Chapter 754

Mingzhu Water Pavilion and Luoying Mountain-level sects are already not far behind the Thirty-Three Sword Gates; if judged solely by peer-level talents, even registered sword gates like Kongdong fall short.

But the Thirty-Three Swords are the Thirty-Three Swords—even in decline, Kongdong still has one [Seventeen Peaks Chief], Ji Zhuowu, standing proudly on the Feng List; Mingzhu and Luoying, even after another decade, may still not produce a single name among the top twenty of the Feng List.

After these types of sword sects, disciples of the Thirty-Three Sword Gates began to take the stage.

The Great Tang Thirty-Three Sword Disciples’ Daoqi Society, initiated by Yunlang and organized by Immortal Platform, was formed to deliberate and select the thirty-three most representative sword sects within Great Tang, creating a golden rail and jade line across the martial sword world where Gejia now compete, and over the next thirty years, this became an increasingly firm consensus.

Countless swordsmen in the martial world, no matter how skilled their own swordplay, always wished to see the swords of the Thirty-Three Sword Gates disciples; even the most confident swordmaster, if never having fought a Daoqi Society swordsman, carried an uneasy knot in their heart.

For the peripheral small sword sects, the most precious opportunity at this banquet was to sit at the same table as those famed names in the martial world and witness the true height of the sword realm, and these names were often among the Thirty-Three Sword Gates.

Still standing on the pool was the winner of the previous match, Ba En, the true disciple of Wuzu Linmen, the neighboring sect of Bai Lu Palace in the southwest; he had just defeated the recently renowned Bian Weini in thirty moves, their swordplay exquisite and beautiful, earning much applause from the garden.

He could have stepped down, but clearly did not wish to miss this opportunity—he remained on the platform, sword in hand, as victor, awaiting the arrival of the Thirty-Three Sword Gates’ representatives.

Many expectant gazes fell upon him—everyone wished to see the supremely refined swordplay of the Thirty-Three Sword Gates, and also wished to see a swordsman outside the Daoqi Society defeat one within; both outcomes would spark admiration and excitement.

The eighty-ninth position, Shenjing Sword Academy: the one descending was Zhang Chao of Baiyuan Cave.

This humble and unassuming sword disciple, his shoulder wound still unhealed, bowed with clasped fists before taking the stage; the sword disciples of the Sword Academy, who had been chatting and laughing beside, let out their first small cries of encouragement at this banquet.

Zhang Chao returned several bows to his comrades, and as he passed Pei Ye, he cast a glance; Pei Ye smiled and reached out to grip his wrist.

Zhang Chao stepped onto the pool—he came from one of the last three minor families among the Thirty-Three Swords, his sect having only one Grand Master to stand guard; he had trained at the Sword Academy for half a year, and now faced Ba En with a formal sword salute: “Zhang Chao, heir of Baiyuan Cave’s [Monkey Lord Sword], humbly requests instruction from Brother Ba.”

Ba En returned the salute, and Zhang Chao struck first.

Ba En slightly closed his eyes, holding his sword level.

It was the secret technique of Wuzu Linmen: [Tongxi], which used unique perception to discern the true and false in an opponent’s sword movements, seizing gaps with snake-like speed and precision—Bian Weini had just lost to this very art.

Zhang Chao’s sword shot straight forward, aimed precisely and swiftly at the throat.

Ba En stood motionless; only when the tip neared the throat did he suddenly snap his eyes open, his still-held sword transforming into a white moon, slicing with a sharp *ding* at the weakest point of Zhang Chao’s strike.

The weakness was pinpointed with astonishing accuracy—striking precisely at Zhang Chao’s sword’s side, causing his blade to tremble and fly from his grip. This move surpassed the previous one; those who had pitied Bian Weini now realized his defeat was entirely deserved.

Ba En was ecstatic—he had not expected this strike to succeed, and faintly sensed the opponent’s sword arm bore injury; yet all thoughts remained in his mind as his hand moved swiftly to strike the flying sword, while a winding sword path already formed in his mind: as he deflected the sword, this next strike would halt before Zhang Chao’s throat.

But a hand moved faster than his sword and seized it.

Zhang Chao turned his back to him, using the motion to catch the hilt with his left hand.

Then, as if seeing behind him, a stunningly elegant swordlight flared across the arena—he gently twisted his waist, drew his arm back, and with his long arm and supple posture formed an ancient, beautiful stance, like an old monkey plucking fruit, his sword stopping precisely three inches before Ba En’s throat.

And completely avoided Ba En’s sword path.

Zhang Chao sheathed his sword, bowed: “Thank you.”

Ba En paused two breaths, returned the bow, and murmured in surprise: “Thank you, Master Zhang, for your instruction.”

