Chapter 202: Lover

Autumn hung in the sky; before the Dragon Altar, spears rang and swords sang—a white robe swept across the field like a flying dragon, its astonishing presence leaving countless martial artists awestruck, their gazes shifting from initial unfamiliarity to shock, then to the despair of never again reaching such heights.

Among martial women and sect mistresses, their eyes turned to the bittersweet longing of “once seen, joy cannot be fully had.”

After all, before today, encountering such a prodigy might have given them a chance; but now that he would become famed throughout the Great Qian martial world, even if they offered themselves as pillow companions, this young hero would likely not even glance their way.

Only those of exquisite beauty and high status—such as the Empress Dowager’s princess, Lady Nangong—could possibly match this fledgling dragon.

Nangong Ye rubbed Meiqiu as she ran up, watching from her seat, feeling much the same—her usual petty disdain vanished, replaced by complexity.

She didn’t know whether to rejoice that her junior had surpassed her, or to delight that her partner had shaken the four corners of the world…

Calling him a junior, she now knew to elevate him in her mind after he simply stood up and walked away…

Calling him a man, he still pats Qingmo—should she lift them both together…?

…

Among all the martial women and mistresses, only Bu Yuehua focused entirely on martial arts.

After all, Xie Jinhuan was Lin Wanyi’s man—they’d already shared a bed; no matter what, she could never drag him back to become lord of her estate…

Bu Yuehua came here to seize Tiger Bone Vine to break into the Supergrade, and to glimpse the martial depth within the Pass; after three rounds, she found the local factions unimpressive—only Xie Jinhuan stood out brilliantly.

After the third round, the hundred martial schools fell silent; Bu Yuehua was not surprised.

The blood-soaked fighting arena style had its rules—first, “kings do not meet kings.”

With everyone now aiming to accumulate wins for the top three, no one would rashly challenge a hardened opponent.

Xie Jinhuan remained unscathed after three straight wins; his sea of qi and physical stamina were less than half spent. Even heavy favorites like Huo Zhonghu might defeat him, but never without injury or exhaustion.

Any minor damage inflicted by Xie Jinhuan would make him a target in subsequent rounds, making it nearly impossible to survive; yet he already had three consecutive wins—even if he stopped now, he might still secure a top-three spot.

Under such high risk and near-zero reward, every warrior here hoping to claim the title would not step onto the stage until Xie Jinhuan showed signs of weakness.

Thus, the following challenges would be relatively easier—mere cannon fodder to drain his strength, until his momentum waned or he suffered a visible injury exploitable by others.

Yet despite knowing the risk, some still stepped forward—because not every martial artist was skilled in strategy; among them were always those who thought Xie Jinhuan’s three fights had drained him badly, hot-blooded youths eager to slay the great dragon, or self-proclaimed geniuses who believed they’d deciphered his patterns and knew how to break his techniques…

Watching from the crowd, Bu Yuehua saw the fourth challenger—a master of the Bagua School, practicing internal arts, wielding the Flowing Dragon Bagua Palm—his internal qi soft and continuous, emphasizing footwork and the technique of “four ounces deflecting a thousand pounds,” built for endurance, clearly hoping to exploit Xie Jinhuan’s fatigue and seize a grand reputation as an aging hero.

But Xie Jinhuan fought barehanded, launching straight into a Cannon Fist sequence, making the old master understand what “fists fear the young” truly meant—those fists struck with such force: one hammer to the brow, two to the heart, three to the brow, four to the heart…

Xie Jinhuan took two slaps without flinching; the old master took one—and lost three years of life on the spot, utterly terrified, he surrendered mid-fight, limping off while rubbing his arm and muttering:

“These fists… like lead weights…”

The fifth challenger was a northwest wanderer wielding the exotic weapon, the Qiankun Dao—a blade shaped like a puda but with blades at both ends, and crescent-shaped shovels attached to the hilt.

The Qiankun Dao’s technique balanced offense and defense, flexible and unpredictable; every edge could kill—used well, it could face any opponent without fear, making it a formidable foe.

Xie Jinhuan did not draw his single blade; instead, he pulled out the Tiangang Iron Club—a rare weapon, usable only by those with immense strength.

The outcome was obvious: in the martial world, “the stranger the weapon, the faster the death.” Xie Jinhuan struck once with the club—the wanderer staggered, then retreated step by step; under the club’s brutal force, both his palms split open, and finally, his weapon was knocked from his hands, ending his defeat.

