Chapter 190: When the Mind Holds No Thought, It Is Invincible (8k)

September 13, Fengyi River.

The rising sun spilled its light over the rippling waters of the inland river.

Nan Gong Ye sat beside a small table, clad in a black dress, holding a tablet, her face icy, radiating the same sharp aloofness of old.

The reason was that since returning from the Imperial Astronomical Bureau yesterday, she had been gripped by fear—any slight noise in the streets made her tense.

And this brat truly knows how to torment people—he didn’t come last night at all!

As for why he didn’t come, she knew deep down—it was because the Fire-Boosting Pills were gone; she couldn’t refine more that day, and if he came back at night, wouldn’t that look like he was seeking a mistress for pleasure? How disrespectful to her…

But at least you could have said something?

Nan Gong Ye knew Xie Jinhuan’s actions were correct—without the antidote pill, she shouldn’t have expected him to come; if he did come, then she should be the one angry.

Yet her heart still burned with inexplicable irritation…

It seems her Dao heart is truly impure…

If she feels displeasure, it means she’s been bewitched by inner demons, utterly fallen.

So she must calm her mind, praise this brat for not coming and taking what he didn’t earn…

As she thought this, Nan Gong Ye placed two vials into a small wooden box and carved onto the lid:

ZHENG ZHENG T

Each pill in a vial is twelve in number; each stroke represents one detoxification, and each represents Xie Jinhuan enduring the agony of burning flesh once.

Last night, there were no pills left—she didn’t push him away, thus making up for the previous times she hadn’t repaid him; she didn’t want to owe him…

She kept count because the Life-Reviving Pills depend on luck—if she didn’t record it, she’d surely forget how many times she’d been detoxified.

If the box fills up and she still hasn’t broken the curse, she must stop.

She couldn’t let him suffer needlessly, nor could she let this situation drag on endlessly…

After such turbulent thoughts for a long while, a sound came from outside:

Knock knock knock~

“Hong Hong?”

Hearing the familiar voice, Nan Gong Ye tucked away the wooden box, took a deep breath to suppress her distractions, rose, and walked to the window, her phoenix eyes cold and desireless:

“Are the pills ready?”

“Not yet.”

“Then why are you here?”

Xie Jinhuan, dressed in a white robe, shouldered a long spear, his smile bright:

“I’ll finish refining them this afternoon; I’ll come tonight to detoxify you. Later, I’m sparring with the eldest disciple of Fan Yun Temple—want to watch?”

Nan Gong Ye, as Sect Master of Zi Hui Mountain, had no choice but to go.

But if she sat on the viewing platform and he realized she was his elder, his Dao heart might shatter on the spot—so she could only observe secretly.

After a brief pause, Nan Gong Ye replied:

“I won’t go. I have other matters to attend to.”

Xie Jinhuan looked slightly disappointed but said nothing, leaping through the window and gazing at the towering ice block beside him:

“Then at least acknowledge my effort—encourage me a little.”

Nan Gong Ye stepped back half a pace, her gaze stern:

“We agreed: only during detoxification do we share suffering. Now there are no pills—we’re as pure as water. Don’t harbor improper thoughts.”

Xie Jinhuan stepped closer: “I didn’t come last night—were you angry?”

Nan Gong Ye stepped back further: “I wasn’t. Don’t imagine things.”

“Really?”

He advanced, she retreated—until she was pressed against the wall, her aura fierce, yet clearly powerless against this brat.

Xie Jinhuan propped one hand on the wall, his presence towering over her:

“If I leave like this, I’ll feel hollow inside. If my Dao heart falters during the match and I get hurt, what then?”

As Sect Master of Zi Hui Mountain, Nan Gong Ye feared Xie Jinhuan getting hurt—but she was Mu Yun Hong now; technically, this match had nothing to do with her…

“Just fight well—how could you get hurt? You…”

Seeing the brat slowly inching closer, Nan Gong Ye couldn’t dodge or stand firm—she resigned herself, pressed against the wall, gave a faint look of distaste, and turned her gaze to the autumn scenery outside.

