On the Sword-Questioning Stage, the wind seemed to have died.
The dying sun bled across the shattered stones and broken swords scattered across the ground, stretching Li Mozi's shadow out long and thin behind her.
She still stood at the center of the arena, her ancient longsword angled toward the earth. A single drop of crimson blood gathered slowly at the tip, then fell — landing with a soft, lonely plink in the dead silence.
Li Mozi's eyelids drooped slightly. There was little joy of victory in her expression. If anything, she wore a poorly concealed look of utter tedium.
She had come here hoping the Wenjian Sect might surprise her. Even someone like that disciple called Jiang Lu — someone who could make her take things at least a little seriously — would have been enough.
But now Jiang Lu had fallen, and from the crowd of Wenjian Sect disciples packed below the stage, there was nothing left but furious stares and white-knuckled fists. Not a single one dared to step forward.
"So this is the Wenjian Sect's Outer Gate?"
The towering image she had built in her mind — the Wenjian Sect as the sacred home of sword cultivation — was crumbling piece by piece, replaced by a deep, spreading disappointment.
That disappointment made her sword feel heavy in her hand. It made today's string of matches feel like nothing but a waste of time.
Up on the high platform, Elder Liu Changfeng of the Yunyue Sect let his hand pause mid-fan.
He studied the disciple on the stage — haughty to an almost excessive degree — and his brow furrowed in a way he couldn't quite suppress.
Li Mozi was the most prized student he had taken in years. Her gifts were extraordinary, her Lucid Sword-Heart without peer, and she had chosen the purest and most grueling path: the Ancient Path of Bitter Sword.
She had swept through her entire generation from the very beginning. She had never once known defeat.
In itself, that was a good thing — proof of her talent and her relentless hard work.
But Liu Changfeng had lived long enough, and seen enough geniuses, to know better.
What is too rigid will break. What is too sharp will wound itself.
A sword cultivator needs an edge, yes — that unflinching, forward-driving sharpness. But if that edge grows too keen, keen enough to hold all creation in contempt, keen enough to believe it can cut through anything in the world, then the edge itself is not far from shattering.
Liu Changfeng sighed inwardly.
If they called it here while they were ahead, they could preserve the Yunyue Sect's dignity and still leave the Wenjian Sect a way to save face.
But Li Mozi insisted on standing there, planted like a gravestone pressing down on the chests of every Wenjian Sect disciple. That was going too far.
A tall tree catches the wind. The seeds planted today might well bear bitter fruit down the road.
With that thought, he turned his head instinctively toward Ren Wencai, seated not far away.
Ren Wencai's face was unreadable.
He sat back in his great chair, both hands tucked into his sleeves, betraying neither pleasure nor anger.
But those eyes of his — a little cloudy with age in ordinary times — had narrowed now to thin slits, and through those slits gleamed a bone-chilling cold light.
Sparring matches have winners and losers — that is the way of things. Getting hurt and drawing blood is part and parcel of the territory.
If you're outmatched, you lose and you go home and train harder. That was the Wenjian Sect's code, and it had always been Ren Wencai's teaching.
But codes are fixed. People are not.
The great sects of the cultivation world jousted constantly, in the open and in the shadows, but on the surface there was always meant to be a certain standard of propriety — what they called "equivalence."
In general terms, if you came seeking an exchange of pointers, it had to be Inner Gate against Inner Gate, Outer Gate against Outer Gate, true-transmission disciples against true-transmission disciples.
This was both for fairness, and to keep goodwill between the two houses intact.
But the way the Yunyue Sect had handled things this time was, frankly, without a shred of propriety.
The Wenjian Sect was currently in an acutely awkward period — the gap between generations had left them stretched thin. The Outer Gate's top tier was bare, the Inner Gate's finest had either entered seclusion to break through to the Third Realm or were out wandering in search of opportunity; the ones who remained were mostly disciples who had just recently entered the Second Realm, their foundations still shallow.
And as for the Outer Gate — it was a stagnant pond. Other than Gu Chengming, who had only just begun to make a name for himself, there was virtually no one else who could hold the line.