For the sixth round, many more sought to climb the stage—Xie Jinhuan had fought five rounds without rest, his qi sea and stamina nearly drained, nearing the limit of a Rank One beginner; facing a true hard battle, defeat seemed likely.

Yet due to the intimidating aura of his five unscathed victories, the top contenders still hesitated to clash directly—the one who stepped up was a master of the soft whip.

The whip stretched two zhang long, giving it unmatched range among weapons; its tip delivered devastating strikes and could entangle an opponent’s weapon or arm to disarm them. Its only flaw: its attack path was predictable, and it offered zero defense—get too close, and you died.

Thus, whip users relied on footwork to maintain distance, using their unparalleled range to continuously graze and wound, waiting for an opening to deliver a fatal blow.

Xie Jinhuan, facing this evasive, cunning flea, clearly paid a heavy price; to avoid a grueling stalemate that might leave him injured, he opened with four consecutive Black Dragon Ramming Pillars, using the killing technique as a charge, forcing his way close—whereupon the whip master immediately surrendered.

Though he won quickly, the exhaustion was the final straw that broke the camel’s back.

Black Dragon Ramming Pillars compressed and concentrated qi, instantly pushing body and energy to their peak—a technique of immense cost.

Already having fought five rounds, then unleashing four killing techniques in succession, Xie Jinhuan appeared on the brink of collapse—he stood still, gripping the Tiangang Iron Club with both hands, planted into the ground, breathing like an ox, sweat glistening across his stern face, his bearing that of a dying hero, yet his cold, icy eyes still scanned the hundred martial schools with piercing sharpness:

“Who else wishes to spar with me?”

The watching martial artists erupted in a roaring wave of cheers:

“Master Xie, you’re incredible!”

“Take another down!”

“Xie Lang~ Xie Lang…”

…

The top contenders among the martial schools clearly saw their chance—just from the power of his last moves, his qi sea must be empty; this fight was a free win.

But Xie Jinhuan hadn’t fallen, and a martial artist only needed one strike to kill; most still held back in caution.

Bu Yuehua could see Xie Jinhuan was spent; she had no desire to crush a child under a cart and send her daughter-in-law off the stage for a single win, so she merely watched.

Yet her reluctance couldn’t restrain her peers.

As soon as Xie Jinhuan spoke, a black-clad martial artist leapt from the crowd nearby.

Bu Yuehua stood here precisely to watch Liang Yue of the Black Yin Gang, a fellow southern cultivator—he was the gang’s second-in-command, formidable in martial skill, here to seize the Tiger Bone Vine.

The Black Yin Gang was not aligned with the Witch Alliance; letting him snatch a free win might grant him a Supergrade rank, increasing the Witch Alliance’s pressure—and besides, the man on the stage was her daughter-in-law’s husband.

Xie Jinhuan was drained, with no strength left to fight a full round; if she fought him, she’d at least hold back and avoid injury; but the Black Yin Gang’s men might also stop short of killing—but they’d never spare him as she would.

Thus, the instant Liang Yue moved, Bu Yuehua leapt up, soaring over the sea of people, landing on the arena.

Unlike immortal or witch sects, women were rare in martial circles; before Bu Yuehua even touched the ground, wolf-like howls erupted around her:

“Whoa—! A martial woman’s here…”

“Amazing skill—who’s this immortal lady?”

“Is she Lady Nangong…?”

…

Xie Jinhuan, club planted, scanning the crowd, turned his gaze at the commotion—and saw a martial woman in a long skirt and a man land together.

The woman carried a long sword, landing light and silent, her skirt fluttering to reveal a dignified, graceful figure—she looked like a sect mistress, her face hidden by a veil, yet her figure was exquisite, ripe as if she could be squeezed for juice…

Xie Jinhuan froze, studying her waist and hips, confirmed it was his sister-in-law, then glanced toward the ice-cold nun on the viewing stand.

Nangong Ye knew the witch would appear—but never expected her to take advantage of Xie Jinhuan’s exhaustion.

The witch herself was terrifyingly powerful; Xie Jinhuan wouldn’t dare strike his sister-in-law; if she won a free victory without injury, she’d almost certainly rank first.

The top three would fight among themselves, with the winner challenging the number one.