Pop pop pop pop…

Xie Jinhuan kissed her thoroughly, then pulled back, satisfied:

“Encouragement received. I’m off.”

“… ”

Nan Gong Ye leaned against the wall, afraid of dampening his fighting spirit, dared not resist—only when his figure vanished did she close her disheveled robes, swiftly change into her Daoist robe, and transform into the cold, desireless female sword immortal, heading toward the Imperial Astronomical Bureau…

——

The autumn sun blazed overhead.

Behind the Eightfold Illumination Pagoda, several seats had been arranged: to the right sat cultivators of the Dan Ding Sect; to the left, monks from the Protectorate Temple.

The newly appointed Director Wu Zheng sat in the central chair, stroking his goatee as he gazed at a pillar on the steps:

“That monk is so tall—why isn’t he seated?”

“…?”

Silence fell on all sides.

Only the comforting monk Jing Kong offered a rebuttal:

“Director Wu, perhaps you didn’t missee—perhaps you meant all present here are pillars of strength; in this Dao-Buddhist clash, only this building suffers…”

Wu Zheng silently shifted his gaze to the abbot of Fan Yun Temple:

“Abbot Jing Kong’s insight is profound. Old man has some understanding of Dao and Buddhist teachings—Buddhism preaches ‘letting go,’ while Daoism preaches ‘taking hold’…”

Blabbering on.

The abbot’s benevolent face began to crack.

But Wu Zheng, though blind, was no fool—he was merely joking to ease tensions.

As Ye Sheng’s disciple, Wu Zheng’s cultivation status far surpassed both factions; neither dared disrespect him, so they endured his words patiently, their eyes fixed on the training ground.

The training ground was a hundred zhang square, surrounded by high black stone walls to block stray arrows, its yellow earth perfectly level—often used by the Astronomical Bureau for internal sparring and evaluations.

Though sectarian conflicts were irreconcilable, public disputes harmed the stability of the orthodox path; thus, such disputes were usually settled internally, with the Astronomical Bureau as witness. Only astronomy students and a few curious onlookers lined the perimeter.

The Dan King’s heir, a notorious troublemaker, was surely here today—though in mourning, he dared not be ostentatious, hiding in his room to secretly gamble with other spoiled sons.

Princess Changning, dressed in mourning garb, watched from a nearby window, flanked by Nai Duo and the ever-anticipatory Meiqiu.

Linghu Qingmo felt nervous—this match was “Xie Jinhuan standing up for her,” effectively announcing their romance to the world…

As for the Lin family, Lin Wanyi, as a witch cultist, dared not show herself; Zi Su, relying on her status as a top student of Dan Yang Academy, slipped into the crowd of Imperial Academy students to watch.

This match resolved a dispute between two sects, insignificant in scale—but truly, it was Dao versus Buddhist muscle-flexing.

Buddhism had just arrived in the Central Plains, its roots still unstable; if Fan Yun Temple failed to enter Dan Yang, its momentum would surely be crushed.

If Zi Hui Mountain lost the defense, with Fan Yun Temple leading the charge, other Buddhist sects would begin demanding “joint Dao-Buddhist rule,” demanding to settle on every mountain peak.

Thus, tensions ran high; Zhang Guan leaned forward, waiting for Xie Jinhuan’s arrival.

The abbot of Fan Yun Temple turned his prayer beads, unease stirring within.

After all, Xie Jinhuan’s reputation was terrifying—he killed gods who stood in his way, slaughtered Buddhas who blocked his path.

Buddhism was at a disadvantage against martial cultivators, lacking clear superiority; even if his power was half a rank higher, it wasn’t safe.

Even with a divine artifact, could Xie Jinhuan be this fierce without possessing such an item?

What if he pulled out the Zheng Lun Sword and unleashed the “Slaying Immortal Array”—Daoism’s most powerful artifact paired with its most powerful thunder art? Would a first-rank Buddhist dare take it with his life?

