Chapter 290: The End of Elder Murong

The old man in blue robes let out a wild laugh, and even the Crimson Dragon's form could not stop him—he was slammed downward, its dragon cry echoing once, sending Elder Murong reeling, the crimson dragon lost in the vast sea of clouds.

Emperor Ji Zichang's body stiffened.

Chen Dingye and Jiang Wanxiang watched this scene; even they, who viewed the grandeur of the world as far surpassing the Jianghu, who saw the Jianghu as but a tiny puddle amid the fires of empire and the heroes of millennia, now had only one word in their minds: madness.

The Jianghu is narrow, unworthy of mention!

But in this battle, this Jianghu madman has lifted the very words "Jianghu" higher than the heavens!

The next instant, the eight-thousand-year Crimson Dragon, revered by the Central Plains people as their guardian deity, lowered its gaze and spoke a single sentence that shook hundreds of thousands of Central State citizens to their cores—the ancient Crimson Dragon gazed at the young man playing the qin, its voice ancient and vast:

"Li Guanyi, I have come as you requested."

"Today, I must break my promise."

The voice, ancient and mighty, slowly settled—and in that instant, after the old man in blue robes had trod upon the divine dragon, this grandfather and grandson once again plunged the entire Central State imperial capital into deathly silence.

To summon the Crimson Dragon to an appointment?

It was as if the Crimson Emperor himself had revived from eight hundred years ago!

Jiang Wanxiang spoke slowly, word by word:

"Answering Li Guanyi's call?"

Some among the common folk cared little for the great tide of the world, only curious who this Li Guanyi was—yet on this Jianghu battlefield, the Crimson Dragon fixed its gaze upon Elder Murong, and a hint of human emotion surfaced; with a long, resonant cry, it blasted the old man away, then rode the crimson clouds into the sky:

"Eight hundred years of turbulent history, and I too now feel a spark of interest."

"Elder Murong."

"Today, I shall defeat you!"

The dragon's cry shook the four directions, churning the sky into chaos; scales along the Crimson Dragon's body flared one by one, its tail lashed, summoning gales and torrential rain, crashing down upon the aged swordsman.

The old swordsman raised his hand—and trees, flying petals, willow leaves all rose into the air; between heaven and earth, a bridge seemed to form, all things under heaven transformed into swords.

Elder Murong used heaven, earth, and all things as his sword, challenging the ancient Crimson Dragon to battle!

Masters withdrew, Jianghu warriors could no longer contain themselves—unable to bear merely watching from afar, they snatched up their weapons and surged forward, chaos erupted; Li Guanyi's qin music grew disordered.

Grandfather, Master, Great-Grandfather…

At that moment, a sharp, chilling aura erupted—a figure shot straight toward Li Guanyi, his movement swift and elusive, clearly possessing formidable cultivation.

He took advantage of the moment when the Master Jiankuang, a top-tier world expert, was engaged in battle, to strike down Li Guanyi.

Li Guanyi had too many enemies.

He himself did not know who would come to kill him.

In such chaos, who could possibly tell?

Heroes and generals who had dominated battlefields, who had fallen to Jianghu assassins after leaving their armies and armor, were not few—this assassin's gaze was cold and calm, locked unswervingly upon the young man rumored to be of low cultivation, who had survived by sheer luck.

This man's sword strike was ruthless.

He had killed many for the imperial clan, some even favored by the young Emperor—today was no different; killing this one would earn him the favor of one of the two remaining elder elders of the imperial clan.

Glory and wealth lay within reach.

He saw it clearly—

Master Jiankuang Elder Murong's battle fury was at its peak, locked in combat with the legendary Crimson Dragon.

Even such a peerless, unmatched genius could not react in time.

Moreover, it was said that the Grand Master of the Shiwaisan Sect's Fate Line within the palace had declared: after this battle, even if Elder Murong escaped death from the siege of all the world's top experts, he would still die of old age on the spot.

He had no need to fear any future revenge.

As for Li Guanyi—

Li Guanyi's fate was thin.

