Chapter Seventy-Nine: The Marshland Fray

On the first page, the Fire Flood Dragon fixed Zhou Qian with an icy stare. Its cavernous maw yawned open, and a crimson glow seeped from deep within its throat. In the next instant, a torrent of flame roared forth, surging down in a blazing deluge that filled all sight with fire.

Zhou Qian sighed. There was nowhere to retreat and nowhere to advance; he could only close his eyes and await death. Yet the Fire-Dispelling Pearl in his chest grew warm all at once, then burst into a brilliant red radiance. Locked in combat with the flames, it proved evenly matched, and Zhou Qian was overjoyed. This treasure could actually protect its master. He hurried toward a weaker stretch of fire, for the pearl was now his only hope of survival.

With the red glow holding back the blaze, Zhou Qian broke through the encirclement of fire and took a shortcut toward the crater. The Fire Flood Dragon gave a low growl, black smoke billowing from its nostrils, clearly displeased. Its hundred-zhang-long body, covered in dense green scales, lashed out.

A gale howled like a wind god descending upon the mortal world. Zhou Qian dropped into a horse stance, planting the Ghost Master Sword into the ground. When the fierce wind struck his face, it almost lifted him into the air, but even so he was still driven backward by the force of the gale, and the sword scraped sparks from the rocky earth.

With no time to think, Zhou Qian sprang forward like a flying ape climbing into a mountain forest, using both hands and feet as he scrambled toward the crater. There was not a moment to waste.

After twice failing to achieve anything, the Fire Flood Dragon roared in fury. Its four claws coiled, and wild winds surged at once, sending rocks tumbling. Then the dragon lifted its head, red clouds forming beneath its feet. With repeated steps upon those clouds, it actually rode the mist and rose into the sky.

Zhou Qian’s instincts warned him that things were bad. He hurriedly darted beneath a huge boulder, and immediately afterward a fireball, as large as a yardwide drum, came crashing down on the very spot where he had just stood. A deep pit was blasted open, and the surrounding ground was charred black.

Zhou Qian clicked his tongue. If he had not dodged just now, he would likely have been utterly reduced to ashes. Looking up, he saw the flood dragon rolling and howling among the clouds, plainly not taking him seriously.

That was a good thing. Zhou Qian lowered his body and moved forward quietly. Up ahead, another explosion split the rocks apart; fireballs were falling from the sky. In the air, the Fire Flood Dragon had its maw wide open, and one fireball after another came crashing down, as though a rain of fire had begun, only with each drop as large as a washbasin.

Zhou Qian could spare no thought for anything else. He pushed his leg strength to the limit, leaping and twisting among the rocks, sometimes flipping, sometimes darting through gaps, sometimes opening and closing his stance in fluid succession. His movements were loose yet not disorderly, steady yet not clumsy, like a small boat riding out a stormy sea—dangerous, perilous, on the edge of death at every moment.

At last, the Fire Flood Dragon was truly enraged. A flood dragon was kin to the dragon race and possessed dragon might as well. Its four claws opened and closed, and the red clouds swelled violently. Then Zhou Qian’s vision blurred, and that massive claw actually plunged straight into his chest. His organs shattered, and who knew how many ribs in his chest had broken. It was the first time Zhou Qian had ever truly felt the taste of death.

The wind follows the tiger, the cloud follows the dragon. So it really was!

The Fire Flood Dragon seemed to have judged that Zhou Qian was surely dead. With a sweep of its thick claw, it smashed him into a stretch of mountain rock. By a strange twist of fate, that rock wall happened to be near the crater.

Zhou Qian was already at the point of fading away, yet some consciousness still remained. He knew in his heart that this was the best chance he would ever get, made possible only by the flood dragon’s carelessness. He summoned his remaining strength, bent his legs, and stamped straight down. Half a foot deep, his feet sank into the rock. The force of that burst nearly snapped the tendons in his legs; flesh tore through the skin, and his bones creaked and cracked.

Bang!

At the brink of death, the human body’s latent potential was driven to its utmost. He was actually rebounded more than ten zhang backward, tumbling into the volcanic crater. Zhou Qian’s awareness grew hazy, and darkness began to close in. Yet the thought of refusing to lose instead flared up in his heart. Just a little longer—if he could hold on just a little longer, that would be enough. The dragon’s howls seemed far off at the edge of the heavens. In his final glimpse, he saw a clear pool deep within the volcano.

