Chapter 16: Chapter Sixteen: Hatred as Deep as the Sea

A thunderclap on level ground! A sword like lightning!

As Daoist Yangshan remained lost in the dazzling beauty of that lotus-bright face, his mind dazed, Xu Zhi’s sword had already drawn within three zhang of him!

“Assassin? Where did a martial grandmaster come from?!”

Daoist Yangshan’s soul nearly fled in terror: “So fast a sword—this is an assassin from the Chen clan!”

Third Form of the Little Crimson Dragon Sword Scripture—

Whirlwind Summoning Fire!

The blade pierced Daoist Yangshan’s chest at an impossible speed, thrusting forward through his horrified, despairing gaze.

Ding!

Not the dull thud of rending flesh, but the clang of striking iron or stone.

No—

Even iron or stone would have been cleaved by this sword infused with fetal breath, yet Daoist Yangshan’s chest bled only a few drops; the blade sank only two inches before being clamped shut by an immense force.

“This… could it be an external body-cultivation Daoist art?”

Xu Zhi froze for an instant—and that instant allowed Daoist Yangshan to snap back. He clenched his fist and sent Xu Zhi flying backward, smashing through countless tables and chairs along the way.

“I’ve cultivated the Daoist arts recorded in the Golden Book! My destiny is to become an immortal ancestor, to enjoy eternal life! How could you possibly kill me?!”

Daoist Yangshan’s terror turned to rage.

He tore off his torn Daoist robe, bare-chested like a bear, lunging at the struggling Xu Zhi!

Thud!

A pillar thick as two men’s embrace shattered under a single punch; amidst the screams as dust rained down, Daoist Yangshan grew fiercer, each step cracking the ground into spiderweb fissures.

“Damn it! If my right hand could still wield a sword, and if I had just one low-grade talisman weapon…”

This power was like a great demon descending upon the mortal world.

Xu Zhi dodged left and right under his pursuit, barely evading and parrying thanks solely to the Land God’s Step.

Puff!

Another flickering thrust, like a child prodding a cicada—seemingly riddled with openings, yet leaving no escape.

Daoist Yangshan, unable to dodge, could only watch helplessly as the blade descended toward his throat, only barely halted after nearly severing half of it.

“This…”

The crowd fell silent.

Xu Zhi blinked, surprised his strike had succeeded. He suddenly burst into laughter: “I thought your body was truly unbreakable—turns out it’s just a showy facade, nothing special!”

“Enough to kill you!”

Daoist Yangshan, furious and humiliated, spread his five fingers wide like a fan and whipped up a violent gale, slashing downward.

Xu Zhi’s form flickered, evading Daoist Yangshan’s palm strike.

“I understand now—you’re a lone cultivator, never trained in a proper sect. Your external body-cultivation art may be strange, but it’s still just flesh and bone. I see you know nothing of evasion techniques, talisman arts, or any other Daoist methods.”

He stood firm with his sword, and a Falling Demon Talisman flew from his palm toward Daoist Yangshan’s crown.

“Hit!”

Daoist Yangshan’s evasion techniques were poor—he had no way to dodge this talisman unleashed like lightning.

A torrent of ferocious, malevolent energy surged forth like an ocean, swiftly clouding Daoist Yangshan’s mind, leaving him dazed and motionless, oblivious to all.

“What an absolute demon’s shell…”

Xu Zhi swung his sword in rapid slashes at his left arm—only sparks flew, metal shrieked.

When he shook off his playfulness and prepared to sever Daoist Yangshan’s head with one final strike, he suddenly cried inwardly: “No!”

The Daoist, entranced by the Falling Demon Talisman, slowly opened his eyes—blankly stared, then screamed in agony, punching Xu Zhi so hard he flew into the air, nearly vomiting blood.

“Talisman weapon! Bring me my talisman weapon!”

Daoist Yangshan roared.

“Brother, stop watching—come help me!”

Xu Zhi coughed as he propped himself up with his broken sword.

Had he not reacted swiftly enough to cross his sword over his chest, that punch would have done far more than make him cough.

“What?”

Hearing Xu Zhi’s cry, Daoist Yangshan felt a sudden dread.

“It seems my brother, though skilled with the sword, truly lacks combat experience. Too careless.”

Under Daoist Yangshan’s stunned gaze,

the figure he had dreamed of rose slowly—her voice warm, deep, and low—yet unmistakably male.

“What? What?!”

Daoist Yangshan clutched his bleeding neck wound, nearly collapsing:

“Beauty… you’re… a man?!”

“I once saw Yan Zhen duel others—back then, only dazzling radiance filled the eyes, hands untouched by dust—truly celestial arts.”

Chen Hang tore off his array of jade and pearls, tossed them carelessly to the ground, and crushed them underfoot:

“This spectacle, however, feels more like a brawl between mortal grandmasters.”

“Give me one talisman weapon, and I’ll show you the celestial art of flying swords.”