The good news: Xie Jinhuan didn’t know how to use it.

The bad news: Xie Jinhuan didn’t need it.

After long waiting, hoofbeats echoed beyond the Astronomical Bureau’s grand archway.

Clip-clop, clip-clop…

All turned to see a white-robed young lord, holding a long spear, riding a crimson steed as he galloped in from beside the Eightfold Illumination Pagoda.

His white robe fluttered in the wind, spear slanted toward the ground; though alone, he radiated the aura of a single rider charging an army.

To the eye, he looked like a white-robed killing god, spear in hand, ready to slaughter the Astronomical Bureau…

On the Eightfold Illumination Pagoda, Lu Wu stood with one hand behind his back, observing this aura and nodding slightly:

“The young are formidable. When I was his age, faced with such a scene, I trembled in fear—how could I ever show even a hint of sharpness?”

Wu Xin, standing beside him with his staff, nodded slightly:

“You were indeed more likable back then.”

Nan Gong Ye, clad in Daoist robes at a side window, radiated an icy, frozen aura—yet compared to the two masters who had returned to simplicity, her presence still fell short.

Seeing this brat enter with spear in hand, radiating arrogance, Nan Gong Ye felt admiration—but also confusion:

This brat clearly carried noble bearing, spoke and acted with refined grace—why, when alone with her, did he pretend to be a boastful, vulgar rogue?

The flirty words he spoke left her humiliated and helpless; his habit of kissing her everywhere…

Sensing her Dao heart wavering, Nan Gong Ye’s gaze instantly turned cold again; she placed one hand behind her back and watched in silence.

Clip-clop, clip-clop…

The chestnut steed soon arrived before the tall pagoda.

Xie Jinhuan glanced once at the eight-story pagoda, then fixed his gaze on the seated figures below, dismounted, raised his spear in salute:

“Disciple Xie Jinhuan, greetings to Director Wu and all esteemed elders.”

Wu Zheng’s eyes sparkled with amusement, his gaze drifting somewhere unspecified as he stroked his beard and praised:

“Faster than a meteor shocking sun and moon, hooves churn dust, defying the Heavenly Wolf! What a presence! Long time no see—Xie the young friend remains as unforgettable as ever…”

?

Both Daoist and Buddhist factions turned their heads in unison.

Xie Jinhuan was utterly unsurprised; he bowed respectfully to the Eightfold Illumination Pagoda, then launched straight into his opening words:

“Your humble servant has long admired Master Linghu Qingmo, the direct disciple of the Nangong Sect Master of Zihui Mountain. I recently learned that Fanyun Temple intends to establish its monastery in Danyang, and a dispute has arisen between the two sides. Thus, I volunteered to take on this matter. If I succeed, I humbly ask Master Zhang to grant me the next opportunity; if I fail, I beg the elders not to laugh at me…”

Linghu Qingmo heard these words of “proposing marriage,” his face instantly flushed red—he wanted to hide, yet couldn’t help his eyes sparkling with admiration.

Nangong Ye, however, seemed dazed; his icy gaze remained unchanged, but his thoughts had drifted far away.

The behind-the-scenes negotiations between both sides had already taken place; this was merely ceremonial talk.

Zhang Guan, with the bearing of an immortal, smiled and replied:

“Xie nephew, give your all. Given your prior joint extermination of demons in Yunling County, today’s outcome—win or lose—makes you an honored guest of Zihui Mountain.”

The abbot of Fanyun Temple spoke gently as well:

“Today’s contest is overseen by the Imperial Astronomical Bureau. Regardless of victory or defeat, no personal grudges shall be held. Young Master Xie may fight without restraint.”

Xie Jinhuan’s true purpose in coming was to find the Buddhist Supergrade assassin who had attacked him, but a single glance at the abbot confirmed it was not him.

After all, the Fanyun Temple abbot was fatter, and stood two or three inches shorter.

The black-clad Supergrade who attacked him had not followed the Demon Path, so he had not obscured his heavenly signs—and the Ghost Bride had identified his sect.

