Chapter 277: Ghost Blade, Radiant Sun! (Seeking Monthly Tickets)

Chapter 277: Ghost Blade, Day of the Week! (Please vote for the monthly ticket)

The dignity of the fishing enthusiast, how could it be disrespected?

A fishing rod, a hook, sitting quietly by the riverbank, waiting for the moment a fish takes the bait.

What joy this is!

What fortune this is!

The most carefree and satisfying thing under heaven!

Thus, even when Chen Yì saw those fish gathered around the hook, he scorned using true energy to lure them in.

Such a vast and boundless chest, how could those who never fish by the willow reeds understand?

Of course, Chen Yì did not intend to preach these things to him.

The mere possession of a true script was enough.

Whoever’s fists were larger, whose arguments were greater.

Liu Lao, of course, did not know these things; he merely felt that Chen Yì, who had put away his fishing rod, had changed.

The originally calm and unruffled aura suddenly surged with waves of shock and turmoil.

Like a whirlpool, it pulled the surrounding heavens and earth’s vitality into its maw.

As he watched.

Liu Lao’s expression gradually grew excited; he suppressed the trembling in his heart, removed his conical hat, and set it aside.

“Boss, today’s duel, I hope you’ll show your full strength!”

“Grateful for the chance!”

Chen Yì nonchalantly set down his fishing rod. In the flick of his wrist, a plain, unadorned steel blade appeared in his hand.

“You’ll have to pass the blade path first.”

No sooner said than done, his blade intent scattered.

The Xuechun Blade Technique could not simply be reduced to raw power or fluid agility; it demanded simplicity and directness.

Stable, accurate, swift.

Thus Chen Yì’s blade intent was likewise—beneath its might, all directions bore killing intent.

In contrast, Liu Lao, stirred by that blade, instinctively clenched his right hand into a “yin hand,” gripping the scabbard.

He slowly drew it forth.

Then he crouched his frame, the blade’s back resting across his left forearm.

A feral blade intent erupted.

The old adage holds: only the wrong name is taken, never the wrong “title.”

Liu Lao’s blade, like his “Blade Madness” title, was ruthless and relentless.

“Except for my master, I fear no one with a blade!”

Chen Yì studied his form, carved a blade flower, and stepped forward.

Advancing calmly, he murmured, “Today, let me teach you, a rigid blade bends too easily.”

In the next instant, he was at Liu Lao’s side.

When the person comes, the blade falls.

Liu Lao bellowed a fierce cry, raising his blade to block.

Clang.

A forceful, sinking strike slashed straight into Liu Lao’s treasured blade.

Two blade flashes shot forth, cleaving a hundred feet of forest trees in two.

Liu Lao hadn’t anticipated Chen Yì’s blade’s power; his upright spine suddenly sank, kneeling to the ground.

Yet he felt no defeat, only exhilaration, shouting,

“Powerful!”

Then he raised his blade to sweep, driving Chen Yì back a step.

Drawing his blade, his hands gripped the hilt, twisting and slashing a diagonal cut.

Chen Yì sidestepped, his blade striking the blade’s body, calmly remarking,

“Your blade lacks speed, lacks hardness, lacks fury.”

Liu Lao’s face darkened with ferocity. “Again!”

Speaking thus, he channeled Chen Yì’s strike against his long blade, spinning and delivering two crossed slashes.

A cross of blade flowers bloomed.

Chen Yì remained unmoved, one hand behind him, the other thrusting his blade straight ahead.

The blade intent condensed into a silver-white gleam.

In one move, it shattered that cross-shaped blade intent.

Liu Lao missed but did not falter, pressing close, shielding the long blade with his body.

In half a turn, he withdrew and swept upward.

Chen Yì had sensed it, eyes never blinking, his steel blade precise to the smallest detail upon the long blade’s edge.

Blade intent met, intertwining with Liu Lao’s own.

Clang.

Blade flashes clashed outward.

Soil and stone scattered, trees flew, the ground within ten li was leveled two chi deeper.

