Sword Containing Zen Intent, Black List Expert Driven Back in Shock

The sword light faded.

Xue Qing's iron fan was embedded in a crack in the stone. Fragments of Liu Sanniang's red silk lay scattered across the ground, while Hu Tong's severed hand still twitched faintly on the earth. The fallen golden beads spun in circles across the bluestone, each one glaringly bright beneath the moonlight.

Zhu Yingxiong stood with sword in hand, his monk's robes fluttering gently in the night wind. Moonlight fell upon him, and a drop of blood slowly slid down from the sword tip before falling into the dust.

Xue Qing clutched the sword wound on his chest. Liu Sanniang lay prone, coughing blood. Hu Tong howled miserably as he held his severed wrist. Qian Gui sat collapsed on the ground, staring at his bloody, mangled hand as his whole body trembled.

The four men's different cries of agony mingled together, piercingly harsh atop the silent mountain.

Gu Zhu's sunken eyes widened as he stared fixedly at the young monk standing with his sword.

His Adam's apple bobbed. Blood Peck on his arm seemed to sense its master's unease as well; it slightly tucked in its wings and let out a low, guttural coo.

Tan Yingshou's expression was grim.

He stood there as moonlight shone over his brocade robes and his livid face. His gaze swept over the miserable state of his four subordinates before settling on the figure in pale moon-white monk's robes.

Four men joining forces had been defeated by a single sword strike.

He drew a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. Then he suddenly strode forward, his brocade robes snapping in the wind as his imposing aura surged forth.

That immense and incomparable force of presence pressed toward Zhu Yingxiong once more like a mountain, stronger and fiercer than before.

Yet this time—

Zhu Yingxiong slowly raised his longsword, its tip pointing directly at Tan Yingshou.

Moonlight flowed over the blade like water. The sword tip remained perfectly still, yet Tan Yingshou felt a chilling sword intent pierce through the air toward him, sending a faint coldness into his brow.

His step faltered slightly.

That chill was clear and tangible.

He stared at that sword, then at the eyes behind it—calm, cold, and utterly without fear.

He did not believe it.

He absolutely refused to believe that, after merely half a day, this little monk who had nearly died beneath his palm could contend with him using only a sword.

True energy surged around Tan Yingshou, his brocade robes billowing like sails.

Before his words had even faded, he had already leaped into the air!

That palm, broad as a fan, crashed down from above. Its five fingers spread wide, seeming to swell another third in midair as it descended over Zhu Yingxiong's head, blotting out sky and moon alike.

The palm wind howled, force blasting against his face and pressing Zhu Yingxiong's monk's robes tightly against his body, making them crackle loudly.

This palm strike was heavier, fiercer, and more merciless than the one on the bridge.

But this time, Zhu Yingxiong did not retreat.

He drew his sword.

The move was plain and unadorned, without the slightest flourish—just a simple thrust, aimed straight at the descending palm. The sword was slow. So slow that one could clearly see the path its edge carved through the moonlight.

Yet Tan Yingshou could not evade it.

Sshhk—

With a soft sound, the sword tip actually pierced through the true energy coating his palm!

Tan Yingshou felt a chill in his palm. That dense true energy was torn apart like paper, and the blade had already reached his skin!

He had no choice but to withdraw his palm.

He flipped through the air and landed three zhang away, lowering his head to look at his palm. There was, astonishingly, a faint sword mark upon it.

Tan Yingshou raised his head and looked uncertainly at the sword-wielding youth.

Under the moonlight, Zhu Yingxiong stood with his sword in hand, his monk's robes drifting in the breeze, the sword tip angled toward the ground. His face held neither joy nor sorrow, and his eyes were slightly lowered, yet the aura around him was utterly different from before.

Awe-inspiring, righteous, inviolable.

The moon slanted westward, pouring down its clear radiance. That light crossed the stone steps before Mountain God Temple and shone through its half-open gates, falling directly upon a battered statue of the Mountain God.

The statue glared with wide, furious eyes and held a longsword. Though its clay body and gilding had long since faded and peeled away, it still possessed an awe-inspiring majesty.

Tan Yingshou's gaze passed over the statue before returning to Zhu Yingxiong.

In that instant, he was seized by a strange illusion—the young monk standing beneath the moon with sword in hand seemed to overlap faintly with the wrathful Mountain God statue holding a sword within the temple.

Tan Yingshou shuddered in alarm.

At that moment, Zhu Yingxiong moved.

His longsword thrust out as he took the initiative to attack!

This sword strike was grand and righteous. As its momentum unfolded, it was like the tolling of an ancient temple bell, like towering mountains; every stance followed its proper order, every move contained Zen intent.

