Chapter 43: Chapter Forty-Three: Sweeping Dragon-Snake Ink in Drunken Ink

Rong Jin’s face turned drastically pale, and the table before him trembled.

He felt the primordial breath stuck to the bottom of the wine vessel vanish as if swallowed by the sea—snatched away by Chen Hang, gone without a trace, beyond recovery.

“Could he truly be a disciple of some great sect?! But what rank of Qi-condensation art is this…?”

There was no time left to ponder.

In a flash of lightning.

Rong Jin saw the wine vessel hurtling straight at his face; he hurriedly summoned his primordial breath and reached out to seize it—but the moment his fingers touched it, the vessel shattered outright before his horrified eyes.

“Damn it?!”

Rong Jin frantically raised his sleeve to shield his face from splashing wine, but the liquid merely swayed slightly, then spiraled and danced midair like a playful silver snake, weaving through the hall, filling it with rich, intoxicating fragrance.

“Rush boldly toward the clouds, heart bold and grand, pluck a single high branch above the mortal world.”

Chen Hang laughed heartily and kicked the table before him onto the floor, sending cups, plates, and bowls clattering.

The long stream of silver liquid suddenly split into three, coalescing into slender swords of water, emitting faint glimmers, descending from the air toward the three of them.

Rong Jin and the others were stunned; they summoned their primordial breath to strike—but before they could close in, the slender swords had already interwoven and darted away, circling nearly half the hall.

“Ascend the moon’s ladder…”

Chen Hang lightly brushed his hand through the air; the slender swords grew even lighter, yet their piercing sharpness intensified, becoming like blades exhaling lethal intent.

“Dip the brush in rivers and mountains, grasp the stars, laugh as wind and clouds inspire grand verses.”

He stepped forward three more paces; with each step, the swords whirled faster, until after sixteen interweaving passes, his primordial breath flared—and in an instant, they slashed down!

“Disperse!”

At this moment, Rong Jin no longer cared about great sect disciples or State-Protecting Generals; the chilling killing intent pressed upon his heart like a boulder. His hands trembled like spinning wheels, his throat convulsed, and suddenly he blew forth a mighty gale.

But in an instant, he heard a series of tearing sounds like ripping silk—bone-chilling sharpness made his hair stand on end—and the gale was cleaved apart in one stroke! Three dim, watery glimmers pierced straight into his pupils!

“….”

Rong Jin’s spirit and mind were shattered; his liver and gallbladder felt ready to split open.

He had never before experienced mortal combat between cultivators of the same realm; for a moment, his soul seemed to drift away, lost in mist and clouds.

He remained frozen like this for an unknown length of time, until a low sigh from Rong Tuo beside him pulled him back to reality.

He looked closely—three slender swords, forged from wine, hung motionless just three inches from his face, their fragrance intoxicating, indescribably rich.

Behind them, Chen Hang sat with eyes half-closed, as if entranced, utterly still.

He did not move, so Rong Jin dared not move either; they remained silent for a long while, until Rong Jin’s face flushed crimson, convinced Chen Hang was deliberately humiliating him, and he was just about to unleash his primordial breath to vaporize the wine.

With a faint sigh.

Chen Hang lifted his head and pointed a finger.

“Stroke the azure cliff, sweep away drunken dragon-snake ink, dance and linger…”

As his words fell, the three wine-formed slender swords instantly lost all strength and tumbled to the ground, spilling in a splash that drenched Rong Jin’s legs halfway.

Yet now, his expression was one of profound respect, utterly indifferent to the wine staining his robes.

Rong Tuo and Rong Xuantao remained silent, facing each other, filled only with awe.

To wield merely a single primordial breath and turn a cup of wine into such a spectacle—then cleave through Rong Jin’s Wind-summoning technique in one blow?

Such vast, mighty primordial breath!

Such unmatched sharpness!

What rank of Qi-condensation art did he study?!

If this man is not a disciple of a great sect, then who else deserves the title?

Amid the swirling thoughts of the crowd, Chen Hang silently shook his head, unable to suppress his regret.

In that instant, he had felt he was only a thin sheet of paper away from “Ten Steps, One Kill”—one poke, and he could have pierced through, elevating his sword cultivation into a new realm.

But that thin sheet of paper.

After the sudden insight faded, it now felt like a chasm between heaven and earth—his hand reached only toward dark, profound depths.

