Chapter 242: Fire and Snow (Middle)

On the arena, Shang Huitong pressed his left hand on the wrist of his sword, slowly guiding the tendons and the scattered, jolted Qi.

His eyes fixed straight on the woman across from him, blazing with a light so intense it burned.

The Yousheng Sword had been completely blocked here.

She stood firm within the Youjing, rooted amid countless threads, and they could not touch her.

They were meant to merge into one, achieving the state of "All Is I," but here, not all belonged to them—here stood a single blade of grass; how could you claim "All Is I"?

This was precisely why the Yousheng Sword could not penetrate.

Shang Huitong had been blocked by it for fourteen years.

"Truly… a surprise." Shang Huitong drew a deep breath; a low laugh spilled from his throat, "I never expected this level of the stage would be yours."

He looked at the woman; the calm in his gaze slowly cracked, intense emotion slowly filling his eyes, like a starving tiger watching a stone turn into a lamb.

Everyone felt the shift in this domain—from a thin veil, a quiet spread, to a restless surge and suffocating pressure, as if a deep pool had boiled, yet its lid was clamped tighter.

Those cool, delicate threads no longer whispered softly; they surged wildly across the ten-thousand-person square, like ten thousand furious serpents writhing and hissing as if to tear the woman apart.

Zhang Zhang Junxue sensed them, yet felt nothing.

For this crushing pressure had truly landed on Shang Huitong.

This was no longer him calmly walking within his own realm; the woman had shattered the cocoon he wove over three days, disrupting this realm—and he had poured all his emotion and intent into it.

Thus, the feedback from the Yousheng realm struck directly against his emotional layer; those screams did not enter through his ears, but rose from within his heart.

They must connect, they must connect, they had waited three days!

——Since you drew this sword, why isn't it "All Is I"?!!

Amid this endless turmoil and howling, Shang Huitong lowered his head, gently raised his hand, and pressed it upon the red line on the blade, tracing downward; searing pain shot through his fingers. His voice was hoarse, as if stifling his breath: "Don't rush… I've long… prepared for you—"

The final word stretched into an odd tone, fury and excitement entwined within. The man snapped his head up; his cloak burst open like bat wings in the sudden gale. Four zhang vanished in a blink. Shang Huitong's sword carved a sharp red line through the air, wind roaring around him, Qi riding the blade—his strike swept up half the arena's atmosphere!

For the first time on this arena, the crowd saw the man launch such a decisive, violent attack.

Either he strolled forward, drawing his sheath to knock the opponent off the stage, as if the arena were his sacred, untouchable domain; or he draped his mysterious realm over the opponent, watching them suffocate and sink, like a bored king awaiting his prey.

But this time, he had clearly focused every blade's edge upon the woman across from him—eyes locked, sword drawn, emotion and power fully unleashed.

And what surged from the sheath was truly a ferocious, wrathful dragon.

In the previous match, the announcer had labeled him "Dragon Bound in Sheath"; now it was clear the writer must have been a veteran of the martial world to understand this true heir's sword so well.

This was the most formidable strike ever seen on this arena since its opening!

The "Pulling Grass Chapter" · 【One Fire Burns Life】

This ferocious sword pierced the air, reaching absolute speed and power; there was barely time to react. As Zhang Zhang Junxue stepped back and raised her blade, the cold light had already flashed before her eyes.

A clang rang out; the explosive shockwave told everyone of the collision's violence. Zhang Zhang Junxue's body tensed instantly, like a spring compressed to its limit—but she was not breached.

Even after stepping back and tensing, her stance remained utterly still.

The woman's defense had always been impregnable, yet no one imagined she could perform like this—everyone knew the gap between Fifth Life and Sixth Life: Zhang Zhang Mozhu and Yang Yan before Zhang Zhang Zongyuan, Yu Cai before Shang Huitong, were like children facing grown men.

But here, with the woman, the word "power" seemed to favor her most directly—Shen Yao had failed to break her defense, and now Shang Huitong could not either.

Yet Shang Huitong made no next move.

Zhang Zhang Junxue waited for his storm-like onslaught—she had barely reacted when he was four zhang away; at this distance, how swift would his change be?

