Chapter 16: Feng Qingyang

Ranyi returned to the cave, closed his eyes, and entered a state of deep meditation. Sitting upon a large boulder within, his entire consciousness submerged into the vast sea of his own mind.

From the Taishan Sect’s "Seven Stars Falling on the Long Sky," "Eighteen Bends of Taishan," and "Five Elders Sword," to the seventeen styles of the Songshan sword techniques, and finally those of the Hengshan, Huashan, and Hengshan sects—six hundred and thirty-seven distinct sword forms were evolved one by one, then meticulously dismantled.

For an ordinary person, even if one understood the principles of a single sword move, cracking it would require considerable study and effort. Yet for Ranyi, these techniques were transparent; a single glance revealed every seam and flaw. However, his intent was not merely to deconstruct, but to assimilate. Every martial art is the crystallization of the wisdom of predecessors, and these six hundred and thirty-seven forms represented the collective life’s work of countless masters. To extract their essence was an indescribably arduous task.

Blessed with extraordinary talent, Ranyi practiced these forms until, without him realizing, they underwent a sea change. The techniques of the five sects, practiced through his mind, could now advance or retreat, shift east or west, with body and blade acting as one. Each move transitioned into the next as naturally as flowing water and drifting clouds, without the slightest hesitation or obstruction.

As he evolved these forms, he continuously refined his own "Thirteen Styles of Heaven-Shocking." His fast sword underwent a transformation as well. While the thirteen styles remained the fastest in the martial world, they now possessed, beyond mere speed, a myriad of variations. Since his sword technique had already reached the pinnacle of velocity, Ranyi naturally began to seek change. Suddenly, his swordplay took on other qualities—the weight of authority, the impetus of slaughter, and the finality of an inescapable trap.

Then, the Thirteen Styles of Heaven-Shocking evolved into fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen... one hundred and eight... three hundred and seventy-seven... and eventually one thousand. His swordplay became an endless, surging stream, as if he had integrated all the sword techniques under heaven into a single, boundless entity.

Days and nights cycled; the stars shifted their positions.

In the afternoon, when Lu Dayou brought food up the mountain, Linghu Chong returned to the cave to eat. His Sixth Junior Brother, Lu Dayou, remained unaware that another man sat motionless inside—a man so still that, were it not for his steady breathing, he might have been mistaken for a corpse. Nor did he know that Tian Boguang, the "Lone Walker of Ten Thousand Miles," was also on the mountain.

Outside the cave, Tian Boguang shouted again, "Linghu Chong, are you finished eating? If so, get your backside out here!"

Linghu Chong shook his head helplessly, picked up his sword, and stood. As he exited, he couldn't help but tease, "Brother Tian, with all this shouting, have you forgotten about that person?"

"That person?" Tian Boguang shuddered. Throughout the day, he had been goaded into a fury by this lad, nearly forgetting the man inside the cave. Seeing no movement from within, he breathed a sigh of relief, though his voice softened considerably. "Brother Linghu, I said yesterday that I only want you to come down the mountain to see Little Master Yilin. I have no other motives; I only wish for you to soothe her longing."

Linghu Chong shook his head. "Your words are too insincere. Junior Sister Yilin is a woman of the cloth; how can you spout such nonsense? Besides, even if it were true, what business is it of yours? Why go to such tedious lengths?" He paused, then smiled. "Tell me, how could I ever trust you?"

Tian Boguang retorted indignantly, "Do you think I want to set foot on your Huashan?"

"It seems you have some unspoken difficulty," Linghu Chong remarked curiously.

Tian Boguang sighed heavily. "I was captured and poisoned by someone. To cure this poison, aside from the one who administered it, I fear only the 'Renowned Doctor Who Kills' and the 'Divine Physician' could save me."

"Why not go ask them?" Linghu Chong asked.

Tian Boguang glanced toward the cave and continued, "Ping Yizhi is eccentric; if he doesn't want to save you, he won't lift a finger even if you hold a blade to his throat. And the reason he is called the 'Renowned Doctor Who Kills' is that for every person he treats, he demands another be killed. As for the 'Divine Physician'... I dare not seek him out."

Linghu Chong smiled faintly, not mocking him; he himself was terrified of the man in the cave.

"You know the situation now. Are you coming down or not?"

Linghu Chong shook his head again. "We had an agreement: if I could withstand thirty of your moves, you would stop forcing me."

Tian Boguang took a deep breath. "Brother Linghu, we have already sparred three times, fighting for an entire day and night. Even if we continue, you are no match for me. It is not arrogance, but your master and mistress are the only ones at Huashan whose skills slightly exceed mine. As for you, without eighty or ninety years of hard training, you could never overcome my fast blade. Just be sensible and come with me."

Hearing his disdain for the Huashan Sect, Linghu Chong felt a surge of anger. Just as he was about to speak, he heard a voice from behind.

"Why wait ten years? If someone at Huashan were to guide him, he could finish off a brat like you before the sun sets!"

Linghu Chong was startled. As he turned, he saw an old man with a white beard and green robes standing behind him.

Tian Boguang, already impatient, thought that if he couldn't handle the boy, surely he could deal with this old man. He drew his single blade instantly!

Linghu Chong felt a sudden gust of wind as the old man brushed past him to face Tian Boguang’s blade. He hadn't even reacted; he hadn't touched the old man’s sleeve, and even his own sword had been snatched away by the elder.

Tian Boguang’s momentum was already unleashed, his strike carrying a torrent of follow-up moves. Yet, before the blade could descend, a flash of sword light intercepted it, striking the back of his knife.

In an instant, the blade flew away and Tian stumbled back. No one expected the old man to disarm Tian Boguang’s fast blade with a single stroke.

As the blade lay nearby, Tian Boguang stammered, "Who... who are you?"

The old man looked dejected, his face pale as gold. He did not answer, merely uttering a soft sound of surprise. His gaze shifted to the cave entrance, from which a person had just emerged.

Ranyi looked at the old man and smiled, "Feng Qingyang?"

The old man remained silent, scrutinizing Ranyi. The other two, however, cried out in shock.

"You are my Grand-Uncle-Master Feng?!"

"You... you are Elder Feng?"

Feng Qingyang sighed softly. "I did not expect that anyone in this world would still remember me. Lad, which sect do you belong to?"

Ranyi smiled. "My master was from Wudang, but I have no sect now."

"Oh?" Feng Qingyang did not press the matter. "Why have you come to the mountain?"

"I came looking for you," Ranyi replied calmly.

"Looking for me?"

"Indeed, specifically for you!"

Feng Qingyang’s white brows furrowed. "Why?"

"To duel!"

At these words, Feng Qingyang was slightly taken aback. Tian Boguang and Linghu Chong reacted immediately, retreating to the side in unison.

Feng Qingyang glanced at the sword hilt protruding from behind Ranyi, while Ranyi looked at the three-foot-long blade in the old man's hand.

"You have a sword in your hand."

Feng Qingyang stroked his beard with his left hand and smiled. "Make your move."

"Very well!"