The last man with such a thin fate, it was said, was one who lost his father as a child, his mother in youth, his master in adulthood, his grandfather soon after, his wife in middle age, and his son in old age—a wretched life, a born solitary star cursed by heaven, a solitary soul; better to die than to drag out such a cursed existence in this chaotic age.

He might as well be dead!

Let his death buy me glory and wealth!

The assassin had planned everything—timing, escape route, even the chaotic qi of this moment—knowing it would be impossible to trace the killer afterward—but he had not accounted for one thing.

His sword missed.

In the instant the qin-playing youth, rumored to be only at the Second Heaven Realm, touched his strings, somehow, with gentle strings, he trapped the assassin's blade—the assassin's heart clenched, his cultivation surged.

Realm: Sixth Heaven.

Wu Gong cultivation—The Crimson Dragon Subdues the Nine Provinces!

The qin music grew chaotic.

But the next instant, the qin-playing youth rose, extending his hand.

Five fingers reached out, gripping the assassin's cheek.

He rose, stepped forward.

He used no internal qi projection.

Pure brute force!

He slammed the assassin's face—whose cultivation was no small matter—into the wall of the Imperial Academy; the flesh on the man's face seemed to sink into the stone, until the entire wall shattered in unison, the qin music trembled, ended in a piercing screech, and all strings snapped.

The assassin's face was now a ruin of pulp.

"Good boy—is this what they call the Second Heaven?!"

The assassin staggered, split his form, unleashed all his strength, wrenched free of Li Guanyi's grip, and spun back.

The young man in blue Daoist robes clenched his fist, stepped forward.

His bones and sinews cracked sharply.

What Wu Gong?

What technique?

What phantasm?

Just a punch!

It slammed viciously into the assassin's abdomen, then the wrist twisted, qi exploded, shattering the assassin's internal qi armor, sending him flying backward, his body stiffening, blood spurting from his mouth, immobilized. Li Guanyi rose and extended his right hand.

A low voice, like the grim roar of steel.

Threads of flowing Jin Guang spread from Li Guanyi's palm, forming a dark-golden shaft, then a tiger's fanged mouth. Li Guanyi walked toward the assassin, who had fallen to the ground, his aura severed.

Though merely a Daoist robe, washed pale, it now seemed to transform into battle armor and helm.

Li Guanyi swung the battle spear sideways.

A shrill clash of weapons.

A second assassin appeared.

He was a mild-mannered storyteller, who had watched the Master Jiankuang's duel with perfect composure, yet struck at the critical moment, lunging at Li Guanyi—unaware he had been blocked by this battle spear.

Golden light still flowed along the tiger's fanged mouth.

It became a fearsome, razor-sharp battle spear.

In this transformation, it severed the assassin's killing weapon.

Li Guanyi lifted his head. In his eyes, many of the phantasms turned to watch him, their gazes streaked with blood. So this was it—his great-grandfather had challenged the martial world, yet Li Guanyi was the one the world's heroes wished to kill.

"Not bad."

The divine weapon took form. Li Guanyi suddenly spun, twisting his waist, the Tiger Roaring Heaven Spear slicing through an arc of light—a single instant, it swung down with brutal force, bloodlight appearing along its blade.

One strike, and the assassin's weapon, at the Fifth Heaven Realm, was split clean in half.

The spear cleaved through his neck, then embedded into the ground.

Li Guanyi lifted his right foot and stomped down.

He crushed the back of the assassin he had previously repelled.

Internal qi shifted and transformed into armor, spreading layer upon layer from the boy's body. In that instant of the stomp, it became battle boots, driving the assassin deep into the ground. He bent low, dodging crossbow bolts, and seized the assassin.

Then, with a swift, ape-like arm motion, he lifted the assassin and shoved him backward.

The assassin's neck was pinned against the spear's blade.

One strike—his head fell.

Blood sprayed onto the ground, the aura instantly sharp and chilling.

The surrounding assassins fell silent. Li Guanyi rose, gazing at the group of assassins—some old, some women with gentle faces, some scholars, some vendors, even children, Daoist Priests, and Monks.

