Twin Dimension Yin-Yang Mirror: Attaining immortality through the martial path-Chapter 817 - 631: Where is the Trap + - 632: Too Embarrassing_2
Chapter 817: Chapter 631: Where is the Trap + Chapter 632: Too Embarrassing_2
Zhou Ping’an lifted his gaze and saw the bustling streets, his ears filled with countless voices.
This is indeed Fengwei County.
The news about Southern Lake’s Zhao Family recruiting skilled individuals had reached him as well.
He knew that the transmission point this time wasn’t wrong.
Feeling assured, he prepared to find someone to inquire about the detailed route to Zhao Family’s estate.
Taking a step forward, his expression suddenly shifted drastically.
"So this is where the trap lies."
Zhou Ping’an pressed his hand down, grabbing Cang Yue’s precious blade. His eyes narrowed slightly.
It only became clear when he moved; as soon as he took that step forward, he realized that the Gang Qi, Evil Qi, and even the True Yuan power within him—along with his Martial Intent—had all been suppressed, as if he had never cultivated at all.
Not only that, he even sensed a faint weakness emanating from the depths of his body’s cells.
Even his Star Spirit Body had been simultaneously suppressed, reducing his Qi-Blood power to merely one percent—perhaps even fractions of that.
This sensation reminded him of when he had just mastered his sinews and bones but had only successfully undergone marrow cleansing, still far from entering the Blood Exchange Realm.
Reduced to such fragility.
"This makes no sense! My indestructible physique, even after crossing into another world, couldn’t possibly become fragile, could it?"
He stopped in his tracks, looking left and right, preparing at any moment to recite an incantation.
If the rules of this world truly lacked supernatural powers, and its peak strength was only at the level of mastery over sinews and bones as a starting point for marrow cleansing, then under such rule suppression, it might genuinely lead to such a weakened state.
"Is it only me experiencing this, or is it the same for everyone?"
"What a shame my soul power is also suppressed, and I can’t use my Heavenly Eye. Otherwise, even scanning the physiques of those around me with spiritual power would suffice."
For now, he could only rely on his own pair of eyes to assess the strength of those surrounding him.
He slowly moved forward, his hand resting on the blade’s hilt. Soon, he overheard excited shouting near his ear: "The second sibling of the Four Seasons Saber, Xia Yiming, is fighting Peng Qiuyan of the Yin-Yang Sword! These two are the most renowned experts in this recruitment mission. If they injure one another in the fight, we might have a chance to join and claim high rewards."
Amid the animated discussions all around, the crowd surged forward.
Following the throng, Zhou Ping’an pushed ahead. Before long, he saw two individuals locked in combat on the expansive plaza in front of a grand residence.
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Chapter 632: Too Humiliating
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One figure was thin and wiry, sporting two neat whiskers. His blade streaked like snow, spinning and tumbling, carving out arcs of sword light.
A faint, thunderous rumble echoed deep within the blade’s resonance.
"Ah, that’s the Thunder Blade technique of the Four Seasons Saber, a unique skill that shakes the heavens! It truly lives up to its reputation as Jiangnan’s famed weapon. For Peng Qiuyan, being a woman, she may not be able to match his brute strength."
"Not necessarily! Heroine Peng’s reputation with her paired swords outshines the Four Seasons Saber. The Yin-Yang dual blades are no trifling matter. If the four swordsmen teamed up, it might give her some difficulty, but in a one-on-one match, Xia Yiming isn’t likely her equal."
As the nearby "knowledgeable spectators" discussed, Zhou Ping’an saw a beautiful woman, perhaps in her thirties, wielding a delicate sword. Her movements were elusive, and every strike took her opponent by surprise.
Though her attacks appeared subtle and lacked an imposing aura, they forced her blade-wielding opponent into retreat step by step.
She was undoubtedly gaining the upper hand.
Cheers erupted from all directions, wave after wave.
Zhou Ping’an’s expression gradually turned peculiar.
"Is that... all?"
"Alright, I finally understand why, in Da Xuan World, the last few mission takers failed to complete their tasks and why none of them returned."
"Given this level of power limitation, anyone would feel quite safe here."
Zhou Ping’an let out a long sigh of relief.
For from observing the duel between this man and woman, he could tell their power didn’t exceed two thousand pounds. Their cultivation realm clearly had not reached the Blood Exchange level.
In other words, these so-called Jianghu elites were slightly weaker than even his suppressed state.
Even with his current "fragile bone syndrome" feeling, Zhou Ping’an determined his strength hovered around three thousand jin.
"At this level of force, it’s clear the world’s suppression is at play. But where, then, does the danger lie?"
He couldn’t quite imagine.
Could it be armies?
If faced with an army, wouldn’t one simply flee?
"No need for the two heroes to continue fighting; you are both rare talents. Should either of you get injured, it would be a shame instead."
