Both Sides Suffer

In the blink of an eye, the six men were locked in a chaotic melee. Sword light flickered, palm winds filled the sky, and the whistling of the Eagle Claw Skill added to a spectacle so dazzling it left one's head spinning.

As expected of the leader of the Five Mountains, Ning Qingyu unleashed the fierce Purple Mist Divine Skill the moment he struck, holding off two opponents while maintaining a clear upper hand.

Yet, Ning Qingyu could not afford to be smug; having the upper hand did not equate to an immediate victory, and the two Mount Hua elders tasked with pinning down the other old monk were now in dire straits.

Judging by the situation on the field, they would likely be defeated in less than two hundred moves. Without two helpers to distract the others, he had no chance of winning a one-versus-three fight.

Ning Qingyu felt a pang of regret. Had he known it would come to this, he never should have harbored wishful thinking when negotiating with the Shaolin Temple. If this battle had taken place before Feng Qingyang left, the situation would have been vastly different.

Alas, while this world might contain all manner of medicines, there was no cure for regret. Scanning the battlefield, Ning Qingyu steeled his heart, leaped into the air, and shouted, "Watch my hidden weapons!"

Several pieces of deformed scrap silver flew from his sleeves, glinting in the sunlight as if they were formidable projectiles, startling the two old monks into a hasty retreat.

In that very instant, Ning Qingyu drifted away, heading straight for the other battlefield.

The two old monks realized they had been tricked, but by the time they reacted, it was already too late.

Without a moment's hesitation, the two seasoned veterans immediately chose to "besiege Wei to rescue Zhao," launching an attack on the other two Mount Hua elders.

Worried for the safety of his two martial brothers, Ning Qingyu's heart wavered, and his sword slowed by a fraction.

That hesitation was seized upon by Ben Yin, who had finally reacted; he unleashed his Eagle Claw Skill with full force, forcibly snapping the sword that had been embedded in his body.

Even without a sword in hand, Ning Qingyu was still one of the world's top experts. Had he continued his attack and followed up with a palm strike, the already severely wounded Ben Yin would surely have perished.

He hesitated for a heartbeat, but in the end, the palm did not fall. As the sect leader of Mount Hua, Ning Qingyu had to consider the bigger picture. If he killed Ben Yin now, he would be completely burning his bridges with the Shaolin Temple.

Verbal threats and bluster were one thing, but the Mount Hua Sect was not yet prepared to fight the Shaolin Temple to the death. Unless absolutely forced, Ning Qingyu would not take that step.

Perhaps due to an unspoken understanding between major powers, or perhaps because both sides held reservations, Ning Qingyu did not deliver a killing blow to Ben Yin, and the other two old monks likewise only wounded the two Mount Hua elders.

The murderous atmosphere seemed to soften slightly, but a winner still had to be decided. Without further words, the three men clashed once more.

The loss of his sword ultimately impacted Ning Qingyu's strength. In a battle between masters, victory is decided by the slightest margin; Ning Qingyu, who had previously held the upper hand against the two, was now being suppressed.

Compared to a moment ago, however, the disadvantaged Ning Qingyu was no longer panicked. The Mount Hua palm techniques, which rarely saw the light of day in the martial arts world, now became masterful in his hands.

Though they lacked the raw power of the Shaolin Great Vajra Palm, they excelled in elegance and agility, proving themselves no weaker than any top-tier technique. It perfectly illustrated the saying: there are no useless martial arts, only useless people.

Realizing Ning Qingyu's true intent, the two old monks furrowed their brows even deeper. This Mount Hua sect leader was not only highly skilled in martial arts but also adept at calculation—a formidable enemy the likes of which they had rarely encountered.

If they continued to exhaust themselves like this, they would likely collapse before a victor was even decided.

The two exchanged a look, their expressions turning grave as if they had reached a momentous decision.

In an instant, a roar erupted, sounding like a thunderclap from the nine heavens. Ben Chen pushed his Great Vajra Palm to its absolute limit, his momentum like a gale-force lightning strike, carrying the image of a dragon soaring through the sky.

Almost simultaneously, Ben Wu's Patra Leaf Finger was also unleashed at full power. The finger techniques filling the sky possessed an inexplicable suction; anyone standing before them felt as if they were facing a massive vortex, with straight movements hidden within the curved, and flexibility in every strike.

"Is this even a finger technique?"

Ning Qingyu asked himself.

Let alone dodging, an ordinary person would find it difficult even to block such an attack.

Ning Qingyu was no ordinary person, but he could not dodge it either; he had no choice but to bite the bullet and meet it head-on.

With the Purple Mist Divine Skill pushed to its limit against the two old monks' full-force assault, a deafening "boom" echoed out, and all three were sent flying like sandbags.

"Sect Leader!"

The two Mount Hua elders, who had been busy circulating their qi to heal, cried out in alarm. Because their qi had been disrupted, a trace of blood leaked from the corners of both their mouths.

Ignoring their own injuries, they rushed forward to help Ning Qingyu up from the ground, simultaneously channeling a sliver of internal energy into him.

The two victorious old monks fared no better; the cold sweat on their foreheads, the blood at their lips, and their trembling bodies all signaled that they had sustained heavy injuries.

Both sides maintained a tacit understanding, ignoring one another as they silently focused on their own healing.

After about the time it takes to burn a stick of incense, a recovered Ning Qingyu spoke slowly: "Rest assured, I am not dead yet."

"The three masters possess profound martial arts... this time, my Mount Hua Sect admits defeat. But what virtue or ability do I, Ning, possess to make the two masters go to such lengths..."

Ben Chen, having slightly stabilized his injuries, had regained his usual composure: "Donor Ning is too modest. Looking across the entire martial arts world, one would be hard-pressed to find anyone who can stand shoulder-to-shoulder with you now."

"As long as Donor Ning can swear that the Mount Hua Sect will never covet the lands of Luoyang or Bashu, today's matter shall end here. What does the donor think?"

Hearing this outcome, Ning Qingyu was not surprised. The martial arts world was a place for the strong; failure required a price.

If not for the fact that the Mount Hua Sect still possessed power that made the Shaolin Temple wary, the three of them would likely be dead by now, victims of a "Demonic Cult attack," without even the right to negotiate.

"Since it has come to this, I am not a man who doesn't know what's good for him. I accept the master's terms. However, I can only guarantee that during my lifetime, the Mount Hua Sect will not covet the lands of Luoyang or Bashu."

"As for the future generations, once I am gone, I doubt a promise made by a failed sect leader like myself will hold much binding power."

Admitting defeat was one thing. But to cut off the path of development for the Mount Hua Sect just to save his own skin—that was something Ning Qingyu could not do.

As for the promise regarding his lifetime, that was purely a matter of necessity. Regardless, after this defeat, the Mount Hua Sect wouldn't be able to recover for ten or eight years anyway.

With his current injuries, whether he would even live for another decade was an unknown. By the time the sect reorganized and regained its strength, he would likely have already "received his lunchbox," so it wouldn't count as breaking his oath.

After a moment of contemplation, Ben Chen nodded: "Very well. I represent the Shaolin Temple in agreeing to this. As long as your Mount Hua Sect does not leave Guanzhong, our Shaolin Temple will no longer pursue the matter of Luoyang."

Watching the three members of the Mount Hua Sect depart, Ben Yin, standing to the side, said with some reluctance: "Senior Brother, isn't this letting them off too easily..."