“To take advantage of the misfortune of others is not the act of an upright man. If you do this, your martial arts will never advance an inch in your entire life,” said Shen Qiao calmly. “Leave.”
“What do you know?!” snarled Li Yue. “I was fifteen when I entered the jianghu! People called me talented too, back in my youth! But after I turned twenty-five, my martial arts progress stopped completely. If I take Yan Wushi’s head, my name will surely shake the jianghu!”
Shen Qiao shook his head. “If you kill him, will your martial arts advance? This is only the envy the weak feel toward the strong—when the chance for power over them is dangled before you, you are overwhelmed with excitement. Don’t give your inner demons power over you, or your martial arts will never improve again for the rest of your life.”
By now, Li Yue was thoroughly enraged. “You blind man! Why are you getting involved?! Shen Qiao, don’t think that no one recognizes you! Everyone in the jianghu knows about your collusion with Yan Wushi. Even Xuandu Mountain has expelled you from its doors—you’ve lost all face for Qi Fengge! The disciple of the world’s number one martial artist? Pah! You’re only a sycophant who sold your body to the Demon Lord in return for his favor! Have you found enjoyment in being a slave?! Afraid that if I kill Yan Wushi no one will protect you anymore? If you’re a man, then show some spine! Don’t just lean on other people!”
The words didn’t stoke Shen Qiao’s anger. Ever since his identity had been exposed at the Su residence during the fight against Duan Wenyang, a strange light had surfaced in many of the looks people gave him. Though they might not say so out loud, deep down, their thoughts were much like Li Yue’s. Shen Qiao had heard far worse.
Still, sharp words were only words—as long as they were paid no mind, they couldn’t hurt you in the slightest.
Seeing Shen Qiao stay silent, Li Yue thought the insults he’d slung had worked. He gave a sneering laugh. “Daoist Master Shen, if you get out of my way, then after I kill Yan Wushi we could divide up whatever goods he has on him…”
As he spoke, he thrust out with his sword.
The sword’s glare flashed as it shot out at blistering speed—it was a move Li Yue was quite proud of. Strong enough to pierce through wood, the attack went straight for Yan Wushi’s upper back.
Clang!
An echoing ring sounded. The blade point did not stab into Yan Wushi—instead, the entire sword was sent flying. It arced through the air before clattering right to the ground.
All Li Yue felt was a sharp pain at his wrist, and he cried out despite himself. His reaction was swift too: at the sight of the bamboo cane sweeping toward his waist, he dropped into a crouch while tipping his torso backward, dodging beneath the cane’s swipe. Then he sprang upward, making a grab for the cane while sending a kick at Shen Qiao’s groin.
But Shen Qiao had already drifted out of reach, then immediately reappeared behind him with unbelievable speed. Li Yue didn’t even have time to react before a palm to his back slapped him sideways into the stone wall and knocked him unconscious.
Underestimating Shen Qiao wasn’t to blame for Li Yue’s defeat—for even if he hadn’t, he was destined to lose today.
News of Shen Qiao and Duan Wenyang’s duel at the Su residence had never circulated, and the people who’d lost to him, like Bai Rong and Xiao Se, couldn’t possibly run around announcing their losses. So, many impressions of him had remained frozen at the match on Banbu Peak—and then, afterward, had come the myriad rumors and hearsay. As a result, opinions of Shen Qiao had plummeted. The more someone had looked up to him before, the more they’d look down on him after. Overnight, Shen Qiao’s name became linked to Yan Wushi’s, and on top of that, was now synonymous with “homeless cur.”
Shen Qiao didn’t bother with Li Yue any further, just walked on toward Yan Wushi. When he touched him, a burst of frigid cold pierced through the skin of his palm and into his flesh, almost invasive as it spread through his limbs and body. The chill was so intense he immediately let go, but even so, it clung to his hand for a long while before gradually fading away.
Yan Wushi’s body wasn’t only as solid and hard as ice, it seemed practically devoid of life. It was as if his five senses were completely sealed—as if that was why he’d remained entirely unaware of Shen Qiao and Li Yue’s conversation, as well as their scuffle.
Shen Qiao thought for a moment, then pulled Yan Wushi’s hand from his sleeve to examine his pulse, all while enduring that bone-piercing cold.
The pulse still throbbed, and breath still fanned beneath his nose. But his meridians seemed to be in disorder, as if several streams of qi were all weaving, jostling, and colliding against each other, discordant.
In other words, Yan Wushi was showing signs of qi deviation.17
The more advanced someone’s martial arts, the longer the road they traveled on their way to the top. And then, all the more inevitable that they’d find all kinds of higher pursuits along the way. This meant they became less willing to follow convention, and so the chance of them entering qi deviation was likewise increased.
Peerlessly talented grandmasters like Qi Fengge, Cui Youwang, and Hulugu could have lived long lives and died natural deaths if they’d chosen a peaceful existence. Any of them could have easily managed another ten years. But they refused to pause in their pursuit of martial studies, for to them, that would be a punishment worse than death. And after reaching each new level, attempting the next step was tantamount to scaling the sky. A single moment of carelessness would have easily pushed them into a qi deviation and endangered their lives.
In truth, Shen Qiao had discovered Yan Wushi’s current dilemma a long time ago.