Chased

Song Qingshu remained oblivious to Mu Wanqing's words. He revisited the murals, meticulously examining the intricacies of the Five Sacred Swordsmanship and the shattered tactics of Zhang Lao's Demon Cultivation Club. Closing his eyes, he delved into a rapid stream of thoughts.

Having absorbed the original work, he had long grasped the concept that techniques were lifeless while individuals breathed vitality into them. If executed in a predictable manner, these sword movements would easily crumble under the scrutiny of opponents. However, by employing these techniques with flexibility and adaptability, the swordsmen could effortlessly evade their adversaries' feeble attempts to breach their defenses.

Song Qingshu had always possessed commendable theoretical combat prowess, but practical insight eluded him. Now, these murals provided a vivid exhibition of masterful trickery.

The angles, timing, and intensity of each move, along with the seamless transitions to subsequent maneuvers, as well as the anticipated reactions of the enemy... Song Qingshu felt his mind growing increasingly lucid.

A sudden jolt shook him from his reverie. Turning his head, he detected Mu Wanqing's gaze fixed upon him, prompting him to cast his eyes in the same direction. There stood an elderly man with flowing white hair and a serene countenance, exuding an air of ethereal wisdom.

"Youngster, that's quite perceptive of you," the old man smiled faintly, his gaze lingering on the sword techniques adorning the wall. His expression seemed to drift into a distant reminiscence, eventually dissolving into a long sigh. "After all these years, the disciples of the Sun Moon God Cult still find their way here."

Naturally, this person was none other than Feng Qingyang, the paragon of swordsmanship from the original tale. As soon as Song Qingshu and Mu Wanqing arrived at the contemplation cliff, they had been detected by his keen senses. Feng Qingyang was taken aback to find that Song Qingshu had not hesitated in the slightest and had boldly ventured into this hidden sanctuary.

Aware that only Linghu Chong, by sheer happenstance, had stumbled upon this secret, no one else possessed knowledge of its existence. Song Qingshu's behavior suggested he had gained prior insight into this clandestine location, leading Feng Qingyang to surmise that he might be affiliated with the Demon Cult, having obtained the secret knowledge from the notes of his predecessors.

The Five Mountains Sword Sect's ultimate technique must not fall into the clutches of the Demon Cult. Fleetingly, Feng Qingyang entertained these thoughts before uttering in a composed tone, "Young man, I cannot allow you to leave this mountain with the Five Mountains' sword technique. Therefore, remain here. Spend the next twenty or thirty years in my company, an old man."

Unbeknownst to Song Qingshu, he had fallen victim to Feng Qingyang's misunderstanding, being labeled as a member of the Demon Cult. He inwardly groaned at this misinterpretation. He had merely come to glean the remnants overlooked by the original protagonist. As for...

Beside him, Mu Wanqing sensed the unpredictability emanating from the old man. Alarmed by his words, she swiftly interjected, her voice laced with desperation, "We unintentionally trespassed into your forbidden grounds. Ignorant of the rules, we unwittingly transgressed. My companion is a simpleton, incapable of retaining what he sees. We implore the senior to exercise magnanimity and spare him."

Witnessing Mu Wanqing's plea on his behalf, Song Qingshu couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude, casting her a heartfelt glance.

As Mu Wanqing's words reached Feng Qingyang's ears, his countenance twisted into an odd expression. "A fool, you say?" Suddenly, a realization dawned upon him, intensifying the severity of his gaze as he scrutinized Song Qingshu. "Deceiving a woman with clever words is a greater sin. I apologize."

Initially harboring deep respect for this revered swordsman, Song Qingshu's admiration waned as he witnessed Feng Qingyang's entrance and subsequent imposition of decades-long imprisonment without seeking any clarification. The moral high ground from which he criticized and judged him ignited a surge of anger in his heart. The traveler's sense of self-worth prompted a proud smile to curve upon his lips. "Heh, it seems your martial arts prowess surpasses mine."

Mu Wanqing's face paled, her gaze fixed anxiously upon Song Qingshu. "Gougan, you should apologize to the elder."

Despite Feng Qingyang's years of cultivating a calm and tranquil disposition, an ember of anger flickered within his heart, eliciting a snort. "Youngsters these days are far too arrogant."

"Feel free to try," Song Qingshu stood motionless, his gaze steady and his mind focused.

