Chapter 199: Zhang Sanfeng

While Abe Seimei was battling the Expeditionary Army Zombies, Meng Yifan led Jiang Hailong forward at a rapid pace. Ahead of them, the dense, gloomy fog automatically receded to both sides, revealing a passable path that guided them deep into the tomb.

The route Meng Yifan and his companion took was not a straight line, but rather winding and twisting; at times they turned left, then right, and occasionally even walked in a Z-shape, deliberately avoiding many areas by moving this way.

Taking advantage of the gaps where the gloomy fog receded, Meng Yifan saw that the areas they had bypassed were filled with dense traps and mechanisms: flip-boards, crossbows, and pits. The weapons inside were all coated with venom; whoever stepped on them would be lucky to escape with their life, and even then, they would be stripped of a layer of skin.

Along the way, Meng Yifan also saw mosquitoes the size of thumbs, bats the size of watermelons, rats as big as cats, centipedes the size of palms, and colorful, venomous snakes as thick as arms. None of these bizarre creatures attacked Meng Yifan or his companion; they seemed to possess intelligence, actively clearing a path to let the two pass quickly.

The further they went, the denser the Yin energy became, and the temperature dropped lower and lower. Frost even formed on the Blue Stone floor. Jiang Hailong was shivering all over from the cold and had to circulate his True Qi to resist the surrounding chill.

When they first entered the tomb, the surrounding temperature was around twenty-some degrees, but now, deep in the tomb, the temperature had plummeted to two or three degrees below zero, as if they had gone from summer to winter in a short span of time.

Meng Yifan was a Third Grade Martial Artist; his body was like steel and iron, and his blood and Qi were like a furnace, so this chill could not affect him at all. Seeing that Jiang Hailong was struggling, he condensed his True Qi into steel. His Taiji Fist True Qi formed black and white colors that rotated continuously, like a Taiji Ball, enveloping their bodies and insulating them from the increasingly low temperature.

Jiang Hailong looked in astonishment at the scene before him: black and white mist was faintly radiating, rotating constantly, turning from Yang to Yin, and then from Yin to Yang.

Lesser Yang, Greater Yang, Lesser Yin, Greater Yin—the two energies of Yin and Yang converted continuously, seemingly displaying the profound principles of Taiji Fist and demonstrating the ultimate truths of Heaven and Earth.

Outside, the temperature had plummeted, making it as cold as an ice cellar, while inside the Taiji Ball, it was as warm as spring, making one feel very comfortable. Inside and outside the Taiji Ball, it was truly two different worlds of ice and fire.

"Child, your speed is too slow. Come here quickly." The mysterious person inside the tomb urged them again. Meng Yifan did not hesitate any longer; he pulled Jiang Hailong and unleashed his Lingbo Microsteps, his body moving as fast as a bolt of lightning as he rushed toward the depths of the tomb.

Listening to the wind whistling by his ears and watching the scenery around them recede rapidly, Jiang Hailong felt that their speed was almost reaching supersonic.

Only now did Jiang Hailong realize that Meng Yifan's strength was truly terrifying; to be able to run this fast while carrying someone was simply incredible. As long as he followed Meng Yifan, he might also become such an expert.

The passage in the tomb kept descending. Meng Yifan felt they had gone down another hundred meters or so, reaching deep underground. Suddenly, the path ahead opened up, revealing a massive cavern.

In the middle of that cavern sat an old Daoist wearing a Daoist Robe, with white hair, a face full of wrinkles, and so thin he was nothing but skin and bones, sitting cross-legged on a Bagua-shaped Meditation Cushion.

Beneath that cushion was a pitch-black hole. Bursts of violent dark energy were constantly bombarding the cushion, seemingly trying to blast it away, while the old Daoist continuously flashed streams of black and white light, reinforcing the Bagua Prayer Mat to seal the black hole below and prevent whatever was inside from rushing out.

"This poor Daoist, Zhang Sanfeng, greets the two young friends." The old Daoist spoke. Perhaps because he had not spoken for too long, the old Daoist's voice sounded very hoarse.