Among all sects, only the Demon Path alters the body; to conceal themselves, they developed techniques like “bone-shrinking and tendon-concealing.” The Buddhist sects advance steadily, with no need to hide their faces—so even their Supergrades cannot drastically alter their physiques.

Xie Jinhuan scanned the surroundings again, saw no similar figures, and said no more, standing quietly on the square to wait.

The abbot of Fanyun Temple raised his hand slightly:

“Mingwu, go.”

At his words, a yellow-robed monk near thirty years old bowed in Buddhist fashion, took the vajra club from the abbot’s hands, descended the steps, and advanced forward—his broad shoulders and sturdy frame radiated a dragon-striding, tiger-stepping aura, steady and imposing.

Xie Jinhuan stood like a spear, his nine-foot silver blade angled toward the ground; he briefly assessed the opponent, intending to study his qi, when suddenly, noise erupted from the steps:

“Abbot Jinghai, is that the Vajra Subduing Demon Club left by the Jade Nian Bodhisattva you’ve given your disciple?”

“It appears to be…”

“This…”

The five Dan Ding sect Daoists seated nearby, seeing the Buddhist side bring out a divine artifact for combat, all wore expressions of anger.

The abbot of Fanyun Temple responded calmly:

“The Vajra Club is an ancestral relic of our Chan Ding sect, entrusted to our disciple—fully in accordance with our rules. Your sect sent an outsider to compete; we have no objection. You gave your disciple a Dan Ding divine artifact—so we, too, have no objection to our disciple using our own ancestral relic.”

“… ”

Zhang Guan and the others glared furiously, yet had no retort.

After all, Zihui Mountain had sent an unmarried son-in-law to fight—argue it as they might, they could not claim greater legitimacy than Fanyun Temple letting its disciple wield its ancestral artifact.

But divine artifacts carry unique “attributes.” Zihui Mountain’s Zhenglun Sword amplifies thunder arts twofold by drawing heaven’s power—within the same realm, victory is impossible; you must be one rank higher to even stand a chance.

The Vajra Club is the same—it nearly ignores defense. One touch, one crack; one strike, one hole. What normal person could fight it?

Giving Xie Jinhuan an equivalent artifact? Even more absurd.

The entire Daqian Daoist sect combined possessed only two divine artifacts: one, the Zhenglun Sword of Qixia True Person; the other, the Yin-Yang Ruler passed down by Ziyang True Person.

Even if the Zhenglun Sword were available, Xie Jinhuan wielding it would merely be like a cow chewing peonies—treating it as a mere iron rod.

The Yin-Yang Ruler was even less useful—it blocked yin or yang, forcibly severing the opponent’s connection to heaven’s qi.

Below Supergrade, no one can draw upon heaven’s power anyway—using it against Mingwu would be like playing the lute to a cow; he’d have to swing it like a blunt iron rod against the vajra club.

After this fight, Lu Wuzhen’s Dao heart would likely shatter!

A first-rank cultivator facing a half-second-rank, wielding a Chan Ding sect’s exclusive weapon—this was pure shamelessness.

Nangong Ye’s scattered thoughts vanished entirely; he turned to the two sect masters:

“Senior Brother Lu, is this in accordance with the rules?”

Lu Wu, one hand behind his back, paused briefly, then nodded:

“A Chan Ding disciple wielding his sect’s ancestral artifact is perfectly within the rules.

“By convention, the Dan Ding sect must provide its own disciple with an equivalent artifact. If we cannot, it reflects our own lack of depth—not a reason to forbid the opponent from using theirs.”

Nangong Ye had no divine artifact to offer, for this was a battle of wills between Dao and Buddhist sects; after thinking, he said:

“Senior Brother Lu, could you lend the Yin-Yang Ruler to Xie Jinhuan?”

“… ”

As sect master, Lu Wu had been cornered: if the Buddhist side revealed their ancestral treasure, refusing to lend a divine artifact to his disciple would cost him immense prestige.

