Chapter 1015: Above Me

In the Xuan-division matches of the Sword Debate, there were many different formats.

But whether Mo Hua’s luck was good or bad was hard to say—up to now, every format he’d been in was either a “beheading match” or a “melee.”

Other formats—like offense and defense, monster hunting, escorting a convoy—he hadn’t played even once.

This match against the Carefree Sect was also just a basic melee.

Only by “killing” all of the opponent’s disciples could one win.

Of course, at this point, none of the cultivators watching cared about “formats.” They only cared about one thing:

Who could kill Mo Hua?

Who could make this despicable and shameless Mo Hua die once in the Sword Debate Conference?

Who could use Mo Hua’s “blood” to wash away the humiliation suffered by the geniuses of Qianxue?

Killing Mo Hua once was enough.

Victory or defeat—no one cared.

Or rather, as long as they could kill Mo Hua, that person was already the “victor” in everyone’s heart.

This simple yet burning wish filled the hearts of every cultivator on Dao Discussion Mountain.

The atmosphere among the spectators was like a furnace, making their blood boil.

And the one most expected to achieve this in this match was the Carefree Sect’s prodigy—handsome, dashing, clad in white robes, sword-qi like the wind—Feng Zichen.

It wasn’t just Elder Feng who had such expectations.

Most of the spectators shared them.

They looked forward to Feng Zichen killing Mo Hua with a single sword.

Soon, the match began.

After some brief scouting and maneuvering, the disciples of the Carefree Sect and Great Void Sect met. In an instant, it was like wind and thunder striking dry tinder—sword light shaking the heavens, bodies locked in a deadly melee.

There were no flashy tactics, only pure slaughter.

And naturally, Mo Hua bore the brunt of the firepower.

By now, any sharp-eyed observer could see that within the Great Void Sect, there were two people you absolutely could not leave alone.

One was Linghu Xiao.

If you let Linghu Xiao be, you’d be cut down by his Chongxu Sword-Dissolving True Qi—defeat was certain.

The other was Mo Hua.

If you let Mo Hua be, you’d be disgusted to death—and you still wouldn’t win.

Originally, Mo Hua’s importance was ranked below Linghu Xiao’s.

But unfortunately, he had made too many enemies, and his handsome, pale face carried a natural “taunt” effect.

Thus, there were far more people who wanted to kill him than wanted to kill Linghu Xiao.

What’s more, for this match, the Carefree Sect had accumulated the experience of the previous matches, condensed the collective wisdom of the various sects’ Daoist elders, and now had both the means and determination to “sure-kill” Mo Hua. Their assault was like a rainbow streaking across the sky.

Body techniques like the wind, sword-qi like shadows—swift in approach and retreat—their fierce attacks pressed the Great Void Sect hard on all sides.

Mo Hua was forced into a pitiful retreat.

The crowd’s blood surged with excitement.

Elder Feng was deeply gratified.

“The Carefree Sect’s core inheritance is the Carefree Wind-and-Shadow Art, with body technique as the Treading-Wind Steps, paired with the Carefree Sword Control Art—thus most of their disciples train in ‘fast swords’…”

“Not only is their movement excellent, but their swords are fast—coming and going with the wind, killing in a flash, severing throats and taking lives.”

“Their wind-based body techniques and sword arts are one—faster movement means stronger swordsmanship.”

“It’s precisely because of such supreme arts that the Carefree Sect was able to surpass several sword-focused sects among the Twelve Streams, earning a place among the Eight Great Sects.”

Elder Feng spoke smoothly to the Zhang Family’s Great Elder, then added with satisfaction:

“And the prodigy of my Feng Family, Feng Zichen, is the outstanding talent of this generation in the Carefree Sect. His entire set of techniques and sword arts comes from the Carefree Sect, but his movement is not just the Treading-Wind Steps—he has also integrated my Feng Family’s exclusive Eight-Trigram Wandering-Wind Steps.”

“Treading-Wind Steps plus Eight-Trigram Wandering-Wind Steps—two great movement arts in one.”

“In swordsmanship alone, Zichen may not be the strongest. But in movement, in this entire Sword Debate Conference, almost no one can compare.”

