Chapter 126: Chapter Forty-Nine: The Bearing of That Punch

Yes, I never imagined I would see a flying sword today; my expression was ridiculous, like those scientists who despise Daoists as charlatans deceiving gods and ghosts, who, upon suddenly seeing ghosts and gods, gape in disbelief, as if a lump of feces had been stuffed in their mouth—neither able to swallow nor spit out.

Put another way, it's as if I, who always looked down on scientists holding alien losers, tonight actually saw a living alien standing before me—my feeling… can no longer be described by tears streaming down my face.

Unlike ordinary people, precisely because I am an insider, I know the insider secrets more clearly. Shu Mountain, that which belongs to legend; the flying sword, that which can only be seen in movies and novels.

Within the Daoist Sect, even though the sword control technique is said to have been passed down, countless predecessors have already proven it to be mere empty talk, or a tool used by those with impure motives to deceive people.

However, now I have truly seen the legendary sword control technique; not only did I see it, but in the night, that silver flying sword shot toward my face at lightning speed.

It wants my life!... The chill carried by the wind makes me feel cold to the core, my heart soaring.

Speaking of delay, it was instant—when the flying sword was only 0.1 centimeter away, danger triggered an unprecedented burst of potential. The moment my eyes widened, I leaned back at a 45-degree angle, braced my hands on the ground, and forced myself into a Paris Arch Bridge.

With a crack, a sound of breaking bone came from my waist…… Instantly, tears streamed down my face, that slender waist of eighty centimeters! I almost twisted it off myself.

"Be careful… dodge quickly." As I barely avoided the silver sword by bending backward, suddenly I saw that flying sword flash toward Chen Zheng, aiming straight at his face.

Everyone exclaimed in shock; Fan Wuchang beside me let out a roar, wanting to rush forward, but the sword's speed was too fast— in the blink of an eye it had darted to the front of Chen Zheng's brow.

Exactly at that moment, an incident occurred that left my mind blank for an instant. I forgot the pain, and even the blood trickling down from my forehead grazed by the sword qi went unnoticed.

And the reason I was stunned was because Chen Zheng… moved.

As the flying sword closed in, Chen Zheng's tightly shut eyes snapped open, a chilling dread flashing across his dead gaze. The moment his eyes opened, an aura that shook mountains and rivers, making all things submit, burst forth from his body.

"Roar…" Chen Zheng raised his head and let out a long cry; this sudden roar, like a lion's roar, like a tiger's howl, shook everyone into covering their ears, and some, unable to withstand the pressure, collapsed instantly to the ground, while the silver sword that had pierced to within an inch of his face was halted mid-air by that shout.

"Heretical ways, dare to bully me… do you really think my fists are for show?" With boundless arrogance, seeking to challenge the heavens, Chen Zheng's pale hair flew wildly as he crouched and leapt, his iron fists fearlessly meeting the incoming flying sword.

Urgent like waves, furious like a tsunami… Chen Zheng's fists collided head-on with the flying sword in midair. A booming roar like metal clashing, wave after wave, shook the stone chips of the secret passage nearly loose.

Chen Zheng's sturdy frame retreated several steps, blood slowly seeping from the gaps of his tiger fists.

That flying sword, which could split boulders in an instant, was now rebounded several feet, striking the wall of the secret passage; yet the sword was extraordinary— upon hitting the wall, it instantly spun in midair, its silver light flashing, and once again surged with killing intent toward Chen Zheng.

Chen Zheng grew even fiercer; although his fists bled from the shock, he still gripped his iron fists without fear and advanced to meet the sword.

The fist Chen Zheng throws is a dead fist; in internal martial arts, a dead fist denotes a technique with no retreat once launched— even if he suffers ten thousand losses, he must inflict eight thousand on the enemy.

This is an overbearing, yang‑filled hard fist; its training is extraordinarily arduous, beyond the endurance of those lacking great willpower.

At this moment Chen Zheng exerted this overbearing fist technique to the extreme, punch after punch, each strike carrying an unstoppable, devastating force; each punch emitted a tiger's roar power from his arms, never missing, striking the silver sword precisely.

The clashes of fist and sword produced repeated metallic booms, each impact like a thunderclap on flat ground, making hearts tremble.

The silver sword was bizarre and without pattern, agile and treacherous, constantly shifting its trajectory in the air, each thrust aiming straight at Chen Zheng's vital points.

Chen Zheng's fist was overbearing and resolute, vowing to pierce mountains and rivers, advancing without hesitation.

After several consecutive collisions, Chen Zheng's fists were stained with blood— his own blood from the fight, not the enemy's.