But the Yin-Yang Ruler was useless below Supergrade—it would be like wielding a short club against the vajra club; even if it didn’t shatter, its durability would plummet.

Lu Wu hesitated, then withdrew from his sleeve a law ruler, white on one side, black on the other:

“Xie young friend, I lend you this.”

Whoosh~

The law ruler shot like a streak of light, instantly appearing at Xie Jinhuan’s side.

But Xie Jinhuan showed no great reaction upon seeing the divine artifact. After all, he possessed one himself; the vajra club was no different from the Heaven-Piercing Mallet—its power had no ceiling, but also no floor; wield poorly, it was just an iron rod.

Xie Jinhuan had come today to test his spear. If the opponent wielded a divine weapon, he’d merely be more cautious. If he had to switch weapons when faced with difficulty, what was the point of owning this spear?

Xie Jinhuan did not take the small ruler offered by Master Lu; instead, he lightly flicked the spear tip:

“This spear was gifted by the Dan King. It has yet to taste blood. To face the relic left by the Jade Nian Bodhisattva in its first battle is an honor for this spear.”

Lu Wu’s eyes widened in surprise; he retracted the Yin-Yang Ruler:

“Xie nephew, bold indeed. If this weapon sustains damage, I shall repair it myself.”

Xie Jinhuan said nothing further, unfastened the twin weapons at his waist, and planted them firmly in the yellow earth.

Scrape~

Then, lightly armed, he stepped forward with the spear, feet sliding apart into a bow stance, left hand supporting the shaft, right hand gripping the butt—adopting a wide, open spear posture. His entire aura grew heavy, like an unmoving dragon of stone!

The yellow earth training ground beneath the autumn sun fell utterly silent.

All the elders fixed their gazes on the two combatants. Wu Zheng stroked his beard and nodded slightly:

“Excellent stance!”

“Can Wu my lord see it?”

“Motion and stillness—I can still distinguish. Right now, Xie young friend has vanished as if he were not there.”

“Oh…”

…

—

Huhuh~

The autumn wind whipped up dust, swirling between the two opponents.

Mingwu, vajra club in hand, stood motionless as a pine, his mind calm as still water when first holding the sacred weapon.

But seeing the white-clad warrior before him, as still as a corpse, he suddenly understood why so many demon bandits had perished beneath his hands.

Merely by his aura, this youth was flawless—eliciting nothing but caution, not even the urge to launch a preemptive strike!

Around the training ground, silence fell. All held their breath—until movement erupted from within:

Huh~

Huhuh~

…

Xie Jinhuan gripped the spear’s butt with his right hand; the nine-foot silver blade danced through his palm, transforming into a coiling serpent, the half-foot spearhead like a fang, gleaming with chilling light beneath the autumn sun. His advances and retreats seemed ready to pierce the air, yet halted abruptly as he gathered power.

His cold spring eyes fixed on the yellow-robed monk ten zhang away, analyzing every subtle flow of qi.

Mingwu, as Fanyun Temple’s eldest disciple and a high monk of the Chan Ding sect, stood as solid as a boulder, silently awaiting the instant the serpent’s fang struck.

But alas—the figure before him was no serpent, but a dragon!

BOOM—

Just as all held their breath, Xie Jinhuan stomped hard, leaving a deep crater in the yellow earth.

His body shot forward like a ferocious tiger through the forest, toward the right-front, tearing the ground with qi, kicking up rolling clouds of dust.

BOOMBOOMBOOM—

Everyone’s gaze snapped rapidly; Mingwu spun repeatedly, on full alert.

Yet what emerged was not a single attack—but a swirling yellow dust tornado that, without pause, traced an equilateral triangle around Mingwu!

After three consecutive strikes, he instantly returned to his original position!

And unlike before, the thunderous qi had not yet faded—the swirling dust, caught in its residual force, spread outward, obscuring everything around Mingwu.

As Xie Jinhuan came to a sudden stop, he vanished entirely—no trace remained.