But Shang Huitong did not move. He merely pressed his sword against her blade, even without adding force. Zhang Zhang Junxue blinked, looked down—the clear blade reflected her face.

This was a treasure sword forged by the Eastern Sea Sword Forge; its blade was like a tranquil autumn pool, with only a single red line traced at its center. But this red line was not painted—it was cast into the metal. As she saw this exquisite craftsmanship, the woman realized: this strike was not yet finished.

Across the clear surface, a line of fire traced itself.

Heat rushed toward her face; the red had been solid crimson, now blazing as if ignited—and this was no illusion—the man's grip on the sword glowed red, like smoldering embers.

This material, cast into the blade and capable of being heated by Qi, was the sword's most brilliant stroke; it had taken two years to commission, precisely to match the man's sword technique.

This was the "Prairie Fire" of the Pulling Grass method.

At this moment, Qi erupted within the man like fire burning through his body; when it reached the blade, it was truly ignited—the Qi that exploded with searing heat multiplied its power tenfold!

Such an extreme sword technique clearly endangered the man himself; in fact, when the Qi detonated inside his body, it already inflicted severe strain on his meridians; when he forced it to split into two segments at his wrist, the suppressed fury truly damaged his flesh.

And when he finally unleashed this long-stored, violently burning Qi all at once into the blade, it was like gunpowder meeting flame—the first to be burned was his own arm gripping the sword.

【One Fire Burns Life】 was a flame lit at the cost of one's life, embodying the core meaning of this sword chapter.

Under this explosion, the woman's massive blade, once unbreakable, tilted sharply aside—her impregnable defense, now pierced by a siege engine's arrow!

In the final instant, Zhang Zhang Junxue twisted her body and raised her head; the searing, razor-sharp blade swept past her chest, carving a spray of boiling blood from her shoulder.

Zhang Zhang Junxue did not glance at the wound, nor did her eyes flicker even as it opened. In the instant she avoided the blow, she violently reoriented her heavy blade and swung out a brilliant, unyielding crescent of white light.

Waist Cut!

Zhang Zhang Junxue knew clearly: before this man, she had few chances to strike.

Only by ignoring her own wounds, seizing every opening—no matter how narrow or wide—could she snatch one chance at killing.

If she chose to abandon an opportunity to trade injury for strike, then later, she might never get another chance to swing her blade.

This was a life-for-life exchange: if Shang Huitong continued his strike to cut her, this blade would strike him too; which wound was heavier, only fate would decide.

This was a common scene in fierce combat, yet those who initiated such exchanges were usually the weak, risking death to force the opponent to avoid injury.

But with the woman, this was a sincere invitation, a genuine desire. She cared nothing for what wounds his sword would inflict—indeed, her wounded shoulder gave her no pain.

At this moment, she was willing to trade any injury to land this blade squarely on the man.

Shang Huitong glanced back; his cold ferocity matched hers exactly.

He truly changed his strike!

His sword snapped back violently; though the explosion had not yet peaked, he seized it, forcing a perilous second strike.

【Two Fires Awaken Life】

Unlike ordinary sword arts, where techniques grow from weak to strong, Shang Huitong's first strike was a decisive explosion—like lighting a path, igniting the blade; his second strike held no explosion, only flame.

But this flame burned steadily within the blade; one could imagine the woman would face this fierce, scorching Qi in many subsequent strikes.

Now this sword swept in a furious whirl, cutting again across the woman's ribs—a wound deep enough to show bone.

But no exchange occurred.

After drawing a second spray of hot blood, the blade traced a subtle, precise arc; the distance and angle were calculated perfectly, the sword's path through the narrowest gap flawless.

When it returned horizontally to his side, the massive blade's downward slash had just reached his shoulder.

A sharp clang rang out; even with one arm, the woman's heavy blade struck with astonishing force. She pressed it straight down onto his shoulder, but his sword only blocked her for an instant—then his body moved ahead of the blow.

No wasted motion. The next moment, his sword slipped free from under her blade. Shang Huitong stared at the woman; his third strike surged forth without a breath's pause.

