Chapter 18: Chapter Eighteen: Shattered

Wu Zaigu opened his indifferent eyes at this moment, firmly grasping the spear beside him, its tentacles retracted, and walked toward the boy from behind.

He aimed the tip at the boy, bowed slightly, eyes focused, waiting for the moment to strike.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded outside the door.

Wu Zaigu spun his head sharply, his body taut as a drawn bowstring, one hand gripping his saber’s hilt, squinting at the doorway.

The footsteps drew nearer, halted before the door, then came the knock.

Wu Zaigu frowned; the white-robed man drew his dagger and stepped forward slowly.

But before he could reach it, the door was shoved open from outside.

A shrewd-faced old man poked his head in, and at the sight of people, he let out two characteristic chuckles.

“Hehe… back already? You weren’t here just now. Uh… hehe… could the two Immortals spare me a sip of immortal water? You see, I’ve got one too—oh! Pei Xiao, you’re here too, you—please speak up for me—”

Lao Xiangzi’s voice was abruptly cut off; his entire body curled like a worm, clutching his abdomen, eyes wide and speechless as blood trickled from his lips.

The white-robed man withdrew his dagger, flicked his arm to fling off the withered old man clinging to his forearm like a rat, and walked back to the center of the ritual without even glancing at him.

Wu Zaigu, however, cast a mocking glance at the old man groaning on the ground, and unlike most bored disciples, he always delighted in drawing joy from others.

But there was still business to attend to, so he quickly refocused on the boy before him.

Then a question rose from within: Why hadn’t it begun yet?

As if in answer, the boy suddenly turned.

A thick liquid splashed toward his face—so close, it was nearly poured directly onto him.

Wu Zaigu’s heart clenched; his body twisted into an impossible arc, narrowly evading the splash without a single drop touching his skin.

But the next instant, a cunning dagger was already pressed against his chest.

Qi surged like a gale through his meridians; Wu Zaigu collapsed straight down, then skidded along the ground, barely avoiding the strike once more.

After flying two zhang, Wu Zaigu tapped one hand to the floor, flipped upright, and stared in disbelief at the boy ahead.

The proximity of this ambush, its suddenness, the speed of the thrust—his black robe beneath had already begun to dampen with cold sweat.

He instantly realized: this was the fish that slipped away last night!

But when he looked again, the boy had already hurled his dagger into the white-robed man’s throat, who had only just reacted.

Wu Zaigu tilted his head slightly, holding back his attack; instead, he pointed his spear, signaling the remaining six to file out of the room, then calmly and respectfully returned the “Dragon’s Tongue” to its place.

Turning to look at the boy now drawing a second dagger from his waist, Wu Zaigu bent down, brushed the dirt from his shoe, and spoke slowly: “Why are you unaffected by the Dragon’s Tongue’s ‘Immortal Lord’s Call’?”

Pei Ye remained silent, his body coiled like a taut spring.

Only when facing this man alone could one truly feel the suffocating pressure.

He had activated [Chunshou], swallowed the little dragon’s heart—his reflexes, strength, and speed were now several times greater than before—and yet, under these perfect conditions of surprise, he hadn’t even scratched the man’s robe.

Seeing Pei Ye’s silence, Wu Zaigu showed no anger: “Good thing you’re here this time, or I’d have to endure the Dragon’s Tongue’s flesh-devouring agony again… that feeling… truly unbearable…”

As he spoke, Wu Zaigu seemed to finally recall the pain this boy had inflicted; with each word, his gaze grew violent.

In an instant, Pei Ye’s body hairs stood on end—he saw the man’s hand reach for his waist, saw a flash of cold light drawn forth, saw the man twist his wrist to reveal the blade’s back.

Then, that flash of cold light was already before his eyes!

Even with [Chunshou] enhanced, Pei Ye could not perceive the motion—he relied entirely on instinct to raise his dagger, and *clang!*—he actually blocked it!

The injuries and backlash had not been negligible to this man!

But the next instant, the dagger flew from his palm; for the first time facing such a master, even wounded and weakened, the slash sent a mountain-like force crashing into Pei Ye.

But fortunately, he had blocked it.

Yet before Pei Ye’s relief could fully rise, the blade twisted like a flexible venomous snake—changing direction mid-strike, without any wind-up, slicing sideways into Pei Ye’s waist!

The force was so great, Pei Ye was flung across the room.

This was the privilege of true Qi.

The purpose of this strike was to paralyze without killing—after all, he was a sacrifice, meant to be maimed, not slain. The mark on his forehead had just shifted from a death sentence to a lifeline.

Pei Ye crashed to the ground, landing atop the white-robed man’s corpse.

The dagger still stood upright in the neck, blood pooling beneath. Pei Ye’s eyes immediately locked onto the corpse’s waist.

“Hmm… you swallowed that artifact?” Wu Zaigu’s sharp eyes noticed the boy’s waist bones were unbroken. “Then I held back too much.”

Wu Zaigu smiled faintly; after two strikes, the boy’s strength was laid bare—his third strike would end him without fail.

Pei Ye was just beginning to struggle to rise when Wu Zaigu lunged again.

This time, no restraint—thick Qi poured into the blade, visibly swirling, and Pei Ye had no time to stand.

No further surprises should have been possible.

But a surprise still came.

Because the boy had seized a sword.

He was not rising—he was striking.

This was a blade of graceful, defiant motion, a strike from below against above; its cold light dragged blood from the floor like a silver dragon emerging from a sea of crimson.

This sword technique should never have appeared here—it belonged on the Yunlang Sword-Asking Terrace, before the Tianmen Sword-Testing Stone, at the Divine Capital’s Martial Examination, even on the Five Seas and Nine Provinces’ Feather-Scale Trials!

Wu Zaigu knew his blade was flawless—this slash would cleave the boy in two. But the boy’s sword might pierce his throat first—or perhaps simultaneously, or even slower—because he could not discern the silver dragon’s path, could not judge, could not parry.

Would he dare to gamble?

Closer now—the boy’s determined expression grew clearer, his gaze unwavering.

This was an unsolvable situation, for the barefoot always fear nothing against the shod.

Wu Zaigu gritted his teeth, his body drifting backward in a long arc, landing again by the door, his expression dark as he stared at Pei Ye.

Pei Ye slowly stepped back, assuming a standard sword stance, solemnly facing his first true opponent in life.

No matter how high your realm, how vast your Qi, you cannot grow scales over your vital points. You may kill me with a casual strike—but to slit your throat, I need no second sword.