Wu Xin and Lu Wu, witnessing this explosive burst, both showed surprise in their eyes. Lu Wu said:

“Thank heaven Mingwu holds the vajra club—it forces Xie Jinhuan to avoid direct confrontation.

“Otherwise, with such momentum, he wouldn’t need other techniques: twelve consecutive strikes of ‘Black Dragon Ramming the Pillar’ would have crushed Mingwu outright. Even his Immovable Golden Chan couldn’t hold. He’d already have lost.”

Wu Xin nodded, offering no denial.

As the training ground was suddenly veiled in dust, all knew the next spear strike would burst forth like a tidal wave—yet it lingered, Chichibufa .

The oppressive atmosphere turned the arena into something terrifying—like knowing a thunderclap would explode beside your ear, yet uncertain when, forcing total, unrelenting vigilance.

And the one under the greatest pressure? The man in the arena.

Mingwu the monk had already poised himself, his gaze fixed on the spot where Xie Jinhuan had last vanished, yet constantly sensing his surroundings, scanning for his position—a bead of sweat slowly rolled down his forehead.

Then, without warning, a full-power strike erupted from behind and to the side:

Boom—

All saw a yellow earth tornado pierce through the towering dust from ten zhang away, arriving in an instant behind the yellow-robed monk, its tip a glint of chilling frost!

“Zhā—!”

Mingwu the monk roared simultaneously, his monk’s robe swelling as golden light streamed over his body, transforming him into the Immovable Vajra, golden shadows encircling him.

Xie Jinhuan gripped a nine-chi spear, pushing his qi to its peak, giving his opponent no chance to react—the half-foot silver tip pierced through the golden bell’s phantom, striking straight into the monk’s robe!

Clang—

Amid the clang of metal on metal, the robe tore apart, revealing the silver-threaded soft armor beneath.

Supported by the Immovable Vajra Chan, the armor did not sink or pierce—only sparks flew from its surface!

After absorbing the impact, Mingwu spun instantly, driving the tip of his vajra club toward Xie Jinhuan’s advancing form—but Xie Jinhuan slipped away like a serpent, vanishing once more into the swirling yellow dust he had just kicked up.

Their exchange lasted only a blink—Zhang Guan slammed his fist on the table in fury:

“Do you even have shame? Monks wear soft armor now?”

The abbot of Fanyun Temple spoke calmly:

“So does Master Xie.”

“How can that be the same?”

Zhang Guan was so enraged he nearly lunged to attack; even Nan Gong Ye and the surrounding Daoists shared his outrage.

After all, the Chan Sect’s signature divine art was the “Immovable Vajra Chan”—once activated, the practitioner became a living vajra from head to toe, the head hardest of all, nearly impervious to attacks within the same realm.

A first-rank Fanyun monk wielding a vajra club could kill a second-rank opponent with a single strike.

Xie Jinhuan’s only path to victory was to snatch fire from the flames—striking the same spot repeatedly with multiple spears to break through.

Now, wearing a first-rank soft armor to increase his margin of error, Xie Jinhuan could no longer wound the torso’s vital points—his only remaining path to victory was to stab straight into the eyes.

Mingwu blocked with his arm, striking back with the vajra—wasn’t this pure cheating?

But before the argument ended, the arena erupted again!

Xie Jinhuan, spear in hand and hidden in the yellow dust, realized this iron turtle was harder than expected, abandoning his “Evil Ghost in Smoke” combo to break defense—he slid his feet apart, let the nine-chi spear glide along his right hand, sliding sideways until the spear tip touched the ground.

Scrrr~

The faint sound of the spear piercing the earth drew every eye—and silenced the noisy stands into utter stillness.

Scrrr-scrrr-scrrr~

The spear tip carved a half-circle arc across the yellow earth!

Mingwu could barely make out the shadow through the drifting dust—the feet spread, spear drawn back, body coiled like a fully drawn bow, one hand gripping the shaft’s end, shoulders raised high:

Hum~

Qi surged!

