Chapter 9

“Ding ding ding~……”

“Little brat, you’re cheating, aren’t you?”

……

Night deepened, yet the revelry within the depths of the buildings continued unabated.

In the spacious front courtyard, moonlight shimmered like polished jade.

Meiqiu, carrying fallen leaves in her mouth, placed them into a bamboo basket beside the wall, appearing to be a personal maid sweeping the courtyard.

Xie Jinhuan balanced on two fingers, inverted and seated in meditation upon the central white stone path, his right hand flipping through a manual on cultivation insights.

His cultivation scripture was the *Huanxi Heart Sutra*, which included the accompanying technique “Silver Dragon Eight Forms,” along with personal reflections and interpretations.

Among the myriad sects of the Great Qian, cultivation schools could broadly be categorized as “Immortal, Buddhist, Martial, Shamanic, and Demon,” each with vastly different methods, yet all stemming from the same source—cultivating the “primordial qi of all things,” also known as “Primordial One Qi.”

Since “One Qi gives birth to Yin and Yang, and Yin and Yang divide into the Five Phases,” Daoist schools differed in emphasis and rarely shared methods.

For instance, martial artists followed the path of balance, cultivating the “One Qi” without splitting Yin and Yang or the Five Phases.

Lightning belongs to the Wood phase, supremely yang and fierce; to wield such a technique, one’s scripture must lean heavily toward yang.

Thus, pure martial artists could not normally perform Daoist spells.

But Xie Jinhuan had long entertained a notion—that with transcendent mastery, he could reverse his cultivation, separating and peeling away his refined true qi, first dividing it into five, then selecting one from the five, thereby using martial true qi to manifest Daoist sorcery.

The advantage was that he could forcibly achieve “mastery of all arts,” using any technique immediately.

But the drawback was obvious: reversing the flow was astronomically difficult, and by selecting only one-fifth of his true qi, even with perfect efficiency, he could only unleash one-fifth of his full power.

The “Palmar Lightning” he displayed before Yang Dabiao today was achieved this way—consuming more energy than “Black Dragon Ramming the Pillar,” yet producing only a few faint sparks, with true qi utilization under five percent.

Yet this method perfectly matched his personal style: “capable of everything, but proficient in nothing.”

Xie Jinhuan felt this technique held great potential and continued refining it, though with little progress, when he heard a sound from the alley:

Hoo~

A white shadow appeared atop the wall.

Xie Jinhuan, inverted on his fingers, looked down to see a swordswoman on the wall, cold and ethereal as a celestial maiden.

The woman wore a snow-white gown, her long, straight legs extending to her hips, forming a lush curve, her waist tightly cinched to a slender line, and above it, her chest full and perfectly proportioned.

Her arched eyebrows like distant mountains and high nose bridge gave her face a frosty demeanor; her bright eyes gleamed with sharpness, lacking the demure softness typical of women.

Seeing such a cold beauty appear unannounced, Xie Jinhuan felt a flicker of confusion:

“Miss, who are you?”

Linghu Qingmo had been icy and aloof, but upon looking down, she saw the man in the courtyard inverted on two fingers, seated in meditation, left hand holding a book, clad only in thin trousers.

Though the inverted posture was absurd, his long limbs, handsome features, flawless chest and waist exposed under moonlight revealed an ideal physique—pale, unblemished skin like exquisitely carved jade, eight-pack abs and pectorals…

?

Linghu Qingmo, a pure young Daoist nun, suddenly glimpsed a young man half-naked—how could she endure it? She immediately turned her gaze away:

“What are you doing?”

Xie Jinhuan closed his book and flipped upright, glancing around:

“Cultivating. This is my home. Miss, did you get lost?”

Linghu Qingmo had only seen his back at Dongcang Alley at noon; judging by his strength, she assumed Xie Jinhuan was about Yang Dabiao’s age.

Now she saw the young master in the courtyard—his age matched hers, his demeanor nothing like the ruthless man from earlier—and she wondered if she’d mistaken the place, glancing left and right:

“Are you Xie Jinhuan?”

Xie Jinhuan sensed this woman had ill intent, but he didn’t recognize her. He bowed slightly:

“I am. And who might you be?”

Linghu Qingmo realized she’d found the right person—and her heart sank halfway.

After all, a martial artist around thirty accidentally injuring her was merely an accident; an apology sufficed.

But a peer of her own age knocking her unconscious with a single blow? That escalated to clan honor.