The number one would avoid one peak battle, preserving their state and secrets—greatly increasing their chance of victory!

If the witch easily won the title, she’d be unbeatable by month’s end—not only would she be beaten, the Phoenix Feather Grass handed over, and she’d be mocked for this long, her reputation crushed for life…

Wouldn’t that drive her mad?!

Nangong Ye’s eyes flickered with urgency, wanting to signal Xie Jinhuan—but the arena was filled with patriarchs; even making eye contact with him, she feared being recognized, let alone giving direct orders.

But fortunately, this boy seemed quite understanding!

As both landed, the crowd erupted:

“You’re a man—why are you competing with a woman…?”

“Step aside—I want to see the martial woman fight…”

“Yes…”

Wei Wuyi, as host, could tell who landed first and intended to speak up about precedence.

But Xie Jinhuan, with great generosity, turned directly to the sister-in-law who had rushed the stage:

“Madam, please stand aside and rest—you’ll have your turn next.”

“…”

As he spoke, the noisy arena fell silent.

The martial lords all frowned in confusion; Liang Yue, who had been about to argue with the veiled woman, immediately turned his gaze back to Xie Jinhuan.

Bu Yuehua was also surprised, glancing briefly at Xie Jinhuan, drenched in sweat:

“Young Master Xie, can you still fight another round?”

Xie Jinhuan wiped sweat from his face, drew the Tiangang Iron Club onto his shoulder—perhaps the adrenaline had him fired up—and cracked a crude joke at his sister-in-law:

“A man’s most important trait is endurance. Madam, if you don’t give your all, I might just have another round after that.”

“…”

Bu Yuehua thought her daughter-in-law’s husband was a bit cheeky, but merely nodded gracefully and stepped aside; the martial lords remained skeptical.

Nangong Ye suddenly remembered—he had “the stubbornness of a donkey”—he truly was enduring.

Thanks to his physical recovery and depth of qi sea, his stamina exceeded a typical Rank One beginner by two or three tenths; if he fought wisely, he could likely hold out one or two more rounds without issue…

After watching his sister-in-law depart, Xie Jinhuan turned his gaze to the black-clad martial artist, his eyes unusually cold:

“Master Liang, why leave your southern seas to come to the Central Plains martial world?”

?!

Liang Yue had just raised his hand to introduce himself—he froze, his face paled, then feigned confusion:

“I am Zhao Ba of Qinghe Gang, Jiazhou. Young Master Xie, have you mistaken me for someone else?”

With those two sentences, the crowd around the arena grew bewildered, exchanging glances and murmurs.

Yang Qing of Jingzhou, who had remained silent since his brother’s humiliation, now turned toward Jiangzhou Gang’s position:

“Master Xu, does Jiazhou have such a figure?”

Jiazhou was a backwater state, near Ruizhou but less renowned; its gangs were unknown in the Central Plains, but Jiangzhou Gang’s influence extended there.

Xu Guan had secret ties with the Black Yin Gang—he should have nodded to confirm Liang Yue’s identity—but since Xie Jinhuan had named him outright, if he now lied and called him “Zhao Ba,” Xie Jinhuan might next ride as an imperial envoy to investigate smuggling in the southeast.

If he couldn’t beat him with swordplay, could he beat him with law?

Thus, Xu Guan showed no surprise, merely shook his head:

“I haven’t traveled Jiazhou recently—I don’t know him.”

With Xu Guan denying recognition, the situation grew serious—all eyes turned to the challenger.

Liang Yue realized his danger and reacted swiftly:

“Forgive me for the embarrassment. Liang has been traveling through the Central Plains lately and heard that Elder Wei is hosting a Heroic Gathering—moved by admiration, I came to observe. Seeing Young Master Xie sweep the arena, I grew restless and, in a moment of folly, thought to step onto the stage. I’ll step down now…”

Wei Wuyi wasn’t surprised that someone from beyond the passes had come; with such a grand gathering, it would be strange if no outsiders showed up—but participation violated the rules. Tiger Bone Vine was a privilege reserved for the younger generation of Daqian.

At a martial gathering, all guests are welcome. Tens of thousands of martial artists are present, and not all have clean records. Take Shen Jinyu of the Blood Rain Pavilion—he began as a killer-for-hire.

