Chapter Twenty: Losing to Me Means Eternity

Chapter Twenty: To Lose to Me Is to Lose Forever

By the sound of his voice, one could tell the kind of person he was.

The newcomer was a young man in his early twenties, dressed in flowing white robes, his bearing elegant and graceful, his features refined—indeed, compared solely on looks, he surpassed Fang Junmei by a measure. Yet unlike Fang Junmei’s bright, sunlit aura, this youth possessed a certain feminine delicacy, an androgynous softness.

His presence, too, was stronger than Fang Junmei’s, though he had not yet reached the Profound Dust Realm—he was likely at the sixth or seventh level of Qi Drawing.

For someone of his cultivation to challenge Fang Junmei was somewhat bullying, but not excessively so.

The moment he appeared, everyone realized that a dramatic scene was about to unfold. Countless gazes shot toward him.

“Who is this fellow? I don’t recall seeing him before,” someone in the crowd whispered.

“You’ve been in seclusion too long, senior brother. He joined in recent years. His name is Xiao Yunyu, brought back from his travels by the Chief Elder of the Outer Sect, Ning Jiuyi. They say he’s a prodigy in the sword, exceptionally talented, and his cultivation speed is first-rate. In just five years, he’s reached the sixth level of Qi Drawing,” another replied.

Many in the crowd murmured in understanding.

If any Outer Sect elder hoped most to unseat the Venerable Daoist Cuotuo and claim his Immovable Peak, it would be the Chief Elder, Ning Jiuyi. That his disciple would test himself against Fang Junmei was hardly surprising.

Fang Junmei, his senses attentive, knew he could not avoid this battle today. Since there was no escaping it, he faced it without fear, withdrawing a peachwood sword from his storage pouch.

He fixed his gaze on his opponent and smiled. “You and I have never met before. Let us dispense with the brotherly titles, shall we?”

“So, what you mean to say, Fang Junmei, is that we Outer Sect disciples are unworthy to call you Inner Sect disciples ‘brother’?” Xiao Yunyu’s smile was equally pleasant as he unsheathed his sword—not a peachwood blade, but a treasured black-steel sword, its aura clearly surpassing Fang Junmei’s. It was likely a gift from his master or senior brother.

Yet his words were sly; with a single phrase, he placed Fang Junmei in opposition to all the Outer Sect disciples.

As expected, after he spoke, most of the Outer Sect disciples nearby cast Fang Junmei cold, unfriendly looks.

Fang Junmei’s brow twitched. Sensing the other’s cunning, his eyes flashed coldly as he replied, “I cannot speak for the others—but you, I’m afraid, are indeed unworthy.”

“Arrogant!” Xiao Yunyu, for all his craftiness, was still young. At Fang Junmei’s retort, his face flushed with anger. He quickly formed a hand seal and launched the first attack.

A gale howled into being. Xiao Yunyu’s treasured sword rose into the air, twirling a flower of light with its tip, and immediately a black storm poured forth from the blade.

Heaven and earth darkened in an instant, as if night had suddenly fallen.

The black wind surged toward Fang Junmei, the sword blade itself unseen. Yet every onlooker knew the edge must be hidden within the storm, poised to strike Fang Junmei’s face with a humiliating blow.

“The Snow-Obscures-the-Sun Sword Art!” someone cried out in alarm.

This sword art was one of the Chief Elder’s signature techniques, reportedly devised especially for disciples of lower cultivation, its power not to be underestimated.

Seeing Xiao Yunyu display such skill, countless disciples looked on with envy and begrudging admiration. Truly, having a powerful master made all the difference! After all, most of them were still practicing the basic Peach Blossom Sword Art.

Not that any dared voice such thoughts aloud—if their own masters heard, life would not be pleasant.

At the center of the storm, Fang Junmei’s white warrior robe fluttered wildly, his long black hair whipped into a frenzy by the black wind. Within his heart, he could sense the venomous serpent of a sword edge hidden amid the darkness, forever shifting its position.

His eyes narrowed.

This was, in truth, his first true battle on the path of cultivation—one he could not afford to lose.

He exhaled.

His sword quivered in his hand, and in the next instant a storm rose from his blade as well—a muted, dusky yellow, the legendary hue of the underworld.

First Form: The Yellow Springs Stir.

The clash of metal and steel rang out, echoing thunderously!

Winds of different colors collided, sending out a clearly visible ring of force that swept the crowd back several paces.

The earth shattered, rocks exploded into the air.

Grass and trees were splintered and withered, as if death itself had swept through.

Neither of these proud young cultivators cared in the least for the destruction their duel wrought upon the surroundings.

“The Ghost Rain of Yellow Springs Sword Art!” Most disciples could not recognize Fang Junmei’s technique, but a few older cultivators did, their thoughts inevitably turning to a certain figure.

The sound of blows rang out without pause.

Though Xiao Yunyu was somewhat brash, he sensed immediately from the first exchange that Fang Junmei’s sword art was anything but ordinary. His eyes gleamed darkly, seeking an opening.

The black wind raged.

In a short span, who knew how many exchanges had already passed.

Yet Xiao Yunyu’s greater power began to tell; he gradually gained the upper hand, shattering Fang Junmei’s Yellow Springs wind and forcing him back, his steps unsteady.

Fang Junmei, unlike his opponent, did not control his sword from afar, but held it in hand like a mortal swordsman. As the Yellow Springs wind was broken, his figure became clearly visible.

“Now’s my chance!” Xiao Yunyu thought. The elusive blade hidden in the black wind finally struck.

The black blade flashed with a cold gleam, darting like a viper’s tongue toward Fang Junmei’s sword hand. The Peach Blossom Sword Sect had its rules, and with so many watching, Xiao Yunyu could not take Fang Junmei’s life.

The black blade came fast as lightning.

But Fang Junmei seemed to have been waiting for this very moment. A bright, confident smile played at his lips as he moved with lightning speed.

Third Form: The Ghost’s Shadow Follows.

His figure flickered, appearing behind and to the side of the blade, striking at the sword itself from behind—living up to the technique’s name.

A thunderous boom rang out. The crowd saw Xiao Yunyu’s black sword fly from his grasp.

In the next instant, the wind of the Yellow Springs swirled once more, then dissipated like mist.

A chill grazed Xiao Yunyu’s neck—a sword edge lay against his throat, a fine red line already trickling down, so swift it made the heart tremble.

“This round is mine,” Fang Junmei declared with a sunny smile from ten yards away, revealing a row of snow-white teeth.

This third sword was not the strike of a brawler, but a soaring, transcendent blow—the fourth form of the Ghost Rain of Yellow Springs Sword: Even Spirits Know Not.

So fast!

Too fast!

What a sword!

The onlookers stared, dumbfounded, unable to react.

The duel everyone thought Xiao Yunyu would win ended in the blink of an eye. Those who knew him well even felt indignant on his behalf, knowing he had yet to reveal his best moves.

But a loss was a loss. In front of so many, Xiao Yunyu could not afford to go back on his word.

“Don’t be too pleased with yourself. I underestimated you today, but next time, I will defeat you!” he said, face ashen, his eyes cold and full of chagrin. He knew he had stronger techniques, but had failed to use them out of arrogance—otherwise, how could he have lost?

At least, so he told himself.

“Those who have lost to me are fated to fall ever further behind, never to catch up. You will not be the exception,” Fang Junmei replied with a slight smile, recalling his peachwood sword to his hand. He strode forward, his white robe spotless amid the shattered stones and broken branches.

Confident, composed, and unrestrained—almost insufferably so. That was Fang Junmei!