Splash—

Zhou Qian suddenly burst out of the water without warning, yet there was not a single wound on his body. The sensation was so strange that it felt like waking from a long dream.

His feet landed on a thick lotus leaf, and what met his eyes was a vast lake. Mountains ringed it on all sides, and great waterfalls leaped from the heights above and poured down below like silver ribbons and roaring dragons of white water. The surge of the currents thundered in his ears. Across the lake, lotus leaves gathered in dense clusters and lotus blossoms spread in profusion. Duckweed, calamus, and waterweed dotted the surface; the leaves were as large as shields, the flowers bloomed like basins, and the weed trails could serve as roads. It seemed like the garden of an immortal household, yet the violent waves and churning swells added a grim and perilous note.

Here, upon lotus leaves, amid waterfalls, and among the rocks, countless people of the martial world crossed blades and fought for their lives, adding yet another measure of heroism to the scene.

When Zhou Qian burst in, a great cheer rose from one side. Looking about, he found only acquaintances. On the other side, the dark heroes led by the Evil Man Valley were shocked as well. Zhou Qian drew the Ghost Master Sword. No need for further words, no need for explanation; people of the martial world have always spoken with blade and sword.

What is the martial world? Nothing but sword and blood!

The water surged swiftly. Zhou Qian leaped and bounded onward, soon meeting a notorious villain of the dark path: the Man-Slayer Feng Wu.

Feng Wu swung his ghost-head sabre and grinned savagely. “So you are the Little Sword Immortal, then—”

“Ah!”

Caught off guard, Zhou Qian sprang forward and thrust his sword into Feng Wu’s belly, even twisting it once for good measure. Feng Wu’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You ambushed me!”

Zhou Qian looked a little puzzled. “Why shouldn’t I ambush you?” Feng Wu died with his eyes still open.

Just then a great wave came crashing over, bearing aquatic growth upon its surface. Zhou Qian used the Stair to the Clouds movement to leap upward, stepping from one patch of duckweed to another atop a small wave, climbing again and again until he sprang onto the crest of a ten-zhang-high wave. Facing the wind, he rode the crest and walked upon it. At the tip of the wave, the spray burst like snow, soaking his whole body, yet Zhou Qian felt only exhilaration, as if he were galloping across heaven and earth.

By chance, there were three members of the dark path within the huge wave, trying to steady themselves and keep from being thrown off by the surging water. A murderous intent flashed in Zhou Qian’s eyes. He leaped across. Sword light flickered, and he did not linger. In an instant he crossed ten zhang. The blood of those three merged into the water’s flow without stirring the slightest ripple. He wiped the water from his face and dropped onto the center of a lotus blossom. Behind him the wave crashed with a thunderous roar, sending up ten thousand splashes.

Killing people is truly exhilarating!

Zhou Qian’s face twisted fiercely, his killing intent boiling.

In only a moment he had slain four people in succession, instantly lifting the morale of his own side. Seeing this, the leaders on the enemy side repeatedly dispatched experts to block and intercept him, and the fighting in the waters grew ever more ferocious.

Zhou Qian darted everywhere, sometimes entangling enemies in close combat, sometimes rushing to support his allies. In the end, near the foot of the mountain, he caught sight of Tu Yong single-handedly holding off three leaders of the dark path—one a gang chief, another a bandit. Tu Yong’s palms flew in wide, open movements. At first glance they seemed to lack force, like an ox leisurely grazing grass, but this was the mark of an exceedingly profound palm technique. Strike the skin with the fist, strike within with the palm; it injures and kills without a trace. There is an old saying in the martial world: boxing is fierce, sabers are ruthless, palms are venomous, and swords are changeable. Such was the principle.

There was no time for greetings. After a nod in mutual acknowledgment, each plunged into battle. Zhou Qian slashed apart the snake-necked, triangular-eyed monster he had once encountered that day, then kicked another attacker in the back and sent him flying into the water. As soon as that man submerged, he vanished at once. Zhou Qian paused, and three figures swiftly closed in on him.

A heavy halberd hooked and dragged with overwhelming force, driving Zhou Qian to retreat. Behind him, another man’s dark dagger had already touched his back. The Ghost Master Sword’s tip flickered in and out like a ghost, touching the dagger once. Zhou Qian’s whole body shook violently. He staggered left several steps as a leg strike came sweeping in. He blocked with his right arm, and the lotus beneath him was instantly shattered to pieces. Fortunately, waterweed nearby formed a path-like mat. Zhou Qian braced himself and flipped up onto it.

