Chapter 261

As it usually goes, the higher a martial artist’s level, the sharper their perception becomes. This is because masters view the world from a broader perspective.

Unlike Seomun Sulin, who realized Qing’s Heavenly Kill only after feeling her pulse, Great Master Muhak spotted it just by making eye contact.

On the other hand, Tang Nan-ah checked Qing’s pulse every time they met, but all she ever said was, “Uh-huh, uh-huh. You’re still healthy today?”

So, the eyes of the Number One in the World, Great Master Muhak, held a volume of information that an ordinary criminal couldn’t even imagine.

And that same Great Master happened to witness Qing’s Demonic Arts, one of the cursed Heavenly Ten Demonic Arts, known as the Master of Thunder Arts.

He squinted his eyes and spoke,

“Oh, what pure true energy of the Dao! A moment’s path connecting heaven and earth. Truly a celestial technique! But what martial art is this? Did Divine Maiden Sect have such a technique?”

Of course, just acquiring more information than others doesn’t always lead to the correct answer.

The Wudang Sect Leader, Master Chae-Geon, replied,

“Isn’t it similar to the Thunder Arts?”

At that, the Wudang Sect Leader, Master Yuha, scoffed and chimed in.

“Hmph. What nonsense. Just call it Demonic Arts already, why not?”

Then, Master Chae-Geon retorted,

“You talk of Moonlight Sword and Number One in the Future as if they are hidden daughters, passing on the Thunder Arts to them!”

“Hidden daughters? If you have eyes, you would see. She’s just a twenty-year-old child; how can she display such mastery? You should broaden your perception!”

“What are you saying?”

“Hmph.”

It seemed that the long-standing rivalry between the Wudang and Hwasan was still going strong, as the sect leaders argued like an old tradition.

Anyway, it was quite infuriating to hear Master Yuha bragging like he had a hidden daughter.

It wasn’t so much about boasting the disciples of the Divine Maiden Sect but rather a show of his own perception.

Thus, Master Chae-Geon kept a critical eye on Qing’s sparring match.

Amidst it all, Muhak let out a curious “Hmm?” That sword technique felt oddly familiar.

There was definitely something off about that momentum. It felt… sinister.

At that moment, as he looked for flaws while observing Qing’s match, Master Chae-Geon clicked his tongue.

“The child of the sect is wielding a truly vicious killing sword. Though her energy is pure, the way she uses it is reminiscent of a bloodthirsty demon.”

The term ‘demon’ refers to a malevolent spirit that consumes human flesh and blood but, in this context, referred to a former Buddhist guardian.

Then, Master Yuha countered.

“So, wielding a sword equates to a killing sword and not a sparring sword? Can you really say that after seeing her pure True Art? Why not just call it the Hundred-Eight Sura Sword? The way she’s wielding it is like the Master of Dark Demon Arts, or perhaps she uses Supreme Hand-to-Hand Combat since her hands are so delicate? Why not go all out and proclaim her a gluttonous demon with the countenance of the Heavenly Ten Demonic Arts?”

If Qing heard that, you could almost suggest she quit being a Taoist and set up a shaman’s shrine instead with how ridiculous the accuracy was.

One might say he held as much pride as he had perception.

This left Master Chae-Geon feeling awkward.

It wasn’t that he disliked Master Yuha; he had no ill feelings towards the disciple of Divine Maiden Sect.

“Tsk. Who ever said it was Demonic Arts? It just has a hint of malice to it. Can a sword filled with killing intent be wielded by a Daoist?”

“Where the sword is made for its intended purpose, it’s better than a so-called physician who claims to heal people with a knife.”

The swords of Hwasan are beautiful yet notoriously deadly. Meanwhile, the swords of Wudang merely deflect attacks without doing any direct harm, claiming to be sparring swords.

“Hey now, how can you behave like children in front of your seniors? You both need to tone it down. And Master Yuha is right. If you wield a sword, you should stab with it too.”

The master of the Gongdong Sect feigned to meddle while casting a vote for the fierce sword techniques, as the Wudang’s ultimate goal is to take life and preserve the heart through extreme killing techniques.

