Chapter 41

Zhao Ti stepped outside and lightly flicked the sword in his palm.

He did not call it the Biexie Sword Art because the Kuizhong Manual from Laughing Proudly was incomplete, and by the time it became the Biexie Sword Art, it had degraded further—he now practiced the original, so he gave it a new name; what it was called mattered only to outsiders—the Manual remained the Manual.

Mu Wanzhen followed him out: “I’m coming too.”

Zhao Ti said: “Aren’t you afraid someone will tear off your veil, can’t kill you, and must marry you instead?”

Mu Wanzhen replied coolly: “If that’s fate, then I’ll just die. If you can’t defeat them, staying here is no different for me!”

Zhao Ti smiled without answering; the sky neared dusk, the sunset like vermilion, the scenery serene, drawing the heart into quiet immersion.

Seeing he said nothing, Mu Wanzhen sneered: “You think I’m a burden?”

“Yes,” Zhao Ti said.

“You!” Mu Wanzhen’s eyes turned icy with anger, yet her steps did not retreat.

Zhao Ti slowly walked to the front; someone on the courtyard gate’s wall was peering in, spying—when they saw him, they leapt down and hurriedly retreated.

Zhao Ti glanced around: “Where are those three fools?”

Someone outside ran to report, and from nearby, the South Sea Crocodile God roared: “Who are you calling a fool?”

Zhao Ti said: “If you’re not a fool, why are you called Yue Laosan and not Yue Laoyi or Yue Laoyi?”

The South Sea Crocodile God froze in shock, then said: “That actually makes sense—if I’m not a fool, shouldn’t I be called Yue Laoyi?”

Ye Erniang said from the side: “Don’t listen to this brat’s nonsense—he’s just mocking your stupidity to disrupt your mind.”

Zhao Ti chuckled: “Ye Erniang, your methods are cruel and vile—you deserve ten thousand cuts. Did you once suffer the same fate yourself, and now inflict your pain upon others?”

“You—” Ye Erniang’s voice changed sharply.

“Second Sister, if you say this brat disrupts minds, then don’t listen to him,” Yunzhonghe’s voice came.

“Yunzhonghe, I heard you once pursued your cousin, but she loved another; enraged, you committed vile, despicable acts, reviled by all, and deserved death.”

“You’re lying!” Yunzhonghe shrieked.

Mu Wanzhen looked at Zhao Ti: “How do you know these things?”

Zhao Ti said: “Just wild guesses—I have no idea of their origins.”

Mu Wanzhen snorted: “I knew you wouldn’t speak a single truth.”

The three stormed into the courtyard, the South Sea Crocodile God now wielding a crocodile-tail whip, his face twisted with malice: “You came out to die?”

Ye Erniang and Yunzhonghe glared at Zhao Ti with hatred.

Zhao Ti held his long sword upside down: “Come at me all at once.”

The three exchanged glances and charged.

Zhao Ti had only practiced the Kuizhong Manual’s sword art once in the hall—he knew it, but was not yet skilled; now he sought to train, forgoing Lingbo Microsteps, using only the Kuizhong Manual.

His figure vanished like a phantom, the blade flickered unpredictably, darting between the three as if they were not there.

The three were stunned—they had never seen such sword art. It was not merely speed like before, but profoundly yin, devious, clinging like a shadow, haunting all who watched.

Beneath her veil, Mu Wanzhen was shocked—she had been amazed watching Zhao Ti demonstrate in the hall, but seeing it now in combat was terrifying; the sword’s motion was profoundly startling, especially in battle, and she secretly wondered: in such a short time, had his martial skill grown again?

Zhao Ti practiced with them merely to refine his technique, not eager for victory—such opponents were hard to find.

But as he grew more proficient in the Fusheng Sword Art, his movements quickened until his form became indistinguishable, like a wisp of light and smoke weaving through the air.

In Laughing Proudly, the Sun Moon Sect’s Manual and the Lin family of Fuzhou’s Seventy-Two Biexie Sword Techniques were both incomplete versions—though they carried a haunting charm, they were mostly dark and sinister; the original Manual was different: fleeting light, gliding smoke.

This sword art had no fixed number of techniques—each move flowed seamlessly into the next, unnamed, continuous, as if endless and unceasing.

Zhao Ti channeled the Illusory Yin Qi through his meridians, enveloping all in Taiyin’s shadow, uniting all things as one; where the Kuizhong Qi flowed, no distinction remained between regular and extraordinary meridians—all became yin channels. His sword moved unlike normal swordplay: no whistling wind, no hissing sound, not a single noise.

It creeps with the wind into the night, moistening all without a sound.

Suddenly, Zhao Ti gained deeper insight into this Manual’s sword art, and smiled: “So this is how it is!”

The three grew more terrified with every exchange—they were now being led by his attacks, nearly devoid of autonomy; they feared that if he unleashed his killing move, one of them would surely die.

At that moment, a sharp, prolonged iron whistle pierced the distance, cutting through the forest, echoing endlessly—the whistler’s internal energy seemed boundless; those in the courtyard heard its mournful cry and stared at each other in shock.

Such profound internal energy, Zhao Ti narrowed his eyes.

“The Boss is here!” Ye Erniang exhaled in relief—if the fight continued, one of them would surely be injured.

“Will Duan Yanqing’s arrival save you three?” Zhao Ti laughed and shook his head.

“Don’t you dare boast—the Boss will take your life!” The South Sea Crocodile God beamed with joy.

“You… Zhao Young Master, Duan Yanqing is coming soon—why not leave now, or retreat back into the hall?” Mu Wanzhen urged from behind.

“Woman’s folly.”

“You!” Behind her veil, Mu Wanzhen clenched her teeth in fury—this Zhao man didn’t appreciate kindness; how dare he rebuke her? When had she ever advised anyone so gently? She longed to stab him just to ease her rage.

“You all wait for the wicked one to arrive—but even if he comes, he cannot save you!” Zhao Ti now pointed his sword straight at Ye Erniang.

He had merely been practicing with the three to master the Kuizhong Manual; now that Duan Yanqing was near, he immediately turned deadly—first, he would kill Ye Erniang.

Her crimes warranted ten thousand cuts and still fell short of atonement.

His form drifted like smoke, the blade silent and uncanny, slicing toward Ye Erniang.

Ye Erniang clearly saw the sword coming, yet could not evade—it passed through her body soundlessly. She froze, her entire life flashing through her mind, and whispered: “My child…” then collapsed.

“Third Sister!” The South Sea Crocodile God’s eyes bulged with rage; he swung his shears toward Zhao Ti.

Zhao Ti flicked his sword tip—the crocodile-mouth shears, weighing dozens of jin, flew aside as if made of straw; his body glided like rosy clouds, sword light flashing, piercing straight at Yunzhonghe.

Yunzhonghe’s soul nearly fled—seeing Ye Erniang fall, he had tried to flee, but Zhao Ti’s speed was too great; with Yue Laosan blocking, he had sighed in relief—only to realize Zhao Ti had not targeted Yue Laosan at all, but was coming for him.

“Ahh…” Yunzhonghe strained every ounce of strength backward, but the blade drifted, insubstantial, and in an instant was before him.

Yunzhonghe screamed, his face ashen.

At that moment, a shadow flashed at the courtyard gate—a sharp “tsch” sound, and a powerful qi shot through the air, striking the sword.