Seeing Liang Yue wisely withdraw, Wei Wuyi had no intention of forcing him to die on the stage—only watched him leave.

But Xie Jinhuan had no intention of letting it go. He called out:

“Brother Liang has come all this way—how could you leave without a fight? Wouldn’t that make Daqian seem petty?”

Liang Yue paused, his expression slightly awkward.

After all, his identity was exposed. No matter how high his cultivation, he dared not strike now.

Xie Jinhuan had just fought six bouts—his energy was already drained. A bandit chief from the Southern Frontier who jumped out to snatch a victory was already despised by Daqian martial artists.

If he so much as injured Xie Jinhuan, he’d incite universal rage—he’d never leave Sanjiangkou alive. Even if he died, no one would avenge him. The Black Yin Gang was far in the Southern Frontier, its reputation poor—no one would speak up for him.

Seeing Xie Jinhuan pressing him, Liang Yue could only bow:

“Young Master Xie… have we met before?”

Xie Jinhuan said nothing more. He gestured, summoning Meiqiu, perching her on his shoulder, then spun his iron staff, revealing the characters “Tian Gang” engraved upon it:

“Doesn’t this look familiar, Brother Liang?”

Meiqiu studied it closely, then slapped her beak and extended a claw:

“Gū jī!”

A surge of killing intent!

Liang Yue had been puzzled—but seeing the black, ball-like eagle on Xie’s shoulder, and the thirty-six-section Tian Gang Iron Staff, his eyes flared with shock, disbelief flashing in their depths.

The reason? It dated back two years.

Two years ago, Liang Yue served as a Hall Master in Fenghuang Harbor, the busiest port in the Southern Frontier’s wildlands, overseeing the gang’s many operations there.

Back then, a lowly foot soldier—sunburnt black, looking thirty, carrying a small hawk and an iron rod—came to his subordinate’s shipping office, claiming he wanted to buy a small boat, and laid down a hundred or so taels of silver.

A hundred taels was a fortune for a lowly man. His men assumed he’d stolen it, seized the silver, and dragged him off to “see the magistrate.”

The magistrate of Fenghuang Harbor was the Chi Dragon Cave. Those arrested faced punishments ranging from hard labor to one of four fates: “Puppet,” “Little Ghost,” “Alchemy,” or “Cultivating Poison.”

But the boy was clever. Sensing danger, he injured the overseer and fled—leaving the silver behind.

Liang Yue knew well: in the martial world, to settle a grudge, you must cut the roots. He sent men to search for days—but found nothing.

Then, one dark, windy night, one of his cargo ships—fully loaded—was quietly hijacked!

The cargo and the vessel itself were worth over ten thousand taels of silver!

The bandits even had the audacity to leave a note beside the unconscious thugs:

“This is interest. If I live to return, I’ll wipe out the Black Yin Gang!”

Suffering such a loss, Liang Yue first suspected a rival gang. But after investigation, he discovered the suspect was a new recruit at the docks—a simple, stout fellow who smiled foolishly at everyone, worked tirelessly, and was nicknamed “Black Ox.” Liang had even seen him twice during his inspections.

Liang couldn’t fathom how such a fool had quietly sailed away such a massive ship.

Yet after cross-verification by the shipping overseers and dock workers, the hijacker was confirmed: the same lowly martial wanderer who’d come to buy a boat.

Liang Yue, for failing to recover the ship and cargo, was severely punished by the gang. The Black Yin Gang became a laughingstock among Southern Frontier warlords. For two years, they hunted him—believing the audacious bandit had perished in the deep sea.

But…

Liang Yue stared at the young man in white robes, wind-swept, his bearing like a celestial exile—and could not, for the life of him, connect this man to the sunburnt, bread-chewing laborer who’d once grinned foolishly at him on the Southern Frontier docks.

Yet the iron staff in his hand, the black hawk on his shoulder, and the eyes of man and bird—clearly confirmed their identities.

Liang Yue stood frozen for a long while, lips moving as if to speak—but no words came.

Xie Jinhuan raised the Tian Gang Iron Staff, pointing it at Liang Yue, his voice clear and resonant:

“Two years ago, under my sect’s orders, I traveled the world to train. Brother Liang, you stole one hundred and twenty taels of my blood and sweat. Afterwards, you sent men to dig up the earth to exterminate me. Now that I’ve completed my training and returned—how do you propose we settle this debt?”