Had it been an ordinary person, fear would have already arisen, face paling, thinking only of how to escape beneath the sword's edge. But Chen Zheng's face showed no fear; instead, the more he fought, the braver he became, the more wounded, his aura grew stronger, his punching speed became unbelievably fast, chokingly fierce.

Under Chen Zheng's mutually damaging fighting style, the silver sword's chill gradually faded, and soon it was slammed to the ground by his bloody fists.

Blood trickled down from Chen Zheng's fingertips to the ground; at this moment he resembled an iron‑blooded warrior brandishing a blade on an ancient battlefield— though wounded, he feared nothing, steadfast as a mountain, unmoved by wind or thunder.

Silence… the secret passage was so quiet a dropped pin could be heard; everyone gaped, staring at the man standing in the middle of the passage, wildly arrogant beyond compare.

And my heart was even more shaken… Before seeing Chen Zheng, I thought Pangzi's Tiger Shape Fist was already quite refined, possessing a hint of the tiger's roar that shakes mountains and rivers. But after witnessing Chen Zheng's punch, I realized Pangzi's Tiger Shape Fist was merely child's play, incapable of emitting the king of beasts' aura.

Chen Zheng's fist… is truly the tiger's roar that shakes mountains and rivers.

The earth‑shaking roar erupting from his dantian, the explosive speed of his crouch‑and‑leap, the crackling sound when his fists strike like bursting bones— all prove Chen Zheng is an internal martial arts master, indeed one of the foremost in the world today.

The dragon is the dantian, the tiger the spine… this lies at the core of internal martial arts; internal martial arts power concentrates the scattered external spirit into a single thought, coordinates hand‑foot‑body movements, uses the reverse of the ordinary, and draws back into the dantian.

Ming Jin, An Jin, and Hua Jin rise with the fullness of qi, progressing from meter power to foot power to inch power; the whole body fills with one qi, which oscillates with the dantian, inner and outer unite, and when a fist is thrown, the surrounding area sways accordingly.

Yet those who can achieve this are exceedingly rare—not to mention the many who merely mimic the form; even those who have cultivated An Jin and grasped its meaning are as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns, and practitioners like Chen Zheng who have cultivated qi momentum and force are practically once‑in‑a‑century finds.

Not only I was shocked; everyone in the secret passage was deeply shaken by the bearing of that punch. No one could have imagined that the formerly frail scholar Chen Zheng would, in an instant, become so overbearing and boundless, ruling the world.

After a moment, as I regained my senses, I vaguely recalled that Chen Zheng was not only the Dragon Head of Dong Ling, but also the champion of lethal combat in Macau's underground boxing arena; his tiger fists had swept half of Macau, unmatched.

Buzz… a faint hum came from beside my ear, so fine it was inaudible like a mosquito…

Yet this hum caused everyone in the secret passage to change expression, for the sound emanated from the silver small sword that Chen Zheng had struck down.

All divine objects possess spirit; whether weapons, sacred wood, after being nurtured for a time they develop sentience.

The sound emitted by this silver sword shows it is fully spirited; even if it lacks independent sentience, it is not far off.

What's more terrifying is that behind this silver sword lies a hidden controller, linked by heart and blood, manipulating this flying sword that is impossible to defend against.

The bizarre Paper Person Flow, the lost sword control technique… both appeared tonight; I don't know whether they are one group or two, but I am certain their sole target is… Chen Zheng.

Again came several buzzes; the silver sword, like a defeated soldier, struggled on the ground a few times, then suddenly leapt into the air, its icy blade pointing at Chen Zheng's face, poised for another strike.

Chen Zheng's eyes turned cold, a chill flashing in his gaze; he gripped his fists again and roared, throwing another punch at the silver sword.

"Cough cough…" An unexpected scene unfolded again: Chen Zheng, who had been charging like a roaring tiger toward the silver sword, suddenly halted midway, then squatted, his face twisted in pain as he coughed. Soon a mouthful of bright red blood spurted from his lips; the tiger punch that had hung suspended in midair finally drooped helplessly, like an old man's weakened arm.

"Zheng Ge's old injury has flared up— help him walk," Fan Wuchang said, clutching his shoulder, struggling to rise again.

At that moment, the silver sword hovering in midair seemed to sense the enemy's weakness, seized the opportunity, a blinding silver gleam flashed along its blade, and then, like lightning, it thrust straight at Chen Zheng's face.

The former invincible underworld overlord, the imposing Chen Zheng, once again found himself trapped in a deadly situation.