“And the Carefree Sect’s swordsmanship greatly depends on movement. The stronger the movement, the stronger the sword—so when Zichen uses his wind-based sword arts, they are unstoppable…”

Elder Feng wore a face full of pride.

The Zhang Family’s Great Elder glanced at the projection and indeed saw the five Carefree Sect disciples moving with great speed, sword strikes flowing like a storm.

The leader was even faster.

In his white robes, man and sword were one—coming and going like the wind, elegant yet lethal.

His movement combined the swiftness of the Treading-Wind Steps with the nimbleness of the Wandering-Wind Steps—exquisite beyond measure.

“Good!”

The Zhang Great Elder nodded in praise, though a trace of envy stirred in his heart.

His Zhang Family was also known for its movement arts.

Their inherited Falling-Flower Steps and Flowing-Water Steps were certainly exquisite—but compared to the Carefree Sect’s twin supreme arts, they were lacking.

And among his Zhang Family’s disciples, none had cultivated their steps to perfection, let alone rivaled the Carefree Sect’s peerless prodigy in the arena.

Comparisons were maddening.

He kept it off his face, but the feeling lingered inside.

On the field, Feng Zichen led his sect in a dazzling display.

Sword-qi swept forth like a raging gale.

In just a few dozen exchanges, the Great Void Sect’s formation was torn apart by the Carefree Sect’s fast swords.

With their formation broken, Mo Hua lost his protection.

The Carefree Sect disciples immediately surged toward him, sword-qi like the wind.

Mo Hua truly couldn’t take it anymore—he activated his concealment technique and vanished before their eyes.

Feng Zichen had anticipated this. He immediately drew out a Five-Element Concealment-Breaking Spirit Mirror and shone it straight ahead, revealing Mo Hua’s form as clearly as daylight.

The outer arena erupted in astonishment and praise:

“Broken!?”

“Marvelous! Brilliant!”

“That brat’s concealment has finally been broken! Let’s see where he hides now!”

The crowd roared with joy, but the Zhang Great Elder didn’t fully understand.

Elder Feng explained:

“Brother Zhang, you may not know—this Mo Hua is skilled in concealment. His technique, whose origin is unknown, can’t be seen with the naked eye, can’t be sensed with divine sense, and can’t be broken with ordinary concealment-breaking tools—truly troublesome…”

“But this is Qianxue Prefecture, with deep Daoist heritage and countless legacies—how could there be an unbreakable technique?”

“So, after the various sect elders plotted day and night, they eventually discovered the foundation of his concealment and found a countering mirror.”

“Now, with the Five-Element Spirit Mirror, he can no longer hide.”

Elder Feng’s tone carried a heroic flourish.

The Zhang Great Elder was silent, thinking:

A bunch of great sect elders staying up all night to crack one disciple’s concealment… was this really worth bragging about?

But such words were impolite, and seeing Elder Feng’s pride and the crowd’s joy, he didn’t say them aloud.

“This kid’s movement is ordinary—he relies entirely on concealment to survive.”

“Break his concealment, and he’s dead with no grave.”

Elder Feng declared with certainty.

Most watching cultivators agreed—they’d seen every match and knew Mo Hua’s movement… or so they thought.

Only Zhang Lan looked shocked.

He had no idea what these people were talking about.

Ordinary movement? Relying entirely on concealment?

Who were they talking about?

How had they reached such an absurd conclusion?

Were Qianxue Prefecture’s cultivators really this naïve…?

Inside the arena—

With the “petty thief” Mo Hua revealed, Feng Zichen’s sword flashed like the wind, cutting down toward him.

Mo Hua, feigning panic, barely dodged in time, rolling away in a sorry state.

That was close.

But without concealment, he was like a mouse before a cat—if he dodged one sword, there’d be a second.

And Feng Zichen’s sword was a fast sword—the second strike came quickly.

By some “luck,” Mo Hua rolled forward again, barely dodging.

Linghu Xiao and the others tried to help, but the Carefree Sect disciples’ swift bodies and swords wove a wall of wind, keeping them trapped.

Fast swords were powerful—but couldn’t last forever.

The Carefree Sect couldn’t hold Linghu Xiao’s group for long, but short-term suppression was enough.

Enough time for Feng Zichen to kill Mo Hua.

He struck a third, then a fourth sword.