The martial heroes present had been confused—but now, they understood: the Black Yin Gang had foolishly provoked the Heavenly Immortal Sect’s World Walker—and hadn’t killed him. Now he remembered.

But the reality was far more dangerous.

At the time, Xie Jinhuan had no sect, no protector—he was merely a lowly wanderer fighting for survival. Those hundred taels had taken him days to save, earned through perilous risk. He’d been robbed, hunted—had he taken one wrong step, he’d be dead. Liang Yue knew their past well. Once, he’d wanted to carve Xie Jinhuan into eight pieces. Now, seeing Xie’s performance, he felt only dread: the Black Yin Gang was about to face disaster.

But no matter how deep the grudge, the priority now was to survive and leave Sanjiangkou.

Liang Yue raised his broadsword in salute: “Past martial grudges shall be settled another day. I’ve searched for Young Master Xie for years. Since fate has brought us together now, I naturally must spar with you. But on this arena, we fight only for skill—not personal hatred. I shall uphold the martial code.”

His words sounded arrogant—but were, in truth, a warning to Xie Jinhuan.

Xie Jinhuan gestured for Meiqiu to return, lowered the Tian Gang Iron Staff diagonally, and tilted his chin slightly.

…

The arena fell silent. All eyes fixed, certain this fight would be real.

Liang Yue, having already made an enemy, knew the Seven Martial Tyrants above were watching—they wouldn’t let him die on the stage. He released all restraint, gripping his broadsword with both hands, crouching like a tiger as he exhaled a thick, turbid breath:

“Huh… Ha—!”

Without warning, he roared—a lion’s bellow that made the focused crowd shudder.

In that instant, Liang Yue lunged, spinning midair, driving his heavy blade with maximum momentum, cleaving downward with the force to split mountains.

This strike differed from Bao Xiaolin’s earlier move—but the principle was similar: brute force, overwhelming momentum, aiming to seize the upper hand from the first blow.

But Xie Jinhuan had once been able to block with Pan Dragon’s Rampart. Now, his limbs and dantian were exhausted—he couldn’t endure another dozen strikes until Liang Yue’s qi collapsed.

Facing this terrifying strike, Xie Jinhuan didn’t retreat—he advanced. His feet slid forward like iron bridges. Both hands gripped the Tian Gang Iron Staff. His shoulder and back muscles surged forward as he swung, his eyes instantly flooding with bloodshot veins, unleashing a thunderous roar:

“Break—!”

Remembering his past helplessness, this blow carried the fury of his ten-thousand-li journey through the martial world. It drained him utterly. The iron staff cracked the air with a deafening report:

Shhh—

And its power was terrifying.

Two-handed, the staff swept like a furious dragon’s tail—limited range and flexibility, unsuitable for follow-ups.

But when explosive force reaches a certain threshold, no second strike is needed.

Liang Yue, wielding his broadsword with all his strength, saw Xie Jinhuan meet him head-on—no evasion. He channeled every ounce of qi and power into the blade.

Clang—

The moment the two weapons met, the ground beneath them erupted in a spreading wave of dust.

The three-and-a-half-foot broadsword shattered on contact with the staff. Shards of metal flew like arrows, striking Liang Yue’s chest and leaving multiple blood spots.

The counterforce rebounded—Xie Jinhuan’s palms split open. His sleeves, once intact, tore into rags. His corded forearms revealed dark red marks rising along his meridians, spreading toward his upper arms.

The Invincible Body cultivation could only be used defensively—during offense, it couldn’t be activated. This blow was pure physical endurance. His arms were wounded on the first strike—but his body stood firm as a boulder.

Liang Yue, as the Black Yin Gang’s Second-in-Command, had cultivation—but his foundation paled beside a prodigy’s. Under the crushing rebound of qi, his palms split open, and the sword hilt flew from his grip.

The heavy broadsword, battered by the Tian Gang Iron Staff’s violence, recoiled backward, smashing into his chest and shoulder, shattering his black robe and carving a deep blood groove.

His entire body arched backward, like a horseball struck by a long rod, flying through the air and crashing into the yellow earth, leaving a crater. He slid over seven zhang before rolling upright—still half-rising—when a voice came from ahead:

“Die!”

