Chapter 165: "Might I Ask Which Hall of Zhaixing Sect You Hail From?"

“Hoo…”

Shen Xiuhan let out a heavy breath and looked down at the formation disc cradled in his palm.

The Origin stone at the array-eye had dimmed by a good three-tenths. The swirling, smoke-like lines of spiritual energy within had thinned noticeably.

“Significant drain. At this level of power, it can fire maybe twice more.”

He turned the disc over, thumb brushing the four ancient seal-script characters engraved on the reverse — Azure-Gale Sword Formation — and a note of satisfaction surfaced in his eyes.

‘Jia Pingxiu was Chenjian Wu’s Fourth Chief. He had a reputation on the outlaw roads across these counties.’

‘Rumor had it his cultivation stood at the absolute peak of mid-Hidden Strength. He’d spent the better part of his life with a blade between his teeth — seasoned, brutal. The ghosts who’d died under his hand were beyond counting.’

‘And yet, against this Azure-Gale Sword Formation, he had no room to even raise a guard before he was shredded to pieces.’

The thought sent a flash of sharp light through Shen Xiuhan’s eyes. He murmured:

‘Any fighter below Transforming Strength would meet the same end. Even a Transforming Strength expert, caught off-guard in a moment of inattention, would pay dearly.’

He stowed the disc securely in the storage pouch.

Then his gaze fell on the mangled heap of flesh and bone. A thought stirred.

“Clean up the body, and I can pull one more trick — muddy the water a bit further…”

…

The lake surface.

Night wind keened.

A white blur and a golden blur traced crossing paths across the water.

Force-winds radiated outward, ripples spreading in concentric rings.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Thunderous collisions of flesh rolled without pause. Every impact threw off a shockwave that flattened reeds along the shore for a dozen zhang.

The two had been fighting for the better part of an hour.

On the surface, it looked like an evenly matched struggle.

But only Duan Xiao, locked inside the fight, could feel the dread winding tighter around his bones with every passing moment.

He’d entered Transforming Strength only months ago. His foundations weren’t even settled — he was still hovering in the early Transforming Strength, Refining-Qi stage.

The man across from him was at minimum mid-Transforming Strength.

The stranger’s force flowed endlessly with every motion, his technique seamless and seasoned to the bone.

Every palm the man threw demanded Duan Xiao’s absolute all just to neutralize — a single lapse would mean defeat and death.

BANG!

Forced into a direct exchange, Duan Xiao rode the rebound backward in a tumbling flip.

His feet hit the water, plowing twin white furrows. He skidded three full zhang before stabilizing.

He pressed down the force-shaken blood churning through his body. His face was grim, his chest heaving.

Several zhang away stood Zuo Muxian.

Moon-white sleeves drifting in the lake wind, complexion clear and lustrous, breath long and perfectly steady.

He stood on the water with one hand behind his back, a faint curve at his lips, eyes wandering over Duan Xiao as though appraising a curious trinket.

As if the exchange that could have killed a lesser man had been nothing more than a post-dinner stretch.

Over the course of this half-hour and more, Duan Xiao had gleaned his opponent’s identity from the style of his martial arts.

Or rather —

The man had never deigned to hide it.

‘Someone from Zhaixing Sect…’

A chill crawled up Duan Xiao’s spine.

‘Chenjian Wu keeps to its own corner. We’ve never provoked a colossus like that. This man shows up alone — could it be that the blood-pill operation on the fishing island has leaked?’

The thought formed and was instantly strangled.

‘Impossible.’

‘If that had come to light, they wouldn’t have sent a single Transforming Strength fighter. It would be a joint siege by every orthodox power in Cangzhou.’

‘This man came alone. It’s almost certainly a private grudge — over Gao Fu.’

With that reasoning settled, Duan Xiao steadied himself and decided to probe.

“Might I ask which hall of Zhaixing Sect you hail from?”

“Zhang Jiuyang of Kaiyang Hall? Or perhaps… Wen Zheng of Tingquan Hall?”

Zhang Jiuyang, Wen Zheng, and one more — Yi Suxin of Feixuan Hall — were the chief disciples of the four inner halls.