If she didn’t reclaim her dignity, how could Purple Badge Mountain ever stand tall in the world?

Her master would return after Mid-Autumn Festival—wouldn’t he expel her then?

Realizing this, Linghu Qingmo’s attitude shifted instantly. Seeing he wore no armor and didn’t recognize her, she drew her sword with its green scabbard:

“We just met. Have you forgotten so soon?”

Xie Jinhuan glanced at the sword—it resembled Zhenglun Sword, standard issue for Purple Badge Mountain—but he’d never seen her before, his expression puzzled.

“Dongcang Alley.”

“?”

Xie Jinhuan finally understood, his eyes widening as he studied the woman on the wall—her chest prominent, her figure unmistakable:

“You’re that big brother who ambushed me this morning?”

?

Linghu Qingmo’s eyebrows shot up at this absurd remark:

“Who are you calling an ambush?”

Xie Jinhuan realized this wasn’t a celestial beauty come to visit—she was a Wang Fu guard here to settle scores. He couldn’t apologize; that would make him fully liable, possibly even force him to pay medical fees—he had no silver!

“You’re no longer young. Why so reckless? I was fighting for my life against demon bandits at noon. You attacked from behind without warning—do you know how dangerous that was?

“Luckily, I held back. Had I used my full strength, you’d be dead now. I slew demons and monsters, yet was mistaken for a bandit, thrown into prison, humiliated—truly…” *sigh*

Linghu Qingmo had faced the Breaking Sea Dragon directly—she’d felt Xie Jinhuan wanted to crush her into dumpling filling. Had she not dodged, she’d have died. She didn’t believe he’d held back.

Yet after reflection, she admitted she’d rushed in upon seeing the Daoist slain, without assessing the situation. She’d been injured—and worse, she’d caused Xie Jinhuan to be imprisoned half a day.

Linghu Qingmo felt guilty. She leapt down into the courtyard:

“I was indeed reckless this noon. I sincerely apologize.”

Xie Jinhuan, seeing the girl was reasonable, exhaled inwardly in relief:

“Good. Remember: if your skills aren’t solid, don’t rush in recklessly. The world is vast, but life is but one.”

Skills aren’t solid…

Linghu Qingmo, Purple Badge Mountain’s direct disciple, was being scolded like a junior by someone her own age—she couldn’t tolerate it. Though she knew her strength was inferior, she drew her sword, assuming the aura of a sword immortal:

“Do you know who I am?”

Xie Jinhuan saw the girl was young, yet had survived his blow to the chest and still stood unharmed—he knew her lineage was exceptional. He glanced at her sword:

“Are you an inner disciple of Purple Badge Mountain?”

Linghu Qingmo held one hand behind her back, mimicking her master Nangong Xianzi’s bearing:

“I am Linghu Qingmo of Purple Badge Mountain. My master is the current Sect Master. I now serve as a Company Commander in the City Guard, overseeing demonic disturbances within the city…”

Linghu Qingmo declared her identity to issue a challenge—to duel fairly and squarely.

But Xie Jinhuan’s reaction was utterly unusual. Upon hearing she was the disciple of the “First Beauty of the Dao,” his face twisted with doubt:

“You’re Nangong Xianzi’s disciple? You couldn’t even block half my strike. Did you inherit only your master’s beauty?”

“You—”

This was the ultimate insult to a cultivator!

Linghu Qingmo’s eyes widened, her chest heaving, nearly choking. She seethed inwardly:

Am I weak? No—it’s you who’s too strong!

I took your killing blow to the chest and still stand! What more do you want?

But saying that would only inflate his ego.

Linghu Qingmo gritted her teeth and explained:

“This morning, I was rushing to save someone. I acted hastily, unprepared—that’s why I was accidentally injured. If we fought fairly now, the outcome remains uncertain.”

“Is that so?”

Xie Jinhuan’s eyes brimmed with skepticism.

He knew this girl was skilled—but who was Nangong Xianzi?

The legendary swordswoman famed across the Jiangnan and Jiangbei, the second-ranked peak elder of Danzhou, the Daoist master who slew countless demons—his childhood idol, his dream bride!

If even her disciple couldn’t block half his strike, what kind of monster was her master?

Though Linghu Qingmo hadn’t heard his words, she felt the deepest scorn and doubt in his gaze—she could bear it no longer and drew her sword:

“I said it was an accident. If you don’t believe me, let’s duel again.”