Boom—

Liang Yue’s soul froze. He looked up—and saw the heavy staff spinning like a wheel, tearing through the earth between them, arriving in an instant:

Bang—

Like a meteor falling from heaven, the spinning staff turned the yellow earth beneath it into soft mud. A fan-shaped crater, over a zhang deep, erupted upward, hurling soil and sand into the seats of the outer sects—like a sudden downpour:

Hush-hush-hush—

Dust blotted out vision. Most couldn’t see clearly—but the sheer power of this killing blow made it obvious: touch it, and you’d be shattered. Lose your weapon? Even holding it would mean grievous injury.

The sect masters present hadn’t expected Xie Jinhuan to unleash such overwhelming force after enduring so much.

Bao Xiaolin brushed dust and leaves from his robes. The gloom of his earlier defeat vanished. He sighed softly:

“The young generation is formidable. Now I see—I managed thirty moves, and that’s not the end of my martial journey…”

“Pah…”

Bao Fei snapped out of his stunned stare, spat out sand, and looked at Xie with reverence:

“I once took two blows from Young Master Xie. The Black Yin Gang? Not even close…”

…

The sect masters stared in disbelief. The seed contestants felt a chill of relief—they were glad they hadn’t foolishly stepped forward to claim an easy win.

After all, Xie Jinhuan’s staff throw was a suicide move—no cost, no mercy, no follow-up. Once thrown, he was defenseless. Its power was absolute. One misstep, and you’d be crippled—or lose your weapon.

Hoo-hoo~

As the autumn wind scattered the dust, the crowd was stunned to see someone still standing in the haze.

Liang Yue crossed his arms before his chest, his palms a bloody mess. The tattoo of a “Bald-Tailed Jiao” on his chest and shoulder bore a deep gash. His entire body was rigid, face ashen. His gaze fell on a groove beside his feet.

The groove was fan-shaped, slicing into the yellow earth, plunging over a zhang deep. The Tian Gang Iron Staff stood embedded at the bottom. The groove’s starting point was only two chi from his feet.

Xie Jinhuan stood opposite, sleeves shredded, blood dripping from his fingertips. His chin lifted, his cold, spring-like eyes expressionless—yet brimming with defiance.

“To strike is to prove strength. To miss is to uphold martial virtue. Go tell your boss to prepare his funeral. I hold a grudge against the entire Black Yin Gang—not just you, your lackeys.”

“Hummm…”

Perhaps the aura was too fierce—murmurs of awe rippled through the crowd, but softly.

Liang Yue, drenched in sweat, nodded silently, turned, and walked away—when a voice called behind him:

“Hey.”

Liang Yue froze, glancing back cautiously.

Xie Jinhuan tilted his head toward the broken sword lying nearby.

Liang Yue said nothing. He ran over, picked up the blade, and vanished into the crowd.

“Huh…”

“Xie Shaoxia looks kind of fierce…”

“You don’t talk nonsense—courtesy depends on who you’re dealing with. The Black government office Gang are sea pirates; if not for the tournament, this guy wouldn’t be alive…”

“I love this kind of spectacle~”

“Don’t flirt…”

……

Wei Wu Yi watched the entire match and felt Xie Jinhuan was flawless in every way—too perfect to be human.

Consider even True Person Qixia and Ye Sheng had their odd flaws, but Xie Jinhuan had absolutely no defects. As for rumors of him being amorous and reckless—that was nonsense. Such a cold, peerless righteous hero would never be swayed by beauty.

Seeing Xie Jinhuan had nearly drained himself dry, Wei Wu Yi spoke:

“Seven wins guarantee a top-three finish. Xie, you’re injured—rest for the next round.”

Nan Gong Ye also exhaled softly in relief, thinking her Huang Mao was truly formidable—even with only a breath left, he’d knocked down another opponent, denying the enemy any chance to take advantage.

But before she could feel relieved, she saw Xie Jinhuan, covered in blood, turn his gaze toward the enchantress at the arena’s edge:

“I still feel I can fight. This lady has stepped onto the stage—I naturally owe her a chance…”

“?”

What else could you possibly fight with?!

Nan Gong Ye was stunned by this sight—she’d just been thinking, “I lost my body and my troops,” and was glad the enchantress had been driven off.

But you didn’t fight earlier, now you’re clearly injured and your dantian is exhausted—you’re asking her to come up?

What’s your meaning?

You’re siding with outsiders, fawning over your senior sister, aren’t you?

