Chapter Fifty-Nine: Fierce Battle

In an instant, the lake that had been so bright just a moment before fell into the solitude of night. Serene as a mirror though it was, the still water could neither shine nor warm itself. Though the world was shrouded in darkness to ordinary eyes, it could not entirely obscure the sight of the two figures. In the wavering gloom, Shen Lian saw that Ye Liuyun now held a sword.

Barely two feet long, the blade glimmered with a dark green radiance, a chilling aura that pressed close as a blade to the brow. Shen Lian closed his eyes slightly, as if unable to bear the edge so near.

Almost at the very moment Shen Lian’s eyelids fluttered, the black night and the emerald sword-light flashed together—hurtling toward him.

Ku Hui and Xiao Zhu, arriving one after the other not far away, witnessed this airborne sword strike. Ku Hui was filled with awe; he had long heard the legends of sword immortals who could kill with a stroke within ten paces, their presence vanishing for a thousand miles. Never had he expected that Ye Liuyun, even before formally joining the immortal sects, could already reach such heights.

Xiao Zhu, meanwhile, understood even more clearly the distance between herself and Ye Liuyun. She could not help wondering why, with such skill, he had always yielded to her in the past.

Shen Lian retreated by a hair’s breadth—the sword brushed past, but then took an abrupt turn, sweeping back from the other side. His steps were in constant motion, the flying sword attacking from every conceivable angle with extraordinary cunning.

The concealed moon began to peek through the clouds, inch by inch. Shen Lian’s form, like a shadow on the lake disturbed by a tossed stone, trembled and transformed ceaselessly.

He felt, more than ever, the reward of mastering the “Sword Qi of Mutual Generation from Being and Nonbeing”—not merely a deeper understanding of that supreme art, but, more crucially, a sharpening of his focus. Human nature is strange: though one’s strength may seem fixed, greater concentration can unlock hidden reserves of potential—potential without end.

Shen Lian’s mind seemed to sink to the lake’s depths. In this state of utter focus, he sensed the path, speed, and variations of every sword strike. His movements were never large, but always just enough to evade the blade’s edge.

He moved through a hell of blades and fire as if treading firm ground.

To Xiao Zhu and Ku Hui, it appeared as though Ye Liuyun, employing some legendary “Dragon-Subduing Crane-Controlling” technique, was manipulating the flying sword from afar with his vital energy.

Chop, cleave, intercept, sweep, lift, hook, thrust, pierce, wipe, sweep, point, snap, hang, cloud—fourteen forms, interwoven into countless variations, as if a textbook of swordsmanship.

What set this apart was that these forms were executed through a flying sword, making defense nearly impossible.

Though Shen Lian, with the sensitivity of his spirit and his extreme concentration, was able to evade the attacks, it did not mean he was without peril. In such a rapidly changing contest, a single slip could cost him his life.

His heart was so calm that he forgot this was a duel of life and death. Yet he grasped perfectly the shifts in Ye Liuyun’s vital energy. At this moment, Ye Liuyun was still holding back, his aura undisturbed.

The flying sword flashed with a thousand cold lights, like ships racing on a river, shadows overlapping. The space left for Shen Lian to maneuver grew ever smaller, and his movements ever more precise.

Ku Hui sighed softly. “Had these two been born twenty years earlier, who knows what heights they might have reached by now? They would surely stand among the sacred immortals and Buddhas.”

Even among the great sects, there might be a few youths with such cultivation, but none could match this mastery in the face of a true opponent. The path to immortality is also a path of slaughter; without thunderous means, how could one attain the fruit of the Bodhisattva?

The hidden moon emerged slowly from behind the clouds; the world around the mirror-still lake began to brighten.

Xiao Zhu found herself unconsciously watching Ye Liuyun. She could just make out the fine beads of sweat on his brow, his expression cold and grave.

She had known Ye Liuyun for many years, but never before had she seen him so solemn.

This time, she did not interfere—she simply watched quietly. She was so absorbed, she did not even notice the enigmatic Shen Lian, whose presence should have roused her deepest curiosity, though she did not know why.

She had yet to learn the saying: “The deeper the hate, the deeper the love,” meant for affairs between men and women.

As the moon fully slipped free of the clouds, both Ye Liuyun and Shen Lian sensed the decisive moment had come.

At last, Shen Lian drew his sandalwood sword—a battered, scarred wooden blade, its edge so chipped it could hardly cut even the softest tofu.

His motion was seamless—a flash as swift as lightning, yet so clear one felt they could see each step of the draw.

It was like standing beneath a waterfall on a high mountain and watching the torrent plunge straight down—at once awe-inspiring and breathtaking.

As Shen Lian drew his sword, it seemed to come alive in his hand.

With an arc of unfathomable subtlety, the wooden sword broke through the dense curtain of sword shadows. At the same moment, under the silver moonlight, a flurry of silver needles, as fine as ox hair, swept toward Shen Lian like a ruthless storm.

Yet the wooden sword twisted just so, knocking away every last needle—swift and effortless as a gust of wind scattering fallen leaves.

At the same time, with a slicing sound, a visible white arc of sword energy shot forth—swift as lightning—aimed directly at Ye Liuyun.

Shen Lian sighed inwardly. In matters of life and death, one cannot hope to foresee every turn; in the end, mercy is a luxury he cannot afford.

That flurry of silver needles was a supreme technique in hidden weapons, though it bore a rather vulgar name: “Silver Needles in the Wind and Rain.” Each needle was imbued with potent vital energy; it was not nearly as easy to break as it had appeared. If not for the opening move of the “Sword Qi of Mutual Generation from Being and Nonbeing,” which contained a principle of the universe itself, Shen Lian would have been hard-pressed to escape injury.

The true brilliance of this technique lay in the mystery of its initial thrust, surpassing mortal swordsmanship and even some divine arts.

Of course, Shen Lian was forced to exert his full strength, pouring all his vital energy into the sword qi. This was his first time using the technique in real combat—he could not guarantee that, should the blow land, Ye Liuyun would survive.

Ye Liuyun’s flying sword swung to intercept the oncoming sword qi, as if to sever it midway. He had sensed that, with this attack, Shen Lian’s spirit had dimmed, and a sense of peril filled the air. Acting decisively, he first blocked the mysterious sword qi, then intended to defeat Shen Lian at his leisure.

But fate had other plans. As the flying sword reached the attack, the sword qi vanished without a trace—only to reappear in an instant, right before Ye Liuyun.

More terrifying still, the sword qi exuded a deadly killing intent that seemed to paralyze him.

The icy jade he wore at his waist sent a chill through his soul, spurring his swiftest reaction—he raised his hand to defend.

In the end, he had no choice but to meet this sword qi, sharp enough to cleave iron, with nothing but his own flesh and blood.

[End of excerpt.]