The Yunyue Sect had clearly done their homework in advance and calculated this exact window.
They hadn't dared bring Inner Gate disciples — that would have been a genuine head-on collision, and if they lost, the Yunyue Sect couldn't afford the embarrassment.
So they played an oblique hand: they brought a freak of nature standing at the absolute peak of the First Realm's Eighth Layer, with combat power comparable to the Ninth Layer at full completion or even a half-step into the Second Realm, and sent her to stomp all over the Outer Gate.
This wasn't an exchange of pointers. This was a boot planted squarely on someone's face.
Send your best horse to trample their worst horses. Win, and you trumpet the Yunyue Sect's superior teaching methods to the heavens. Lose — well, with Li Mozi's ability, losing against the Outer Gate was almost impossible.
"A clever scheme indeed."
Ren Wencai let out a cold laugh in his heart, his gaze cutting through the crowd to fix on that old bastard still casually waving his fan.
Since you've thrown the rules of decency out the window, don't blame this old man for throwing them out right along with you.
As an Elder, he naturally couldn't step into the arena and bully a young girl — he still had a face to keep, after all.
But...
Can't touch the student? Fine. But can't I take it out on you, the master?
Ren Wencai's fingers turned slowly against each other inside his sleeve. He had already drafted no fewer than a dozen plans in his mind for ambushing Liu Changfeng on his way home and giving him a thorough back-alley "sparring session."
As long as he didn't actually kill him, the Yunyue Sect would have no choice but to swallow the grievance in silence.
As though he could sense that faint, drifting malice, Liu Changfeng not far away gave a sudden, violent shudder.
He glanced around in uneasy bewilderment, and his gaze eventually landed on Ren Wencai.
Seeing the man sitting there with the serene composure of a sage, Liu Changfeng felt the unease in his chest grow heavier still.
"That crafty old fox. God knows what kind of dirty trick he's cooking up."
Liu Changfeng silently raised his guard, and the fan in his hand began to move a little faster.
Ren Wencai drew his gaze back and turned it once again toward the arena.
He had already passed a mental death sentence on Liu Changfeng, but the crisis on stage still needed to be resolved one way or another.
Li Mozi standing on that stage was like a thorn — driven straight into the face of the Wenjian Sect.
If they couldn't pull that thorn out — or at least push it back down — the spirit of the Outer Gate disciples would be half broken before the day was over.
But who could go up? Who was left?
Ren Wencai's gaze swept across the crowd below — disciples burning with righteous indignation, and yet not a single one moving — and he felt a quiet desolation seep through him.
He couldn't blame them entirely.
Li Mozi's strength was right there for everyone to see.
First Realm, Eighth Layer. Bitter Sword cultivation. The embryonic form of sword intent.
Stack those three labels together, and below the Second Realm it was virtually another way of saying "unbeatable."
If an Inner Gate disciple at the Second Realm stepped in — even just Second Realm, First Layer — the advantage in cultivation level and total spiritual energy alone would be enough to beat Li Mozi without too much trouble.
But that would seal the label of "bullying the young" firmly in place, and only confirm for everyone that the Wenjian Sect's Outer Gate had truly run out of people.
As for the Outer Gate itself...
Inevitably, a certain figure rose in Ren Wencai's mind — azure robes, perpetually mild expression.
Gu Chengming.
If there was anyone in the Outer Gate right now who could stand against Li Mozi, it was probably only him.
Top marks for Dao-heart. Top marks in swordsmanship. He had even left a mark on the Sword-Questioning Stone.
That kind of talent, given time to grow, would absolutely rival Li Mozi.
But time was exactly what they didn't have.
Gu Chengming was only at the First Realm, Sixth Layer.
Sixth Layer against Eighth Layer. The gap in spiritual energy. The gap in physical body refinement. The gap in actual combat experience. None of these were things raw talent alone could paper over.
Ren Wencai sighed inwardly.
