Chapter Fifty-Four: A Worthy Opponent

Feng Qingyang was, after all, a master of innate skill, so Yang Wenhao proceeded with caution. The sword in his hand flashed with cold light, and with a single exchange, he blocked Feng Qingyang’s attack.

Feng Qingyang truly lived up to his reputation as the prodigy of the Sword Sect of Mount Hua. Years of dedicated practice had only strengthened his abilities. Though he wielded nothing but a withered branch, in Feng Qingyang’s hands, it became a true sword.

“So this is the art of turning all things, even grass and wood, into a sword,” Yang Wenhao mused.

The two stepped back several paces, facing each other in silence.

“You know quite a bit,” Feng Qingyang remarked. “Let’s see if you can withstand my next move.”

He had honed his swordsmanship to its peak, approaching the realm where man and sword are one. As Feng Qingyang unleashed his strike, Yang Wenhao instantly understood—Feng Qingyang intended to use the Nine Swords of Dugu to break his technique.

Yet, perhaps Feng Qingyang would be disappointed. By coincidence, Yang Wenhao also knew the Nine Swords of Dugu.

Switching styles, Yang Wenhao’s swordplay mirrored Feng Qingyang’s exactly. After several exchanges, Feng Qingyang gained no advantage whatsoever.

Years of practicing the Nine Swords of Dugu had made Feng Qingyang intimately familiar with its intricacies. Never had he imagined Yang Wenhao would know them too. Though Yang Wenhao’s technique was less refined, it was comparable to someone who had practiced for over a decade.

“How do you know this sword technique?” Feng Qingyang demanded, his brow furrowed. The youth before him was versatile in swordplay, possessed remarkable internal energy, and, though barely in his twenties, had power far beyond his years.

“You mean the Nine Swords of Dugu?” Yang Wenhao replied with a faint smile. “I bought it for ten dollars.”

“Bought it?” Feng Qingyang’s mouth twitched. Such profound swordsmanship, purchased?

If possible, he’d very much like to meet the person selling the Nine Swords of Dugu.

Yang Wenhao gazed at Feng Qingyang—here was a rare master. Since he was so skilled, it was only fitting to collect a bit of interest.

His sword flashed, and in the blink of an eye, Yang Wenhao appeared beside Feng Qingyang, his blade lunging like a ferocious tiger.

Feng Qingyang was startled, hastily raising his withered branch to block.

Yet he seemed to have forgotten: what he held was not a sword, but a brittle piece of wood.

With a crisp snap, the branch in Feng Qingyang’s hand was sliced cleanly in two, Yang Wenhao’s blade rushing toward his face.

Suddenly, under Feng Qingyang’s bewildered gaze, Yang Wenhao twisted his sword aside and struck a palm directly to Feng Qingyang’s chest.

Feng Qingyang staggered back several meters, clutching his chest, utterly puzzled. “What is the meaning of this?”

His lapse in attention left him unable to counter. Had Yang Wenhao pressed the sword attack, Feng Qingyang would have done his utmost to dodge, making the blow non-lethal. But Yang Wenhao unexpectedly withdrew his blade and followed with a palm strike, catching Feng Qingyang off guard.

Yet, being struck by a palm was preferable to being pierced by a sword.

Still, Feng Qingyang was displeased—he hadn’t been wounded like this in years.

Yang Wenhao smiled faintly, then suddenly tossed a sword to Feng Qingyang.

The blade landed, embedding itself in the earth at Feng Qingyang’s feet.

“Pick it up. Show your true strength.”

At these words, Feng Qingyang’s face flushed red. He had always believed his swordsmanship unrivaled. Never had he thought he’d need mercy from a younger opponent.

Angered, Feng Qingyang drew the sword from the ground. As he gripped the gleaming blade, his eyes shone with a sharp light. “Excellent sword.”

Yang Wenhao had thrown him an alloy sword. Given the metallurgy of future generations, even a casual blade could easily surpass those of this era.

Feng Qingyang held the alloy sword, taking deep breaths to steady his mind and presence. The previous bout had left him shaken. Before, he’d only had a branch; now, with a fine sword, everything was different.

Yang Wenhao stood quietly, watching Feng Qingyang. He could have struck then and caught him off guard, inflicting serious injury. But he had no need, nor any desire for such tactics. He respected Feng Qingyang—a worthy adversary was a joy to encounter. If he truly wanted to strike by surprise, he wouldn’t have handed him a sword.

Such petty acts were beneath him.

He would fight openly and honorably. If he meant to kill, he would do so directly, without any tricks.

“Again!” Feng Qingyang’s energy surged, an aura completely different from before.

When pushed to the brink, people can unleash unprecedented power.

Feng Qingyang was no exception, drawing ever closer to the state where man and sword are one, now imbued with greater intent.

Though he had not yet achieved perfect unity with the sword, he was only a step away. Perhaps, in the midst of combat, he would break through.

And before him stood the perfect rival.

“As you wish!”

Yang Wenhao charged at Feng Qingyang like a fierce tiger.

Feng Qingyang met him head-on, his aura undiminished, bolstered by the excellent sword in his hand.

The sound of metal clashing rang out again and again.

In the distance, within the thatched hut—

“What’s going on? So noisy.”

Linghu Chong, half-awake, rubbed his eyes and sat up from his couch.

Outside, the clang of metal continued, occasionally punctuated by shouts.

Linghu Chong found it odd. He was supposed to be alone on the Reflection Cliff, especially at midnight—who would come here to make such a racket?

Drowsily, he stepped out of the hut and saw two shadowy figures locked in combat.

The metallic sounds he’d heard came from the long swords wielded by these two.

Because of the moonlight, Linghu Chong couldn’t see clearly, but he could make out their outlines.

One was an elder in ornate robes—despite his age, his swordplay was refined, his vigor rivaling that of a young man.

The other was clad in night attire, face concealed, impossible to identify.

Their duel astonished Linghu Chong, who stood transfixed, unable to recover his senses for some time.

As a second-tier martial artist, Linghu Chong was stunned to witness a contest between two innate masters.

(End of chapter)