It was Dharma Swordplay, melding Zen intent into the sword path, breaking strength with simplicity and defeating the extraordinary with righteousness.

Tan Yingshou's palms flew through the air, true energy churning, yet he was forced back again and again by those successive sword strikes.

His palm force was mighty and his inner strength profound, but he could not break through that upright sword momentum. The longsword moved like a roaming dragon, like a nimble serpent—at times sweeping grandly open, at others light and elusive. Every strike perfectly sealed off his palm techniques, forcing him to retreat.

Under the moonlight before Mountain God Temple, two figures advanced and retreated in a tangled clash. One wore billowing brocade robes, the other flowing monk's robes; one unleashed palm shadows like mountains, the other sword light like a ribbon.

But anyone could see that the sword-wielding youth had gained the upper hand.

The longer Tan Yingshou fought, the more alarmed he became.

He had roamed the martial world for over forty years and fought countless opponents, but he had never encountered such swordsmanship—subtle intricacies concealed within its simplicity, spiritual grace shining through its righteous strength. Though clearly an art of attack and slaughter, it carried a Zen intent that compelled one's heart to submit.

Every sword thrust seemed to question him: with the sins weighing upon you, should you not enter the boundless hells?

Tan Yingshou suddenly let out a long howl.

As both palms shot out, true energy surged like raging tides, forcibly shaking open a sliver in Zhu Yingxiong's unceasing sword momentum. Beneath the moonlight, his brocade robes whirled as he borrowed the force to soar into the air—but he was not lunging forward. He was leaping backward.

He turned and fled.

Without looking back, he swept down the mountain. His brocade robes snapped in the night wind, and in an instant, he vanished into the deep darkness.

This took everyone by surprise.

Gu Zhu's gaunt face twitched, but he reacted quickly. He immediately used his lightness skill to follow, while Blood Peck flapped its wings. Man and eagle swiftly vanished into the darkness beyond the reach of the moonlight.

The four people on the ground no longer had the time to cry out in pain. Xue Qing clutched his chest as he struggled to rise. Liu Sanniang staggered as she gathered the scattered remnants of her red silk. Hu Tong held his severed wrist while someone supported him, and Qian Gui cradled his mangled hand. The four fled down the mountain in miserable disarray, supporting one another as they stumbled along.

Before Mountain God Temple, silence returned.

The moonlight shone quietly upon the scattered wreckage, upon the longsword angled toward the ground, and upon the young monk standing with sword in hand.

Gu Zixian, who had witnessed it all from the side, seemed somewhat dazed.

First, sword light like a ribbon had defeated four vicious foes with one strike. Then, a grand and righteous sword momentum had driven back a Black List expert.

She looked at the figure in moon-white monk's robes beneath the moonlight. Her expression shifted as she wondered what to make of it all.

Suddenly, Zhu Yingxiong exhaled a stream of turbid breath as white as mist.

Once that breath was spent, the tension abruptly left his sword-bearing body. He swayed as though his bones had been pulled out, nearly unable to remain standing.

He planted his sword into the ground to support himself and panted heavily. Moonlight shone on his face, illuminating the sweat beading across his head and cheeks, running down his face. His monk's robes were soaked through, steam rising from them.

"What's wrong with you?" Gu Zixian asked in alarm, hurrying forward and reaching out to support him.

"I'm somewhat exhausted," Zhu Yingxiong said, raising his head and forcing a smile. His voice was so weak that he seemed nothing like the man who had just driven back an enemy with a sword strike. "Luckily... luckily, he was frightened away. If it had gone on a little longer, I wouldn't have been able to hold out. I would have exposed myself."

Zhu Yingxiong raised his head and looked in the direction Tan Yingshou had fled. Moonlight fell across his face, and his handsome features were now filled with exhaustion.

"This isn't a place to linger," Zhu Yingxiong said. He drew a deep breath and used his sword to straighten himself a little. "Let's leave first."

"Alright." Gu Zixian stepped forward and took hold of his arm. It was burning hot, and his sweat-soaked monk's robes clung to his skin, but she did not let go.

Zhu Yingxiong glanced at her, then handed over the longsword. "Your sword. Thank you for lending it to me."

Gu Zixian did not take it.

"I see you handle it well. Keep the sword for now," she said softly.

Zhu Yingxiong was slightly taken aback, then nodded and did not decline further.

The two figures supported one another as they slowly walked into the depths of the moonlight. Behind them, the mess before Mountain God Temple was gradually swallowed by the night.

The night wind continued to blow, scattering the stench of blood and erasing every trace of the battle that had just taken place.

Only the wrathful Mountain God statue, holding its sword behind the half-open temple gates, stood quietly watching the direction in which they departed.