Chapter 7: Taste the Agony

“Today is the day of my life-and-death duel with Zhao Zhijing. Why would I not come?”
Yun Zhonghe halted his steps, his gaze calm as he looked toward the speaker.
The Quanzhen disciple fixed his eyes on Yun Zhonghe and burst into raucous laughter. “You lecherous scoundrel, I bet you couldn’t withstand even a single move from Senior Brother Zhao.”
As he laughed, his gaze slid to the side, catching sight of Xiaolongnu. Instantly, he was struck dumb by her beauty, his eyes filling with lascivious intent. “Such a lovely girl—what a shame to see a flower stuck in a pile of manure,” he jeered, making a move to grope her.
A cold gleam flashed through Yun Zhonghe’s eyes. He raised a hand and knocked aside the offending limb.
The Quanzhen disciple yelped in pain and snatched his hand back. Glancing down, he saw his hand was flushed and swollen.
“You filthy rogue! Tired of living, are you?”
With a metallic ring, his sword drew from its scabbard.
“I’ll deal with you right here—save you the disgrace of making a fool of yourself in front of everyone.”
A cruel glint flickered in his eyes as he lunged forward, sword aimed at Yun Zhonghe’s chest with remarkable speed.
“I’ll sever every tendon in your hands and feet, so you can watch with your own eyes how I take care of this young lady!” he spat with vicious delight.
In his mind, this blow, though not fatal, would be enough to leave Yun Zhonghe writhing on the ground.
A glacial chill filled Yun Zhonghe’s eyes. “How could Quanzhen Sect harbor such shameless scum? Today, I’ll help purify your ranks!”
Channeling his inner force, he struck out with his palm.
A roaring gust erupted as the disciple’s sword shattered inch by inch, clattering to the ground with a metallic crash that seemed to hammer at every onlooker’s heart.
Impossible!
The thought had barely formed when agony shot through his body—a tremendous force flung him into the air.
He crashed to the ground with bone-crunching impact, his chest caving in as blood streamed from his mouth, staining his face red.
Yun Zhonghe’s expression remained unchanged as he withdrew his hand.
Around him, the Quanzhen disciples stood frozen, stunned into silence.
No one knew how long passed before someone reacted. Swords were hastily drawn.
A trembling hand—no one could say whose—gripped a sword and, mustering a quavering shout, called out, “Yun Zhonghe, this is the Quanzhen Sect—”
Before he could finish, Yun Zhonghe’s cold gaze swept over, forcing the rest of his words back down his throat.
Having cowed the disciples, Yun Zhonghe had no wish to linger. Taking Xiaolongnu by the hand, he led her up the mountain.
The Quanzhen disciples watched, powerless as Yun Zhonghe and Xiaolongnu’s figures vanished into the distance—none dared move to stop them.
Even when the pair had disappeared from sight, the disciples remained unsettled.
“Hurry—inform the Sect Master!”