The martial world says: never provoke Monks, Daoist Priests, women, the elderly, or children.

Today, they're all here.

"Looks like many want me dead."

"Looks like you all chose today to kill me."

"Looks like you truly fear my great-grandfather."

Li Guanyi kicked aside the corpse of the slain assassin, his right hand resting on the battle spear. The martial spirit of the weapon was terrifying, as if forming a Bai Hu that paced slowly beside him. Li Guanyi said: "Yet you are not afraid of me."

"I had planned to slay you all with the battle spear, but today I won't use it—it's not worth it…" The Tiger Roaring Heaven Spear lay there. The boy's gaze dipped, then he raised his hand.

Above the nine heavens, a sword's cry suddenly rang, dragon's roar unceasing. A crimson light pierced through layer upon layer of thick cloud-sea, falling from the sky.

In an instant, the fire of the Crimson Dragon pierced the nine heavens!

The swordlight, like dawn clouds, pierced straight through the head of a scholar-assassin.

The ground cracked; sword qi surged into the heavens, tearing razor-sharp gashes across the earth. Li Guanyi had already stepped forward, his right hand grasping the hilt of Chixiao Sword. His brow carried a new bearing as he said:

"I'm too lazy to ask who wants me dead."

"I have no wish to waste words with you. Since you came to kill me, come and die!"

He drew the blade—the sword radiated sharp, chilling aura.

"Li Guanyi learned Mu Rong Longtu's techniques for only three days."

"Today, Li Guanyi will kill you with Mu Rong Longtu's sword."

"Gentlemen, please."

Li Guanyi wielded the sword, revealing Mu Rong Clan's sword art. In those three days, he studied the scrolls and learned a few moves. The assassins had misjudged his Wu Gong entirely.

Tu Shengyuan stared, dumbfounded.

Above the nine heavens, the aged swordsman faced legend; on the earth, the young swordsman faced the martial world. Yet both gripped swords, wielding the same weapon—in that moment, they seemed as one!

The old, the young—entering the martial world, leaving the martial world.

You are aged. I am still young.

You leave the martial world.

I enter the martial world.

Above and below the nine heavens, only I, Mu Rong.

The sword qi is long!

In an instant, as if both above and below struck as one, Tu Shengyuan's body froze, unable to move, eyes locked on the scene, nearly intoxicated. Yet the white-haired old Master Siming turned away, back against the wall, not watching, only smiling with lowered eyes—as if seeing that resolute youth from two hundred years ago, softly murmuring:

"Xiao Xiang Crossing."

The swordlight blazed like rain over Xiao Xiang.

Above, it shattered dragon scales; below, it destroyed blades and weapons.

The old Master Siming closed his eyes, lost in memory, shook his head:

"Spring Wind of Jiangnan."

The old and young's techniques flowed naturally. When the elder uttered the fifth sword technique, heaven and earth blazed with radiant swordlight. Master Siming murmured: "One old, one young—one left, one came."

"Do you two truly intend to devour all the martial world?"

The eighteen states of Jiangnan, the Murong family.

That ordinary wooden sword suddenly glowed.

This wooden sword had lain there for a long time; Murong Qiushui had tried to awaken its sword spirit and essence with her qin music, but always failed. The sword simply sat there, plain and unremarkable, wind blowing through it, birds perching on it, rain and wind beating upon it, plain and unremarkable.

Sometimes, even Murong Qiushui doubted whether the strange phenomena she had seen before were merely her imagination. Yet she still played her qin daily, using her family's Wu Gong to catalyze the sword—but achieved nothing.

But on this day, Murong Qiushui knew it was the time when Murong Longtu had challenged the Jianghu. She lost her will to play the qin, her heart agitated and restless; her music would surely falter. All she could think of was her past, of the tall old man holding her.

When the fruit on the tree ripened, he let her sit on his back to pick flowers. The swordsman had once lowered his head and skillfully woven flower garlands, crafting sturdy toys for her to play with.

In the past, she had only thought her grandfather was the strongest swordsman in the world.

But now, at this moment, memories flooded her heart, and she understood.

The strongest swordsman in the world was her grandfather.