Do you want her or me?

……

Bu Yue Hua saw Xie Jinhuan swaying on his feet and had already decided not to enter the arena—until she realized her future son-in-law was so filial, handing her a free win. She was genuinely taken aback:

“This isn’t appropriate…”

From a god’s-eye view, it truly wasn’t appropriate.

But from Xie Jinhuan’s perspective, Hua Ruyue was just Ice Block Senior Sister—he didn’t know about their secret rivalries or monthly duels.

If Ice Block had stepped onto the stage, he’d never dare side with outsiders.

But since Ice Block hadn’t entered, and he himself was truly at his limit, unable to defeat anyone else, staying on offered no benefit. He might as well give Ice Block’s senior sister a helping hand—just a light touch on her backside, a mutual understanding—wasn’t that an easy favor to earn?

Even if Hua Senior Sister won the championship, at least the prize would stay within Qingming Sword Manor. With this bond of goodwill, he still had a chance to get his hands on it later…

Moreover, if both of them reached the finals, their odds of winning were higher than his alone. Ice Block was a fellow disciple—“Brothers quarrel within the walls, but unite against outsiders.” Even fierce internal competition was all about becoming Manor Master; when something valuable appeared outside, it had to be brought back home first.

If Ice Block would rather forfeit opportunities and give them to outsiders than let a fellow disciple increase her chance of securing a treasure, would such a heart ever earn the Manor Master’s favor?

So Ice Block would surely stand with family. Xie Jinhuan saw no reason not to lend a hand. He’d kept Hua Senior Sister waiting precisely to hand her this advantage—and now he replied:

“As a warrior, even if I had only a pair of eyes left, I’d use them to terrify my foe. I still have hands and feet—I can stand firm. I still have strength to fight. How could I withdraw on my own?”

Around him, countless Sect Masters saw Xie Jinhuan’s arms trembling slightly and thought: Xie Shaoxia probably wanted to flirt with the girl.

With his earlier astonishing display and this act of kindness, the lady would almost certainly be won over…

Surrounded by fierce rivals, Bu Yue Hua saw Xie Jinhuan insisted on offering—so she naturally accepted. She stepped forward slowly and bowed respectfully:

“Qingming Sword Manor, Hua Ruyue. Pleased to meet you.”

Since Qingming Sword Manor was a minor, obscure sect from the south, the assembled martial artists showed little reaction—only murmured among themselves for a moment.

Xie Jinhuan wiped the blood off his tattered sleeve, picked up his senior sister’s sword, took a deep breath, and resumed his stance:

“The arena is no game. I may not win, but I’ll give everything I have. If you don’t take this seriously, I might still have another round left.”

As he spoke, his body froze. His muscles, his breath, even his gaze—all stilled, becoming an immovable boulder.

?

The onlookers who’d come to watch the young hero flirt were stunned:

“Hey?! Can Xie Shaoxia still fight?!”

“Old Master, what kind of monster is this…”

“This lady’s in trouble…”

……

Above, the Seven Martial Titans and many top contenders had initially treated this as dessert—but seeing Xie Jinhuan stabilize his body and qi despite near-total exhaustion, their eyes widened with genuine shock.

Only warriors who’d endured countless battles could suppress their physiological instincts under utter desperation and channel every ounce of strength into defeating the enemy.

Xie Jinhuan was barely twenty—what kind of infernal trials had he endured to forge himself into this?

Bu Yue Hua saw Xie Jinhuan steady himself again, radiating an unshakable aura, and her heart was filled with admiration. She no longer treated this as a joke.

Shing~

Behind her, the three-foot-long sword slid free, resting horizontally before her. In her left hand, she drew a half-foot short sword, reversed and held to guard her centerline, assuming an elegant yet grounded stance.

Mother-and-child twin swords: the mother blade swift and offensive, the child blade heavy and defensive—complementing each other in length, enabling seamless offense and defense, far superior to a single sword in combat.

The assembled heroes, seeing this stance, knew this would be another brutal battle!

But soon they realized they’d overestimated…

Xie Jinhuan brushed his two fingers along the blade’s edge, drawing a thin line of blood, assuming an exceptionally refined posture:

“Ladies first.”

Sa—

As soon as he spoke, Bu Yue Hua shifted her step, her body becoming a pale blue afterimage, leaving a clear, ringing sword-song across the wide arena!