Yet Liu Lao did not relent, his hands gripping the blade, attacking Chen Yì relentlessly.

Blades struck vital points.

Chen Yì stood still, still holding a single blade.

Letting Liu Lao’s blade flashes whirl past, he severed them with one cut.

Their blade techniques were of comparable realms, their skills akin.

Though their blade intents differed, in a duel they were nearly equal.

Force, true energy, blade intent—all favored Liu Lao, who was naturally no match for Chen Yì.

Especially given their other disparities.

Chen Yì excelled comprehensively, sanctified by the [Martial Dao·Blade] mysteries, allowing him to instantly perceive Liu Lao’s blade techniques and the intricacies of his blade intent.

More so, he saw through his flaws.

He could always strike Liu Lao’s weaknesses with minimal cost, restricting him at every turn.

The pain was unbearable.

Yet the Rainless Blade, after wandering the martial world for years, had grown rich in battle experience.

Especially his resilience was exceptional, never swayed by fleeting gains or losses.

When he found that ordinary techniques were useless against Chen Yi, he unleashed multiple sword styles.

Sometimes imposing, sometimes agile, sometimes cunning—enough to adapt.

But after nearly a minute of the duel, he realized he couldn’t truly threaten Chen Yi.

“Boss, this is all your fault.”

After that, he no longer aimed to defeat Chen Yi, but resolved not to lose on his own blade.

Even if he had to resort to underhanded tactics, he’d force Chen Yi to unleash that fearsome gun technique.

After three or four moves, Chen Yi noticed no change in his style and chuckled:

“So what then?”

“Coming!”

The blade was parried by Chen Yi, yet a mischievous grin spread across Luo Zhou’s face.

Then, his wrists trembled slightly, and with swift precision, he unleashed several more blades in minimal motion.

Chen Yi saw through his intent: “Hmph, daring to use your sharp sword to bully me, this steel blade?”

Just as he was about to withdraw his blade, a flash of golden light erupted before him—

【Daily Intel·Legendary Grade: During the hour of the rat, a wet, sultry king’s horse bandit group plans to besiege Liu Hong, the provincial governor of Shu Zhou. Minor opportunity available.】

Chen Yi blinked at the message, his movements slowing.

Clang! His steel blade was severed by Luo Zhou’s strike.

A successful hit.

Luo Zhou instantly withdrew ten zhang, straightened his posture, and exhaled a breath, smiling:

“Boss, your blade is gone.”

Chen Yi said nothing, raising his gaze again to the light curtain.

Then his eyes shifted toward the city, thoughtful:

“He’ll come.”

“Right, right—how could a simple long blade be my match?”

Seeing Luo Zhou’s misunderstanding, Chen Yi glanced down at the broken blade, then discarded it, pulling open his left sleeve.

“As you wish, though…”

His words trailed off as he revealed a long spear, his gaze meeting Luo Zhou, slightly lifting his head:

“Since you can’t even break my blade, why bother showing me your gun technique?”

To his surprise, Luo Zhou shook his head, his voice tinged with excitement:

“No, no, different.”

“When I use my blade, I can’t give my all—risking harm to both of us.”

“But if I unleash that spear, I’m free of such restraints.”

Luo Zhou took a deep breath, his figure rising upright, his breath settling.

His blade intent too, under the enhancement of celestial and divine energy, grew denser, heavier.

Like real blade intent, it coiled around him, circle upon circle.

Twisting and shifting like a serpent.

Wild trembling, it rippled through the surrounding world’s celestial and divine energy.

After completing these moves, Luo Zhou’s eyes turned entirely black, his voice hoarse:

“Boss, be careful.”

“Earlier, when I went to challenge General Jing Hong, I never used that blade.”

“Because then I feared I couldn’t control it, and worried I might hurt the general.”

“But now… this blade should let you unleash your gun technique.”

His form twisted, stretching or shrinking, widening or narrowing under the blade’s distortion.

