Chapter Twenty: The Cunning Sword and Lady Xiahou

Page 1/3

Xiahou Ji carried Mo Fan on his back, traversing the Qinglian Mountain Range, winding through the rugged peaks.

Just as everyone had described him, a long sword in hand supported his entire body, his face pale and gaunt as if clawed from a heap of corpses, limping with a cough that echoed through the forest.

Before he arrived, his presence was already felt!

Wherever he passed, a chilling cold swept through the woods.

“Who are you, and why do you treat me this way?”

Mo Fan awoke at some unknown moment, feeling tightly bound with ropes, causing great discomfort.

Yet, with difficulty, he managed to utter a few words.

He never imagined this man would torment him so.

First offering a sweet bun, then delivering a deadly blow once he was caught, finally turning him into a lamb in the wolf’s mouth.

The talk of a body capable of breathing and circulating spiritual energy through every part, a sage whose steps spanned hundreds of feet, a sword that could cleave mountains and rivers—surely this had been the man’s plan all along.

“Xiahou Ji!”

Xiahou Ji spoke the name lightly, limping steadily forward on his own path.

He seemed utterly indifferent to Mo Fan on his back.

“Xiahou Ji, why do you treat me like this?”

Mo Fan was displeased, wanting to fight back, but the pain and bindings rendered him immobile.

“I’ve observed you for some time. You seem a promising candidate! Worth exchanging for a pot of the finest earthly liquor.” Xiahou Ji moved slowly step by step.

After only a few paces, he coughed again, casually picked up a small wine flask, and took a leisurely sip.

“Singing must not break the melody; drinking must not empty the flask!” Xiahou Ji swallowed the wine with satisfaction and murmured, “Boy, once we reach a village with good wine, I’ll trade you for three vats of aged spirits—that will be truly satisfying.”

“What?”

Mo Fan could not comprehend Xiahou Ji’s world. He had schemed so cunningly to reduce him to this state, all for a sip of old wine.

Helplessness nearly brought tears to his eyes.

He was a man of valor—invincible at first encounter, unyielding against the Realm of Ten Thousand Phenomena, hailed as a prodigy youth—yet just an object for the sake of wine to this man. It was an insult beyond bearing.

He did not know how long Xiahou Ji had been carrying him, only feeling sticky and filthy all over.

Bound so tightly, Mo Fan felt utterly uncomfortable.

He wanted to get down and stand upright by his own strength.

He refused to be treated like a worthless thing, a sickly creature carried as a mere wine trade. He was Mo Fan.

With the great circulation of his vital energy, a powerful force surged from his body.

Crackling sounds burst forth!

Like a monkey, Mo Fan leapt off Xiahou Ji’s back, flipped midair, and landed steadily on the ground.

The mountain winds howled.

Just as Mo Fan steadied himself, a cold chill swept around him.

Something was wrong.

He glanced instinctively, and his face paled in shock.

Page 2/3

Bare-legged, he hastily jumped and hid among the rocks and trees.

“You wretched man! How dare you treat me like this!”

Mo Fan cursed loudly from the forest, a mixture of anger and helpless laughter in his eyes.

“Where are my clothes? Give them back!”

He spoke with authority, demanding.

Yet Xiahou Ji, as casual as ever, opened his flask and took another sip.

A satisfied smile curved his lips as he said lazily, “In just two days, you’ve recovered completely. Your body is even stronger than before. Truly a gifted fellow.” He took another drink, shook his head, and muttered to himself, “What was I thinking? If he lacked such talent, how could the old madman have passed down such a powerful fist technique to him?”

Having apparently figured something out, Xiahou Ji smiled faintly.

“I said, give me back my clothes!” Mo Fan shouted again, his tone clearly less polite.

He had never been so humiliated before.

Even when oppressed in Shenmu Village, he had never been stripped and shamed like this.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Mo Fan quickly gathered some leaves to cover himself and appeared angrily before Xiahou Ji.

Xiahou Ji paid him no mind, proudly shaking his flask, as if Mo Fan was not worth a thing, not even worth his old wine.