"Make your move, or you'll never get the chance. I shall grant you three moves first," Feng Qingyang declared, his hands clasped behind his back, maintaining his dignified composure and refusing to initiate the encounter.

...

"This is what you wanted," a sinister grin crept upon Song Qingshu's lips. In a flash, he darted past Feng Qingyang like lightning, his eyes fixed on the vulnerable spot around the elder's neck. Slowly, Feng Qingyang slumped to the ground, a trickle of blood staining his robes. Song Qingshu nonchalantly wiped the bloodstain off his wooden sword, disdain dripping from his voice. "Don't pretend to be formidable when you can't even withstand lightning."

...

Of course, the preceding scene existed solely within Song Qingshu's imagination. Feng Qingyang regarded his peculiar smile with a quizzical expression, coldly snorting, "You lost your senses a moment ago. If I were to strike, you'd be dead."

Song Qingshu wiped the drool from his mouth, a jealous smile playing on his lips. How could he rid himself of such foolish illusions? If it weren't for Feng Qingyang's offer of three moves, his momentary trance would have proven fatal.

"I humbly request your guidance, esteemed elder," Song Qingshu regained his focus, adjusting his footwork. His palm assumed the defensive stance of the Wudang Cotton Palm, infused with the weight of the Emei Golden-Top Cotton Palm and the vigor of the Sky-Shaking Iron Palm.

"Huh!" Feng Qingyang regarded him with surprise, inwardly acknowledging the seamless fusion of various palm techniques, a testament to Song Qingshu's exceptional martial aptitude. Regrettably, as a member of the Demon Cult, his hostile disposition was an undeniable flaw, a true pity...

Feng Qingyang's thoughts stirred as he formed the sword art with his fingers, launching an attack with a single finger. Song Qingshu's shock surged as he realized a sharp and ferocious sword aura rending through his fist's air currents. Swiftly retracting his palm and advancing, he narrowly avoided being impaled, promptly countering with a forceful Fumo Fist from his left hand. In a fleeting instant, he retreated several meters, putting some distance between himself and his opponent.

"The Dugu Nine Swords' Breaking Palm technique lives up to its reputation," Song Qingshu regarded Feng Qingyang with a grave expression. Dugu Nine Swords was undoubtedly a formidable adversary.

Having long transcended the confines of Dugu Nine Swords, Feng Qingyang calmly dismissed the notion of its application. The finger he had extended merely hinted at the intent to shatter Song Qingshu's palm technique with a sword, not employing the Dugu Nine Swords themselves. Observing Song Qingshu's misinterpretation, Feng Qingyang made no effort to correct him. "Your martial arts prowess is already a rare and exceptional feat among the younger generation."

"Feng Lao truly deserves the title of the foremost swordsman of our time," Song Qingshu sincerely exclaimed.

"The first move has concluded. Let us proceed to the second," Feng Qingyang responded with a faint smile, maintaining his poised stance with hands at the ready.

"Damn it, when will I rid myself of this facade and cease feigning strength before my enemies?" Song Qingshu seethed with frustration. With a seemingly obedient tiger-clawed hand, he aimed straight for his opponent's midsection.

"Huh~" Feng Qingyang once again found himself taken aback. Although his previous palm strike had incorporated the essence of several palm techniques, this second move appeared unremarkable, indicating that Song Qingshu had a hidden agenda. Yet, Feng Qingyang stood steadfastly, unmoving.

As expected, Song Qingshu's attack swiftly transformed from the fierce tiger-clawed hand into the sinister and ruthless Nine-Yin White Bone Claw. His technique shifted seamlessly, without any hint of haste, as a multitude of claw shadows filled the air above, casting an ominous aura.

Mu Wanqing's annoyance and disgust grew palpable. Song Qingshu's Nine-Yin White Bone Claw attacked with astonishing speed, yet Feng Qingyang's fingers seemed to move in slow motion, perfectly timed to intercept and shatter each claw with his sword energy.

After a few breaths, Song Qingshu returned to his original position, his hands tingling with numbness. Feng Qingyang cast an unexpected glance at him. "It's remarkable that you emerged unscathed in the face of my sword energy."

"There remains one final resort," Feng Qingyang's alertness heightened with every passing moment. An individual from the demon sect, exhibiting such prowess, posed a grave threat to Huashan. Unbeknownst to him, he had unwittingly shifted his mindset into one of lethal intent.