Sending Gu Chengming up now was no different from throwing a lamb into a tiger's jaws.
Defeat would be certain.
And worse — if Li Mozi didn't know when to hold back and ended up injuring Gu Chengming's foundation, or shattering his Dao-heart, that would be a true, lasting loss for the Wenjian Sect.
"Forget it."
Ren Wencai closed his eyes and forced down the suffocating frustration rising in his chest.
"If we lose, we lose. Shame breeds courage — let's hope today's humiliation is enough to knock some sense into these useless little punks."
He had already made up his mind: the moment this farce was over, he would declare the gates closed to visitors, then intercept that old rat Liu Changfeng on the road home and have a thorough little "sparring session" to work off this foul mood.
While the various Elders sat each with their own tangled thoughts, Li Mozi on the stage had grown visibly impatient with the waiting.
She swept her gaze across the crowd, passing over each Wenjian Sect disciple in turn.
"What? Is that everyone?"
Her cold, clear voice echoed above the Sword-Questioning Stage.
"I had thought that the Wenjian Sect, as the foremost sect of sword cultivation, could at least produce one or two decent opponents."
"It seems I overestimated you."
"Or perhaps — 'Wenjian' is nothing but an empty shell these days."
Those words detonated the crowd like a lit fuse.
"Hold your tongue!"
"How dare you insult our sect!"
Countless disciples flushed crimson and shouted back in outrage.
But Li Mozi only glanced at them with calm detachment.
"A sword cultivator's dignity is won back with the sword in their hand — not shouted back with their mouth."
"If you have any real backbone, come up here and make me shut up with your blades. If you don't…"
She paused. "Then sit down and stuff it."
The disciples who had been roaring in righteous fury fell abruptly silent.
Some bowed their heads. Some gripped their sword hilts so hard their knuckles bleached white. Some had eyes red with helpless rage, but they could do nothing.
The vast Sword-Questioning Stage — thousands of disciples — and yet a single girl with a single sword had pressed them all down until not one of them could lift their head.
Li Mozi looked at the scene, and the disappointment in her eyes deepened further.
She shook her head. It seemed she had lost what little remaining interest she'd had in continuing.
She turned, and began to sheathe her sword to leave.
As far as she was concerned, this so-called exchange of pointers had no further reason to go on.
But the moment she turned—
A set of footsteps drifted in from somewhere at the back of the crowd.
They were unhurried — one might even call them slow — but in the dead silence that had settled over the plaza, they rang out with startling clarity.
Step. Step. Step.
The crowd parted instinctively to either side, opening a passage between them.
The last rays of the setting sun spilled down along that passage, and at its far end, a figure was walking forward.
He was not wearing the standard Daoist robes that marked an Outer Gate disciple. Instead he wore a plain azure shirt, sleeves rolled up, carrying a sword in his hand — an iron sword that looked somewhat rusted, without even a scabbard to its name.
Ren Wencai shot to his feet.
"What is that kid doing here?!"
Ren Wencai slapped his thigh in agitation. The boy always seemed so steady and composed — how could he lose his head at the worst possible moment?
If something happened to him up there…
Gu Chengming said nothing.
He simply gave a light leap and landed clean and steady on the arena floor.
Simple. Decisive. Not a drop of wasted motion.
"Wenjian Sect. Huiyuan Gate. Gu Chengming."
His voice wasn't particularly loud.
"I humbly request your instruction."
First Realm, Sixth Layer.
That cultivation level was passable enough among Outer Gate disciples under ordinary circumstances. But here, now — after they had just watched multiple disciples at the First Realm, Ninth Layer fall in defeat, after Jiang Lu had been sent flying off the stage with a caved-in sternum, lying somewhere between life and death — that cultivation level felt thin. Dangerously, recklessly thin.
Below the stage, a disciple couldn't hold back and called out in a low, urgent voice:
"Don't be rash! Look what happened to Senior Brother Jiang — you're only at the First Realm, Sixth Layer, going up there is the same as throwing your life away!"