As one of the foremost sects in the martial world, never before had anyone dared act with such impunity on Mount Zhongnan.
With Yun Zhonghe gravely injuring their disciple, it was clear things would not end peacefully today.
Meanwhile, outside the Hall of Eternal Spring, the Five Elders of Quanzhen sat together in the viewing gallery, surrounded by guests from all corners of the martial world.
In the center of the square stood a three-meter-high platform.
Zhao Zhijing stood atop it, a three-foot sword slung across his back, his hands folded behind him in a posture of calm authority.
At that moment, a junior Daoist hurried up to the gallery and whispered anxiously into Qiu Chuji’s ear as he sat with eyes closed in apparent repose.
Hearing the report, Qiu Chuji’s eyes snapped open, a murderous glint flashing within them, drawing the attention of his fellow elders.
“Brother, what has happened?” asked Hao Datong, seated on Qiu Chuji’s right.
Qiu Chuji’s voice was grave. “Yun Zhonghe has severely injured our guard disciple at the foot of the mountain—he’s making his way up!”
“What nerve! Daring to cause trouble on Quanzhen ground—” Hao Datong, known for his fiery temper, shot to his feet. “I’ll lead the disciples myself and bring Yun Zhonghe to heel!”
Seeing Hao Datong’s bloodthirsty intent, those present exchanged bewildered glances.
“No need for that. I am already here.”
The sudden voice made Hao Datong freeze mid-motion.
All eyes turned towards the source.
Yun Zhonghe, holding Xiaolongnu’s hand, descended lightly from the air and landed in the square.
Xiaolongnu’s breathtaking beauty and cool, ethereal demeanor instantly drew every gaze present.
With a steely ring, Hao Datong drew his sword and shouted, “Yun Zhonghe, you’ve injured our disciple—prepare to die!”
His words sent a stir through the crowd.
Under their shocked eyes, Yun Zhonghe stepped forward.
He looked up at Qiu Chuji and called out, “Once I’ve settled matters with Zhao Zhijing, I will offer your sect a full explanation.”
Qiu Chuji studied Yun Zhonghe for a long moment before gesturing with his hand. “Brother, stand down.”
Hao Datong turned, confused. “Brother!”
“Since Yun Zhonghe has come, he will not leave. Let us not make a spectacle of ourselves before our peers.”
Reluctantly, Hao Datong sheathed his sword, his gaze fixed on Yun Zhonghe with murderous intent.
With Hao Datong temporarily pacified, Yun Zhonghe lightly tapped the ground, leaped, and landed atop the platform.
“It’s been a few days. I wonder—is your martial skill now greater than your luck with women?” Zhao Zhijing mocked, his eyes glinting.
“Why don’t you come find out?” Yun Zhonghe bared his teeth in a chilling grin, his white teeth gleaming in the sunlight.

Below the platform, the crowd watched the two men, murmurs spreading.
“I wonder if Yun Zhonghe can withstand even one move from Zhao Zhijing?”
“You must be joking. Zhao Zhijing is a leading talent among the third-generation Quanzhen disciples, while Yun Zhonghe relies only on dirty tricks—he’s nothing on the real stage.”
“I just hope Zhao Zhijing doesn’t let him off too easily, or it would be too cheap for him.”
And so on.
At that moment, Qiu Chuji stood slowly, his deep voice echoing across the gathering.
“Life and death battle—life and death…”
“Let fate decide!”
At the instant his shout ended, Yun Zhonghe and Zhao Zhijing sprang toward each other almost simultaneously.
Zhao Zhijing’s lips curled into a smile as he faced Yun Zhonghe. “Prepare to suffer.”
As his words fell, Yun Zhonghe stamped his foot, borrowing the force to surge forward with explosive speed, the wind screaming in his wake.
Zhao Zhijing’s smile had not fully bloomed when his vision blurred; before he could react, Yun Zhonghe was already upon him.
With him came the whistling sword shadow—his blade sang as it cut through the air.
So swift was the attack that Zhao Zhijing had no time to respond.
At the critical moment, relying on instinct, he barely managed to raise his sword to his chest.
Clang!
A clear metallic note rang out.
Agony shot through Zhao Zhijing’s hands, terror flooding his heart in an instant.
He felt his own internal force, gathered upon his sword, utterly overpowered and torn asunder by an even mightier force.
Before he could process what was happening, a surge of brutal energy crashed into his body, rampaging unchecked.
Zhao Zhijing staggered backward, each retreating step leaving a deep imprint on the platform.
Only at the very edge did he manage to steady himself.
Below the stage, the crowd’s mocking words caught in their throats; silence fell.
They stared in bewilderment at Zhao Zhijing, teetering on the edge of the platform, as if he might tumble off at any moment.
What had just happened?
Wasn’t Yun Zhonghe supposed to be the one writhing on the ground in pain?
Baffled, all eyes turned to the stage.
There stood Yun Zhonghe, sword in hand, the tip angled toward the floor. Under the scrutiny of the crowd, he looked at Zhao Zhijing with a radiant smile.
“Have you tasted pain now?”