Within Zhaixing Sect, those who could reach Transforming Strength at this age were limited to those select few.

Zuo Muxian shook his head lightly, his warm smile unchanged.

“I’m not from either of those halls.”

“Zuo…”

Duan Xiao faltered. Buried intelligence surged through his mind, and his face drained of color.

He stared at the white-robed figure. Disbelief flooded his eyes.

“It’s you… the Chief of Chiming Hall — Zuo Muxian! Word was you’d already set out for the Gaoning counties to suppress the Yin-Fiend Demonic Sect’s branch altars. What are you doing at my Chenjian Wu!”

“Mm, I was meant to go. But a small matter came up and delayed the trip.”

Zuo Muxian’s reply was offhanded. Then his tone shifted, a glint of something half-amused, half-cold entering his voice.

“By the way… I once heard within my sect that Great Chief Duan possesses one of our techniques — the Star-Plucking Hand. Did you kill one of our junior brothers for it?”

Duan Xiao’s face twitched.

The muscles at the corner of his eye jumped twice beyond his control. He sucked in a breath, tamped down the anger boiling inside, and spoke coldly.

“Chief Disciple Zuo reads too much into things.”

“That Star-Plucking Hand was an incomplete manuscript I purchased with good silver at the Cangzhou Treasure Expo, hosted by the Guanhua Sect, years ago. The trade guild has records. Chief Disciple Zuo is free to check — no need to fling accusations.”

On this point, Duan Xiao was telling the truth.

At the time, Chenjian Wu had just been established — everything was raw and unfinished. He’d needed practical, lower-tier hand and foot techniques to stock the armory: training material for his inner circle, rewards for subordinates.

He’d traveled to Cangzhou and purchased several manuals at heavy cost from a Tianyu Sect auction. The Star-Plucking Hand was one of them.

The technique was among Zhaixing Sect’s most renowned middle-tier arts — exquisitely crafted, widely circulated, and no one’s jealously guarded secret.

He’d later bestowed it on his then-Tenth Chief, Qu Bushi.

After Qu Bushi’s death, no one in Chenjian Wu currently practiced it.

Zuo Muxian gave a noncommittal smile and let the subject drop.

He’d only been looking for something to talk about — a way to burn time.

Duan Xiao was no match for him. He had no real intention of killing the man.

For one thing, Shen Xiuhan had been clear: the assault on the Bai estate was set for early August. Duan Xiao was the Bai family’s trump card. If he died on the lake tonight, it would raise the Bai estate’s guard and ruin the little tortoiseshell’s plans.

For another…

‘That little tortoiseshell… hasn’t run into trouble, has he? It’s been nearly two hours now, and still no sign of him.’

“Hm?”

While Zuo Muxian’s attention wandered —

Beneath the lake surface, a faint, nearly imperceptible current caught his notice.

SPLASH!

Dozens of zhang from the two combatants, a column of water erupted skyward.

The figure that emerged was corpulent yet startlingly agile. It threw a grin over its shoulder at Zuo Muxian, then hefted Gao Fu across its back, deployed a movement art, and skimmed away over the water.

Like a fat duck — a few bounding leaps and it was already dozens of zhang distant.

“Fourth!”

Duan Xiao watched the retreating silhouette, pupils shaking. The name burst from him, voice thick with shock and confusion.

Zuo Muxian caught the word. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. He understood, more or less, what had happened — but said nothing. His voice was calm and level.

“Great Chief Duan. The one surnamed Gao — I’ll be taking him. Tonight ends here. If you dare follow one step beyond this stretch of water… I will no longer hold back.”

The words barely landed.

Zuo Muxian’s eyes sharpened. A thread of green-azure light flashed in their depths.

In the next instant —

A pressure — formless, substanceless, yet vast as the sea — slammed into Duan Xiao’s consciousness.

“AGHH—!”

Duan Xiao’s eyes flew wide, veins standing out across his forehead like roots.

A tearing agony ripped through his skull — steel needles driven into the brain. His entire body convulsed. Through clenched teeth, he forced out two strangled syllables:

“Refine… Spirit…”