The garden fell silent for a moment, then erupted in cheers and astonishment.

It is said: when weak swords clash, you cannot see true weakness; when strong swords clash, you cannot see true strength.

Only when the two stand side by side does the astonishing gap become starkly clear.

The Thirty-Three Sword Gates, especially the Daoqi Society swordsmen of Shenjing Sword Academy, stood clearly on an entirely different level. The thirty-odd pairs of quiet sword robes now drew many glances; unlike the well-known Thirty-Three Sword Gates, Shenjing Sword Academy was not a name commonly heard in the martial world—people studied the disciples’ faces, guessing their sects and names, and wondering where Zhang Chao ranked among them.

Soon, everyone learned.

The further back, the stronger the opponents became. There was no longer any order—members of the Thirty-Three Sword Gates knew each other well, descended with greetings and laughter, some even dragging friends along.

Zhang Chao was indeed just an ordinary disciple of the Sword Academy.

He went on to defeat swordsmen from Diancang and Jinwu; just as the crowd thought his momentum was surging, another disciple from the Sword Academy stepped forward—Wen Li of Jingming Sect; they fought over twenty exchanges, and ultimately the Daoist prevailed.

The sword art of these top-tier talents among the Thirty-Three Sword Gates was already dazzling and astonishing; the girls in the pavilion’s fellowship kept gasping and clapping, some even leaning close to Cui Zhao and anxiously asking, “Can Master Pei really defeat this person?”

But when Ning Shuhong and Wang Shousi took the stage, the scene changed abruptly.

The level suddenly leapt from rolling hills to towering peaks.

Emerald Peak’s summit, a single red leaf; Nine-time champion of the Southeast Thirty Sects Sword Forum.

Even within the Sword Academy, these two were this year’s top talents; even those ignorant of swordplay could sense the leap in rank—where earlier matches had spent entire rounds debating a single refined technique, these two handled it as casual parries, each sword movement containing two or three layers of design.

Cheers erupted several-fold; swordsmen differed from ordinary spectators who cheered wildly at Leitai , yet it was precisely when their wine cups hung mid-air, eyes locked, that their involuntary gasps carried the greatest Ganran .

The two faced each other on the pool, already well acquainted; after their bout, Wang Shousi’s sword missed by one move, sighed with a smile, and conceded, drawing sighs from the Southeast sword sects and loud cheers from the Southwest.

Ning Shuhong stood on the pool, this graceful woman with her sword sheathed behind her, then defeated five consecutive opponents: Diancang’s [Golden Wings] Shen Chong, Taihang’s [Solitary Sword Beneath the Pine] Xi Lingyang; her sword art truly stunned all present, triggering the first major climax since the banquet began, making Emei’s name shine brilliantly.

But after defeating her fifth opponent, Ning Shuhong refused further challenges, yet did not leave—she lowered her sword, stood solemnly, and bowed deeply toward the six central seats.

She said: “True Disciple Chen Quan, Ning Shuhong has a sword dilemma I dare to ask you about.”

Chen Quan looked at her.

“Since I began learning sword, I have always relied on instinct to guide my blade, pursuing unity with the sword, merging sword and life—thus, nine out of ten times I prevail, as just now. But since arriving in Shenjing last year, I’ve repeatedly encountered swordsmen I simply cannot defeat, proving the shallowness of my sword cultivation. Yet when I reflect inward, I still cannot fathom how to advance.” Ning Shuhong said, “Even if I keep studying and practicing, ‘I’ remains forever ‘I’—I never glimpse what lies beyond. I’ve long heard the Northern Sea’s Youdu studies life-bound sword—could you offer guidance?”

The garden fell slightly silent. In truth, few present fully understood the question.

Chen Quan, contrary to his usual cold demeanor, fell silent for a moment: “True Disciple Ning, you flatter me—we merely discuss. I just watched your swordplay: extremely sharp and swift, truly a life-bound sword. As you say, you are trapped in the state of ‘I cannot surpass myself.’”

Fewer still understood this reply; the garden gradually fell utterly still.

“Do you know what ‘I cannot surpass myself’ means?” Li Tishui gazed at the pool.

Pei Ye nodded: “Shuhong has spoken with me several times—she binds her life to her sword, entrusting her swordplay entirely to life-sense, thus directly commanding her blade. She and her sword become utterly one; her vision can never extend beyond her own sword’s realm. No matter how hard she tries, she always believes her instinct-driven strikes are correct, yet these repeatedly correct strikes ultimately lead to defeat. She cannot conceive how to transcend herself—this is her bottleneck.”

Pei Ye knew well—in fact, the largest portion of Ning Shuhong’s “swordsmen I can never defeat” was himself; months had passed since they last met, and the woman had sought him out again with hopeful anticipation; she had indeed grown stronger, but Pei Ye had advanced by leaps and bounds.