Meng Yifan and Jiang Hailong were struck as if by Thunder. The name Zhang Sanfeng was like thunder to the ears of every person in China.

According to historical records, Zhang Sanfeng had appeared during the Song Dynasty, the Yuan Dynasty, and the Ming Dynasty, which meant he was at least a figure from a thousand years ago.

Logically speaking, a figure like Zhang Sanfeng should have long since returned to dust and earth. That this withered, bone-thin old Daoist before him claimed to be Zhang Sanfeng left Meng Yifan dumbfounded.

If this old Daoist was truly the legendary Zhang Sanfeng, then what was his cultivation level? How could he have a lifespan of a thousand years?

Zhang Sanfeng looked at the black and white airflow outside Meng Yifan's body and asked with some excitement: "Young friend, your Taiji Fist True Qi has already reached a level of proficiency. I wonder, who is your teacher?"

Meng Yifan had searched for the Taiji Fist technique online and then used the Experience Value from his Game Panel to directly raise his cultivation. He was self-taught and had no teacher at all. Now that Zhang Sanfeng asked who his teacher was, Meng Yifan did not know how to answer.

"True Person Zhang, I searched for the Taiji Fist technique online and practiced it by myself. I have no teacher." Meng Yifan told the truth.

"Online? Where is that? The Taiji Fist I passed down is a secret technique of the Wudang Sect that is not to be revealed to outsiders. How could it have been passed to some 'online'? Did you steal the Taiji Fist technique?"

When Zhang Sanfeng said this, his expression turned somewhat gloomy. He was an Immortal Cultivator who had lived from the Song Dynasty to the present, and he placed great importance on orderly inheritance. If someone had stolen his Taiji Fist technique, it was a great act of rebellion, and he had a responsibility to abolish Meng Yifan's Taiji Fist technique.

Zhang Sanfeng had been suppressing the black hole here for over seventy years without leaving, so he had no idea that the outside world had undergone earth-shaking changes, nor did he know that the internet had entered every household.

Humanity had long since entered the information age and ushered in an information explosion; anyone could find all kinds of cultivation techniques with a simple search online.

Due to the exhaustion of Heaven and Earth Spiritual Qi and the rise of thermal weapons, the once-glorious martial arts world had long since turned to ash, and these once-secret cultivation manuals had been posted online for anyone to see.

Seeing Zhang Sanfeng's increasingly gloomy face, Meng Yifan cursed inwardly. The True Qi fluctuations on Zhang Sanfeng's body were surging and magnificent, like an unfathomable ocean. Judging by the intensity of the True Qi, Zhang Sanfeng was at least a Fourth Grade Martial Artist, and possibly even higher.

Moreover, Zhang Sanfeng practiced both Daoism and martial arts, and his combat power was extremely formidable. If Zhang Sanfeng wanted to kill Meng Yifan, it would be like crushing an ant.

Meng Yifan did not dare to delay and hurriedly explained: "True Person Zhang, Taiji Fist is now circulated globally. There are at least five hundred million people around the world practicing Taiji Fist."

"What? Five hundred million people practicing Taiji Fist?" Zhang Sanfeng was stunned by this news. He only had seven direct disciples, the Wudang Seven Heroes led by Song Yuanqiao. He never imagined that one day, the Taiji Fist he created would be practiced by five hundred million people; this was simply incredible.

One must know that the Song Dynasty only had a population of seventy million or so, and at that time, the world might not even have had five hundred million people. Now that there were so many people practicing Taiji Fist, could they be considered descendants of the Wudang Sect?

These later generations of disciples were truly playing around; how could they pass on the technique so recklessly? It would be one thing if only Chinese people were taught, but how could they even teach foreigners? Did they not know that those who are not of our race must have different hearts?

Seeing Zhang Sanfeng's shocked expression, Meng Yifan felt secretly smug. Five hundred million people have learned Taiji Fist—could you really kill all five hundred million of them?