This rich and profound vitality rose like towering mountains, boundless like the vast sea. Tian Wujing simply raised his head, looking at the peach wood sword. Let’s see if it can pierce me!
The realm of a Martial Cultivator emphasized the ebb and flow of vitality. Back then, beneath the walls of Mianzhou, Zheng Fan had encountered an elder wielding a double-headed spear. The elder had originally been an Eighth Rank Martial Cultivator, but due to his advanced age and declining physique, he no longer possessed his former prowess. After battling several Barbarian warriors, his strength waned, and Liang Cheng swiftly decapitated him after a brief standoff.
Tian Wujing, however, was in his prime. His vitality was abundant, gushing like a raging river, ceaseless and inexhaustible. Unless subjected to a war of attrition like Shatuo Queshi had faced outside the Earl of North Border’s mansion—exhausted by three thousand iron-riders in relentless waves—it would be difficult to deplete his vitality. Besides, he currently faced only a single old man.
Conversely, while the old man’s Daoist arts were undoubtedly profound, he faced an opponent whose will was like bedrock; Tian Wujing had just ordered the annihilation of his own clan. The elder’s Daoist arts could find no flaw in such a resolute mind. Furthermore, the entire confrontation had unfolded too rapidly. Daoist cultivators typically focused on foresight and meticulous planning, gradually setting the stage to control timing and terrain, ensuring success by slowly closing the net. They did not favor direct, head-on clashes . Crucially, Daoists pursued the realization of the Dao and longevity, unlike Martial Cultivators, who sought to temper their physical bodies for supremacy in battlefield slaughter.
And so, when the elder found his Daoist arts ineffective, he resorted to using his peach wood sword in an attempt to overcome strength with skill. It was a desperate, ill-advised tactic: pitting his own frail, aged body against a Martial Cultivator in his prime in close combat!
"A Third Rank Martial Cultivator! A Third Rank Martial Cultivator! Little Mirror, you’ve actually become a Third Rank Martial Cultivator!"
Tian Wujing replied, "I dared not disappoint you, Ancestor!"
The old man’s chest heaved, and he immediately spat a mouthful of vital blood onto the peach wood sword. Suddenly, the crooked-neck tree, previously toppled by the shockwave, straightened and returned to its original spot. The shattered tiles on the Daoist temple’s roof also flew back into place, perfectly restored. Everything appeared as if time itself had reversed.
But this was all illusory. Yet, when an illusion becomes so convincing as to be indistinguishable from reality, its effects are virtually identical to the genuine article. Imperceptibly, it felt as if a colossal hand had suddenly descended, pressing down with immense force. Even Tian Wujing, a Third Rank Martial Cultivator, seemed to sway precariously as if caught in a violent storm.
"I have been self-imprisoned in this Daoist temple for decades. Its every blade of grass, every tree, every brick and tile, is seared into my very soul.
"This Daoist temple is my sanctum! How dare you intrude upon my sanctum to fight me? Within this place, I am the heavens! I am the earth! I am the Dao!"
At this moment, Lord Jingnan faced not merely a frail old man, but the oppressive weight and rejection of this entire miniature world. The gilded armor he wore began to emit sharp cracking sounds, a sign that it was on the verge of shattering under the unbearable pressure. The tables had suddenly turned.
The aura of power surrounding Lord Jingnan was being relentlessly compressed by this small world. Simultaneously, the tip of the old man’s peach wood sword drew ever closer to him. The old man’s face grew an even deeper shade of crimson. His presence, his technique, his very essence surged, reaching an unprecedented peak. To learn the Dao in the morning and die by evening without regret—this sentiment filled him.
The cultivation realms of Daoists are generally difficult to quantify by rank. Firstly, they seldom cultivate arts of slaughter and are unaccustomed to killing. Secondly, their power levels can fluctuate with extreme volatility. The deep flush on the old man’s face was a ’terminal lucidity,’ a final flare of vitality resulting from having initiated his own death. He had already severed his life force, all to ensure this one sword strike found its mark! Content orıginally comes from 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭⚑𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮⚑𝕟𝕖𝕥
At that instant, the aura around Lord Jingnan was compressed again, reduced by more than half. The old man’s peach wood sword finally reached him. Lord Jingnan’s gaze met the old man’s. The old man was poised to thrust the sword forward. Yet, both knew with certainty: this sword could not kill a Third Rank Martial Cultivator.
However, with the elder’s profound skill, this sword was capable of inflicting a wound upon Tian Wujing’s physique. Such an injury would be akin to forcibly breaching a great dike! From that moment onward, Tian Wujing’s progress on his martial path would become exceedingly difficult. Indeed, this single wound could cause his vitality to begin its decline at least seven years prematurely!
Tian Wujing displayed no fear; even at this critical juncture, his eyes remained as tranquil as an ancient well.
The tip of the sword finally struck Tian Wujing. This was a sword strike from a Daoist cultivator who had been secluded for decades—his first in all those years, and also his last.
It is often said that in the mountains, one loses all track of time. The old man could never have fathomed that on the very first day he emerged from his decades of seclusion in the Daoist temple, he would witness the massacre of his entire clan. Nor could he have imagined that the target of the sword he was about to unleash was the junior he had once cherished most.
Yet, at the very instant the sword descended, the old man’s hand trembled. The blade did not pierce Tian Wujing’s brow. Instead, it veered off course. The body of the sword recoiled slightly, merely flicking against Tian Wujing’s left cheek.
"Sister, Sister, who do you think lives in this Daoist temple?"
"The aunties say an old madman lives in there. Ah Brother, you must never come here by yourself. They say the old madman doesn’t eat regular food, yet he never starves."
"Then what does he eat?"
"Sister, you’re scaring me!"
"Oh? Didn’t my Ah Brother say that when he grows up, he wants to be a great general and fight the Qian State soldiers and the Barbarians? Why are you so timid then? Cowards can’t become great generals, you know!"