Xu Zhi rolled his eyes: “His body-cultivation art is so astonishing—if I tried showing off breath-killing techniques before him, I couldn’t even pierce his skin!”

“Damn it! Where are my talisman weapons?! Why can’t I sense any of them?!”

Daoist Yangshan clenched his fists uneasily.

“I knew your talisman weapons were powerful—right after I got them, I sent a skilled bodyguard to take them all away. By now, he’s probably galloped far beyond this mountain with them.”

Chen Hang said calmly: “I thought I’d have to struggle to get them—but you handed me the Thunderfire Thunder Pearl so easily. Unexpected.”

“You… no, besides the pearl, I still have the Five-Light Pendant and the Six-Yin Celestial Ghost Banner!”

At the brink of death, Daoist Yangshan’s mind became clearer than ever.

Then,

he saw his son silently bow his head and hand Chen Hang a vermilion-lacquered great bow.

“Motherfucker—”

Daoist Yangshan no longer hesitated—he condensed his fetal breath into a black cloud, lifting himself to flee desperately.

“Try to escape?”

Bing! Bing! Bing! Bing! Bing! Bing!

Chen Hang softly roared, drawing the bow full moon-taut, firing six arrows in rapid succession—each locked onto his brow, heart, and limbs. In a flash, air exploded, lethal intent piercing the sky!

“Hit!”

Midair, Daoist Yangshan, standing atop his cloud, became a perfect target—struck by all six arrows, he tumbled from the sky, dazed and disoriented.

Before he could even rise, stars dancing before his eyes,

Chen Hang gripped a black iron arrowhead, seized his Daoist crown, and drove the arrowhead straight through his throat!

Puch—

Blood gushed like a spring, splattering Chen Hang’s face and hair—but that beautiful, godlike face remained expressionless, calm as ever.

“Motherfucker… I didn’t lose to anyone—I lost to myself…”

Daoist Yangshan mustered his last breath to utter a bitter, bewildered dying curse:

“Damned heavens—how could there be a man this beautiful? I—”

Puff!

Chen Hang, expressionless, drove the arrowhead in again.

Daoist Yangshan’s eyes bulged wide, his body went limp, motionless forever.

And in the great hall, silence fell.

Some yellow-robed Yangshan disciples huddled fearfully together—the elite of Yangshan had already been slain in the Chen household; these remaining ones, either newly initiated or long resentful of Daoist Yangshan, didn’t dare step forward to help.

“Dead? Ha ha ha ha ha!”

Long silence.

Then a loud laugh.

Wang Duanbao, who had curled into a ball all this time, finally trembled and lifted his head. Seeing Daoist Yangshan’s corpse on the ground, he froze—then burst into tears, ran forward, and seized the pale, slender little woman, spinning her around.

“Xiao Yu, Xiao Yu…”

Wang Duanbao choked: “He’s dead! Now we’ll have a good life!”

He wept and laughed while holding the little woman—after a long while, her face slowly regained color, flushing with unnatural redness.

“Duanbao.”

Xiao Yu whispered: “Lean your face closer.”

Wang Duanbao, overjoyed, obeyed without question.

“No…” Xu Zhi’s face darkened.

Chen Hang frowned, silent.

In the next instant,

the woman called Xiao Yu opened her mouth and bit down hard on Wang Duanbao’s eyeball—she tore with all her strength!

“AHHHH!!!”

Half the eyeball and eyelid were ripped out.

Wang Duanbao cried out in pain, instinctively tightening his arms to strangle the person in his embrace—but he suddenly stopped, trembling uncontrollably.

“Xiao Yu, Xiao Yu, what are you doing? Why are you hurting me...?”

Wang Duanbao whimpered like a puppy: “I’ve never hurt you—what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“You saw your father defile me!”

“I couldn’t defeat him—I was afraid...” Wang Duanbao covered his face with his hands, wailing and weeping.

“I’d rather have died back then with you. I never wanted to live until now!” Xiao Yu laughed through tears: “You deserve to die! Your father deserves to die! I... I deserve to die too!”

She punched at Wang Duanbao’s skull, but the recoil tore her knuckles open and drew blood.

And Wang Duanbao suddenly stopped resisting, only sobbing softly, shaking with each breath.

Bench, fingers, stone, hairpin...

Even Xu Zhi, stunned and unable to react in time, had her broken sword snatched from her hand.

After half an hour had passed, only a blurred, mangled corpse remained on the ground, blood pooling everywhere.

Xiao Yu slowly lifted her head; all the Yangshan disciples avoided her gaze as if fleeing a plague-bringer, as though she were not a person but a demon.

She slowly curled her lips, intending to walk toward the boy holding the bow in the distance.

Whir!

Bricks and shards flew in all directions!

An arrow struck the ground two inches from her toe—just one step closer, and it would have pierced her sole.

“Stay back. Take one more step, and I’ll kill you.” Chen Hang’s voice was calm.

“I know where that old pig-dog of Yangshan keeps his treasure.”

Xiao Yu laughed dismissively:

“Young Master, let me lead you to it.”