Hearing this, the elder beside him from Jongnam nodded in agreement.

“Those practicing the art of murder coming together like this. Oh, Great Master Muhak. The path of saving lives is indeed a difficult one.”

Master Chae-Geon sought help from Muhak.

The martial arts of Shaolin focuses on saving lives, but even if it involves crushing the bones of villains and cutting tendons to toss them into the Repentance Hall, can that be called saving lives?

“Hmmm. Even so, mentioning the Heavenly Ten Demonic Arts seems a bit excessive on your part, Master Chae-Geon.”

Great Master Muhak had already given his heart to Qing, so he only lightly chided him not to mention the Demonic Arts even in jest.

And so, Amitabha, what exactly was I thinking when I felt something familiar about Seomun Qing’s martial arts?

“Master! Huh? But wasn’t that person who mentioned the Heavenly Ten Demonic Arts right here? Why me?”

“Haha, you fool. This is Yin-Yang Taiji. You’re still far from it. One must try to see the good in people, not just the flaws.”

Master Yuha quipped.

“Ugh.”

Master Chae-Geon clenched his fist in frustration.

Being outsmarted with the principle of Taiji by that ignorant Hwasan guy, could there be a greater humiliation than this?

Qing’s momentum headed towards Gongson Yo-ye’s solar plexus. Realizing this late, Gongson Yo-ye leaned forward, causing the sharp attack intended for her solar plexus to instead smack her right breast sharply.

A strategic decision to offer her chest instead of her solar plexus.

Gongson Yo-ye gasped from the pain, groaning heavily. Ouch, that must’ve really hurt. Qing hesitated and slowed her assaults.

Had it been a Life and Death Match, a victor would have been decided long ago.

Supreme Hand-to-Hand Combat is essentially a malicious technique that tears apart one’s energy and blood upon impact.

The dark energy of Supreme Hand-to-Hand Combat inflicts permanent wounds on one’s energy flow and Dantian.

However, she couldn’t bring herself to do such a thing against Gongson Yo-ye, having already struck her multiple times with mere forms of combat.

If it were indeed a Life and Death Match, at this point her energy flow would be tangled, and her blood would not circulate, leaving her staggering, but of course, she couldn’t just say, “Hey, that chick landed several strikes with her Supreme Hand-to-Hand Combat, can you rate this?”

So, is this for real?

“Whoosh. Whoosh.”

Gongson Yo-ye looked like she’d just stepped out of a sauna. The sparring had been so intense, and using her innate true energy had clearly drained a significant amount of stamina.

Yet, that one expression of hers was bright.

Qing couldn’t comprehend it.

Why, why that ecstatic face?

Even while eating away at her own lifespan.

“Yes, you look tired.”

“No, I can do more. Hah!”

Bang! With a strong presence, her figure blurred and vanished from sight.

However, having become familiar with the movements through over forty rounds, Qing stepped aside and twisted her body slightly.

Using the capabilities of Awakening Skill, without needing to see, she could sense the feelings from her exposed skin on her face and hands.

Gongson Yo-ye’s sword energy stretched out like a ray of light, narrowly grazing Qing’s neck.

As she drew her sword against that energy, Gongson Yo-ye’s sword energy vanished as if it had never existed. Then, from a distance, it regenerated, launching a massive fan of sword energy towards Qing.

The sword energy of the Hunyuan Sword is tricky to deal with, as the martial artist can adjust the distance at will, highlighting its immense advantage.

Yet, Gongson Yo-ye rushed towards Qing, closing the distance recklessly. That was a foolish move, willingly giving up her advantage.

After all, the disparity in strength was immense, so their collisions resulted in Qing gaining the upper hand.

Clang! The dull sword blade clashed and sparks flew.

Though Gongson Yo-ye charged fiercely with the momentum of speed, Qing simply stood there calmly, blocking it.

According to the law of inertia, Gongson Yo-ye’s sword and body froze, while the sweat clinging to their bodies scattered like gentle raindrops.

So, what are you doing? Faster, move faster.

Though unspoken, Gongson Yo-ye’s sentiments were conveyed through her sword.

Don’t think, just play more.