All those past moments, which she had thought nearly forgotten, now appeared vividly, impossibly clear. Even Murong Qiushui's temperament could not stop her nose from turning sour, tears falling. She hastily wiped them away—then suddenly heard the wind.

The wind stirred faintly, sharp as a sword's cry, gentle as a sword's cry.

The old man had once made a wind chime from a broken sword; when the wind blew, it sounded like a thousand swords singing together, named 【Resonant Remnant】. Murong Qiushui had loved it as a child, but as she grew older, she no longer remembered when it disappeared.

Now, the sword's cry sounded like that wind chime she had lost in childhood.

Murong Qiushui, dazed, staggered to her feet and ran toward the source of the sound.

There she saw the wooden sword trembling beneath the tree, surrounded by a circle of Murong clan youths, all faces filled with shock, none daring to approach. The sword's cry continued unceasingly—but when Murong Qiushui arrived, it suddenly fell silent.

As if to see this woman one final time.

Then, upon the blade, the sword's cry rose, a sharp aura surging skyward.

The Elder Nu of Kunlun Sword Sect, who had offended Li Guanyi, had come with Yan Daiqing from Chen State and was here, guarding Murong Qiushui. He suddenly heard a sword cry so piercing it made his scalp crawl.

The old swordsman, sword in arms, sprinted out.

"What divine weapon is this?!"

He saw only a wooden sword, ringing loudly.

The wooden sword circled Murong Qiushui, wailing several times. The usually carefree woman, for some reason, wept uncontrollably, standing there a weeping mess—then in the next instant, the wooden sword shot skyward.

Swords throughout the city rang out without end.

Jiangnan's eighteen states were extremely distant from the Central State's Imperial City; even by water route, it took over a month to reach. Yet now, this sword cry surged skyward—and the clouds above split as if in an instant.

The wooden sword, from solid form, transformed into qi and departed from Jiangnan.

Elder Nu's face turned pale, disbelieving:

"Divine weapon ascension?"

This sword seemed to pierce through Jiangnan and the Central State; wherever it passed, all weapons drew themselves.

Within the Imperial City of the Central State, a fierce battle raged; above, dragon roars never ceased. Li Guanyi's body was splattered with blood, yet the assassins lying around him were nearly terrified into madness. They had poured all their strength into leaving marks upon the boy.

But these marks seemed to heal before their eyes?!

Murong Longtu was a monster, and his great-great-grandson was a monster too. Li Guanyi finally pierced this hardest target with Chixiao Sword. As the man died, he begged: "We didn't want to be your enemy—it was… it was…"

Li Guanyi said: "It was the Imperial Clan, it was the world's noble families."

The man's expression froze, then grew even more frantic.

Li Guanyi said: "I will find them."

"Tell the twenty-three assassins just now—on the path to the Yellow Springs."

"Wait a moment. Let them wait for them."

In one motion, he held Chixiao Sword as if it were a butcher's knife, driving it straight through the man's throat and pinning him to the ground. Then, spinning, he severed the head—learning from experience.

Blood seeped into the ground. Li Guanyi's wounds slowly healed, yet he felt deeply unsettled. Since arriving in the Central State's Imperial City, Li Guanyi had sheathed his blade, suppressed his nature, restrained his instincts.

He had only hoped to resolve things peacefully.

But these Imperial Clan members truly believed Li Guanyi was kind and easy to bully.

This battle was the old man's most satisfying one.

Even if they had waited until Grandfather Murong Longtu reemerged into the Jianghu before acting—

Li Guanyi could understand.

The world's struggles are always like this, without reason. But now that the old man had stepped forward, these scheming elders of the Clan could no longer wait. Clever, calculating, convinced they held all fate in their grasp.

They wanted to seize this "perfect opportunity" to assassinate Li Guanyi on the street.

Li Guanyi held Chixiao Sword, his gaze fixed on the Imperial Palace.

At that moment, dragon roars echoed endlessly from the nine heavens. The Crimson Dragon descended slightly. The War God, the Array Master, the Dao Patriarch, the Living Buddha, Gongyang Su Wang, Mo Juzi, Zi Yang, Su Yue—all descended, each taking one of the Eight Trigram positions.