Xie Jinhuan’s gaze, cold and still as a frozen spring, carefully observed Senior Sister’s graceful, alluring form. Only when they closed to three zhang did he suddenly lunge forward.

Ding~

Zheng—

All eyes locked on the duel—yet the veiled lady’s thrust to the throat was deflected by Xie Jinhuan’s upright blade, then he swept his sword sideways, aiming for her ribs!

The veiled lady’s hidden short sword rose instantly in an upward parry. Three blades clashed at once, producing a light and a heavy chime. They passed each other in a blur.

In the instant of separation, Xie Jinhuan struck again with a “Backhand Pointing Sword,” hitting the veiled lady’s left shoulder.

The lady’s technique was bizarre—her right sword twisted in a “Wrapping Head and Brain” motion to block the point. A double-edged, flexible blade—this move suited a dao better; using a sword like this risked self-injury.

But she pressed the blade against her back and truly blocked the backhand strike, then dropped her body and swept her leg in a spinning motion, her blue skirt fanning like a peacock’s tail. Her short sword spun once in her palm and stabbed straight forward—her right sword followed instantly!

Facing the lightning-fast sweep, Xie Jinhuan’s body was kicked into midair, yet even then, he gripped her short sword wrist with his left hand, held her long sword with his right, and delivered a flying whip-kick aimed at her veil.

Hu—

Ding—

As she fell downward, the veil’s curtain lifted with her spin, revealing the face beneath.

Her cheeks were as soft as white jade, radiating a mature grace. Her peach-blossom eyes shimmered like autumn ripples, meeting his gaze. Her lips were lush and vividly red—overall, alluring without vulgarity, gorgeous without seductive excess.

Looks like a fuel-efficient car…

……

Bang~

In a single thought, her body hit the ground.

Bu Yue Hua’s left hand was gripped, but her short sword spun in her palm, braced against her wrist, dodging the whip-kick. Her right sword, pressing down on Xie Jinhuan’s weakened long sword, pinned it to his chest—the scene looked exactly like pinning a man to the ground.

But the posture lasted only an instant—Bu Yue Hua quickly plunged her sword into the ground and helped Xie Jinhuan up:

“Are you alright?”

Xie Jinhuan felt Hua Senior Sister’s swordplay was flawlessly linked. Though her techniques were odd, her skill was impeccable. He rose and brushed dust off his robe:

“I’m fine. Your swordplay is excellent.”

Bu Yue Hua, having perhaps gained an advantage, had struck him a few times—she felt awkward, so she brushed dust off his robe as if a mother were tidying her young disciple’s clothes. But after one pat, she quickly pulled her hand back and stood straight.

“Weng weng…”

A clamor erupted!

The martial artists who’d watched intently through the first seven rounds had seen nothing of Xie Jinhuan’s moves—but now they understood.

This was the legendary martial arts technique—Lover’s Swordplay!

That feather-light sword, delivered with rigid form, as if afraid the lady couldn’t catch it—hesitating whether to nod or not, tapping her shoulder, then pretending to deliver a whip-kick that missed…

If you fight like this, even I could win!

And the veiled lady was even more outrageous—she was drowning him in mercy. Slow start, “Wrapping Head and Brain” blocking with a sword like a dao, spinning the short sword like a toy, afraid he’d fall when she hit the ground, helping him up and brushing his robe…

Do you think the Seven Martial Titans are blind? Or that every martial artist here is clueless about romance?

You know each other—why pretend?

Qingming Sword Manor’s Hua Ruyue and Marquis Xie Jinhuan—there’s definitely a story behind them…

Maybe they came together to steal divine treasures…

……

Nan Gong Ye sat in her seat, watching the brat use not an ounce of effort, exchanging flirtatious glances with the enchantress—her phoenix-eyed gaze burned with fury!

Where did you get the energy to torment me after bearing Yang Poison?

You care for her this much, do you?

Fine, fine, fine…

Meiqiu, having finally finished watching the matches, perked up and began swaying her head, waiting for dinner…

—

Pure transcription, may have typos. Originally planned to leave one chapter, but didn’t want to break off—so posted it all.

After eating and sleeping, I’ll wake up again at six or seven in the morning—there’s no way I can finish writing by eight; I’ll post it tomorrow after Guan finishes writing…

(End of Chapter)