filled with sword light, yet his face remained unruffled; Nan Guyun had formed a net with his sword momentum, unaware he had fallen into Hong Yuan’s own net.
The essence of his swordsmanship, even his personal cultivation’s Force Method, was being rapidly analyzed.
His sleeve flared, and Hong Yuan extended one hand from it, stretching out a single finger.
With just this finger extension, the rapidly contracting sword net slammed into a pillar holding up the sky and was instantly pierced through.
As the force scattered, the sword light dispersed too, revealing Nan Guyun’s shocked face.
Hong Yuan’s finger pointed toward the sword edge.
After all, Nan Guyun had requested “pointers,” a perfectly reasonable demand that he could fulfill.
Ding!
A barely audible crisp ring spread; the sword edge, sharp enough to cleave metal and iron, collided with Hong Yuan’s finger—not only failing to break skin, but Nan Guyun felt a massive rebound force, like raging waves or mountain flood, bearing down with unmatched power.
Nan Guyun staggered underfoot, unable to steady himself, and stumbled back.
With a “chi,” the long sword flew from his grip uncontrollably; but just as it leaped up, an invisible force yanked it down, stabbing fiercely into the ground at Nan Guyun’s feet.
The sword hilt quivered, buzzing; withered leaves and dust scattered in all directions.
Nan Guyun’s body trembled too.
A finger tapped his glabella.
Nan Guyun’s pupils contracted, his whole body stiffening as if frozen, unable to move.
Hong Yuan chuckled lightly and flicked his finger gently at his glabella.
“Pu.”
Nan Guyun’s heart leaped to his throat, then relaxed long with this flick.
Daoist Ten Thousand Calamities’ flick contained no force, just like an elder teasing a naughty junior.
Hong Yuan withdrew his finger and looked at him with a smile.
Under his control, the Six Void Force could be as dynamic as thunder and lightning or formless and silent, nourishing like fine rain.
Nan Guyun didn’t notice at all that this finger actually contained force—not to harm, but to plant the Six Void Force.
“Thank you, Daoist, for going easy.” Nan Guyun looked at the still-trembling long sword at his feet, his expression complex.
For a swordsman, having his long sword knocked away was undoubtedly a humiliation, but losing to this Daoist Ten Thousand Calamities seemed only natural.
Nan Guyun steadied his mind and said again: “Daoist’s martial arts are divine, truly an eye-opener for me, but you should know that my defeat today is not the fault of Flower Stream Sword Technique, but my own lack of mastery…”
Hong Yuan waved his hand and smiled: “Flower Stream Sword Technique is indeed extraordinary; if I can one day exchange moves with your master, Sword Lord Feng, I would look forward to it greatly.”
He glanced at Nan Guyun, his sleeve waving: “Young hero Nan, if you don’t leave soon, feel free to stay at Vajra Temple; if you have any martial arts questions, come seek me anytime. Go!”
“Yes!”
Nan Guyun nodded, pulled the Precious Sword from the ground, sheathed it, and looked again toward Daoist Ten Thousand Calamities—but the other had already drifted away with wide sleeves, leaving the courtyard.
He frowned slightly, vaguely feeling something odd.
Today’s bout felt strange; Daoist Ten Thousand Calamities’ martial arts were unfathomably deep, far above his own—had he called him just to see his swordsmanship?
But if it was truly to observe his swordsmanship, the defeat came too quickly.
Nan Guyun touched his glabella; qi energy rose within, and after silent inspection, finding nothing amiss, he chalked it up to his own shock causing unfounded suspicions.
Shaking his head with a smile, Nan Guyun also left the courtyard.
Whoosh!
Hong Yuan’s robes fluttered as his figure merged into the clear breeze, flitting through the temple like floating light and passing shadows; when he reached a tall tower, he lightly tapped his foot.
His body light as a swan feather, he soared upwards effortlessly, tapping the glazed tiles underfoot to reach the top.
This was the “Prajna Void Force,” using wisdom to command the void, shedding worldly bonds—Hong Yuan couldn’t fully achieve it yet, but after cultivating it, his lightness skill had undoubtedly stepped up greatly.