Others, looking at Gu Chengming's slight figure in that plain azure shirt, were already averting their eyes — as though they had already foreseen the image of him swept away by sword-qi, blood spattering across the stage.
In their minds, Gu Chengming stepping up now was no different from an egg hurling itself against a stone wall.
But the crowd was not unanimously filled with doubt and dread.
Some wore complicated expressions as they watched that not-quite-tall silhouette on the stage.
Gu Chengming's reputation within the sect had always been decidedly mixed. Especially that old business of pursuing the Daoning Gate's "Dao Seed" — that story had made him a punchline in more than a few people's mouths.
Lacking ambition. Indulging in impossible fantasies. Those were the labels many people had stuck to his name.
And yet now, when the Yunyue Sect's sword cultivator had pressed every single one of them down until they couldn't breathe, when no one else dared even exhale — it was this "punchline" that everyone had looked down on who gripped a rusted iron sword and walked out, step by step.
Whatever his actual strength might turn out to be, the sheer courage of standing up for the sect in its moment of humiliation was enough — enough to make people put away their contempt and feel a flicker of genuine respect.
"Maybe… Senior Brother Gu really does have something up his sleeve?"
Someone muttered quietly, though even they didn't quite believe it themselves.
Gu Chengming paid the noise below no mind.
He stood at the center of the arena, his gaze settled on Li Mozi across from him.
Li Mozi's brow furrowed slightly.
She looked at the opponent in front of her — First Realm, Sixth Layer — and the disappointment in her eyes was practically overflowing.
A Seventh Layer challenger would at least have been something. Now even a Sixth Layer was coming up to join the circus?
Had the Wenjian Sect really run completely dry?
"You are not my opponent."
Li Mozi spoke, the longsword in her hand not even rising — she didn't seem to feel the urge to draw it yet.
"Go back down."
Gu Chengming heard her words, and was not angered. He simply gave his iron sword a light twirl; it let out a low, resonant hum.
"Got to try." He said calmly.
Li Mozi saw that he was utterly impervious to persuasion, and the last shred of patience left in her snapped.
She shook her head and said nothing more.
Since he was so determined to be beaten, she would accommodate him.
"Then forgive my impertinence."
The instant the words left her mouth, Li Mozi's figure had already vanished from where she stood.
The same lightning-fast thrust as before, driving straight for his center.
She hadn't even used her full strength — she had capped her cultivation at the Sixth Layer's level.
In her assessment, facing an opponent of this caliber, a single strike at equal footing was more than sufficient.
And yet—
Clang!
A crisp ring of iron-on-iron pealed across the entire arena.
The scene everyone had expected — Gu Chengming blasted off his feet by a single blow — did not materialize.
That seemingly rust-eaten iron sword had appeared, as if by impossible instinct, precisely in the path of Li Mozi's strike. Its blade tilted at an impossibly tricky angle, and with that angle, it calmly deflected the seemingly unstoppable thrust aside.
A flash of surprise crossed Li Mozi's eyes.
A fluke?
She flicked her wrist and sent her sword momentum through three rapid changes, thrusting three times in an instant — covering Gu Chengming's high, middle, and low lines all at once.
Gu Chengming's footwork didn't waver. His body swayed lightly as a willow in the wind, and the iron sword in his hand moved as though it had a life of its own, tracing several smooth, rounded arcs through the air.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Three more crisp strikes.
All three of Li Mozi's thrusts had been blocked — and blocked so completely that not even the hem of his clothes had been touched.
The disciples below the stage were completely dumbfounded.
"He — he blocked it?!"
"Senior Brother Gu actually blocked it?!"
"Not just blocked — Senior Brother Gu doesn't even look like he's losing ground!"
Up on the stage, Li Mozi's expression had finally changed.
If the first deflection had been a fluke, then these next few exchanges were proof enough of the terrifying level to which this man's foundational swordsmanship had been refined.
That clinging, winding quality to his sword force — it made her feel as though her sword was jabbing into a tangle of knotted rope. The harder she pushed, the tighter the bind.
"Excellent swordsmanship!"
