The 19th Chapter

The Green Bamboo Swordsman snorted coldly, "How I, the Green Bamboo Swordsman, do things is not for you, a mere youngster of the martial world, to point fingers at. Ning Family's Chang'an, your notorious reputation precedes you, what right do you have to talk about the way of chivalry?! You are nothing but a demon who cultivates Demonic Arts, yet you dare claim to be upright and unafraid of shadows. You're simply spouting nonsense. Do you think the rumors circulating in the martial world are baseless? You are already deeply entrenched in demonic ways!"

Chang'an said, "Let's fight!"

The Green Bamboo Swordsman said with a scowl, "Don't rush, I need to ask you about something."

Chang'an asked, "What is it?"

The Green Bamboo Swordsman said, "A few days ago, I encountered someone outside Mohe City. That person was in a terrible state. He was originally a great villain, his martial arts definitely superior to mine, yet I ran him through with my sword. Before he died, he said he was injured by you, that you had absorbed over seventy percent of his true qi. His entire life's Qi Gong cultivation was ruined by your hand. You must know who this person is, right? It was precisely because I unintentionally met this person that I decided to seek you out! Absorbing the inner energy and true qi of others, what is this if not a Demonic Art? The righteous sects of the martial world would never allow such a demon to exist. You're going to die one way or another, and if I don't kill you, someone else will!"

This was indeed an excellent reason to kill.

Chang'an slowly said, "Ghost Face was indeed injured by me, and his true qi was absorbed by me. What I cultivate is indeed a peerless Demonic Art! Haha, Green Bamboo Swordsman, are you satisfied with my answer?"

The Green Bamboo Swordsman said coldly, "You've earned your death."

The Green Bamboo Swordsman's sword was narrow and long, a cold glint flashed, and it was unsheathed silently.

"Take this!"

Under the night, a cold light erupted, dimming the light of the stars and moon. The Green Bamboo Swordsman leaped into the air, his robes rustling as he instantly appeared before Chang'an. He thrust his sword forward abruptly, like bamboo shoots after rain, with an unstoppable momentum. Bamboo shoots after rain, sprouting overnight, this was a natural law, yet it was incorporated into the Green Bamboo Swordsman's sword technique. He had an extraordinary understanding of bamboo, and his mastery of this Bamboo Rhyme Swordplay was profound. This sword strike, with its extraordinary aura, already possessed spiritual energy.

The Green Bamboo Swordsman's sword was fast and accurate, it would rather break than bend. Each move was extremely seasoned, the cold light passed with incessant sword hums, it could only be described as masterful.

Facing the Green Bamboo Swordsman's sword, Chang'an felt every hair on his body stand on end, a chill creeping into his heart. He flicked the iron rod in his hand, starting to swing it.

His swordplay was very chaotic, a fragmented manual, and it was taught to him by Yang Qingling and Yang Taiyi through oral instruction. He had perfected all twenty-five moves, but the connection between these twenty-five moves was lacking, unable to form a coherent system. This had always been his regret. Without mastering the complete swordplay, he could not reach the perfect state of consummation, let alone reach the pinnacle. But he was very fond of these twenty-five moves. Their domineering, fierce, and unyielding spirit perfectly matched his temperament, and he couldn't bear to abandon them. Moreover, he felt that once he completed the missing parts of this swordplay and refined it, it would open up a whole new world. After several years of actual combat, he had already created three of his own moves, increasing the number of moves from twenty-five to twenty-eight. Yang Qingling had said that this swordplay originally had thirty-six moves, with connections between each move, allowing them to be used as either opening or closing moves, making it a world-shattering technique.

He now knew that this swordplay was his father Ning Shengdao's unique ultimate skill, called the Great Wheel Swordplay. Unfortunately, the sword manual was not preserved, and neither Yang Qingling nor Yang Taiyi had fully memorized it.

Each move of the Great Wheel Swordplay was astonishing. In ordinary fights, Chang'an relied on his solid foundation in sword techniques like thrusting, striking, hacking, pressing, coiling, circling, blocking, grasping, pouncing, pointing, parrying, and flower-waving. Combined with the move variations of the Great Wheel Swordplay, it was more than enough, and he rarely used one move at a time.