Jianghu martial artists stared wide-eyed at this chaotic battle.

They could not tell who was stronger or weaker, yet they gritted their teeth, watching this fight as if their lives meant nothing.

To be honest, the Jianghu is hard to walk. Everywhere is a trap, and it's meaningless. Every day, washing clothes until your scalp tingles, scraping together money for meals, the worst pain is when your sword rusts from neglect and won't even draw out.

Jianghu? Pfft—Jianghu is just a bunch of meaningless people who refuse to be dogs and wander the world.

When others hear you're a Jianghu person, few truly respect you. Unless you're a top-tier martial artist—those folks, whether in or out of the Jianghu, live comfortably. But the commoner's Jianghu? Just rice, oil, salt, and endless scorn. At such times, Jianghu wanderers crave something meaningful.

Rankings, martial masters—there must be some meaning, or else they'll suffocate.

But now, seeing this battle—

These Jianghu martial artists finally felt: the Jianghu still had some charm.

The Master Jiankuang seemed to say something else. Then the Five Palace Lords and the Three Legends exchanged glances, abandoning their lofty airs, each unleashing their esoteric arts and striking together.

The War God wielded his spear. The Array Master opened his formation. Behind the Dao Patriarch, Yin and Yang revolved.

Gongyang Su Wang laughed aloud. Mo Juzi bore his sword. The Dao Sect's Primordial Master played the qin. The Living Buddha chanted sutras.

Jianghu heroes felt: even if they died here, it would be worth it.

Jianghu martial artists felt: the romance and brilliance of the world's Jianghu had reached its absolute peak.

They suddenly grew thirsty, wanting to drink that watered-down roadside liquor and get thoroughly drunk.

Yet far away, the cloudlight parted, and suddenly a sword's cry surged into the heavens—a wooden sword fell from the sky, and every sword in the city rang out long and loud, as if eager to leap from its scabbard; the clamor of a thousand swords was immense, yet the green-clothed, white-haired swordsman only smiled and shook his head.

He did not take up that wooden sword from Jiangnan.

He poured out all his strength to fight, high above the nine heavens, against the eight great martial figures of the past eight hundred years, and against the Crimson Dragon.

Pure and glorious!

No one knew who won or lost in this final clash.

The people of the Jianghu looked up, watching as the eight top martial figures descended, while the Crimson Dragon circled—its dragon horns now bore a crack, nearly severed, and its roar carried pain.

The green-clothed elder extended his hand and grasped the sword from Jiangnan.

This sword arrived two hundred and thirteen years late.

This sword crossed over thirteen thousand li.

But Elder Murong had no need for a sword anymore.

Late is late.

Yet as he reached out and his palm brushed the wooden sword, he looked back upon his life—this life, undefeated and unrivaled, yet as the Jianghu grew vast, he found it increasingly dull; now he recalled that the most exhilarating moment of the Jianghu had been over two hundred years ago.

Back then, he had not yet entered the Jianghu—he was just a child, fashioning this wooden sword by striking stones; his vision of the Jianghu had been boundless. The aged swordsman lowered his gaze, looking at the sea of Jianghu people before him, smiled, chuckled softly, then burst into loud laughter.

Sword mad, raise your sword again!

This time, the aged swordsman's spiritual intent locked onto every rogue in the city!

"Though old, I still let loose youthful madness"—he merely raised his sword and pointed it at each and every Jianghu martial artist; among those hardened by the Jianghu, the timid dropped their weapons, but the bold stepped forward—and the old man laughed with joy.

Later generations recorded the aged sword madman's final words that day.

"The Jianghu—take my sword!"

The aged sword madman thrust his sword forward.

He exchanged one strike with every rogue in the city.

Then he turned around and cast away the wooden sword in his hand.

Elder Murong entered the Jianghu through killing.

Elder Murong left the Jianghu through the sword.

The Jianghu was vast.

Yet aged in a single day.

?? Please vote for monthly tickets, friends~