Every spectator felt a terrifying heavenly might rise from the dust—the scattered sand and soil drew inward several inches, then:

“Hah—!”

The roar echoed like a dragon’s cry from the highest heavens!

Qi shattered the dust, force rising from the earth—muscles in his shoulders and back knotted—and as the spear tip left the ground, the nine-chi spear bent into a crescent!

Qi dragged the yellow earth and swirling dust, as if he had single-handedly lifted a dragon from the soil!

Boom—

The nine-chi spear slashed forward with the power to cleave heaven, splitting the ground before it into a two-zhang-wide trench.

The dust above split cleanly in two—seen from afar, it resembled a yellow dragon falling from heaven, crashing onto the vast training ground!

Mingwu could not believe a half-second-rank martialist could unleash such a transcendent aura—the yellow dragon, wrapped in dust, arrived in an instant—he roared again:

“Zhā—!”

His body transformed into the Fierce Vajra—the golden bell phantom shattered instantly, his robe torn into a thousand holes, stones striking his body sparked like embers.

Yet Mingwu’s stance did not budge—an inch-tall man standing firm against a storm capable of obliterating all in its path!

But this move was both beginning and end.

Boom—

Xie Jinhuan slammed his spear forward—the moment the tip struck ground, his legs exploded in a stomp, leaving a ten-foot-deep crater; both hands gripped the spear, piercing through the yellow dragon he had summoned—the tip tore through air with a shriek that shook souls, freezing the marrow of those with low cultivation on the stands.

Ssshh—

Lu Wu and Wuxin the monk, seeing this lightning-fast technique, knew Mingwu was finished.

The “Immovable” in Immovable Vajra Chan meant two things: first, body and mind unmoving as a mountain—once activated, nearly immune to blades, axes, and mind-disrupting sorcery.

Second, pure yang qi flooded the entire body, forming a Bati —similar to Xie Jinhuan’s “Pan Dragon Across the Ridge”—when absorbing blows, limbs were packed full of qi, leaving no room to move; the Vajra Chan’s effect was even stronger—a living iron statue.

Though this left no vital point exposed, when a man clings too tightly to something, that thing becomes his fatal weakness.

Xie Jinhuan unleashed two full-power strikes in succession, chasing the dragon’s edge, closing the distance until he stood just nine chi from Mingwu.

Facing the spear that carried oceanic heavenly force, Mingwu crossed his arms before his chest, becoming the Immovable Buddha, vajra club held in his right hand.

This could block the first strike—but he clearly never imagined how fast the second spear would come!

Xie Jinhuan pushed his physical qi to its peak—his spear, like a dragon’s fang, struck the exact point on Mingwu’s wrist joint the instant the yellow dragon collided with him!

Boom—

The razor-sharp half-foot silver tip struck unprotected golden flesh—despite all his strength, it pierced only half an inch into the muscle.

But it was enough to decide life or death!

Mingwu’s meridians and tendons were severed instantly—his right hand revealed patches of its original skin tone.

Sensing Xie Jinhuan’s intent to disarm him, Mingwu immediately released the Vajra Chan, snatching for the sacred artifact—yet at that moment:

Ssshh~

Xie Jinhuan never touched the vajra club—he withdrew his spear at lightning speed and thrust forward, piercing through the gap between Mingwu’s arms, aiming for the throat!

But as the tip neared his skin, it halted abruptly!

The nine-chi spear pierced only a single drop of blood on the throat.

Click—

The vajra club clattered to the ground.

The training ground fell silent, save for the rustling autumn wind stirring dust.

Huh-huh~…

Mingwu’s left hand, reaching for the vajra club, hung frozen in midair; his right hand bled profusely, his gaze locked on the spear tip at his throat—his entire body stiffened, breath halted.

The Immovable Vajra Chan could be released at will—but within three chi, he could choose only one: his weapon or his life.

Choose life, and the vajra club would be taken—he’d die the moment he turned.

Choose the weapon, and the time to grasp it would let the Minglong Spear pierce his throat.