With his free-spirited nature, he also disliked rigid stances.

However, at this moment, witnessing the Green Bamboo Swordsman wielding his sword to attack, he was greatly enlightened, feeling as if a veil had been lifted. Bamboo Rhyme Swordplay, with "rhyme" in front and "sword" behind, indicated that rhyme was primary, and the moves were secondary. This was like someone with a good voice singing loudly, only to be perceived as noisy; while another person, though their voice might not be clear, even hoarse and dry, could bring tears to people's eyes as soon as they opened their mouth. This was due to emotion, and emotion was rhyme.

Anyone could learn moves without rhyme, but they would be lifeless.

Any martial art, only by comprehending its spirit and touching upon the spiritual level, can it transform the rotten into the miraculous and truly unleash its power.

Chang'an had faced swordsmen faster, more accurate, and with more exquisite moves than the Green Bamboo Swordsman, but he had never felt such pressure. With the iron rod in his hand, he was constantly at a disadvantage, treading on thin ice. Every sword thrust by the Green Bamboo Swordsman, every variation of his moves, carried the essence of bamboo, the charm of bamboo. Sometimes it was like bamboo shoots after rain, unstoppable; sometimes it was like the gentle sway of a bamboo forest, continuous and unending; and sometimes it was like ten thousand bamboos breaking, the ultimate in hardness and ferocity.

Each of his sword strikes carried the essence of bamboo, imbued with a unique charm.

Chang'an couldn't find the slightest flaw.

This was the difference in the level of mastery.

Chang'an began to re-examine the twenty-five moves of the Great Wheel Swordplay. These twenty-five moves contained the four imagery of dragon, elephant, tiger, and horse. Each imagery encompassed nine moves. The nine moves of the elephant and tiger were complete; the dragon had only one move, with eight missing; the horse originally had six moves, and Chang'an had completed three.

The dragon is divine, like a gazelle's horns, elusive.

The tiger is fierce, king of beasts, its might shaking the mountains and wilds.

The elephant possesses immense strength, a divine beast of the land, steady and virtuous.

The horse is gentle and pure, obedient and mild, heroic and noble.

Chang'an had encountered tigers many times and was no stranger to them. The nine moves of the tiger were complete. At this moment, the image of a fierce tiger appeared in his mind. How the fierce tiger unleashed its power, how it leaped, how it pounced, even how it roared and glared, all were vividly present.

Unconsciously, Chang'an entered a wondrous state of comprehending martial arts moves.

But at this moment, he absolutely could not be distracted, especially when facing a renowned master like the Green Bamboo Swordsman.

This was very dangerous, potentially fatal.

The Green Bamboo Swordsman suddenly let out a sharp cry, and a sword strike shot out, its sword energy like scattered bamboo leaves, actually channeling inner energy to unleash sword qi, slashing through the air.

This move was unpredictable and was the Green Bamboo Swordsman's killing blow.

He had spotted the moment Chang'an was slightly distracted and immediately struck, intending to kill Chang'an.

In a battle between masters, victory or defeat often hangs on a single move, allowing for no carelessness.

The Green Bamboo Swordsman knew very well that Ning Family's Chang'an was adept at fighting desperately. If he went mad and fought with disregard for his own safety to injure the enemy, there would be no technique involved.

There would only be blood for blood.

This was something the Green Bamboo Swordsman did not wish to see.

As this move from the Green Bamboo Swordsman was unleashed, under the resonance of qi, Chang'an suddenly felt a chilling killing intent and snapped back to attention, but it was already half a beat too late.

If Chang'an had the Dragon Head Sword in his hand, he could have used the "Elephant Trunk Sucking Water" move, creating sword flowers to block the Green Bamboo Swordsman's killing blow. But this peculiar iron rod was incredibly hard, making it impossible.

The Green Bamboo Swordsman had also anticipated this, his experience being so seasoned it was almost demonic.

