Chapter 23: The Middle-aged Taoist

Ignoring the murderous glare from Yun Zhonghe, Fu Hongxue raised his blade and unleashed the Absolute Cross Blade Technique. His figure rose and fell, the heavy black iron blade whirling up and down in his hand, stirring the fallen leaves scattered across the ground. The weighty blade seemed weightless in his grasp, achieving the state where heft became lightness. When the final move of the technique descended, Yun Zhonghe heard the system’s prompt ring in his mind.

“Congratulations, host, you have mastered the Absolute Cross Blade Technique. Current level: First Stage.”

As the system’s voice faded, Yun Zhonghe transformed his sword into a blade and executed the Absolute Cross Blade Technique himself.

“I’d like to see how much you can remember in such a short time,” he challenged.

Without a care for Fu Hongxue’s muttered words, Yun Zhonghe threw himself wholeheartedly into the technique, immersing himself in its profound subtleties. Each move he performed radiated power—it was not mere imitation; he had grasped its essence.

This scene shook Fu Hongxue. His expression slipped once more. Yun Zhonghe was surely some kind of monster. It was one thing to possess exceptional skill in swordsmanship, but now he revealed equally astonishing talent in blade techniques. With the Absolute Cross Blade Technique in his hands, it would not be long before he surpassed Fu Hongxue himself.

Ignoring the murderous glare from Yun Zhonghe, Fu Hongxue raised his blade and unleashed the Absolute Cross Blade Technique. His figure rose and fell, the heavy black iron blade whirling up and down in his hand, stirring the fallen leaves scattered across the ground. The weighty blade seemed weightless in his grasp, achieving the state where heft became lightness. When the final move of the technique descended, Yun Zhonghe heard the system’s prompt ring in his mind.

“Congratulations, host, you have mastered the Absolute Cross Blade Technique. Current level: First Stage.”

As the system’s voice faded, Yun Zhonghe transformed his sword into a blade and executed the Absolute Cross Blade Technique himself.

“I’d like to see how much you can remember in such a short time,” he challenged.

Without a care for Fu Hongxue’s muttered words, Yun Zhonghe threw himself wholeheartedly into the technique, immersing himself in its profound subtleties. Each move he performed radiated power—it was not mere imitation; he had grasped its essence.

This scene shook Fu Hongxue. His expression slipped once more. Yun Zhonghe was surely some kind of monster. It was one thing to possess exceptional skill in swordsmanship, but now he revealed equally astonishing talent in blade techniques.

With the Absolute Cross Blade Technique in his hands, it would not be long before he surpassed Fu Hongxue.

As this thought crossed Fu Hongxue’s mind, Yun Zhonghe sheathed his sword and looked at him with a smile, asking, “Did I make any mistakes in my performance?”

Yun Zhonghe’s manner was hardly that of someone seeking advice; it was clearly braggadocio. He’d told Fu Hongxue before—he was a martial prodigy rarely seen in a thousand years. Any skill, as long as he saw it once, became unforgettable.

Fu Hongxue hadn’t believed him. But now? Did his face sting?

Looking at Yun Zhonghe’s face so close, Fu Hongxue felt, for the first time, the urge to hit him—because that face was simply begging for a beating. Yet, remembering his own grievous injuries, he was no match for Yun Zhonghe and suppressed the impulse.

“That man will hold the Martial Assembly in five days. I’ll expose his true colors before everyone,” Fu Hongxue said, glancing at Yun Zhonghe, as if there was more he wished to say.

“Don’t worry,” Yun Zhonghe replied, “for the sake of the Absolute Cross Blade Technique, I’ll help you fight.”

If nothing unexpected happened, by then he would have solved the Chess of Perfection and gained seventy years of martial prowess from Master Wuya. By then, Yun Zhonghe would be counted among the experts of the martial world.

Helping Fu Hongxue at the Martial Assembly would let him avenge his father, and Yun Zhonghe could seize the opportunity to gather fame—a double victory.

Seeing Yun Zhonghe agree, Fu Hongxue felt a burden finally lift from his heart.

“What’s wrong?” Yun Zhonghe took in Fu Hongxue’s expression and laughed. “Afraid I’ll renege on my promise once I’ve learned the Absolute Cross Blade Technique?”

Fu Hongxue neither confirmed nor denied it.

Yun Zhonghe patted his shoulder. “Relax. I may not be a good man, but what I promise you, I will do.”

With that, he left directly to find Azhi.

Watching Yun Zhonghe’s figure disappear at the edge of his vision, Fu Hongxue had no choice but to trust him.

Somewhere deep in the woods.

Azhi toyed with a short dagger in her hand, her gaze harsh as she looked at Ding Chunqiu, who lay sprawled on the ground. Ding Chunqiu’s face was now covered in knife wounds, his flesh and skin nowhere whole. What had once been a handsome visage was now hideously disfigured.

Ding Chunqiu lay there with his eyes tightly shut, not daring to look at Azhi, afraid that even a hint of murderous intent would provoke her into wild retaliation.

Truly, the tiger had fallen to the plain, prey to the dogs.

Once he recovered, he swore, he would tear Azhi limb from limb.

Azhi, sharp as ever, naturally saw through Ding Chunqiu’s intentions. But he had underestimated the situation; trapped in Yun Zhonghe’s grasp, escape was impossible.

“All right, the fun’s over, and things should be wrapping up with Yun Zhonghe. Let’s go back,” Azhi said.

Hearing this, Ding Chunqiu breathed a sigh of relief. He fancied himself ruthless enough, but compared to Azhi, he was a mere child.

Azhi was just about to leave with Ding Chunqiu when a shadow flashed before her eyes. Focusing, she saw a middle-aged man in Daoist robes, smiling at her, his gaze brazen and filled with lechery.

Azhi’s eyes turned wary, stepping back, her right hand hidden behind her back, clutching a pouch of poison powder, ready for trouble.

That invasive gaze swept over Azhi, then landed on the tortured Ding Chunqiu. “Old Monster Ding, who would have thought you’d end up abused by your own disciple, looking like this?”

Faced with ridicule, Ding Chunqiu dared not speak, only sending meaningful glances.

The newcomer smiled and pressed a few acupoints on Ding Chunqiu, noting his lack of response with a flicker of surprise.

Azhi’s body tensed, eyes fixed on the Daoist, quietly standing aside.

He looked up at Azhi. “Miss, would you hand over the antidote to me?”

Azhi retreated, biting her lip, saying nothing.

Seeing her refusal, the middle-aged Daoist smiled and approached. “Since the beauty won’t cooperate, I’ll have to help myself.”

With those words, he moved in a flash, seizing Azhi’s right hand.

Azhi’s expression darkened, struggling fiercely. “You damned Daoist, let go of me or I’ll chop off your paw and pickle it in wine!”

The Daoist only grew more excited. “Such a fiery girl—I like it.”

As he leaned in, about to steal a kiss, a sharp blade flashed from the darkness, shining with deadly light.