Chapter 33: Chapter Thirty-Three: The Red-Buttocked Divine Lord

At this moment, Qian Chen’s front was finally clear; he stepped directly before Hong Sihai.

Qian Chen had ultimately refined the Black Iron Dark Hook, this peculiar flying sword now wielded by him as a divine weapon.

One day ago, Qian Chen did not know what martial way was, nor what the clash of wills entailed in combat; the only man he had killed was still the Mei Mountain heretic, struck down by surprise with the Dragon Sparrow Ring.

The previous day, Qian Chen had outmaneuvered the Mist-Riding Divine Lord at a tea stall, calculated every move, and effortlessly slain him.

During the Twelve Zodiac Night Raid, facing the ferocious Battle God, he seized a fleeting instant and poisoned him…

Before the main gate of the Four Seas Hall, facing the heavenly upheaval of Wind God Xiao, Qian Chen first slew all the ghosts within the wind, then in his duel with the Tiger-Eating Divine Lord, finally slew his enemy with pure will, cunning, and sword art—amidst the sliver of possibility in their clash…

Before the Five Lakes Hall, facing the Pestle-Grinding Divine Lord, who carried death in her heart, he sent her on her way with sword art…

In the funeral hall, through reasoning and wisdom, he had already driven the Sun-Seeking Divine Lord into a death trap before even striking…

At this moment, the killing intent honed within Qian Chen’s heart finally erupted… Previously, Qian Chen had possessed Dao qi, understood life and death, and possessed penetrating wisdom, maintaining a lively, innocent heart; he could gradually forget and calm all troubles and emotions. But facing those emotions he could not forget, and did not wish to forget…

Those inescapable troubles, entangling like silk and webs, binding him, preventing him from being at ease.

All worldly affairs, all experiences, countless dusts of the mortal realm had stained his heart, leaving traces upon Qian Chen’s mirror-like mind-lake—traces he could not laugh off, could not turn away from, just as Qian Chen could not simply walk away from this world.

How should one respond to these myriad dusts, these ten thousand troubles?

This was a question Qian Chen must inevitably answer—who in the mortal realm is without trouble? Even the Supreme Dao Ancestor, who as a shepherd had known no worries, after entering the Dao, still endured countless loves, hates, attachments, and sorrows!

Qian Chen did not know if he could forever remain unchanged as the mortal world flowed past him, but at this moment he knew his answer.

One sword—that is how I cut.

There exists a sword art capable of slaying all inner hesitation, indecision, loss, sorrow, grief, and trouble; when this absolute killing intent manifests outwardly, it can sever all karmic ties and stains of the mortal realm with a single stroke.

All karmic bonds, countless troubles arise from man, and can also depart through man.

This meaning is—kill!

The Black Iron Dark Hook unleashed a sword light like a coiling dragon, carrying unmatched resolve and killing intent, transcending all restraints. Sword intent, at its simplest, is this: with a sword in hand, there is no law, no heaven, no hesitation, no restraint—only the will to kill you. At this moment, Qian Chen discarded all calculations, all hesitations; evidence, identity—none mattered, none were important. One strike, and life and death were decided.

This was true sword path initiation.

The Qing Sect’s sword cultivators, with a sword in hand, dared kill anyone.

The swordlight sliced between them; the void instantly blazed with cold radiance, a chilling aura freezing the room as if dusted with frost and snow. The blade divided light and dark, like the Taiji string cleaving yin and yang—the curved form of the hook-shaped flying sword lent this strike not the straight thrust of a typical flying sword, but a subtle grace of intertwined hardness and softness.

Hong Sihai, seeing this sword, felt utterly helpless.

Yet in his heart, he felt no fear; compared to Qian Chen, he had ten times, a hundred times more experience in bloody combat, long since reaching the state where a single punch was launched with no thought, no awareness—only the intent to kill his opponent. All the transformations Qian Chen claimed, he had long since endured.

With a calm, steady gaze, Hong Sihai enveloped his left fist in gang qi, drew his right fist back to his chest, and punched forward…

Firm and powerful, pure gang qi surged, shattering everything it touched.

Any flashy technique one could not counter—most simply required punching through it, again and again. A steadfast, unadorned fist shattered all hollow swordlight. Had Qian Chen not possessed that single thread of sword intent piercing to the essence, had his Black Iron Dark Hook been only partially sealed, his swordlight would have been shattered long ago.

But even as most of its radiance shattered, that faint, elusive swordlight still shifted—it twisted impossibly, at a perfect angle, slicing through Hong Sihai’s fist gang qi. At that instant, Hong Sihai’s right fist also struck; swordlight and fist gang qi met and parted.

Yet Qian Chen withdrew his swordlight Zhudong , for he realized Hong Sihai’s right fist Gang qi was several degrees stronger than his left.

A faint bloodline appeared on Hong Sihai’s left fist—it was from the earlier clash, when Qian Chen’s swordlight had pierced the gang qi and scraped his skin. Had the alternation between his two fists been only a fraction slower, Qian Chen could have severed at least three of his fingers…

Both fists thrust forward; in Qian Chen’s eyes, Hong Sihai’s figure shrank infinitely, receding, while his fists grew larger and larger, until they loomed like mountains and peaks, filling Qian Chen’s entire vision.

