Chapter 207: Tool for Fame

Chapter 207: Tools for Fame

A duel of paramount importance had reached its climax, with both men clearly wielding true fire.

Or perhaps, from the very beginning, Li Jun and Chen Qisheng had harbored a hidden intent to kill.

One who dares to bargain with a tiger must possess the power to slay it.

Otherwise, they are merely a piece of fat meat delivered to another's mouth.

Clang!

Li Jun tilted his head, evading the thrusting strike of Chen Qisheng's three-inch green blade. In the space of an inch, he executed the Chu Wu Elastic Body technique, nearly seizing the opponent's heart with a curved arm turned elbow, driving straight toward the chest.

The Daoist, however, seemed to have anticipated Li Jun's assault. His left hand swung a Five Dou Fist downward, colliding with Li Jun's crown-to-heart elbow.

Slap!

The air crackled like boiling water, erupting in a series of explosive pops.

Both men staggered back a step, only to collide again moments later.

Flesh and blood clashed, their sounds akin to a storm pounding tiles.

Strangely, though the explosions roared beside his ears, Chen Qisheng could only hear the thunderous heartbeat echoing within his chest.

Exhilaration had peaked; the inevitable decline was next.

Chen Qisheng understood in his heart that while he was a Dao Seven Golden Core Peak Master, forcibly consuming that four-transformation gene pill had imposed too great a burden on his body. Prolonged maintenance of this state would inflict irreversible damage.

He was not one of those new-school Daoists who replaced flesh with machinery, stripping away most desires.

He still relied on his body to cultivate his Dao foundation!

"This spar is over."

His body moved with his will. The Daoist's sword tip suddenly quickened by three parts.

Pfft-ching!

Li Jun's cheek and jaw were each slashed by the sword tip, a raging wound. Half his neck immediately reddened with fresh blood.

Though the strike landed, Chen Qisheng still felt a tremor of fear.

Because the opponent's eyes remained unnervingly calm, devoid of any ripple—almost...

Like those divine statues enshrined on the altars in the grand hall of Longhu Mountain's headquarters.

The Daoist suppressed his unease and ceased holding back, summoning three carved jade seals, arranging them in a Three Flowers formation above his shoulders and crown.

Countless illusions and noises, along with an eerie vibrational frequency, surged toward Li Jun.

In an instant, Li Jun felt as though he had plunged into an unfamiliar dreamscape of yellow millet. A series of bizarre visions flickered before his eyes.

Zhao Ding, aged like rotten wood.

Kong Qingyun, whose body and head were separated.

Li Hua, whose ink armor shattered.

Zhao Qingxia, fleeing in panic.

The shifting images finally froze on a figure approaching on a sword, unmatched in arrogance.

The figure raised a sword finger at Li Jun, a crimson evil dragon soaring skyward, swallowing him whole in one gulp.

Vision darkened.

Li Jun felt as though he were submerged in the ocean depths, all senses reduced to cold and stinging pain.

As if sliced by a sword, as if cut by a blade.

"Don't rush. I'll return in due time."

Li Jun slowly closed his eyes, murmuring: "Qingchen Group... Yu Canghai..."

"When I come back, I'll crush you to pieces, scatter your bones, and send your name soaring!"

These last four words were not a wild scream nor a furious roar.

But a deathly silence, utterly devoid of any fluctuation.

Yet in that moment, they shattered every illusion surrounding him.

Li Jun's eyes snapped open, and before him loomed the sword finger aimed at his brow!

"The time has come."

A mysterious mutter, yet it carried the force of divine mandate.

Thud! Thud!

Chen Qisheng's heartbeat, frantic as war drums, suddenly slowed to a halt.

Overwhelming weakness struck him, dragging him into an abyss without bottom.

The medicine's effect had finally run its course.

Chen Qisheng clenched his teeth, straining every ounce of strength to control his languid body, but the sword finger continued its relentless advance.

Now, stripped of the pill's fervor, he was left only with exhaustion.

In Li Jun's eyes, no threat remained.

The warrior, riddled with wounds, casually brushed aside the sword finger, his fist detonating forward to send Chen Qisheng flying backward in a spray of fresh blood.