Seeing the situation turn dire, Chang'an continuously made feinting jabs with the iron rod in his hand, causing the Green Bamboo Swordsman's bamboo-leaf sword qi to shatter repeatedly. However, three beams of sword qi still struck, leaving three half-inch deep, three-inch long wounds on Chang'an's chest. The flesh split open, and blood flowed out profusely. Chang'an staggered from the pain, his arm holding the iron rod numb and devoid of sensation.

The Green Bamboo Swordsman shouted, "Die!"

Chang'an glared, his eyes deep, gazing at the Green Bamboo Swordsman's incredibly sharp, decisive sword thrust. His body suddenly steadied.

Faintly, an aura began to rise from Chang'an's body, like a fierce tiger descending from the mountain, filled with a domineering aura that looked down upon the world.

Whoosh!

The iron rod in Chang'an's hand vibrated violently, emitting a clear, resonant sound. Chang'an suddenly took a step forward, thrusting his rod out, precisely and skillfully striking the tip of the Green Bamboo Swordsman's sword, a move of profound mystery.

The Green Bamboo Swordsman let out a muffled groan, his body flying backward, his face turning pale.

Chang'an's stab was absolutely overbearing, and he even spotted a flaw in the swordsman's technique.

That stab, using a staff as a sword, had surpassed Chang'an's limits; it was an astonishing breakthrough.

Before the Green Bamboo Swordsman could regain his balance, Chang'an had already leaped high into the air. The iron staff in his hand descended like a fierce tiger pouncing on its prey, striking rapidly.

A chilling, ferocious aura pressed down.

Cold sweat streamed down the Green Bamboo Swordsman's face. His heart was filled with bitterness. He opened his mouth and let out a roar, his sword forced to parry the attack.

Clang!

His sword met Chang'an's staff. The sword suddenly bent.

Crack!

The Green Bamboo Swordsman's sword snapped.

The Green Bamboo Swordsman cried out in disbelief. He couldn't believe his eyes. The treasured sword that had accompanied him through the martial world for over a decade was broken. He felt as if he had lost an arm, his heart and courage chilled to the bone. He retreated rapidly.

By the time he stabilized himself, the iron staff in Chang'an's hand was already pressed against his throat.

The Green Bamboo Swordsman's eyes lost their focus. He murmured, "I've lost!"

Chang'an's face, filled with coldness, suddenly withdrew the iron staff. "You may go!"

The Green Bamboo Swordsman's eyes flickered as he looked at Chang'an, seemingly not understanding his words and unable to believe his ears.

Chang'an, however, had already mounted his horse.

The Green Bamboo Swordsman sighed to the heavens, his heart a whirlwind of emotions. In that instant, he felt as if he had aged a decade. Seeing Chang'an about to leave, he suddenly said, "Little Brother is on the ferry at Qingfeng Ferry Crossing!"

Chang'an's movement halted. He spurred his horse and galloped towards Qingfeng Ferry Crossing.

Tonight's events were not yet concluded!

The Ferryman's small courtyard was not far from the ferry crossing.

Under the night sky, the vast Mohe River could be seen in the distance, its waves rolling. Spring grass sprouted on both banks, emitting a unique fragrance.

A night breeze blew, and Chang'an felt a chill. He had lost too much blood. While the spring breeze was gentle, it could not heal his wounds. While the Mohe River was clear, it could not wash away his grievances.

The night was hazy, and faint human voices could be heard.

Chang'an saw the Ferryman at first glance. He stood alone and desolate at the ferry crossing, his worn gray robe fluttering gently, his already white, disheveled hair trembling.

He had drunk too much and was on the verge of collapsing.

There were many people on the ferry, and it was almost full. Yet, the Ferryman couldn't ferry them across. The people on the boat were all cursing, their faces grim.

Most of these were early-rising peddlers and laborers, who woke before dawn and worked until dark, in a great hurry.

The Ferryman seemed not to hear the curses. He quietly gazed in one direction. Cold sweat continuously streamed down his face. Two pounds of liquor had turned into sweat, erupting from his entire body and soaking a large portion of his clothes. His stomach ached intensely, and his head felt like it was about to explode.