Like a real demon. Chen Yi scanned him in a glance: “This blade—your master’s true inheritance of ghost blade?”

“Yes!”

Luo Zhou nodded heavily, both hands gripping that treasured blade, the blade intent coiling around the blade’s surface.

“His old master said, ‘Ghost blade’s might is like a night of ten thousand ghosts, a violation of heaven and earth.’

“They rarely let me use it.”

“But with your martial arts cultivation, I needn’t fear any concerns.”

Chen Yi remained silent, a hollow laugh escaping his lips, shaking his head: “You truly underestimate me.”

Then he steadied himself, a brilliant golden light surging from his body.

His gun intent, sharp and unparalleled, like it sought to cleave the void, soaring into the heavens.

The sky darkened, clouds rapidly gathering before his very eyes.

Boom.

Rumbling.

In the thunder and lightning, golden electric light twisted through the clouds, illuminating a ten-li radius.

Yet only thunder and lightning flashes fell—no rain.

Instead, the Red River far away, its waves rising under the gale.

Seeing this, Luo Zhou smiled, his figure grotesque under the blade intent surrounding him.

“Thank you, boss, for granting me this!”

In the next moment, Luo Zhou’s entire form dissolved into a ghostly remnant.

Body and blade merged as one.

Ghostly forms emerged sequentially, grotesque and terrifying, whistling like wind—like ten thousand ghosts blanketing the sky.

Enveloping Chen Yi.

That supreme blade intent also tore at his own body’s celestial and divine energy.

Forcing out a fierce wind, blasting in all directions.

Trees fell, stones scattered—and even the once-calm Red River far away erupted in waves.

“Ghost Blade·Kill a Thousand!”

Seeing this, Chen Yi’s expression grew even more serious, staring intently at the wraith-like forms surrounding him.

The pain was unbearable.

Yet the Rainless Blade, after wandering the martial world for years, had grown rich in battle experience.

Especially his resilience was exceptional, never swayed by fleeting gains or losses.

When he found that ordinary techniques were useless against Chen Yi, he unleashed multiple sword styles.

Sometimes imposing, sometimes agile, sometimes cunning—enough to adapt.

But after nearly a minute of the duel, he realized he couldn’t truly threaten Chen Yi.

“Boss, this is all your fault.”

After that, he no longer aimed to defeat Chen Yi, but resolved not to lose on his own blade.

Even if he had to resort to underhanded tactics, he’d force Chen Yi to unleash that fearsome gun technique.

After three or four moves, Chen Yi noticed no change in his style and chuckled:

“So what then?”

“Coming!”

The blade was parried by Chen Yi, yet a mischievous grin spread across Luo Zhou’s face.

Then, his wrists trembled slightly, and with swift precision, he unleashed several more blades in minimal motion.

Chen Yi saw through his intent: “Hmph, daring to use your sharp sword to bully me, this steel blade?”

Just as he was about to withdraw his blade, a flash of golden light erupted before him—

【Daily Intel·Legendary Grade: During the hour of the rat, a wet, sultry king’s horse bandit group plans to besiege Liu Hong, the provincial governor of Shu Zhou. Minor opportunity available.】

Chen Yi blinked at the message, his movements slowing.

Clang! His steel blade was severed by Luo Zhou’s strike.

A successful hit.

Luo Zhou instantly withdrew ten zhang, straightened his posture, and exhaled a breath, smiling:

“Boss, your blade is gone.”

Chen Yi said nothing, raising his gaze again to the light curtain.

Then his eyes shifted toward the city, thoughtful:

“He’ll come.”

“Right, right—how could a simple long blade be my match?”

Seeing Luo Zhou’s misunderstanding, Chen Yi glanced down at the broken blade, then discarded it, pulling open his left sleeve.

“As you wish, though…”

His words trailed off as he revealed a long spear, his gaze meeting Luo Zhou, slightly lifting his head:

“Since you can’t even break my blade, why bother showing me your gun technique?”

To his surprise, Luo Zhou shook his head, his voice tinged with excitement:

“No, no, different.”