Xie Jinhuan knew Nangong’s status—he didn’t believe for a second this girl was her disciple.

Even if she were, she was likely a low-ranking, insignificant pupil, bluffing with her master’s name.

Seeing she wanted to duel, he didn’t refuse. He picked up the Heaven’s Gang Mace beside the steps:

“You’re the one who wants to duel. Fine. But I have a condition.”

“What condition?”

Xie Jinhuan glanced at the courtyard littered with fallen leaves:

“If you lose, you sweep the entire courtyard. Save Meiqiu the trouble.”

Linghu Qingmo frowned, eyeing the massive two-court mansion:

“And if you lose?”

“I give you Meiqiu.”

“Gūjī?”

Meiqiu, still clutching a leaf in her mouth, stared in shock!

Linghu Qingmo glanced at the aura-shimmering coal ball—she was tempted. But seeing Xie Jinhuan’s confidence, she remained cautious:

"Agreed. A gentleman’s word is binding, harder to retract than four galloping horses. Zihui Mountain cultivates both sword qi and martial energy; I excel in thunder arts and am also proficient in swordplay. Watch yourself."

Xie Jin raised his left hand, as if cradling the sun and moon:

"My style is eclectic—I know a bit of everything. This technique is still under development, its power hard to judge. You should be careful too, young lady."

As he spoke, a light breeze stirred within the courtyard, lifting her white skirt, then intensifying into a storm-like surge!

Whooosh~

Meiqiu leapt onto the steps and peered out from behind a corridor pillar.

Linghu Qingmo saw Xie Jin’s aura rising steadily and assumed he was about to unleash the “Zhu Xian Sword Array.” But upon closer inspection, it didn’t feel right. She gripped her sword tightly, assumed a defensive posture, and asked:

"What technique is this?"

"Inverted Candle Pouring. A secret divine art."

"Inverted Candle Pouring?"

Linghu Qingmo was baffled. She sensed true qi swirling around Xie Jin, but it wasn’t gathering—it was dispersing. She asked again:

"Your qi is leaking everywhere. It doesn’t seem like you’re gathering energy. Are you deliberately dissipating your cultivation?"

Xie Jin reversed his flow, wildly fracturing his own true qi—his state was pure dissipation.

Yet he only dispersed four-fifths; a fraction remained within him.

After accumulating just enough energy for one strike, Xie Jin tilted his chin:

"Ready?"

Linghu Qingmo frowned, preparing to strike first—but at that moment:

Boom—

A muffled crash rang out, and the figure standing in the courtyard’s center had suddenly slammed into her face!

Linghu Qingmo had anticipated it, but still underestimated Xie Jin’s explosive speed. Three zhang apart, she had no time to cast her thunder art—she could only retreat and draw her sword to meet the attack.

Clang—

In a flash of blade-light, Linghu Qingmo’s form blurred into afterimages; her three-foot sword slashed toward his waist and abdomen with the speed of thunder.

Yet at the same instant, Xie Jin drew his Heavenly Gang Club, raising the heavy club to meet the incoming blade, while his left hand shot forward like a dragon’s claw, striking straight for her centerline!

This was a standard combo of offense and defense—Linghu Qingmo could easily read it. She planned to twist her wrist, bypass the iron club, and drive her sword into Xie Jin’s chest.

But what she never imagined was that this broad-browed young lord, at the moment of blade contact, suddenly unleashed a dim blue-green glow from his right hand—and then:

Zzzzzt—

The gleaming iron club was instantly sheathed in lightning, then vanished in a flash!

As a disciple of Zihui Mountain, Linghu Qingmo recognized this as the Daoist staple: “Thunder-Bound Sword!”

This technique wraps weapons in thunder, inflicting devastating damage on yin and ghostly entities, and even ordinary mortals suffer paralysis.

Xie Jin had learned this eclectic technique from somewhere unknown; its power was minuscule, barely sustained, and unlikely to cause real harm.

But even weak power can be deadly when timed perfectly.

Linghu Qingmo had not expected this trick. At the moment of blade contact, paralysis surged through half her body, freezing her movement for an instant—and then:

Boom~

Xie Jin’s left hand struck with “Dragon’s Claw,” unimpeded, driving straight through her centerline and landing squarely on her chest.

This was a sparring match—he held back his full strength—but his fingers still sank into her robes, meeting soft, yielding flesh…

(End of Chapter)