It was the famed technique that had earned him a nod from Sui Zaohua at the Luzhou Poetry Gathering: 【Three Fires Hide Life】.

This technique was astonishingly complex: strike, retract, strike again—each phase distinct, yet each brimming with lethal intent.

One sword thrust suddenly toward Zhang Zhang Junxue's throat, unstoppable as ten thousand cavalry. The woman frantically raised her head, lifted her arm, raised her blade; Qi surged through her limbs.

She summoned all her strength—this strike could not be blocked without full defense.

But when her blade reached its peak, the opponent's sword suddenly retracted, vacating the point of impact.

This was the essence of 【Three Fires Hide Life】's first turn: sword retreats, blade advances; the blade's advance had passed its peak, while the sword's retreat gathered even greater power.

The next phase—a magnificent, unstoppable explosion—would shatter the tail of her blade's momentum. This was surely a strike that would end Zhang Zhang Junxue here.

If only she had never seen it.

That day at the poetry gathering, she sat behind Cuiyu; from the moment Shang Huitong stepped onto the stage, her bright gaze had never left the center for an instant.

Two hundred people saw this strike, but none watched it more closely than she; none, in the nights and days after, meticulously deconstructed and copied it.

Now, this strike appeared before her—it was precisely the moment she had waited for!

Her blade had not yet reached its peak, because she never intended to strike there.

She had never intended to block at all.

At the sight of this familiar opening, the woman instantly extended her blade, her gaze fixed directly on the second phase of the strike.

Of course, it was a guess, a gamble—no one could guarantee the first phase was a feint—but this was the belief she held: With blade, strike!

And now, she had won the gamble. Facing Shen Yao, the layered waves, relying on sinew and bone, had once again shown their overwhelming power; at the moment Shang Huitong retracted his sword, her blade met it head-on.

When sword retreats against blade advances, sometimes it is to avoid the edge, sometimes it is to collapse under pressure.

This blade struck Shang Huitong's retracted short sword, shattering his stance instantly. This was not realm—her strength was no lesser; this strike had already added the first wave's momentum; most importantly, Shang Huitong was not in defense.

But the next moment, no wound appeared.

Facing this strike, Shang Huitong, his stance shattered, did not panic, nor did he remain calm—his eyes held only the ferocity of a wounded tiger.

The third phase roared forth again; before the woman's heavy blade reached him, his sword struck her blade once more.

No matter what, he was simply faster than her.

But this final "strike" lacked the support of the first two phases; it no longer carried the overwhelming, crushing might—it collided with her blade and scattered again.

But the woman's blade momentum remained.

It was about to carve a bloody gash across Shang Huitong.

Yet Zhang Zhang Junxue did not continue the downward slash—she abruptly reversed her blade.

At this point, the blade's momentum had been largely dissipated, insufficient to inflict a meaningful wound—but this direct, solid collision was the perfect foundation for the layered wave. In fact, since this battle began, she had never had such an opportunity; every time, she had forced the layered wave through sheer sinew and bone.

Now, a perfect circle of layered wave appeared on the arena; the second layer surged forth with wind and thunder. Shang Huitong's scattered stance had just begun to recover.

The rhythm of battle now lay in the woman's hands.

In truth, Shang Huitong should never have used that technique, nor should he have followed the standard sequence of one-strike, two-retract, three-strike—he knew perfectly well the woman had seen this strike.

But now, reason could not reach the man; his inner restlessness had built to unbearable pressure. When he chose this path of merging emotion and intent, this was the process he must endure.

As Gu Gu Yunfu had said: "Even knowing the path, this is no easy threshold to cross." Shang Huitong knew this better than anyone.

So he must deeply fuse his own intent, the Yousheng intent, and the arena's conditions—only when the suppression was heavy enough and the desire fierce enough could it finally shatter this threshold and fully pierce this intent-sword!

And this trial for the man was like placing his mind in a hellfire.

Shang Qijiao Shang Huaitong gritted his teeth and looked up; the woman before him brought her blade down from above, his eyes already burning red with fury.

(End of Chapter)