Both missed—but drew cheers from the crowd.

Watching Mo Hua scramble in panic, the crowd jeered:

“Good! Play with him!”

“Let him taste being toyed with.”

“Don’t kill him too fast—make it slow, make him crawl like a rat, humiliated to death!”

“Just like he used his five-element spells to play others…”

“Turn his own tricks against him!”

In the arena, Feng Zichen couldn’t hear them, but he acted just as they wanted—strike after strike toward Mo Hua.

Mo Hua kept dodging, sometimes rolling on the ground.

The crowd laughed, the mood merry—

—until they slowly stopped laughing.

Because Feng Zichen was still striking, and Mo Hua was still dodging.

“Enough… it’s enough… just kill him already…”

“Stop playing…”

“Is this guy addicted to playing? Just finish him before you mess it up…”

But Feng Zichen wasn’t playing.

From the start, he’d been striking in earnest. But no matter how many times he swung, not a single strike landed.

Now he realized—something was wrong.

Not only him—the elders and sharp-eyed spectators began to notice, their faces turning solemn.

The Zhang Great Elder said slowly, “This Mo Hua’s movement… doesn’t seem so bad?”

Elder Feng was silent.

The truth was before him—he had to admit, “There’s… something there…”

But only a little.

Could that brat’s movement really surpass Feng Zichen’s, who had mastered both Treading-Wind and Wandering-Wind?

In the arena, Feng Zichen’s gaze grew colder.

He was no Mo Hua—he was an upright “good youth.”

The Sword Debate was about direct clashes—whose sword was faster, truer, stronger—no tricks.

He had intended to kill Mo Hua in one strike.

But Mo Hua had dodged.

Then he struck even faster, aiming for vital points—still dodged.

Each strike faster than the last—still dodged.

Feng Zichen understood—Mo Hua was toying with him.

His movement wasn’t weak.

It was refined.

“Truly insidious!”

Feng Zichen’s voice was cold. He stopped holding back, fully unleashing his Treading-Wind Steps—his speed soared, his sword even faster.

Mo Hua sighed inwardly, forced to show some real skill to deal with him.

In the projection, Feng Zichen’s movement was like the wind, Mo Hua’s like flowing water.

The wind followed the sword, the water flowed with the current—one chasing, one fleeing—like a breeze over water, like water flowing past the wind—matching each other evenly.

Spectators’ faces changed.

“His movement… isn’t ordinary at all?”

“To be able to keep pace with the Carefree Sect’s Treading-Wind… that’s far from ordinary…”

Whispers filled the air.

Elder Feng’s expression grew a little unnatural.

Great Elder Zhang carefully studied Mo Hua’s movement technique, pondering intently as he muttered under his breath:

“This water-element movement art… is quite well learned… His twists, turns, and evasions are all extremely smooth, and his spiritual power flows without the slightest obstruction…”

“This shouldn’t be ordinary Flowing Water Steps…”

He was purely observing, appreciating Mo Hua’s technique, and thus didn’t think too deeply about it at the moment.

Instead, Zhang Lan was squirming in his seat as though there were nails under him, already finding it hard to stay still.

Only he knew—it really wasn’t Flowing Water Steps…

After thinking for a moment, Great Elder Zhang shook his head and said:

“But it’s a pity—no matter how exceptional this movement art is, it still… can’t compare to the Treading-Wind Art…”

“What’s more, the Feng family’s prodigy doesn’t have only the Treading-Wind Art as his sole ultimate movement technique. At this rate, that boy is still destined to lose without a doubt.”

Hearing this, Elder Feng’s expression eased slightly.

In his mind, this should have been a clean and decisive victory—a swift, satisfying kill in a single strike.

But now, there were some unexpected twists.

Still, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Killing in one blow wouldn’t properly showcase the strength of his Feng family’s disciples.

Letting Mo Hua struggle for a few more rounds would allow their prodigy to display his true skill before all the thousands of cultivators of Qianxue.

It wasn’t just Elder Feng—most of the Feng family’s disciples, and indeed most of the onlookers, thought the same.

This boy Mo Hua could be proficient in Fireball Technique—fine.

Proficient in Water Prison Technique—acceptable.

Even mastering a large number of low-level Five Elements spells was still barely tolerable.