Let’s happily run around, swing swords, strike, and take hits together.

Though already drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, Gongson Yo-ye conveyed this with a bright smile.

I don’t get it. What’s so joyful for you?

I feel like I might’ve hit a bit hard. Doesn’t it hurt?

But Gongson Yo-ye remained unfazed. With a reckless demeanor, it was as if she was saying, am I not here, will you not swing your sword?

Now, Qing seemed to understand.

A lonely person, who had trained alone in the practice field for a lifetime. Yet for Gongson Yo-ye, her past was not a painful memory.

That past made this present possible, reflected in her expression as one who embraced the suffering that an ordinary person could not endure.

So here we are, sharing this sword.

I’m doing my best. Just as every moment has been.

Even as she burnt through her life, her face radiated the joy of the moment.

What’s the big deal about dragging tomorrow to enjoy today?

For Gongson Yo-ye, martial arts were the only thing she used to have and thus found joy in.

But for me?

For Qing, martial arts were intertwined with painful memories.

In an utterly unfamiliar world, with a foreign body, amidst contempt, oppression, and mockery, the only way to live, the only means to survive.

For Qing, martial arts were a tool of theft.

In the back alleys of the Central Plains, sympathy was scant as everyone was trapped in their own mire. In that wild state, with so much hunger, it only came down to who could take from whom.

Even now, a vivid memory of that moment remains, the feeling of choking someone, stopping their breath, the despair of crossing a line that could never be uncrossed, a mark that would forever burn into one’s life.

But it wasn’t so.

Looking back now, what’s the big deal about having killed one scoundrel? Is it something to take pride in having tossed aside a piece of filth after stashing away a few coins? What a trivial matter that seems.

That memory of pathetically bawling while escaping with a single trophy in hand.

Ah, right. Moonlight Sword, number one.

It was the first object Qing ever killed to obtain—more precisely, the prize taken by killing.

The alleys were full of rubbish, and everyone there was littered with those who were bound to die anyway, but the reason Qing killed him was that she wanted that sword. With swordsmanship as her only asset, it was useless without a sword.

A rusting hunk of metal that lay half-sliced. A worthless clump of scrap that she wouldn’t even have claimed.

Qing killed a person for that bit of rubbish.

My Moonlight Sword, number one. Oh no, back then, it wasn’t even numbered.

My Moonlight Sword. My treasure.

Until it crumbled into dust, I held it tight, afraid it might break, never once striking another with it, treating it with reverence.

Back then, it felt like with just one sword, anything was possible.

Suddenly, the memories of hands come rushing back.

The balance was a mess, the handle damp with wear, yet somehow, the jagged half-edge remained sharp, which was fortunate.

At that time, there was no such thing as Demonic Arts.

Just Moon Lady Swordplay, the only sword technique I owned.

My sword. My swordsmanship.

In this primitive and crude medieval land of the Central Plains, I could still think of tomorrow.

In the end, it brought hope that things would get better.

Seomun Qing unfurled her Moon Lady Sword.

One initial stroke.

The child picking up a stick.

Qing’s sword traced a peculiar trajectory. To be precise, it was less peculiar and more awkward.

The child simply picked up a long stick and swung it out of pure joy, discovering the primal pleasure of movement without any skill or purpose.

Just a straight, elongated stick.

To the child, that would have been a sword worthy of the world.

Just like my Moonlight Sword was to me.

Gongson Yo-ye quickly twisted away from the sudden oncoming sword strikes. Due to the lack of any technique in the sparring, it became difficult for her to respond to such an unfamiliar attack.

Swinging and stabbing, darting around aimlessly, when suddenly, a cold blade whipped up threateningly.

Gongson Yo-ye looked astonished at Qing.

Did you still have hidden sword techniques? How extraordinary could Seomun Sulin be, she wondered, her gaze reflecting deep affection.

But once again, Gongson Yo-ye was left in shock.

Unable to meet Qing’s gaze.

With her eyes closed, arms gracefully drawing the sword, it seemed like a dance was happening, and Gongson Yo-ye strained to restrain even her breath, forced to keep it silent.

She couldn’t interrupt a swordsman lost in their own realm.

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