The eyes of the sword-obsessed lit up with wild intensity, and that particular fervor — the fever of a sword fanatic — ignited in Li Mozi once again.
She held back no longer. Her longsword dissolved into a storm of overlapping blades, pouring down on Gu Chengming like wind and rain at full fury.
"Now we're talking!"
Gu Chengming let out a low shout and pressed forward rather than back.
Thanks to the Huiyuan Sword Art, his understanding of foundational sword techniques had long since reached a level of consummate mastery. And from the growing affinity with Flowing Cloud, Moon-Following over these past months, his own swordsmanship had quietly taken on an unpredictable, mercurial quality — a flavour all its own.
For a moment the arena was alive with crossing sword-qi, two figures blurring so fast the eye could barely follow.
"Yes!"
In the heat of the exchange, Li Mozi couldn't help but let out a fierce, exhilarated shout.
The more she fought, the more her astonishment grew — and the more her delight grew with it.
She had thought him ignorant of his own limitations; she had not expected him to be hiding his true depth. This level of swordsmanship was in no way inferior to her own.
Li Mozi gave her longsword a sharp shake, and her sword momentum surged higher.
Gu Chengming's brow creased.
He could feel it clearly — Li Mozi was fighting with her full spirit, and yet she was still keeping her cultivation capped at the First Realm, Sixth Layer.
Even so, the honed, concentrated spiritual energy of a Bitter Sword cultivator and her ferocious combat instincts were already generating a degree of pressure he could feel.
Every collision between his iron sword and her ancient blade sent a numbing shock up through his palms.
"She's suppressing her realm."
Gu Chengming's mind was clear as a mirror. He ran the calculations rapidly.
If Li Mozi maintained this state, he would take the win comfortably.
But if she got serious and stopped holding back — if she released back to her full First Realm, Eighth Layer peak…
"Odds of victory… ninety percent."
Gu Chengming's heart gave a sudden, sharp lurch.
Only ninety percent?
That meant a ten percent chance of losing?
As a dedicated Galgame player who pursued nothing less than perfection, he absolutely could not permit that kind of uncontrollable risk.
Either don't fight. Or fight, and make it a hundred-percent steamroll.
"Hundred Bones, lend me your strength."
Gu Chengming intoned silently.
The Hundred Bones Resonance responded with instant, eager enthusiasm.
[Correct! Against a presumptuous insect like this, why hold back even a fraction? Gu Celestial Sovereign, watch as I aid you — we'll flatten all beneath the heavens!]
Activating the Primordial Imperial Merit — Stage Two!
Gu Chengming didn't hesitate for even a breath.
The "Sovereign" state — descend!
Zheeeng——!
The iron sword in Gu Chengming's hand suddenly screamed — a piercing, keening sword-cry — and now it was his turn to swing with everything he had.
Li Mozi was just about to launch another thrust when her vision flashed.
Before she could react, Gu Chengming had already moved.
His iron sword swept out in a horizontal arc — no elaborate technique, nothing clever, just the simplest and most direct of horizontal sweeps.
Clang!
Li Mozi raised her sword to block, and in that instant felt a surging, irresistible force slam into her — as though she had been rammed by a charging bull. Her feet carved two deep furrows into the ground as she skidded backward several zhang before barely managing to halt herself.
But Gu Chengming gave her no time to think. One strike landed, and he immediately pressed in again — the iron sword descending like a hammering rain, each blow crashing in with overwhelming force, every strike aimed straight at a vital point.
Hack! Cut! Slash! Smash!
Li Mozi had never encountered such an unreasonable style of fighting. Under Gu Chengming's relentless, tempest-like assault, she found herself doing nothing but defending, falling back step after step.
The disciples below the stage went completely blank.
One moment it had been a back-and-forth exchange — how had it become a one-sided beating in the blink of an eye?
"This… this is Senior Brother Gu?"
"Senior Brother Gu, mighty and invincible!"
After a brief stunned silence, the crowd beneath the Sword-Questioning Stage erupted into a thunderous roar.