And even if he possessed a unique concealment art that ordinary cultivators couldn’t see through—though hard to swallow, it was still fact.

But on top of all that, if he was also proficient in movement arts… that was pushing it.

Especially when his opponent was from the Carefree Sect, a Feng family disciple, who had mastered two sect-defining ultimate techniques and whose speed was among the very best in all Qianxue’s sects.

No matter how refined Mo Hua’s movement art was, there had to be a limit—could it really surpass the Feng family’s prodigy?

As long as their prodigy went all out, Mo Hua was bound to lose.

Thus, the anxious hearts of the crowd slowly settled again.

But fate often refused to follow expectations.

The way events unfolded next began to push beyond their understanding.

Feng Zichen kept striking; Mo Hua kept evading.

Very soon, the gales around Feng Zichen grew even fiercer, forming the Xùn Trigram of the Eight Trigrams, swirling around him, making his movement not only swift but filled with countless variations.

Keen-eyed cultivators could see that Feng Zichen was truly holding nothing back now—he had brought out both the Carefree Sect’s Treading-Wind Art and the Feng family’s Eight-Trigram Wandering Wind Steps.

This was a fusion of movement techniques that only he had been able to achieve so far.

In that moment, his movement art ascended to another level—not only bizarrely fast but also unbelievably agile.

It carried a myriad of flowing changes, containing countless subtleties, leaving onlookers in awe.

Even Great Elder Zhang couldn’t help but show admiration.

The Zhang family was skilled in movement arts, and precisely because of that, he could see just how high the comprehension and talent required was to master these two techniques and then blend them together.

This Feng family youth was truly an extraordinary genius.

Even though the Zhang family was large and prosperous, they had no disciple who could cultivate movement arts to this extent.

Great Elder Zhang felt both admiration and a twinge of envy.

With the wind at his feet, Feng Zichen’s body moved like drifting breeze; as his movement changed, his sword strikes also transformed—becoming even swifter and sharper, almost invisible to the naked eye.

Then, a sword strike like condensed tempest stabbed toward Mo Hua.

But the result was no different from before.

Mo Hua’s body shimmered with waterlight, and he slipped away once again.

Feng Zichen’s eyes trembled, stunned for a moment.

Why?

He had clearly gone all out—his sword faster, his sword qi stronger.

But this strike, the culmination of his life’s mastery, yielded no different result.

Mo Hua’s movements flowed as naturally as water, identical to before—he simply dodged again.

The spectators exchanged bewildered looks.

“What’s going on?”

“That sword was so fast I couldn’t even see it—yet it didn’t land??”

“What happened?”

“He still can’t kill Mo Hua?”

…

At the Feng family’s seating area—

Elder Feng’s pupils shrank, his expression shifting slightly.

Great Elder Zhang also slowly straightened in his seat, gaze turning serious.

Both of them were staring intently at the projected battle, finding it unbelievable.

Even more astonished was Feng Zichen himself.

“It’s impossible for me to miss…”

“Impossible…”

His expression turned steely, eyes sharp as a blade, but deep down, a trace of fear—one he himself hadn’t noticed—began to surface.

“I have to cut him down!”

Feng Zichen’s eyes reddened slightly; now he truly held nothing back, even pouring his full strength into the Carefree Sect’s Imperial Sword Art.

Swordlight poured down like mercury.

Sword qi howled like raging wind.

In the forested mountains, every tree and rock was shredded to powder by the white swordlight.

These swords were so fast that the naked eyes of ordinary Foundation Establishment disciples couldn’t follow them at all.

Yet no matter how fast, how dense, how fierce his strikes were—when they cut toward Mo Hua, it was like striking the surface of a deep lake.

The sword left ripples upon the water—but when it passed, the water was undisturbed.

Feng Zichen’s sword was fast.

But Mo Hua’s movement was faster, stranger, more elusive—and it seemed to possess a kind of “premonition,” so that before the sword’s edge even moved, the water had already flowed away, shrouded in faint mist, making it all the harder to grasp or see through.

A chill seeped into Feng Zichen’s heart.

A terrifying truth, one he could barely accept, rose to the surface of his mind:

“This Mo Hua…”

“…his movement art is actually above mine?!”

(End of this Chapter)