“When I use my blade, I can’t give my all—risking harm to both of us.”

“But if I unleash that spear, I’m free of such restraints.”

Luo Zhou took a deep breath, his figure rising upright, his breath settling.

His blade intent too, under the enhancement of celestial and divine energy, grew denser, heavier.

Like real blade intent, it coiled around him, circle upon circle.

Twisting and shifting like a serpent.

Wild trembling, it rippled through the surrounding world’s celestial and divine energy.

After completing these moves, Luo Zhou’s eyes turned entirely black, his voice hoarse:

“Boss, be careful.”

“Earlier, when I went to challenge General Jing Hong, I never used that blade.”

“Because then I feared I couldn’t control it, and worried I might hurt the general.”

“But now… this blade should let you unleash your gun technique.”

His form twisted, stretching or shrinking, widening or narrowing under the blade’s distortion.

Like a real demon. Chen Yi scanned him in a glance: “This blade—your master’s true inheritance of ghost blade?”

“Yes!”

Luo Zhou nodded heavily, both hands gripping that treasured blade, the blade intent coiling around the blade’s surface.

“His old master said, ‘Ghost blade’s might is like a night of ten thousand ghosts, a violation of heaven and earth.’

“They rarely let me use it.”

“But with your martial arts cultivation, I needn’t fear any concerns.”

Chen Yi remained silent, a hollow laugh escaping his lips, shaking his head: “You truly underestimate me.”

Then he steadied himself, a brilliant golden light surging from his body.

His gun intent, sharp and unparalleled, like it sought to cleave the void, soaring into the heavens.

The sky darkened, clouds rapidly gathering before his very eyes.

Boom.

Rumbling.

In the thunder and lightning, golden electric light twisted through the clouds, illuminating a ten-li radius.

Yet only thunder and lightning flashes fell—no rain.

Instead, the Red River far away, its waves rising under the gale.

Seeing this, Luo Zhou smiled, his figure grotesque under the blade intent surrounding him.

“Thank you, boss, for granting me this!”

In the next moment, Luo Zhou’s entire form dissolved into a ghostly remnant.

Body and blade merged as one.

Ghostly forms emerged sequentially, grotesque and terrifying, whistling like wind—like ten thousand ghosts blanketing the sky.

Enveloping Chen Yi.

That supreme blade intent also tore at his own body’s celestial and divine energy.

Forcing out a fierce wind, blasting in all directions.

Trees fell, stones scattered—and even the once-calm Red River far away erupted in waves.

“Ghost Blade·Kill a Thousand!”

Seeing this, Chen Yi’s expression grew even more serious, staring intently at the wraith-like forms surrounding him.

He cast his gaze around, his eyes settling on one shadowy figure. Shaking his head, he said,

“This blade—your training is far from complete.”

The edge of his sword was sharp, but whoever wielded it would leave traces, revealing flaws.

“Yet… if I were to cleave through your strike, I’d wager you wouldn’t take it lightly, hmm…”

As he spoke, Chen Yilong’s feet left the ground, soaring upward.

His hand moved with his heart, gripping a long spear, its tip aimed straight at the void.

*Chua—!*

A golden thunderclap struck from the clouds above.

With the spear tip as the focal point, the spear was dyed golden, and so too was Chen Yilong’s body, cloaked in golden radiance.

In an instant, his golden light surged, engulfing his form entirely, swallowing the hordes of spectral foes rushing toward him.

Everything fell silent.

After a long while, when the golden light began to fade, the shadows around him had vanished.

The clouds parted, the wind stilled, the waters calm.

Chen Yilong hovered midair, his right hand resting behind him, his left gripping the spear, pointed toward the distant river. Yet his eyes gazed downward, over the flowing river below.

Below, Luo Po had knelt, staring up at him with wide eyes.

His clothes were torn, his body half-naked.

“Boss, what kind of shot was that?”

“The Fallen Dragon Spear, Day of Illumination.”