Either way—he was dead.

After a moment’s stillness, Xie Jinhuan straightened, withdrew his spear, and bowed:

“If you cannot resist something once taken from you, you should never place it before your opponent—not just divine weapons, but anything you cherish has the same effect.

“Without it, your mind is clear, flawless—I’d need twenty minutes to defeat you. With it, your mind is distracted, vulnerable—I need only three spears. I yield.”

His clear voice rang out—but the training ground remained utterly silent.

After a long pause, Mingwu lowered his stance and bowed in Buddhist fashion:

“I have learned.”

From the stands, applause broke out:

Clap-clap-clap…

Wu Zheng watched the unmoving Mingwu with deep admiration:

“Look at young Xie’s bearing—he wins without arrogance, even understands Buddhist principles…”

“?”

Among those seated—Daoists and Buddhists alike, all first- or second-rank—every eye widened in shock at Mingwu’s three-spear defeat.

But the astute could see: Fanyun Temple’s senior disciple was no match for Xie Jinhuan, a “World Walker” of Fengling Valley—a weapon might grant advantage, but could not bridge the gap in raw strength.

Zhang Guan had never imagined the challenge would be so great—and yet Xie Jinhuan won so cleanly. Regaining his composure, he beamed, stroking his beard:

“No wonder martial arts emphasize balance—they say your cultivation isn’t defined by your strengths, but your weaknesses. What good is thick skin and iron flesh if you face a martialist who only trains ‘killing techniques’? There are a hundred ways to pierce a turtle shell.”

“Exactly—soft armor, vajra club…”

…

The abbot of Fanyun Temple had anticipated a possible loss—but never this decisive, and with no rebuttal. Though his expression was grim, he replied:

“These aren’t your Zihui Mountain disciples or Xianxian Sect pupils—they’re all forged through countless trials before stepping into the world, none ordinary. For Fanyun Temple to lose is only natural.”

“Hmph. At least you admit defeat…”

…

Around the surrounding buildings, as people recovered from shock, voices erupted in clamor.

Lin Zisu, since childhood dreaming of being a female martial heroine, joined a group of young ladies in cheering:

“Xie Lang! Xie Lang…”

“No wonder he’s Empress Guo’s favorite…”

“So handsome and fierce—if I had a man like that, I’d die of joy…”

…

On the Eight-Direction Illumination Pagoda, Nan Gong Ye had been tense at first, but seeing this result, he was not at all surprised.

After all, this kid, aside from being a bit rogue and slick, had never once disappointed anyone…

…

In the nearby buildings, Princess Changning, seeing her trusted general wielding the weapon gifted by her father, fighting so brilliantly, felt a deep sense of pride:

“Qingmo, you’re courting the Ziwei Mountain sect with such a dazzling display—won’t you treat us tonight if you expect to be let off the hook?”

Linghu Qingmo, watching her boyfriend utterly dominate his opponent, was naturally thrilled—but upon hearing this, her expression froze.

After all, from now on, Xie Jin’s touching and kissing would be officially sanctioned by the elders—legitimate and proper!

If she was with child, they’d have to marry as soon as possible…

What should she do…

Linghu Qingmo was about to speak when suddenly, from a distant building, a wail rang out:

“Ahh—! How could he fall after just three strikes? Isn’t he a Rank One?! I risked ten strikes on the Diamond Club, based on insider info… Ahhh—everything’s lost…”

???

The crowd, enjoying the spectacle, turned in unison at the wailing—and saw the Eldest Son of the Dan King pounding his head against the ground, utterly heartbroken.

Because all the playboys believed Xie Jin was stronger, they all bet on him, so the betting odds were based on the number of moves Xie Jin would make.

The Young Master had been bold enough, but still vastly underestimated Xie Brother’s combat power—lost everything.

Princess Changning, seeing her rotten younger brother, who had insider information yet hid his bet and lost, immediately furrowed her brows and ordered her attendants to drag him away—before he brought further shame upon them…

———

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(End of Chapter)