A middle-aged man dressed as a housekeeper stepped forward and spoke.
"The master has approved the Four Seasons Saber and the Yin-Yang Sword. All six individuals will be recruited; I hope we can avoid hurting our camaraderie."
"That would be ideal."
The collision of sword light and blade light resulted in two quick glimmers—a shadow of gray and a shadow of white separating abruptly.
Xia Yiming and Peng Qiuyan exchanged wary glances before each stowed their weapons, saying no more.
They understood one another clearly.
In terms of individual technique, Peng Qiuyan held a slight edge.
However, Xia Yiming had the advantage in numbers, with the Four Seasons Saber consisting of four swordsmen, outmatching Peng Qiuyan and He Sixi.
"Are there any other martial artists who wish to compete for this lucrative reward? If interested, test your skills against Mr. Yu first. Anyone who defeats him will be readily rewarded by Southern Lake’s Zhao Family."
Zhou Ping’an listened from the side.
He also knew that the elderly man, Mr. Yu—about seventy years old—was Zhao Family’s honored offering.
With strong sinews and an imposing aura, each move he made with his smoking pipe carried heft and strength, showing no signs of frailty.
It appeared the Zhao Family wasn’t recruiting without standards.
They were indeed selecting Jianghu’s top experts.
Yet it wasn’t clear why the response among elite martial artists seemed rather sparse.
"I’ll give it a try."
...
"Let me test myself."
Soon, three or four seemingly formidable Jianghu martial artists stepped forward, challenging Mr. Yu.
One by one, they were defeated.
After waiting for a while longer, Zhou Ping’an noticed disappointment creeping onto the face of Housekeeper Wang. Only then did he step out from the crowd, smiling. "Let me give it a shot."
"So young?"
"So many great martial artists have been overlooked. This young man, with his delicate skin and charming features, dares to compete for this silver earned through bloodshed. Isn’t he afraid of ruining his looks?"
"Ruining his looks is trivial; Mr. Yu, despite his age, despises opportunists. He doesn’t hold back when striking. If he breaks his bones, what a pity."
The murmurs around him carried tones of worry.
Yet their remarks made Zhou Ping’an feel a chill.
Southern Lake’s culture certainly lacked decorum.
He felt tempted to put them to shame, but with even soul suppression limiting him, creating a mental deterrence was impossible, and causing a stir now seemed unnecessary.
He stepped up before Mr. Yu, his gaze lingering briefly on the still-burning red embers of his smoking pipe. Holding his sheathed blade, he smiled. "Are you prepared, elder? I’m about to make my move."
"Strike as you please, youngster. If you can force me to take a single step back, consider yourself recruited."
Mr. Yu shook his head, giving Zhou Ping’an a quick glance before advising earnestly: "Young lad, this task carries its risks. If your abilities fall short, it’s better not to take such chances. The first rule of Jianghu is to know one’s limits..."
"You’re absolutely right, elder."
With a deft twist, Zhou Ping’an rotated the sheathed blade with a flip of his wrist, slashing downward.
The long blade advanced neither fast nor slow—clearly visible to anyone watching.
Mr. Yu angled his smoking pipe slightly, ready to hook and strike toward Zhou Ping’an’s wrist.
Buzz...
The pipe’s fiery tip flared brilliantly, producing a sound akin to a battle hammer tearing through the wind, its force clearly immense.
The move not only aimed to block the incoming strike but also seemed poised to shatter Zhou Ping’an’s chest if landed.
Indeed, as the spectators had mentioned, Mr. Yu showed no mercy in battle. Regardless of the opponent, he approached each encounter with full focus, absent of any arrogance.
Teaching young people a lesson could be beneficial—saving them from reckless confrontations with unyielding foes and untimely deaths.
Mr. Yu entertained these thoughts until suddenly he felt his smoking pipe sink, as if burdened with a tremendous weight.
His body staggered uncontrollably to the side.
Thud...
A flash of green light flickered briefly, and pain surged in his right shoulder. With two cracks, his knees buckled under the strain, and he found himself kneeling.
Before he could register the agony in his knees, his smoking pipe struck the ground with a clinking sound.
The sheathed blade had unleashed a powerful, shaking force that numbed his grip and paralyzed his hand, leaving him incapable of holding onto the pipe any longer.
"Elder, there is no need for such an elaborate bow—I am unworthy, truly unworthy."
Zhou Ping’an slowly sheathed his blade, stepped back, and with a slap to his forehead, lamented, "Oh no! I forgot to make Elder Yu retreat a step earlier. This round doesn’t count; let’s try once more."
"Count, count, count..."
Mr. Yu raised his head and shouted loudly, his face flushed to the neck while tears welled up in his eyes.
I’m seventy-three years old, and you made me kneel here in disgrace—what more do you want?
This is utterly humiliating.
...
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