Chapter 211: Paper Soldier Formation

Using paper as arrows, using paper as swords, as hard as metal and stone—none of this is rare.

Any martial artist who can condense spiritual energy can do it.

Just like our Qingcheng Sect, at least twenty or so of us can manage it.

But these are paper men.

The art of paper-folding is a sinister technique—I’ve only heard of it used for ambushes and scares—but these ones seem to have considerable combat power.

Ji Feng stared at the paper arrows lying nearby, his expression grim.

Should we press forward?

If paper men are guarding this place, then something important must lie ahead, worth so many paper men protecting it.

If we move forward, we may gain great rewards.

But equally, we may very well encounter a formidable foe and meet our end here.

At that moment, the sword-and-shield paper men and spear paper soldiers marched forward in unison.

Their force didn’t seem great, but since they were puppets, lacking any living presence, and colored a pale purple, they were deeply unsettling.

“Husband!” The middle-aged woman tugged his sleeve, signaling he must decide at once.

Ji Feng glanced back at his wife; though long past her youth, Liu Fang, once famed throughout the martial world for her beauty, remained strikingly lovely.

He looked at the advancing paper soldier army and said: “Advance.”

At once, the Qingcheng Sect surged forward.

In their minds, no matter how threatening the paper men might be, what could they possibly do?

After all, they were just paper men.

Ji Feng, wielding a fine iron sword, led the charge.

He slashed out, channeling strong spiritual energy.

His iron sword pierced through the paper shields of two sword-and-shield soldiers, but when it struck the third shield, it left only a scratch.

His heart leapt—he leapt backward sharply.

Three paper spears thrust toward him; had he been slower, he’d have been pierced through three times.

The three spears formed a triangular formation, striking head, left chest, and right chest.

Clearly, these were soldiers trained for years.

But paper men cannot have training experience—meaning their spear techniques were inherited from their creator.

‘This spear formation…’

“It’s the Yu Family Spear Array!” Ji Feng shouted urgently: “Everyone fall back! Flank them from the sides—do not engage head-on!”

The Qingcheng Sect reacted swiftly, retreating immediately and circling around to the flanks.

But one weaker disciple was felled by the third-rank spear array, unconscious and with unknown life or death.

Ji Feng frowned.

Liu Fang leapt over from the side and whispered: “Husband, these paper men are terrifying—they’re not ordinary paper-folding art. Who in the martial world today possesses such powerful paper-folding skills?”

“They don’t seem like martial artists—they’re more like soldiers, men who’ve seen battle.”

No sooner had he spoken than the sword-and-shield paper soldiers shifted formation.

Soon they formed a circular array, with spear soldiers on the perimeter and archers protected at the center.

The sword-and-shield and spear soldiers dropped to one knee simultaneously, forming a circular shield-and-spear wall; Qingcheng disciples who charged forward were unable to break through, repelled by the shield wall and chaotic spears.

They retreated a few steps, barely steadied themselves, when another volley of paper arrows flew in.

A flurry of clinks and clatters followed, and thirty paper arrows fell to the ground.

Though no Qingcheng member was injured this time, they all stared at the enemy formation ahead and knew breaking through would be extremely difficult.

What if we circle around the flanks?

The paper men move slowly—this plan sounds feasible—but those archer paper men aren’t harmless.

To pass by the sides, we’d be hit by a full volley.

And who knows if there are other paper soldier arrays lying in ambush ahead? What if there are?

Then we’d be caught between two fronts—things would become very messy.

Thinking this through, Ji Feng growled: “Fall back!”

At once, the Qingcheng Sect withdrew, carrying off the bodies of two fallen disciples.

The paper men did not pursue; instead, they retreated a distance and remained in strict formation.

As Ji Feng stepped out of the forest, he saw An Xin’s Tianyi Sect also retreating.

A spark of anger flared in him—he walked over and asked: “Young Master An, when did you emerge?”

An Xin smiled: “When we saw the paper men.”

“Why?”

“These paper men have some connection to our sect.”

Ji Feng stared at him, his gaze sharp: “Are you mocking me? You’re the ones who said these paper men were suspicious.”

“Yes—but that was before I saw what they looked like,” An Xin said apologetically. “Now that I’ve seen them, I realize I was wrong about one thing.”

“What thing?”

“If this is a quest for immortality, how could he possibly not be involved?”

Ji Feng snarled: “You owe me an explanation.”

“I can apologize to you, Master Ji—and from now on, my sect will no longer participate in this matter.”

Ji Feng blinked: “You’re withdrawing?”

“Yes,” An Xin nodded. “As a friend, I must warn you, Master Ji: the waters here run deep. If your Qingcheng Sect lacks the swimming skill, you may drown.”

“What do you mean?”

An Xin said: “The man I know, if he’s entered this scheme, then this matter must have profound motives. Have you considered why news of the Jade Bell has spread through the martial world? Qin Dong—after all, he’s a top general under the Prince of Qin. Could the divine artifact he obtained possibly be something a martial artist could touch? Could it be that someone is trying to lure certain people out?”

“I think you’re overthinking it.”

An Xin shook his head: “Our Tianyi Sect never acts without at least an eighty percent certainty. We’re leaving now. Master Ji, take care—until we meet again.”

With that, An Xin waved his hand and led his disciples away.

Ji Feng gazed through the moonlight at the dark forest ahead—silent, yet occasionally pierced by distant screams.

He looked at An Xin’s retreating figures, then at the forest, and said: “Let’s withdraw a distance first. Wait until they’ve worn each other down, then we’ll enter.”

Liu Fang, standing beside him, exhaled in relief.

At that moment, Ji Feng suddenly turned toward the rear—there, too, lay a small grove of trees.

“Who’s there!”

He barked sharply.

Out stepped twenty-odd black-clad figures.

Though their faces were obscured, each had a broad, powerful build—clearly expert external martial artists.

Ji Feng studied their footsteps for a moment, then said: “Shaolin Temple!”

“Amitabha.”

The foremost black-clad figure clasped his hands gently: “Master Ji, your eyes are sharp.”

“It really is you, Master Kurong!”

The black-clad figure spoke slowly: “I am I, yet I am not I.”

“Your Buddhist sect preaches detachment and desirelessness—why then are you coveting divine weapons? Your cultivation is lacking.”

The black-clad figure smiled: “Cultivation doesn’t matter. The Buddha once said this place is karmically linked to him.”

“If it’s karmically linked… then why don’t you seize it yourselves, and instead block our path?”

“You too are karmically linked to the Buddha.”

The black-clad figure revealed only his eyes—but they brimmed with murderous intent.

“Qingcheng disciples—on guard!”

The sound of swords unsheathing rose in waves.

And at that moment, another group emerged from the nearby forest.

It was the Daoist Xuanfengzi.

“Master Kurong, long time no see,” he smiled.

Two groups—one ahead, one behind—trapped the Qingcheng Sect in the middle.

(End of Chapter)