Vajra Temple naturally had more than one tower; the one under Hong Yuan’s feet, though not as grand as the Secret Treasure Pagoda, still had seven stories.
Standing at the tower top, Hong Yuan overlooked half the county city, seeing crowds bustling, streets noisy, lively to the extreme.
This so-called public execution had not only stirred up martial artists from Mingzhou, but also drawn masters from other major states, including no few famous experts.
Hong Yuan looked at all this joyfully, like a diligent old farmer feeling the delight of harvest.
If he hadn’t achieved “Void Force Erosion,” that would be one thing.
But now, just Vajra Temple plus Nan Guyun couldn’t satisfy him.
Leaping down from the tower top, Hong Yuan plummeted like a meteor; when a few feet from the ground, wind stirred underfoot, swaying his body to cushion the fall.
Landing calmly, Hong Yuan then spread his net, searching for usable targets.
Sensing with spiritual sense, Hong Yuan could reach about five zhang now; “listening” with Six Void Force extended far beyond a hundred steps, nearing two hundred.
Combined with his peerless speed, scouring heaven and earth, few important figures could escape his perception range.
Hong Yuan was like a ghost wandering over Songyang County City, occasionally planting a strand of Six Void Force in chosen targets.
His movement ghostly swift, the Six Void Force applied silently, shuttling freely and unrestrained, yet no one detected him.
Of course, with Hong Yuan’s discernment, targets he deemed worthy—if martial world folk—had to be at Microscopic Level Grandmaster to merit a strand of Six Void Force; Freely Control level wasn’t enough.
And for those from noble clans or nobles, at least on the level of the Wei Family or Xiang Family in the past.
Thus, after one round, he’d only planted a few dozen strands—a negligible consumption for him.
“The three great families have sent people too; Chen Family and Wang Family are whatever, but Xie Family sent a heavy hitter…”
Hong Yuan flitted out from a mansion, his figure catching the sunlight in a hazy, indistinct blur.
He glanced back at the mansion, a light smile on his face.
“‘Xie Family Treasure Tree’ Xie Lingjun—caught a big fish.”
Xie Lingjun was the most outstanding of Xie Family’s younger generation, qualified to contend for clan head; Hong Yuan hadn’t expected him to come too.
Due to the Alligator Dragon matter, Hong Yuan already had some grudge with Xie Family; encountering him, he couldn’t pass it up.
In terms of martial arts, Xie Lingjun surpassed Nan Guyun, having touched the True Skill level; even watching his eyes covertly, Hong Yuan sensed something unusual.
His eyes must have cultivated some eye-based Gang Body; even Hong Yuan had nearly been detected.
What puzzled Hong Yuan slightly was that, by his thinking, Red Lotus Sect should have infiltrated long ago, yet after a full sweep, he found not a single Red Lotus Sect member.
Either hidden too deeply, or some other scheme.
In fact, this “public execution”—Hong Yuan hadn’t taken it seriously; if Red Lotus Sect really acted, would they wait until the execution day?
His figure blurred, speeding toward one direction; while roaming the city earlier, he’d already spotted Qing Lingzi and the others.
Moments later, he reached a restaurant’s back courtyard; Qing Lingzi was breathing and exhalation in a private room when the door swung open on its own; he felt a breeze on his face, followed by a hand on his shoulder.
Qing Lingzi paled in shock, too late to draw his sword; he crossed his hands, force surging, but that palm shook lightly, scattering his qi and blood.
Then Qing Lingzi felt himself soaring like on clouds and fog, bursting from the private room, streaking away like startled swan and flashing lightning; wind roared in his ears, and in a blink, he was inside Vajra Temple.
Qing Lingzi landed, hearing a mild voice: “Here!”
A figure in robe appeared before him; though the appearance differed from their alliance leader, that poise and demeanor felt familiar; he gave a slight bow and probed: “Lord?”
“Follow me!”
Hong Yuan smiled, leading Qing Lingzi to a stone chamber, looking at a bronze-masked figure lying on the stone bed inside, and said: “I called you for nothing else—just to have you take this Corpse Puppet back, adding a major boost.