The stifled humiliation they had been choking down for so long finally found its release.
On the stage, Li Mozi had been driven to the very edge of the arena.
There was nowhere left to retreat.
To be pushed this far by someone two entire sub-realms below her — this was a humiliation beyond measure.
Li Mozi stopped suppressing her realm. The aura of the First Realm, Eighth Layer erupted from her like a breaking tide.
Spiritual energy flooded her blade. She was going to claw back control of this fight by brute force of cultivation advantage.
And yet—
"This pittance of a cultivation, and you dare show it off in front of this lord?"
Gu Chengming let out a cold laugh. The iron sword in his hand not only didn't slow — it swung with even more savage abandon.
Under the exquisitely refined control of the Huiyuan Sword Art, even with her cultivation fully restored, Li Mozi's every move and every technique was still being precisely anticipated, dismantled, and suppressed by Gu Chengming.
The more Li Mozi fought, the more her heart seized with dread. The more she fought, the deeper her despair sank.
Why? Why was unleashing her full cultivation still not enough to beat him?
Why couldn't she claw back even a shred of ground?
"I refuse to believe this!"
The suffocation had reached its absolute limit inside her.
If conventional methods wouldn't work, then she would use that technique!
She drew in a deep breath. The longsword in her hand suddenly became shifting and elusive; wisps of cloud and mist seemed to gather around its blade, and a clear, solitary, desolate air began to seep outward into the surroundings.
— Flowing Cloud, Moon-Following!
With this sword, the air around the stage seemed to thicken. The sword-light scattered like moonbeams, permeating every gap, with lethal intent coiled secretly within.
On the stage, Gu Chengming's brow lifted.
"Oh? So you're finally showing your real skill?"
Up on the high platform, Liu Changfeng — who had been watching every shift of the battle — went pale.
"Disaster!"
He shot to his feet, his folding fan nearly snapping in his grip.
That disciple was two full sub-realms below Mozi, and he had pushed her until she used the Flowing Cloud, Moon-Following Sword Art!
That sword art was overwhelmingly lethal — once unleashed, even Mozi herself could not fully control it. If she couldn't pull her hand back in time, that Gu boy would die. Certainly.
If a life was lost, the entire nature of this event would transform!
He had just opened his mouth to shout a halt, and was even preparing to personally intervene to save the young man—
When the next instant, his movement froze solid.
Because on the stage, facing the deadly moonlight scattering down from all directions, Gu Chengming had not dodged.
Instead, he raised his sword.
The same opening stance. The same gathering cloud and mist.
But the difference was this: Li Mozi's clouds were clear and cold. Gu Chengming's clouds were grey — laced through with a shadow of brooding darkness, of bitter, smoldering resentment.
"Flowing Cloud, Moon-Following?"
Gu Chengming's voice rose through the ring of clashing blades — carrying a note of mockery, as though he were laughing at a poor, clumsy imitation.
"You dare wield an axe in the face of a master carpenter."
BOOM!
Two near-identical sword intents collided head-on in mid-air.
Li Mozi's mind went completely blank.
She stared at the familiar sword technique, the familiar air and resonance across from her, and her mind simply emptied.
Why did he also know the Flowing Cloud, Moon-Following Sword Art?!
The shock made her sword technique stutter for a fraction of a second.
Between masters, that fraction of a second was lethal.
"Weak forehand, powerless backhand, feet all over the place — not a single one worth looking at!"
Gu Chengming's voice crashed in her ears like a thunderclap.
"You — call yourself a sword cultivator?!"
The words were still falling when his sword had already pierced through her guard.
— Flowing Light, Sword Shadows!
Gu Chengming's wrist snapped. The sword dissolved into countless streams of blood-red light and instantly swallowed Li Mozi's silhouette whole.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
A rapid series of dull, muted impacts. The sound of the flat of a sword striking flesh — deep and tooth-aching.
Li Mozi felt as though her entire body had been struck by countless heavy hammers at once. The spiritual energy protecting her body shattered in an instant.
