Chapter 88: Yue Buqun Battles Feng Qingyang

Laudno strode quickly into the Hall of Integrity. Seeing Feng Qingyang present, he paused in mild surprise, but then handed over the sword techniques he had copied from the cave on the Cliff of Reflection to Yue Buqun.

Yue Buqun leafed through them, assessing critically, and remarked, “Not bad. These are indeed the lost sword forms of our Five Mountain Sword Sect.”

With that, he passed them to Yang Xin. Yang Xin glanced at them and laughed, “Laudno, I’ve discovered another of your strengths—your handwriting and drawing skills are quite impressive.”

He flipped through the copies carelessly and tossed them onto the table. “Master Yue, how do you intend to handle these sword techniques?”

“I await your guidance, Immortal Master,” Yue Buqun replied instantly, his expression shifting.

“Liu Zhengfeng of Mount Heng will soon retire by washing his hands of the sword, and that occasion will be an excellent opportunity for Mount Hua to strengthen ties with Mount Tai, Mount Heng, and Mount Hengshan. As for Mount Song, Master Yue, are you still so attached to these sword techniques? You might as well return them as well.”

“I shall obey the Immortal Master’s instructions,” Yue Buqun said respectfully at once. To be honest, ever since he began training in the Frost Fist, Cloud-Dispersing Palm, Wind God Kick, Threefold Primordial Energy, and the Six Cold Commandments, his vision and tolerance had grown tremendously.

After practicing the Multiple Shadow Clone Technique—something he saw as an immortal art—his perspective had broadened immensely, and he no longer cared much for these sword forms. What Yang Xin said perfectly matched his own thoughts. Giving away these sword techniques not only united the four sects, but also won him a good reputation. Why not do it?

“A sect leader who lacks the drive for self-improvement and instead obeys outsiders in everything—how can such a submissive and servile man be worthy of leading a sect?!”

At last, Feng Qingyang lost his temper, seizing on Yue Buqun’s words to vent his anger.

Who was Feng Qingyang? The last remaining disciple of the previous generation of Mount Hua, a supreme master in the martial world. Anyone in the present martial world treated him with utmost respect—even the abbot of Shaolin, Fang Zheng, would greet him as “Elder” with great deference. Yet here, within his own sect, he had gone out of his way to help, only to be ignored repeatedly—how could he not be furious?

Especially the stranger before him, who always glanced at him with a mocking, inscrutable expression. Feng Qingyang, beside himself with anger, slammed his hand down on the table.

Bang! Yue Buqun struck the table as well, and with a single Cloud-Dispersing Palm, shattered it into pieces. “In my life, I, Yue Buqun, have never needed to explain myself to anyone!”

Yang Xin chuckled inwardly. “It seems the longer I spend with Yue Buqun, the sharper his tongue grows.”

“You!” Feng Qingyang was enraged. He had thought that his outburst would cow Yue Buqun, but instead Yue Buqun stood firm. His reaction was totally unexpected, leaving Feng Qingyang fuming and speechless.

“You what? What right have you to lecture me? Back when Mount Hua was set up by Shaolin and torn apart by internal strife, our masters perished one by one. The Sun and Moon Cult threatened us from without, while Mount Song eyed us hungrily. Where were you then? Off in the south, getting married…”

“When Mount Hua was beset on all sides, I schemed and struggled, humbled myself, and worked tirelessly to preserve our legacy. And where were you? You flung a few words at me—‘base and treacherous’—and disappeared without a trace…”

“Later, when the sect was at its weakest, surrounded by wolves and tigers, my wife and I worked ourselves to the bone, never daring to relax in our efforts to glorify Mount Hua. And where were you? Hiding on the Cliff of Reflection, indifferent to our plight.”

“Now, with the aid of an immortal, Mount Hua stands ready to rise, and you come down here to meddle. In front of honored guests, I, as sect leader, have acted with courtesy, and yet you leap out to slander and rebuke me. Do you even see me as your leader? Do you have any sense of propriety? Stand down at once!” Yue Buqun’s voice was cold and stern.

His words were harsh; from every phrase it was clear that Yue Buqun no longer regarded Feng Qingyang as a senior, but as a subordinate. In truth, Yue Buqun had never truly seen him as an elder, but as an adversary.

“You! Fine… You’ve grown wings. See how you fare on your own!” Feng Qingyang was livid. Never one for eloquence or quick thinking—had he been clever, he wouldn’t have been tricked into marriage in the south by the practitioners of the Qi school—he simply flung his sleeve and prepared to storm out.

“Insolence! Did I give you leave to go? The Hall of Integrity is Mount Hua’s most sacred ground. You think you can come and go as you please?” Yue Buqun’s command was sharp and forbidding.

He stepped forward, eyes fixed on Feng Qingyang, flexing his limbs as he spoke in a slow, deliberate tone: “The Immortal Master was right. Titles are nothing but shackles. When in doubt, strike first—this is the way of our kind. We martial artists must be forward and unyielding, challenging heaven, earth, and all creation. Whatever we seek, we should pursue it openly, never by deceit.”

“What are you intending to do?” For some reason, as Yue Buqun stared him down, Feng Qingyang felt a faint sense of dread.

“What am I intending? Hand over the Nine Swords of Dugu, or face punishment according to sect rules,” Yue Buqun said coldly.

“So, after all that, it’s the Nine Swords of Dugu you covet. If you want them, you’re dreaming!” Feng Qingyang retorted icyly, turning to leave.

“Indeed, words are but wind—when all is said and done, it comes down to fists. Why did I never see that clearly before? Feng Qingyang, since you refuse my hospitality, then suffer the consequences.”

“Wave-Crushing Strike!” Yue Buqun first employed the Wind God Kick, moving like a phantom to Feng Qingyang’s side, then unleashed the Cloud-Dispersing Palm—Wave-Crushing Strike—straight at him.

Feng Qingyang had not expected Yue Buqun to attack without warning. With no time to draw his sword, he instinctively summoned his inner strength to meet Yue Buqun’s blow head-on.

His expression changed dramatically as Yue Buqun’s palm sent him flying from the Hall of Integrity, landing in the training yard outside.

“Flowing Water, Moving Clouds!”

“Turning Clouds, Stirring Rain!”

“Grass Standing Firm in the Wind!”

“Wild Storm and Raging Rain!”

Again, Yue Buqun used “Wind-Catching Shadow” to close in on Feng Qingyang, never giving him the chance to draw his sword. He unleashed Cloud-Dispersing Palm and Wind God Kick in rapid succession, pressing the attack with overwhelming speed.

Winds howled, clouds surged, and the very heavens seemed to shift at Yue Buqun’s onslaught.

Though Feng Qingyang was one of the top masters in the realm, his skills—impressive though they were—belonged to a world of lesser martial arts. Faced with the overwhelming might of higher-level techniques, he was caught completely off guard, forced to retreat again and again, suffering two punches and two kicks in rapid succession.

Had Yue Buqun not been so new to these arts, and had he not held back his strength, a single punch or kick might have left Feng Qingyang gravely injured.

With a swish, Feng Qingyang finally drew his sword, even as he took another kick. With his blade in hand, his fighting spirit surged severalfold. Two swift strikes forced Yue Buqun back.

“Have you been practicing the Evil-Resisting Sword Manual?!” Feng Qingyang shouted, his face ashen with fury.