“So it’s you three?” Zhou Qian said with surprise.

“Old Man Halberd, hadn’t you retired?” This elder was the only one among the three who belonged to the righteous side, and he had even lived through the great war between the Han and the Hu.

“I’m old,” the halberd elder sighed. “My teeth are loose, my legs no longer nimble, and my old eyes have started to fail. The older a person gets, the more afraid of death he becomes. This Emperor’s Mausoleum may well be my last chance. That is why the Red Lotus Cult Master came in person to invite me. After I agreed to his promise, I could no longer avoid drawing my blade against old friends from those days. Though I do not bear it well, when a man dies, he is extinguished like a lamp. Once dead, there is nothing left. To live is all that matters!”

“The old senior of yesteryear, the famed leg master Huang Linfei of the present day, and this one here must be the long-renowned number-one assassin of the dark path, Black Rat, yes? What a grand display!” Zhou Qian sneered.

“Haha, Your Excellency—”

Before he could finish, sword light flooded his face. The halberd elder hurriedly blocked with his halberd. A halberd is like an axe, but heavier, and thus somewhat unwieldy. The Ghost Master Sword surged in like a tide, quickly leaving two or three fine wounds on his body.

“You ambushed me?!” the old man cried in shock and fury.

“Why does everyone think I won’t ambush them?” Zhou Qian was baffled.

“You’re ganging up on me and you still won’t let me ambush you? Truly worthy of the dark path—so domineering!” Zhou Qian said with open admiration.

A burst of force came from behind. Leg shadows bounced and lashed like whips, and each strike shook the air with the crack of firecrackers. There were not many leg experts in the martial world, and Huang Linfei was certainly among the finest. He possessed seventy-six methods of springing kicks, gathering the essence of the Tan family’s leg techniques through the ages; pulling, drilling, charging, sweeping, sliding, framing, whipping, and crashing—none were left unused. In an instant, halberd shadows, sword light, and leg force were all tangled into chaos, movements that ordinary eyes could not possibly follow.

“One is still missing!” Zhou Qian suddenly realized. He hurriedly shifted aside, but pain shot through his shoulder blade. The dagger tip came from behind, pierced flesh and bone, and punched a bloody hole through him. Just as it was about to tear free, sword light slashed across at the waist, and he had no choice but to pull back and turn around.

Black Rat was still standing on a lotus leaf not far away, neither happy nor sad, silent as wood or stone. Yet one could not feel the slightest sense of his danger. That, however, was precisely what made him most terrifying.

“The dagger is poisoned?” Zhou Qian frowned, looking at the wound, which had already turned black.

“I’ve heard the poison is fierce. None who are struck by it survive,” the halberd elder said with a smile.

The two of them stopped at once, as if by shared understanding. Old hands in the martial world were after all old hands; if they could save a bit of effort, they would save it. Letting him die of poison would be even better.

“Is that so?” Zhou Qian asked.

He reversed the Ghost Master Sword in his hand and, gritting his teeth against the pain, gouged out the poisoned flesh. His face went pale, but he relaxed all the same. From beginning to end, not a single drop of blood fell.

“How is that possible?!” the halberd-bearing elder exclaimed.

“When one has gathered the inner elixir in the abdomen, then whenever the body suffers injury, the blood and vital energy at the wound seal themselves automatically, leaving not a trace to leak out. So the legend is actually true!” Huang Linfei said abruptly.

“The state of gathered elixir? He’s only how old?!” The old man could no longer be described as merely shocked.

Zhou Qian lunged forward, sword drawn, pointing straight at Black Rat. Sword light swept toward him, and only then did Zhou Qian realize that this man was the greatest threat among the three!

Dagger and longsword clashed in eighteen exchanges in an instant, each strike aimed fiercely at the other’s vital points. Sparks flew everywhere. Black Rat was indeed a top-tier expert who cultivated the internal organs, but he was still suppressed by the pressure of Zhou Qian’s sword.

The old man exchanged a glance with Huang Linfei and hurried to follow. Since the other side had already “formed the elixir,” he could no longer be judged by ordinary standards, but had to be met with the attitude one would use against the Hundred-Armed Sword Immortal or the Red Lotus Cult Master—fully alert, with all their strength.