Chapter 99: The Burning Sun Disc, the Luo Han

Hai Donglai was a man with a terrible reputation.

He originally gained fame in Chang’an City by following the wandering swordsman dueling custom.

At that time, among Chang’an’s wandering swordsmen, individuals successively claimed to be masters of the knife, sword, spear, and bow.

Hai Donglai went to each one in turn, fought to the death, and defeated them all with nothing but a red umbrella, thus rising to prominence.

At that time, by the standards of the martial world, he could have opened his own school, become a guest minister to a powerful Chang’an clan, or even been recruited by the chancellor’s household.

Alternatively, he could have joined the military to earn merit and one day command troops.

To martial world figures of that era, all these paths were honorable and legitimate.

But Hai Donglai chose none of them—he joined the Internal Security.

This agency, combining espionage, assassination, and investigation, had always been infamous.

Moreover, when Hai Donglai joined, the Two-Tax System was being enforced, and the court’s open and covert struggles were extremely fierce.

Wherever Hai Donglai went, local officials or merchants inevitably died, their deaths brutal, and rumors spread so widely they could stop children from crying at night.

Gradually, rumors arose that his red robe and red umbrella were soaked in blood, earning him the fearsome title of “Torrent of Blood.”

During battles against rebel forces and foreign nations, he repeatedly carried out assassinations, succeeding many times.

At a young age, he had already risen through merit to become Right Director of the Internal Security.

Though court officials acknowledged his outstanding achievements, they also felt dread—so many heavily guarded men could not protect their heads from Hai Donglai, and secretly, they feared they might be next.

Repeatedly, court ministers impeached him for arrogance and brutality, citing his two nicknames from the martial world and the borderlands.

“In Chang’an, no one stands above Hai Donglai!”

“Torrent of Blood, the Red Emperor comes from the East!”

Either nickname was deeply offensive to the emperor.

Yet Emperor Tang merely laughed at these memorials, and a rumor soon spread from the palace.

Our Great Tang has always called its sovereign the Sage. Is the Sage without the capacity to tolerate? If we punish talent for martial world nicknames, what then if someone later gains the folk title of “Lord” for himself?

Upon hearing this, court ministers fell silent, for those who received folk titles of “Lord” were often these very scholar-officials.

“Lord” originally meant “gentleman,” not sovereign.

But the emperor deliberately blurred the meaning—his protection of Hai Donglai was unmistakable.

Yet after this incident, some who saw themselves as upright ministers criticized Hai Donglai even more, viewing him as a sycophantic hound and traitor.

Half-true, half-false rumors multiplied, making Hai Donglai appear as a cruel, merciless, capricious tyrant, yet one who enjoyed the emperor’s utmost trust.

But even with all these rumors,

Among all his titles, “Greatest Martial Artist of Great Tang” remained the most brilliant.

Dao Baishu avoided speaking of the Internal Security and rarely mentioned these matters, only briefly noting the title of the Internal Security Director.

But after viewing this battlefield, Chu Tianshu could vaguely sense what manner of man he had been.

Hai Donglai was never meant to be in the envoy party—he acted alone and arrived only after the entire party was dead.

Facing dozens of unpredictable masters, he never considered using the forest’s complex terrain for stealth, ambush, or hit-and-run tactics.

Instead, he chose the most brutal path: a straight-line charge.

The earliest corpses had torsos and limbs shattered and torn apart, revealing the ferocity of his strikes.

Looking at the envoy’s chest wound, it must have been caused by this old monk’s palm.

The envoy died with his heart pierced—so the old monk died with his heart torn out.

“What a fierce and proud man!”

Chu Tianshu glanced back at the battlefield, his spirit stirred.

Who among martial artists does not long to witness such a master’s bearing?

But after this battle, Hai Donglai must have been severely wounded.

He had been assaulted by dozens of spirit-weapon forces; his mental and physical exhaustion was obvious.

Finally, he faced the old monk embedded in the tree—a peerless master.

If such an opponent left him unharmed, Hai Donglai could have gone straight to the Tibetan capital and snatched the Tibetan ruler’s head at will.

Replace one lord, snatching one head—wouldn’t the next one surrender?

“Wait—something here is wrong...”

Chu Tianshu’s thoughts had focused on analyzing the battlefield, reconstructing Hai Donglai’s battle.

Now, as he turned back, though his eyes did not see the Tang envoy’s corpse, his mind flashed the scene.

He immediately noticed a discrepancy.

