"Master, you must not, you must not!" Ye Bei anxiously shouted, his heart becoming a tangled mess.
He knew that this matter should not be spoken of.
Because his master was not only hot-tempered, but also famously fearless and reckless!
Of course, it was also because of his recklessness that, despite not being exceptionally talented, he had achieved greatly.
If it were in the past, he would have certainly gone along with Han Tianque's temperament, but this time was completely different.
Ye Bei had even guessed that the young man at the Martial Arts Hall and that black-robed man were existences surpassing the Martial Emperor.
With such great power, how could his master, a petty Martial Ancestor, not be seeking death?
"Master!"
Seeing that Han Tianque was not heeding his advice, Ye Bei's face paled as he pressed a blade of cyan energy against his own neck.
"My disciple, you..."
Seeing this, Han Tianque's sword halted in midair.
"Master, please hear your disciple's advice. We are really no match for them, not even close to the same level!" Ye Bei said gravely: "What's more, this matter was not their fault, but I who caused trouble first. Can't you just give me the Congenital Spiritual Treasure and leave the rest for me to resolve?"
"You..."
Han Tianque waved his sleeve with a heavy sigh, then sealed off Ye Bei's cultivation.
"Master, you..."
Ye Bei's expression changed.
Han Tianque waved his hand to interrupt, then said in a deep voice, "Although I've sealed your cultivation, today I will heed your advice."
"However, you know my way of the sword. When I reach Martial Venerable, come down the mountain with me!"
Having said this, Han Tianque took up his sword and left.
Seeing this, Ye Bei sighed as he shook his head.
His master had the nickname "Mad Sword", willing to go to his death for the sake of the way of the sword in his heart. That he was able to take a step back today was not easy.
But now, with his cultivation sealed, he was in the southernmost reaches of Nansha, tens of thousands of miles from the Martial Arts Hall. There was no way for him to get there.
He could only hope that Han Tianque would not make a breakthrough to Martial Venerable so soon!
...
"Sword light horizontal snow jade dragon cold!"
"Refreshing and clear at night!"
"The poem's nothing special, but what fine calligraphy!"
In the Martial Arts Hall, Yi Feng dipped his brush as he looked at his calligraphy and could not help but exclaim.
"Counting the days, it should be around New Year's of my past life now!" Looking at the cold outside the window, Yi Feng sighed emotionally.
"Then I shall write another couplet for New Year's!"
Yi Feng took out two more sheets of red paper and wrote down a couplet, nodding satisfactorily when he finished. He called out loudly, "My disciple, now that you're better, stop moping about. Hurry and paste this couplet at the entrance."
"Yes, Master."
Little Zhong Qing put on a large cotton-padded jacket, blew out a breath of stale air, and took Yi Feng's couplet outside.
After pasting the couplet, he returned to Yi Feng's side.
"My disciple, now that your injury has healed, practice martial arts diligently!" Seeing Zhong Qing, Yi Feng smiled and said, "Also, I've given you that blade so long ago, but it seems I haven't taught you any blade techniques yet?"
"That's right, Master."
Zhong Qing tightened his grip on the long blade, nodding obediently.
"For my blade techniques to be comparable with the divine, I summarized only three forms. Today I will teach you these three forms," Yi Feng said softly, putting down his brush.
"May I ask which three forms, Master?" Zhong Qing asked curiously.
"Chop, hack, slash!"
Yi Feng chuckled, "Remember, all variations derive from these three forms. As long as you practice them well, the blade will flow freely in your hands."
As he spoke, Yi Feng took the long blade and demonstrated the three forms for Zhong Qing.
With a swish he returned the blade to Zhong Qing.
"From now on, just practice these three forms!"
"Oh, alright!"
Zhong Qing scratched his head. Although he didn't know why Yi Feng wanted him to practice these seemingly unremarkable forms, he would unconditionally obey Yi Feng's words.
Autumn gradually passed.
Winter had arrived.
Outside, goose feather snow drifted down.
Days passed as usual.
Wu Yonghong and the other two were still reclaiming wasteland. After all this time they had only cleared half, understandable given the weather.
With their slowed progress, Lu Dashou's manure hauling became easier, usually finishing by mid morning.
What was puzzling was that, although he could rest in the afternoon, he would always linger by the manure pit until dark, muttering under his breath, unresponsive when shouted at.
Zhong Qing swung the huge blade, practicing the three forms - chop, hack, slash - day after day.
However, that wretched noggin still seemed troublesome, wandering off every day, and the gold coins Yi Feng had hidden under his bed seemed to disappear from time to time.
Of course, Yi Feng, absorbed in calligraphy all day, had no time to worry about such things.
After finishing another couplet, the familiar voice finally rang in his mind.
"Ding: Congratulations Host, your Calligraphy has reached the realm of Comparable with the Divine!"
"Finally accomplished."
Yi Feng nodded satisfactorily, looking at the freshly written couplet. Yi Feng called out again, "My disciple, take down the couplets at the entrance and replace them with this new one."
"Yes, Master."
Zhong Qing put away the long blade, took down the old couplets, and pasted up the new ones.
"Master's calligraphy is so beautiful."
Zhong Qing clapped his little hands, stomping on the snow underfoot as he prepared to head back inside.
"Boom!"
Suddenly, a shadow crashed down from an unknown direction, landing right by Zhong Qing's feet.
Blood spurted from his mouth as he gasped for breath, his whole body on the verge of collapse.
Zhong Qing was stunned.
Before he could ask questions, a man wielding a giant sword approached from not far away, slowly advancing on the injured man.
"Hei Jian, across thousands of miles you still chase me. What is the point?"
The injured man's face was unwilling as he shouted.
"I want to prove that I am the best swordsman in Nansha!" Hei Jian said coldly.
"You've already proven it. Why must you exterminate me completely?" The injured man yelled.
"Because under my sword, I never leave survivors. So you must die!" Hei Jian said coldly, stepping through the snow and finally closing in, drawing his giant sword to slash down.
"Stop!"
Suddenly, Zhong Qing's round face reddened as he stood before the injured man and shouted, "No fighting at the gate of our Martial Arts Hall!"
Hei Jian glanced at Zhong Qing briefly before ignoring him, raising the giant sword with a roar.
"Run quickly!"
The injured man urgently shouted at Zhong Qing.
But Hei Jian's giant sword was already poised above Zhong Qing's head.
This strike carried endless pressure, crushing down directly.
Seeing this, the injured man's face turned ashen. Because where this strike passed, nothing would remain.
How regrettable.
He would implicate a child before his death.
He closed his eyes.
"Clang!"
But at that moment, a melodious sound rang in his ears. He suddenly opened his eyes wide, shocked to find the boy beside him blocking the sword with his own blade.
"Zheng!"
With a humming vibration, the giant sword plunged into the ground, sinking half a foot deep.
"I told you not to fight at my Martial Arts Hall's gate, why didn't you listen?"
The boy's round face flushed as he unhappily shouted.