"Aah—!"
Her whole body was sent flying off her feet and crashed heavily to the ground.
Blood spilled from the corner of her mouth. Her hair splayed out in disarray. The ancient sword flew from her hand and clattered down somewhere far away.
Everyone's mouths fell open. For a moment, everyone forgot to breathe.
Gu Chengming paid no attention to the stares around him.
He walked slowly up to Li Mozi and looked down at her from above.
He leveled his sword-tip at her. "Pick up your sword. Continue."
Li Mozi lay face-down on the ground, her entire body screaming with pain, her eyes full of humiliation and furious refusal.
"I…"
She bit down hard, struggling to push herself up. Her fingers clawed into the cracks between the shattered flagstones, leaving them bloody.
"Continue!"
Gu Chengming's voice rang out sharp and hard. "Weren't you so arrogant just now? Weren't you calling on all of us to come at once? Where's that pride? Where's that backbone?"
Li Mozi went scarlet to the roots of her ears under the verbal lashing, and that streak of stubborn refusal-to-lose surged back up within her.
"I haven't lost!"
She let out a raw cry, lunged toward her ancient sword lying nearby, grabbed it, and staggered back toward Gu Chengming in a lurching charge.
But by this point her mind was in total chaos, and her sword techniques had crumbled into scattered disorder.
Bang!
Gu Chengming raised his sword with casual ease and sent her flying again.
"Pathetic."
Bang!
A kick driven into her abdomen.
Bang!
"And this is what passes for a genius?"
Over and over.
Li Mozi was like a ragdoll, sent flying by Gu Chengming again and again, and crawling back to her feet again and again.
Until finally, she no longer had the strength to stand. She could only lie there on the ground and look up with hopeless, broken eyes at that unconquerable figure.
Up on the high platform, Liu Changfeng could no longer remain seated.
"Enough!"
He roared, leaping to his feet and charging toward the stage — "We—"
"Ah, Elder Liu."
A figure stepped squarely into his path.
Ren Wencai looked at him with a warm, affable smile, one hand extended to block his way.
"Your disciple hasn't surrendered yet, and you're already rushing to concede — isn't that a little unbecoming of the sword cultivator's spirit, Elder Liu?"
Liu Changfeng was shaking with rage, his beard trembling. "Ren Wencai! Can't you see that Mozi has already—"
"I can see perfectly well."
The smile on Ren Wencai's face didn't waver, but his eyes went cold.
"When my Wenjian Sect disciples were being beaten within an inch of their lives just now, Elder Liu — weren't you watching with such evident enjoyment? How is it that now it's your own student's turn, you suddenly find yourself so tender-hearted?"
Liu Changfeng was struck speechless. He could only stare helplessly at the stage.
On the stage, Li Mozi's consciousness was beginning to blur.
She lay on the ground, her vision smeared red with blood.
But the instinct of a sword cultivator made her hand reach out by reflex, still grasping for the sword.
This time, Gu Chengming would not permit it.
A foot came down — heavy and deliberate — onto her hand.
Crack. Crack.
The sound of bones in her hand shattering.
In the silence of the plaza, it was obscenely loud.
Li Mozi's whole body convulsed. A choked, suppressed groan escaped her. The sword in her hand lost all grip and slid away beside her.
Gu Chengming looked down at this girl who had stood so tall and untouchable — this genius — and the cold edge in his eyes gradually faded, leaving only a flat, empty indifference.
"Boring."
"This lord has lost all interest in your sword."
With that, he didn't spare Li Mozi another glance. He lifted his foot, aimed it at her chest, and without a shred of mercy, drove it forward.
"Get out of here. Trash."
Bang!
Li Mozi's body flew like a kite with a snapped string, tracing an arc through the air, and crashed down from the stage onto the ground below.
Sternum caved. Hand bones shattered. She lay there unconscious.
The injuries mirrored Jiang Lu's — and yet were far worse.
The setting sun sank fully behind the mountain peaks. Night fell.
The entire arena was utterly, absolutely still.
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