It was one of his four ultimate techniques, achieved after breaking through to the pinnacle.

“Day of Illumination… I’m in awe…”

Luo Po’s face broke into a satisfied smile, then he collapsed to the ground.

Chen Yilong glanced at him, nodded, and sheathed his spear beside him.

He was just about to draw the silver needle he’d prepared to treat Luo Po’s wounds when he heard rustling in the distance.

He had no choice but to hoist Luo Po onto his back and race down the river, planning to circle wide around the city.

“If he dies, don’t blame me for not being swift enough.”

There was no escaping it.

The technique they’d just employed had drawn attention from miles away.

Even two hundred li from the city, people had already begun to gather.

Not just the garrison outside the city walls, but also countless martial artists waiting in Shu for the arrival of the Great Saint.

Among them were cultivators of high repute.

In less than a minute, several figures had already arrived at the scene.

An old man with deep wrinkles, a beggar in tattered clothes, and a young, handsome swordsman.

They eyed each other warily before all turning their attention to one spot.

—Out in the river, a pit dug into the bank stretched a hundred zhang wide.

River water seeped in from one side, slowly filling the chasm.

Soon, the water rose several chi, covering the pit.

The old man frowned, studying the wound in the earth. “That was a blade…”

The beggar pulled his hood over his nose, sniffing the air. “Only one person in all of Shu has made such a blade recently—I heard of him only days ago.”

The young swordsman nodded. “The ‘Blade Ghost’ Liu Wu.”

But his focus wasn’t on these names. He peered into the pit, where residual blade energy lingered.

Drawing on the fluctuations of the world, his own blade brushed against it.

*Ting!*

A sharp, clear sound. A black blade aura sliced through.

The young swordsman tilted his head slightly, but still failed to evade the strike.

A deep wound appeared on his cheek, blood welling up.

“How bizarre… this blade… I feel I’ve heard it before.”

The beggar glanced at him, grinning. “How could you not know it, Blade Master? It’s fresh as the morning dew.”

The young swordsman paused, then his eyes widened. “It’s him.”

“The ‘Blade Ghost’ Master!?”

The old man bowed slightly. “Since over a decade ago, when the ‘Blade Ghost’ Zhu Xiu was defeated by the ‘Sword Saint’ Li Wu, he’s been absent from the world.”

“The one who wielded this blade must be his disciple.”

“The ‘Blade Madman’ Luo Po—I’ve heard of him.”

The young swordsman sighed, gazing into the pit. “A pity… I’ve never met him.”

The beggar shot him a glance. “So you’ve seen him—what then?”

“Can you block it?”

The young swordsman pressed his lips together, then shook his head.

“It’s… impossible.”

…

Outside the south gate of Shu Prefecture, Liu Mansion.

A tranquil courtyard, lit by only two lanterns.

The twelve guards who had once stood watch were all gone, sprawled across the ground in disarray.

In the study, Liu Hong sat at the desk, his expression grave as he regarded the man before him.

“Liu Bao, I never expected King Ran of Lanzhou to send you.”

The man was clad in black, thin and slight.

A head of gray-white short hair framed a face as lean as parchment, his triangular eyes burning crimson.

He bared a grin stained with blackened teeth, his voice a low, sibilant whisper:

“Your Majesty has slain a brother; I’ve been dispatched to investigate. I pray you extend your hand in aid.”

Liu Hong opened his mouth to reply, when the study suddenly blazed with a fleeting brilliance.

He glanced toward the window and saw golden thunder crackling in the distant sky, his brow furrowed with thought.

“You should know, Lü Nine Nan was slain by the ‘Dragon Spear’ Liu Five.”

The speaker followed his gaze, his own blood-red eyes deepening in hue.

“Since I’ve come, the Dragon Spear is certain death.”

“There’s but one matter Your Majesty tasked me with…”

He turned to Liu Hong, his expression turning glacial:

“Lord Liu, you promised to hand over the barbarian Aotsuai…”

“He—where is he?!”

(End of Chapter)