“You—”

Mo Fan despised those who were arrogantly self-assured. Coupled with the strange humiliation from Xiahou Ji, he lost all patience and decisively struck to reclaim some dignity.

He knew he was no match for this man.

But this was no longer about winning or losing—it was about pride.

He had seen Xiahou Ji’s power.

Though he had not fought him directly, Mo Fan could feel the man’s extraordinary strength from his mastery of breathing and energy circulation alone.

This was surely a man with a story.

Such men were the most distinctive—much like himself.

Clenching his fists, full of force, like a raging bull, he charged forward.

“Heh, not bad!”

Xiahou Ji swayed his flask, leaning against a large rock, lying still without moving.

Whoosh!

Mo Fan’s heavy fist came down with destructive power, aiming to crush.

Clang!

A light sound rang out, and Mo Fan felt something block his chest, preventing him from advancing further.

“Damn!”

Looking down, his face darkened with displeasure.

Xiahou Ji, with just his unsheathed sword, had stopped Mo Fan two meters away.

No chance to strike him, not even to get close.

Page 3/3

“In that case, let me show you how I deal a killing blow.” Xiahou Ji’s actions suddenly made sense to Mo Fan.

If he didn’t strike hard now, he would be looked down upon.

“Retreat step, wandering step, flying dragon, kill within ten paces.”

Mo Fan’s figure blurred, unleashing the Shadow Strike fist technique, his hands turning into fists, crashing onto the rock Xiahou Ji leaned against. The stone cracked and shattered into many fragments, flying into the air.

“Now that’s more like it!”

Xiahou Ji had somehow slipped to the side. His dodging speed belied his sickly, limping appearance, moving with an agility that seemed out of sync with his condition.

“Shadow Strike fist technique… how many years has it been? I’ve wanted to test myself against it, but that old madman chose to disappear after that encounter. Fortunately, you have a fine apprentice. Today, I’ll test you in his stead!”

Xiahou Ji chuckled, his body moving swiftly.

“Unsheathe, crutch sword!”

With a sharp clang, Mo Fan’s vision blurred. He heard the sword unsheath, a long blade pressed against his throat. His clenched fists had no chance to strike, trapped by the sword blocking his path.

So fast!

Mo Fan’s heart pounded.

He thought he was quick, but this sickly man was faster by a thousandfold.

His grandfather’s words were true—masters were everywhere on this continent.

Drip, drip!

Sweat fell steadily. After a long moment, Mo Fan spat out astonished saliva.

Xiahou Ji’s sword was too fast; he never saw how it came out.

“You’re already quite talented. At your age, no one has ever forced my sword to leave its sheath.” Xiahou Ji sheathed his sword, limped several steps forward, then tossed a set of clothes to Mo Fan. With a hint of nostalgia, he said meaningfully:

“Back in the day, I fought the old madman for three days and nights. Using the Shadow Strike fist technique, he battled my renowned Southern Domain crutch sword without losing ground, even gaining the upper hand at times.

Though we ended in a draw, I know he held back deliberately.

Because of that, I trained my swordsmanship relentlessly, determined to face him again. Sadly, time is unforgiving; when I found him, only a pile of bones remained.

Fortunately, you are his successor, giving me hope to challenge the Shadow Strike fist technique once more. I have been watching you for three years, back and forth.”

“Three years?” Mo Fan dressed, recalling the figure he had seen behind Shenmu Village. He stared at Xiahou Ji, pondering many questions.

“Don’t think too much. That person wasn’t me. Since I appeared three years ago, I’ve noticed someone secretly watching you. I believe they are drawn to the thing you carry.” Xiahou Ji seemed to know much more.

“The thing I carry?” Mo Fan was startled but quickly composed himself, whispering, “What could I possibly have worth their interest? You’re overthinking.”

“Heh!”

Xiahou Ji said no more, chuckling, leaning on his sword as he limped away, taking a sip and calling to Mo Fan, “Boy, hurry up and follow. When we reach the winery, you’ll owe me.”

After a few steps, he smiled faintly and said, “Who knows how many hardships and obstacles lie ahead.”

Mo Fan wore a worried expression, thoughtfully following Xiahou Ji’s limping footsteps, lost in contemplation.