In the end, the woman had once again sat cross-legged, clutching her sword, staring at him with gloomy despair.

Chen Quan said: “True Disciple Ning’s sword method is highly refined, but human life is fixed from birth; since the sword is bound to life, it cannot rise above life. That is unavoidable. Your academy has swordsmen born with innate talent—if they cling to life-bound sword, they may reach the rarest heights. But since True Disciple Ning lacks such destiny, there will inevitably come a day when you hit your limit.”

Ning Shuhong fell silent for a moment: “I already know this… Can True Disciple Chen offer advice?”

Chen Quan thought: “According to our sect’s sword principles, cultivation involves only two things: sword-bound life and sword-bound soul. Soul and life are not the same; ‘I’ and life are not the same. When wielding the sword, one must often pursue the state of ‘forgetting the self,’ thus avoiding this bottleneck. But soul-cultivation techniques are our sect’s secret art… True Disciple Ning, try receiving this one sword.”

No one in the garden reacted—Chen Quan drew his sword from the table and drew a faint, mysterious arc.

He stood thirteen zhang from Ning Shuhong; in an instant, her figure was swallowed by the blade.

All light dimmed, the rising sun vanished; the entire garden plunged into a dark netherworld, the clear pool water visibly turning deep black, and from that blackness, from beneath Ning Shuhong’s feet, a serpent’s head burst forth.

Its fang was as large as a giant tree; half its mouth already filled the entire pool; Ning Shuhong’s heart and lungs froze, her pupils shrinking to needle points—but in that moment, she could do nothing; the spring serpent swallowed her whole.

The darkness lifted like a curtain; Ning Shuhong remained rigidly standing on the pool’s surface; the entire garden was utterly silent.

Chen Quan sheathed his sword and sat calmly before his table.

Many only now realized what they had just witnessed—the Northern Sea’s Youdu sword heritage, [Spring Serpent], the eighth-ranked technique on the Feng List.

“True Disciple Ning, did you gain any insight just now?”

Ning Shuhong shook her head, dazed.

She had felt herself die, then instantly come back to life.

Chen Quan fell silent; another man smiled and spoke: “True Disciple Ning, since you bind your life to your sword and wish to break this attachment, you must learn ‘to die without choice.’”

The speaker sat at the side table; his skin was not fair, but his features were gentle, his posture elegant, twenty-three years old—he was the second heir of the Long Jun’s Dongting sword line, [Mountain Hero] Lu Wei.

He said: “Since life-bound sword cannot ascend further, break it and rebuild. When in utter desperation, abandon life-sense and return to trusting your own reason and judgment. When facing certain death, even if life-sense points you a path, if it is not your own rational judgment, you would rather die than choose it.”

Chen Quan turned his head: “I thought the same—I just now intended to give True Disciple Ning precisely such a situation.”

Lu Wei smiled: “What kind of situation did you give her? Where was there time to choose? True Disciple Ning had no chance to think—she was swallowed by your giant serpent.”

Chen Quan frowned slightly: “I know no other sword techniques—I did my best… I understand. True Disciple Ning, you should abandon Emei and join Youdu.”

This plain, cold man’s humor caught everyone off guard; the arena froze.

“You’ve sat idle long enough—True Disciple Ning has brought forth a true sword question; how could we abandon it so easily?” Lu Wei said with interest. “How to ‘break the self’ has always been the life-or-death gate on the sword path; countless geniuses who once advanced a thousand miles a day halted here. Some here may have already passed it; others may face it someday. Since all of you are present today, let us help True Disciple Ning. If this banquet can solve this question, every guest here will gain insight, and this tale will be remembered—making the journey worthwhile.”

Qun Fei turned his head: “Lu Zhenchuan, how do you propose to help?”

Lu Wei thought, then smiled: “I have an idea—but if I present it and no one here can solve it, I’ll be greatly humiliated.”

As soon as he spoke, Qiu Si opened his eyes and looked over: “Do the Long Jun’s Dongting sects always enjoy teasing? Speak.”

“It’s simple. Since Elder Yunlang is here, Lu Wei dares to request: could you create a realm for us to work within?” Lu Wei rose and bowed toward the solitary high seat. “Today, borrowing the sacred ground of Tianshan, let us compose a sword technique of ‘self against self.’”

At these words, Qiu Si opened his eyes and looked over: “Does Long Jun also enjoy withholding information in Dongting? Do tell.”

“It’s simple. Since Elder Yunlang is here, Luwei humbly requests—could you create a space of heaven and earth for us to work in?” Luwei rose and bowed toward the solitary elevated spot. “Today, borrowing the sacred ground of Tianshan, let us craft a sword form of ‘I’ confronting ‘I.’”