The blood spurting from the old monk’s chest wound was nearly identical to the blood spilled by the Tang envoy.

That was the problem.

The old monk’s body had been smashed into the tree trunk, yet apart from the fatal wound, his bones, muscles, and skin showed no other damage—evidencing his extraordinary physical strength in life.

Such a man, upon death, should have spewed far more blood, far thicker, than the Tang envoy.

Chu Tianshu’s gaze fixed on the old monk’s wound.

It was a hole, but thick bloodstains and shadows obscured what lay behind the “bark.”

As Chu Tianshu looked, his mind stirred with hostility—the “thing” behind the wound sensed it.

“Get out!!”

Chu Tianshu shouted, already leaping two zhang away.

The others, warned, instinctively moved away from the corpse’s front-facing direction.

They all put sufficient distance between themselves and the most likely attack vector.

If it were some hidden weapon, it should not affect them.

But it was light.

Intense light! Penetrating light!

A blinding white radiance, far brighter than the morning sunlight through the forest.

Even though none stood directly in its path, they were engulfed by it.

They instinctively closed their eyes; some turned their heads, raised hands to shield themselves.

Yet the light possessed a unique penetration—it passed through their clothing and struck their minds, hearts, and eyeballs.

All felt a sudden flash of white, then blackness; their eyes burned painfully, seeing nothing.

Worse, a dizzying sensation swept over them—their sense of direction twisted and inverted, making them forget the original layout of the surroundings.

Naturally, they could not know the light source had vanished in an instant.

Immediately after the flash, the old monk’s eyeballs trembled, his foot stepped forward, and he detached from the tree.

The trunk bore a depression, bloodstains, and a golden disc, roughly a foot in diameter.

The disc was visibly deformed—as if it had struck the tree first, then the monk was slammed into the trunk.

Hummm!!

The disc suddenly rotated, detached from the trunk, flipped midair, revealing a gem-like grip on its back.

The old monk’s hand reached backward, grasping the grip.

At that moment, a shadow appeared at ground level before the old monk.

The Tang blade unsheathed, its whistle like tearing silk.

One precise slash aimed at the old monk’s knee.

It was Cheng Xiazi—he was blind, so the blinding light meant nothing to him.

Yet as he swung, the old monk’s right foot rose like a ghost.

His toe struck Cheng Xiazi’s hand.

A man’s foot could move as swiftly as another’s hand drawing a blade.

Cheng Xiazi’s heart tightened—he knew the old monk’s cultivation of physical endurance must have reached divine perfection.

Thus, though dead, his sinews and bones remained potent.

Even under the spirit-weapon’s blood control, he could still wield such power!

His slash was deflected, his wrist knocked sideways, yet he twisted his palm.

The horizontal blade, guided by the wrist’s flick and twist, jabbed upward.

The Tang blade’s straight edge was inherently designed for piercing.

Cheng Xiazi’s piercing strike could pierce through iron plates an inch thick.

The Listening Wind Blade, as if chasing the gaps in the wind, pierced through—and remained perfectly straight.

Clang!!

The blade struck the old monk’s downward-slamming golden disc.

The old monk’s right foot landed, his right hand slammed down—generating a powerful, unified force from top to bottom.

The disc crushed the longblade into a bow-like curve.

Cheng Xiazi retreated swiftly, the blade tip touching the ground, yet his hand trembled involuntarily.

A wisp of smoke rose from his palm’s tiger’s mouth; blisters appeared clearly on his dorsum.

The disc was none other than the famed Tibetan blood-refined weapon, the Burning Sun Disc!

Its wielder had been renowned forty years ago; its spirit-weapon power was called “Radiant Flame.”

Legend said that wherever the light touched, flames already clung to the body.

One swing of the disc could incinerate dozens of men.

The blind man didn’t feel fire clinging to him, but his blade felt like a red-hot branding iron.

He sensed something was wrong, forcing his grip on the hilt, yet could not suppress the searing marks on his hands.

This tremor was a massive opening, but the old monk failed to follow up.

Because a furious figure had charged back from the side.

At a distance of two zhang, Chu Tianshu only needed to shift his body slightly to dodge.

Now, as he sprinted back, his speed was so great it seemed the ground trembled and he was already there.

The old monk’s deathly pale eyes flickered; his left arm bent, blocking sideways, while his right arm swung out, the golden disc slicing horizontally.

Boom! Clang!!

Chu Tianshu didn’t even draw his sword—he slammed two punches in succession.