This was no illusion—it was a change in presence. The presence of these two fists expanded without limit.

It made one feel that no matter where the sword struck, escape from these fists was impossible.

Spiritual sense or martial way could keenly perceive changes in energy; Qian Chen sensed that whether he moved forward, backward, left, or right, he could not escape the range of this punch—thus the punch naturally encompassed all directions, its presence everywhere. At this moment, if Qian Chen wished to thrust his swordlight at Hong Sihai’s true body, he must face these two fists.

At this moment, these two fists naturally grew large enough to block Hong Sihai’s entire body.

This was a transformation of aura—existing only within spiritual sense and divine intent…

Qian Chen’s spiritual sense embraced all directions, mapping out the entire Five Lakes Hall—the masters, every table, every stool… His breath rose and fell, gradually merging with the long hook in his hand; his internal qi seemed the hook’s own breath. At this moment, his connection with the hook’s spiritual sense soared, and unconsciously, the sealing talisman deepened further.

At this moment, his spiritual sense, in the depths of the void, sensed the vast, overwhelming primordial energy of heaven and earth.

Qian Chen guided his hook along this subtle sensation; the hooklight surged like a venomous dragon, writhing beneath the twin mountains of fists—the mountains failed to suppress the dragon, instead being overturned by it, the hook’s edge slicing horizontally, nearly severing the mountain peaks.

Hong Sihai nearly had his fingers severed, forcing him to slightly widen the gap between his fists to gain room for martial variation.

Qian Chen’s hooklight seized this opening, darting between the fists, threatening Hong Sihai’s vital chest and abdomen. The two fists shifted like twin gates, attempting to close the portal to his core, trapping Qian Chen’s hooklight within…

Their energy entangled, and in the blink of an eye, they exchanged several strikes.

Qian Chen did not release his magic artifact to stir heaven’s might; Hong Sihai did not command primordial energy. Both held back, wary—yet this did not lessen the danger or power in the slightest; if anything, it grew more perilous. Without primordial energy as buffer, each punch and swordstroke was condensed life and death.

One misstep, and defeat meant death.

After exchanging one sword and one punch, Qian Chen and Hong Sihai touched and immediately separated, suddenly pulling apart, resuming their standoff… This transition from motion to stillness flowed like clouds and water, giving an almost pleasing sensation.

Their energies remained locked on each other, both silently waiting for an opening.

At this moment, the situation favored Hong Sihai—he had countless reinforcements; Qian Chen stood alone, sword in hand.

In this eerie standoff, a gong and drum sounded from the main hall of the Five Lakes Hall—dong de long dong qiang…

The Five Lakes Hall had fallen utterly silent; those without cultivation had already been poisoned by Qian Chen, while the masters, facing this world-shaking duel, felt as if they could barely breathe—each believed that if he stepped forward, he would be slain instantly, forgetting even to breathe, let alone speak. Thus, the hall that had been noisy and lively just moments before was now so quiet a pin could be heard falling.

The gong and drum, normally unremarkable, now could frighten one to death.

At least several masters and grand masters felt a tightness in their chests, as if they might vomit blood—caused by the pressure of Qian Chen and Hong Sihai’s clashing energies.

Two peerless experts dueling had nearly killed the onlookers.

Three small monkeys slid down the rafters and onto the main stage. These monkeys, dressed in red and colorful attire, were trained performers—domesticated monkeys kept by humans. At this moment, the spectators, whose eyes alone could move, felt a strange sensation.

Two peerless grand masters were fighting for their lives.

And yet, they were interrupted by a monkey show.

The three monkeys, oblivious, began leaping and dancing on stage as trained. Suddenly, one monkey donned a dragon mask, strutting across the stage, displaying its bronze-painted dragon face… The dragon was solemn, majestic, utterly devoid of humor.

The dragon-masked monkey adopted a sneaky posture, hiding to the side, turning its back to the crowd as it removed its mask.

The rat-masked monkey climbed a nearby pillar and hung from the beam, peering down…

The dragon-masked monkey removed its mask, but the rat-masked monkey saw its face. Instantly, the dragon-masked monkey roared in fury, chattering loudly, then executed a superb fist technique, leaping onto the beam, grabbing the rat-masked monkey, and hurling it to the ground. The rat-masked monkey shrieked twice, feigned struggling, then stuck out its tongue and pretended to be dead.

The dragon-masked monkey vanished into darkness. Suddenly, a monkey wearing a red mask appeared at the scene, calling twice at the “dead” rat-masked monkey, then forcibly prying open the right paw the rat-masked monkey had tightly gripped as it fell from the beam—revealing a delicate double knot. The red-faced monkey raised the double knot, displaying it to all present.

Everyone recognized this double knot—it was the token made during the oath of brotherhood among the Four Uniques and the Divine Lord, symbolizing eternal unity: the Golden Orchid Oath.

And on this Golden Orchid Oath, the knot was shaped like a fist.

It was widely known that the Fist Uniqueness among the Four Uniques was—Hong Sihai, the current Martial Alliance Leader, the Heaven-Subduing Fist.