Chapter Ten: So Many Flaws

Chapter Ten: So Many Flaws

This group consisted of about thirty people, led by an elderly man of slender build and sharp features, garbed in blue and white Daoist robes. Five long whiskers fluttered gently on his chin, and his snow-white hair was bound in a golden Daoist crown, cascading loosely down his back. His expression was somber and cold, and the look he cast upon Fang Junmei was unfathomably deep.

The young man who spoke stood slightly behind and to the side of the old man, separated by a distance of four or five zhang. Judging by his position, he was likely of considerable status.

The youth himself cut a fine figure—tall and slender, with fair skin, a face as smooth as polished jade, and eyes bright as stars. Clad in a sky-blue brocade robe, he bore the air of a noble scion. Though he appeared righteous between the brows, his stern face and the way he barked out his words betrayed a hint of eagerness for merit.

When this youth spoke first, some of the other young cultivators encircling Fang Junmei exchanged furtive, disdainful glances.

Fang Junmei had seen his share of bloodshed; as a top martial artist of the mortal world, he sensed at once dozens of murderous intents fixed upon him. He hurriedly protested, “Please, do not misunderstand! I have just arrived. The massacre here at Mount Luo Sword Sect has nothing to do with me—I have come to seek a master.”

“Whether you are involved is not for you to say. Besides, how could a mere mortal reach this place? How dare you try to talk your way out of this!” the blue-robed youth sneered. With those words, he wasted no more breath. Tapping his left toe lightly on the four-foot, gleaming sword beneath him, the sword seemed to come alive, shooting straight toward Fang Junmei. As for the young man himself, a cloud of white mist rose beneath his feet, lifting him as if by magic.

None of the other cultivators intervened; they simply watched with cold eyes.

Their keen vision easily discerned that Fang Junmei, a mere mortal, could not possibly have slaughtered the entire Luo Sword Sect. Yet, as the blue-robed youth had said, it did not mean he had no connection to the matter. They would subdue him first and interrogate him later.

…

A streak of white light slashed through the sky—the four-foot sword hurtled toward Fang Junmei’s legs and abdomen, deliberately avoiding vital points. The blue-robed youth was not so brainless as to kill him outright.

Fang Junmei’s eyes flashed with a fierce gleam. The youth’s first sword thrust had already reached the peak standard of his own master, the Sword-bearing Elder—so fast it nearly eluded the eye. Clearly, the youth was not going all out; there was no need. Shocked, Fang Junmei saw the sword already four or five zhang away and dared not be careless. He immediately activated his Three-Breath Divine Stone and drew his longsword, Yearning, to meet the attack.

Clang!

Sparks burst forth!

With uncanny precision, Fang Junmei deflected the four-foot sword, sending a spray of sparks into the air. Yet he did not escape unscathed—his throat convulsed, and a mouthful of fresh blood spurted out. The opponent’s sword contained a weighty, overwhelming force.

Fang Junmei was astonished.

What he did not realize was that the encircling cultivators all had their pupils contract in surprise—not at the blue-robed youth’s attack, but at Fang Junmei’s astonishingly swift reaction, as if he had foreseen the move and intercepted it.

After all, the blue-robed youth was no ordinary figure. On the contrary, he was known as a rising star within his sect. Even if he had not gone all out, that sword was not one a mortal could conceivably block.

The youth himself felt a flush of humiliation, a cold gleam flickering in his eyes. He swiftly formed an intricate series of arcane hand seals.

As the seals took shape, the four-foot sword became even more spirited, dancing in the air as though enacting a dazzling sword technique. Blossoms of sword light bloomed in the sky, mesmerizing to behold.

In that instant, Fang Junmei felt as if a door to another world had opened before him; he was utterly entranced by this display of immortal swordsmanship.

“How marvelous! So this is the sword art of immortals!” he exclaimed inwardly, his face devoid of fear. Rather, he gazed upon the sword flowers with bright, sharp eyes, as if he had discovered some rare treasure. Everything else faded from his mind.

…

“So he’s a sword-obsessed youth…” Some of the more seasoned cultivators in the crowd immediately noticed Fang Junmei’s peculiar state, and their eyes took on a different light.

Of the sword-riding group, the golden-crowned elder at their head gave a subtle flicker of his gaze.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Sparks flew once more.

“Yet, even though this sword art is formidable, there’s a flaw here… and here… and here as well.” Fang Junmei, driven by excitement, could not help but voice his observations aloud. With a wealth of battle experience, an innate genius for the sword, and the aid of the Three-Breath Divine Stone to slow time, he had, in this brief instant, discerned several flaws in the opponent’s flying sword technique. He thrust his own sword at these weak points.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

After three explosive clashes, Fang Junmei cried out in agony. Another mouthful of blood sprayed from his lips as he was blasted backward, crashing to the ground and lying motionless, his fate uncertain.

The Yearning Sword was shattered to pieces.

…

Had he misjudged?

At this moment, the sword-riding cultivators and many others among the crowd gazed at Fang Junmei in astonishment.

All of them had heard his words.

They naturally recognized the sword art the blue-robed youth had used—it was called the Blossoming Sword Technique. In his sect, it was not the most advanced, but one still required certain sect contributions to learn it, unless taught directly by a master.

Indeed, there were flaws in the Blossoming Sword Technique, but for a mortal with no background in cultivation to see through them so easily—this was no ordinary swordsmanship prodigy. Such insight bordered on the gifts of true Daoist talent.

In other words, the flaws Fang Junmei targeted were precisely correct. His defeat lay not in his skill, but in his mortal body—he was simply overwhelmed by the opponent’s abundant spiritual power.

Fang Junmei had stepped onto a grand stage for the first time, and already he shone brilliantly.

…

This youth is a treasure!

With this realization, many of the older cultivators’ eyes brightened. To acquire a gifted disciple for one’s legacy was among the most important pursuits in a Daoist’s life.

As for the blue-robed youth, he now felt only deeper humiliation. His rare moment in the spotlight had been stolen by the very youth he wished to subdue. Jealousy blazed within him, and, without regard for the opinions of the other cultivators, he resolved to cripple Fang Junmei, reasoning that as long as he could extract a confession, it would suffice.

The sword art changed once more—the four-foot sword flickered and split, manifesting four white beams of light that shot towards Fang Junmei’s limbs, the ferocity of the assault making clear his intent to cripple.

“Stop!”

“You mustn’t!”

…

A chorus of voices—male and female, young and old—rang out in unison.