As the Daoist's body crashed to the ground, his opponent's shadow already loomed overhead.

Li Jun rose with a single arm, his savage fist descending with the force of a thousand catties.

Clang!

The piercing ring of a sword chimed in unison.

A jet-black flying sword hung suspended above Li Jun's head.

Click.

The sound of a bullet being chambered was unmistakable.

In an instant, the air in the chamber seemed to solidify.

"Two to one. You have no chance."

Beneath the hood, Ma Wangye's hoarse voice spoke.

"Come on, shoot! I'll stab him to death if you shoot first!"

Chen Qisheng's face contorted, his voice grim: "Don't forget—I'm a Sword Immortal!"

"A Sword Immortal?!" Li Jun's voice cut like ice.

"Sigh!"

Chen Qisheng's eyes narrowed, blood spurting from his mouth as he spoke: "Fine, I'll listen to you this time!"

Thud!

The fist brushed past his disheveled hair, and flying debris struck Chen Qisheng’s cheek, leaving blood speckles.

“Is this sparring? Did you have to hit so hard?”

Chen Qisheng lay on his back, his voice hoarse and barely audible as he let out a weak wail.

After a few wails, no one paid him any mind. Chen Qisheng simply rolled his eyes and scanned the area.

He saw Li Jun sitting cross-legged not far away, tearing his tattered martial attire to use as a cloth, wiping away the blood.

His bare torso was covered with wounds he had inflicted himself, but what truly made the Daoist’s heart race was that many of the cuts were already showing signs of healing.

“By the Dao Ancestor, what kind of abomination is this?”

The Daoist’s heart mourned, but despite his complaints, his thoughts remained clear.

After all, every art has its masters—if the martial sequence lacked such resilience, these years would not have seen so many remnants emerge.

The only oddity was…

How had he broken free from his own illusion?

Just as Chen Qisheng puzzled over it, he heard Li Jun suddenly speak: “First, eliminate the Xifan Dazhao Group’s operatives.”

Chen Qisheng lazily propped himself up, retrieved his fallen shoe, and slid it back on.

“Fine, you’re the boss now. You call the shots.”

He gathered his shoulders, tied his hair into a braid at the nape of his neck, and stood swaying, tossing Li Jun a communicator the size of a coin.

“Call me whenever you’re ready to act.”

After finishing, Chen Qisheng supported his waist with one hand, pressed the other on his knee, and slowly limped toward the door.

“Even if you’re restricted in numbers, why didn’t your Buddhist sect send high-sequence figures directly? Why let you lot play the role of the dragon crossing the river?”

“Are you so confident you won’t drown in Chongqing Prefecture?”

A confused voice came from behind.

Chen Qisheng didn’t turn around. “You want the truth?”

“Of course.”

“Because in their eyes, this place is nothing but a training ground for the younger generation.”

“And you, the lone warrior of Wu Seven, are also one of the prizes for this trial’s victor.”

Chen Qisheng stood by the Peace Restaurant’s door, slowly turning to face Li Jun.

“Not just you—these years, the martial sequence newcomers rising in the empire’s provinces are all tools for the Buddhist and Daoist schools to showcase their rising stars in this peaceful age.”

Li Jun fell silent, his killing intent spreading.

The Daoist clutched his flying sword, a dan medicine clenched between his teeth.

Click.

The locked door suddenly swung open, and the night wind from beyond the cliff made him shudder violently.

Chen Qisheng grinned. “Not planning to act?”

“Vengeance has its source, debts have their owners.” Li Jun’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Or do you wish to be the victor too?”

“I’ve no interest.”

The Daoist stepped out of the restaurant, turned with a playful smile, and replied, “I am Chen Qisheng. In this life, I seek only immortality.”

Without a sound, the door slowly closed.

The sign reading “The Eastern Lord has business; other matters shall wait” swayed in the wind before falling to the ground.

“You were born as I was not; I was born as you were dead.”

Chen Qisheng’s voice carried a distant melancholy. “The martial sequence… intriguing.”

Crack.

A brittle sound of bones shifting echoed from his waist.

Chen Qisheng’s face paled abruptly, and he gasped in pain: “Pain, pain, pain, pain—”