“How was it?”

Chen Hang gathered his spirit and gazed over, his expression neither proud nor arrogant:

“Is my wine to your liking?”

The hall fell utterly silent; no one spoke. After a long while, only Rong Jin sighed and clapped his hands, then bowed deeply to the ground:

“Master, you are worthy of a kingdom!”

…

After this incident, no further objections arose.

The two sides quickly reached an agreement: in exchange for a thousand talisman coins, five days of cultivation time in the “Jade Womb Pool,” and the cultivation resources on Tong Gaolu’s person, they signed a magical covenant and swore oaths.

“When the matter is done, we should drink a great cup—but tonight’s wine spirit is spent. What then?”

After stowing the golden magical covenant into his space pouch, Chen Hang clasped Rong Tuo’s shoulder and laughed:

“I wonder what geographical and cultural treasures your library holds—may I be allowed a look?”

Rong Tuo’s face tightened.

Is he trying to see our Rong family’s Dao arts?!

He glared fiercely at the bamboo-and-wood mask, wanting to demand fiercely: Wasn’t it clearly three conditions?

But the sheer aura Chen Hang had displayed silenced him; he stammered, unable to speak.

“Master, you are truly a noble gentleman, so generous to me—I am truly unworthy.”

Chen Hang sighed deeply:

“You know I am thin-skinned, so you hold back, fearing you’ll crush my ambition? No need. I understand your intent to gift me your Dao arts. Don’t worry about me—act freely. Don’t let your kindness go to waste.”

Rong Tuo let out a cold laugh—but before he could finish, Chen Hang seized him and shot upward in a swift aura of teleportation, piercing straight into the clouds.

After several more inquiries, Rong Tuo finally sighed in defeat and pointed to a direction.

Chen Hang smiled faintly, raised his primordial breath, and the aura of teleportation accelerated further.

In less than a cup of tea’s time, they landed inside a tower of pure black stone. As Chen Hang prepared to dismount, Rong Tuo grabbed his sleeve.

“Only half an hour!”

He spoke sharply, holding Chen Hang back: “No matter what, you may observe for only half an hour!”

Chen Hang’s expression remained calm; he nodded: “Thank you.”

Watching him walk into the tower without a flicker of emotion, Rong Tuo was left bewildered, frozen in place.

Half an hour…

What could one possibly see in half an hour?

Meanwhile, Chen Hang.

After parting the door, he saw two full rows of shelves, each lined with neatly arranged jade slips and bamboo scrolls. In the corner, a dim candle glowed, guarded by an aged-looking boy.

Chen Hang gave the boy a slight nod, then ignored him, casually picking up a bamboo scroll and began reading.

“This is… ‘The Unyielding Spear and Great Phoenix Combat Method’?”

Chen Hang glanced once and frowned inwardly: “What nonsense.”

He connected his spirit with Jin Chan, entered the True Dharma Realm, memorized every character, then withdrew and moved to the next scroll.

To the boy’s eyes, Chen Hang merely stared blankly at each bamboo scroll for a few breaths, then set it down and picked up the next.

This continued until half an hour passed.

As Rong Tuo grew frantic, on the verge of bursting in, Chen Hang walked out of the tower calmly, his expression unchanged.

“Master, how many arts did you memorize?” Rong Tuo studied his face and asked:

“Though there are few Dao arts here, there are many mortal martial techniques, military manuals, and medical texts—don’t get distracted, don’t pick the wrong one…”

“I’ve memorized them all—perfectly.”

Rong Tuo could no longer contain himself; he burst into loud laughter, dismissing it as a joke.

He then led Chen Hang to a clean three-story pavilion, gave orders to the palace maids, and departed joyfully on a cloud, bidding farewell cheerfully.

“I wasn’t joking… I truly memorized them all.”

Chen Hang watched Rong Tuo’s mirth and shook his head.

He declined the maids’ service, climbed to the top floor, locked the door, sat alone on a blackwood armchair, and immersed his spirit into the True Dharma Realm.

Thus, one day, suddenly.

In that vast, empty, boundless space, Chen Hang’s body trembled; streams of energy spiraled around him, emitting sounds like temple bells and dragon roars, rolling down like waterfalls and surging tides.

“It’s done!”

Chen Hang smiled, reached out, and gathered the energy, murmuring to himself.