One punch struck the old monk’s left arm, shaking his massive frame, driving his feet deep into the ground sideways, destabilizing his center.

The right arm swinging the disc was also affected, its trajectory altered, speed slowed.

Chu Tianshu’s other hand drove upward, punching straight into the center of the disc.

The disc was blasted high into the air.

Chu Tianshu’s face was exposed, his eye sockets and corners red, yet his eyes remained wide open.

He had dodged far enough to avoid the worst of the glare.

Moreover, since his “Food as Immortal” cultivation had reached perfection, his internal organs had grown strong, and his eyes’ resilience had increased daily.

The intense light caused him pain, but not temporary blindness.

Yet the moment his hand struck the disc, his eyes shut.

Sure enough, the raised disc flashed again with blinding light.

Chu Tianshu possessed the Insight Technique, but when facing masters, he abandoned sight, deeming it insufficiently reliable.

Just now, in close quarters, he had studied the old monk once—he retained every detail, every sign, in his mind.

For now, closing his eyes was perfectly safe!

The instant the golden disc flashed, the old monk’s foot shot out like a phantom.

Chu Tianshu’s foot intercepted at the same moment, his sole slamming directly onto the shinbone.

At the moment of impact, Chu Tianshu’s foot retracted along the arch’s curve, preventing instant recoil and extending contact by a heartbeat.

He then ground his foot downward, the sole scraping clean through the old monk’s pant leg, then smashing hard onto the back of his foot.

In fist techniques, stomping the foot is highly valued—either stomping the ground or stomping an opponent’s foot.

Even if the opponent’s foot isn’t on the ground, you can still stomp it.

Enter the Shaolin fist stance—Luo Han wipes moss!

Shaolin monks integrated their training into daily life—cooking, sweeping, everything became practice; wiping moss from the base of walls with the sole was a method of refining power.

With Chu Tianshu’s foundation, this single scrape wouldn’t just remove moss—it could grind away a layer of stone wall.

One scrape, one smash—shattering the old monk’s foot, driving it deep into the earth.

The power in his calf had also been scattered by the scrape, now swollen and crimson.

Chu Tianshu smoothly lifted his foot and kicked straight, snapping the defenseless shinbone.

The old monk’s leg and foot bent backward, his body tilting sideways, the disc held upright like a great axe descending.

But he had lost both his will and his leg—his entire body was unbalanced.

This hasty swing, powered only by arm strength, was caught and clamped shut between Chu Tianshu’s two palms.

Clang!!

The instant the disc could no longer spin, Chu Tianshu’s right foot kicked the old monk’s shoulder.

The force of the kick exploded like thunder, the sole of his shoe bursting apart.

A palm-thunder delivered through the sole.

The old monk’s shoulder joint shattered under the blow, flesh and sinew tearing apart.

A crimson bloom of blood, like a red lotus in full bloom.

The arm gripping the golden disc tore completely from the old monk’s torso.

Chu Tianshu’s leg shadow never touched ground—he shifted again, kicking straight into the old monk’s collarbone.

Thud!!

The old monk’s corpse slammed back into the hollow of the tree trunk.

With this corpse now so shattered, even if another cursed weapon touched it, the wild soldier soul could no longer control it.

Chu Tianshu retracted his foot; his hands, still gripping the golden disc, began to smoke with blue vapor.

“An illusion!”

Chu Tianshu opened his eyes, squeezed harder, seized the disc with one hand, and ripped off the severed arm.

Then, as if bending a sheet of iron, he twisted and pressed inward with both hands, warping the golden disc into grotesque deformation.

The light was real, but the heat was false.

The golden disc possessed no such terrifying heat.

Otherwise, during the old monk’s battle with Haidong, the surrounding leaves would have curled and yellowed.

This heat was essentially a form of illusion, using the real, blinding light as its trigger.

If an enemy failed to see through this illusion, his body would truly suffer burns from the inferno.

Creak—crack!!

A shrill metallic screech came from Chu Tianshu’s hands, gradually crushing the foot-long golden disc into a fist-sized lump of scrap metal.

Even within the cracks of the scrap, the disc still flickered and glowed.

“Just transformed into a wild soldier soul, and already so stubborn—your master’s blood truly nourished you well.”

Chu Tianshu looked down, bringing his hands together in front of his chest with a heavy, muffled crash.

The golden scrap was crushed into a thick, flat disc by his palms.

Only then did the cursed soul within shatter, releasing a wisp of Niaoniao red smoke.

(End of Chapter)