Chapter Fifty-Eight: Forced Consent

The white fox sighed and slowly climbed up from the ground. Although it held no fondness for Lin Ze, now that someone had come to bully them, doing nothing would surely displease Qin Hongxiu.

At that moment, the Taoist stretched lazily and rose from his bamboo chair. Lin Ze disliked speaking with his head raised, so he beckoned to Su Bailu with a curl of his finger.

“Get up.”

“Master...” Su Bailu was still bewildered.

“Yang Mu, if someone bullies you, what should you do?” Lin Ze suddenly asked, without any preamble.

“Then I’d curse them back,” the young man replied without hesitation.

“And if they hit you?” the Taoist pressed.

“I’d hit them back!”

“What if you can’t win?”

“I’d keep practicing—eventually, I’ll win... If I really can’t, I’d come back and ask Master for help,” Yang Mu grinned.

Lin Ze’s lips curved slightly as he glanced at the beautiful female cultivator beside him. “He’s young, but much smarter than you.”

“What nonsense are you spouting?” Li Qianchen, still confused, snapped at Su Bailu, “Why are you just standing there? Hurry back! Do you really want to see your master angry?”

If the other side knows what’s good for them, all the better. If not, Li Qianchen wouldn’t mind exchanging a few moves with Elder Lin.

Cultivator duels can be unpredictable; if the opponent loses face, so be it, but if he gets hurt and runs to complain at the Southern Hall, it’d be laughable.

Having said all he needed, Lin Ze withdrew his gaze and walked slowly toward the young man. Taking advantage of Zhao Ling’s dazed state, he deftly took her Dao sword.

The scabbard fell, revealing a cold blade three feet long.

He flicked the blade lightly with two fingers; the clear sound was almost melodious. Turning to Li Qianchen, his eyes held a faint chill.

The Taoist’s tool—could you really lay your hands on it?

Su Bailu, gravely wounded, could no longer practice swordsmanship, nor compete in the tournament. If nothing changed, the daily Foundation Pill would cease.

Though those pills had diminishing effects on him, the loss still irked him.

The sword’s edge lowered, pointing unerringly at Li Qianchen’s brow. Lin Ze stared into his eyes with a serene smile.

Li Qianchen froze, gazing at the Dao sword aimed at him, suddenly finding the situation somewhat ridiculous.

He’d intended to show mercy and spare his opponent, yet the Taoist had drawn his sword first.

“Are you courting death?”

The taste of humiliation—something he hadn’t felt in years—made him sneer, his fingers curling as a gentle breeze gathered in his palm, forming an invisible longsword.

A fresh wind brushes the hills; bright moon bathes the river.

The Sword of Wind and Moon—an ancient, superior technique passed down at the mountain gate. Li Qianchen had long cultivated it to the minor mastery stage, just a step from perfection.

With the Wind Sword in hand, he unleashed his strongest killing move.

This was what he wanted: one blow to utterly crush his opponent, tearing apart that detestable face.

Expose the Taoist’s pretense, let everyone see how weak he truly is before a real master.

In terms of legacy, Li Qianchen admitted Qingfeng Mountain was not powerful.

But in talent and cultivation, few of his peers could compare.

His sword, brimming with confidence, swept across the sky. Ancient trees shook, their crowns trembling, emitting a thunderous rustle.

This was the wind.

The sword tip shone ever brighter, its pale glow reflected in the eyes of all present.

This was the moon.

The white fox gently lifted its paw. Lin Ze’s earlier reaction had startled it. Now, with ten yards still between it and the cliff edge, even it would pay dearly to intercept this blow so hastily.

It couldn’t help but feel vexed—if only he’d asked for help directly, things would be much simpler.

Besides the fox, the others only had time to show a flash of surprise.

A late-stage Foundation cultivator, wielding a superior technique in anger, moved too fast for them to react. All they could do was stare as the glare grew more intense.

Zhao Ling began to regret.

She’d thought Elder Lin, calm even before a Golden Core demon, possessed great composure—so why was he now so reckless with Li Qianchen?

This wouldn’t solve anything!

Even if he withstood this fierce attack, what would happen to Su Bailu when she returned to Qingfeng Mountain?

Just as she worried, she noticed a faint silver glow glide across her Dao sword.

Lin Ze, unhurried, pushed the sword forward. The silver radiance flowed like water, seeming slow, yet in the blink of an eye it gathered like a river, rippling gently, as if during Mid-Autumn, a calm, broad river cradled a full moon.

Gentle and harmonious.

Only its reflection was seen, not the true moon high in the night sky, yet its vast presence slowly spread.

Under the silver light, the glaring white radiance inexplicably dimmed, like stars beside the moon, dared not compete for brilliance.

The innate Moonlight Sword Scripture, perfected at the peak of mastery, revealed its edge atop the green mountain.

The Wind Sword suddenly vanished.

Grasping at nothing, Li Qianchen’s confidence shifted to fear, his face twisting with the abrupt change.

His body flipped midair, feet flustered, as he frantically slapped his storage pouch. Seven or eight life-saving talismans flew out, transforming into icy spears and tongues of flame, hurtling toward Lin Ze.

Thud!

A muffled sound rang out—the silver glow on the Dao sword surged, turning into a milky white flame.

The ice spears didn’t even draw near before evaporating into blue smoke.

Li Qianchen had no time to think—he turned to flee down the mountain. Just three steps in, the milky flame caught his robe.

Boom!

“Aaah!”

Everyone present felt their hearts contract as they watched the figure writhing and howling in the flames.

Under the broad daylight, Lin Ze strode calmly through the moonlight, leisurely approaching. Reaching into the innate True Fire, his palm changed with the seasons, imprinting gently onto the man’s abdomen.

The Four Seasons Cycle Palm, at the level of mastery, carried fierce spiritual energy, slamming Li Qianchen hard against the cliff edge.

When the flames faded, the youth’s once handsome face was charred, his skin cracked, and even the spiritual energy within him was burned dry.

His vacant eyes stared at the sky, issuing hoarse, inarticulate sounds.

A serene face appeared in his vision; his eyes nearly split with anguish, fingers twitching through the pain: “You... go away...”

His tone was helpless, like a rabbit cornered by a tiger.

Lin Ze tossed the Dao sword back to the dumbstruck Zhao Ling, crouched beside him, and spoke softly, “Don’t be afraid, it’s all over.”

Li Qianchen instinctively shrank back, pulling at his wounds and bursting into tears.

Lin Ze shook his head and extended his hand.

“Come now, don’t cry. Give me the seal.”

Moments later, he placed the seals of Qingfeng Mountain and Little Green Mountain into Su Bailu’s hand. “Go to the Southern Hall and swap the mountain gate. Tell them Elder Qingfeng has already agreed.”

Zhao Ling swallowed hard.

She eyed the storage pouch in his other hand—Li Qianchen’s.

Was this... agreement, then?