Chapter Seventy-Six: Taking Action

While Liang Yan was deep in thought, the duel between Fan Xunmei and Nangong Xiaomei had already reached its fever pitch.

Nangong Xiaomei’s long sleeves danced through the air, crimson ribbons swirling and fluttering like the celestial maiden of the moon palace in an ethereal dance. Yet the red sleeves in the air brimmed with murderous intent, encircling Fan Xunmei with the clear purpose of strangling him within.

But Fan Xunmei, as the direct grandson of the founder of Mount Tan Sect, was no ordinary opponent. Though beset on all sides by the crimson sleeves, his movements remained calm and measured. From time to time, he struck out with a palm from a distance, dispersing the sleeves that threatened his face. A righteous energy hovered about him, so that the red sleeves could come no closer than three inches from his body.

Hidden among those red sleeves, however, was a single red point of light, flickering in and out of view as it darted toward Fan Xunmei whenever the opportunity arose.

Fan Xunmei seemed particularly wary of this object. Several times he dodged it by twisting away, and when that was impossible, he mustered his spiritual power to slap it aside with his “Mountain-Crushing Palm,” but never did he dare to take it head-on.

After a brief stalemate, Nangong Xiaomei suddenly spun in midair and tossed out a small vial. The vial shattered in the wind, releasing a cloud of pink smoke. With a wave of her red sleeve, the cloud swept toward Fan Xunmei in the blink of an eye.

Fan Xunmei had clearly anticipated this. He showed no sign of alarm, but drew a small cloth pouch from his sleeve and flung it into the air, forming a hand seal as he did. The pouch, tied with a thin cord, opened at his command, and a fierce gust of wind roared out, instantly dispersing the surrounding pink mist.

“The Zephyr Pouch!” Nangong Xiaomei exclaimed.

“Heh, so you have some knowledge after all. This is a top-quality mid-grade spiritual tool—perfect for breaking the Venomous Mists of your Fragrant Aroma Sect,” Fan Xunmei declared with obvious pride.

“It seems you came well prepared. I wonder when our Fragrant Aroma Sect offended your people.”

“Offended?” Fan Xunmei’s eyes grew cold. “Defiance is offense enough!”

With that, he flicked his folding fan, sending a powerful gust that stilled the swirling red sleeves. Then, with another thrust of the fan, he unleashed a volley—

With a whistling sound, the eight ribs of his fan flew out, transforming into eight streaks of black light that shot toward Nangong Xiaomei.

Her face paled as she rapidly summoned her red dagger. Yet the black lights were too swift and fierce; she managed to intercept only three, while the remaining five streaked toward her.

She hastily retreated, forming a red barrier of light before her. The five black streaks struck the barrier silently, revealing themselves as five pitch-black iron nails. Each was etched with a black plum blossom on its head—an eerie sight.

Though the red barrier halted them, the nails remained under control, and the black blossoms on their tips bloomed wider and wider, while the red barrier shrank and faded.

“What are these? They’re draining my spiritual power!” Nangong Xiaomei was shocked.

In truth, Fan Xunmei’s cultivation at the seventh layer of Qi Refining was unremarkable. In a contest of raw strength, he might not have the advantage over Nangong Xiaomei. However, as the direct grandson of Mount Tan Sect’s founder—recently advanced to the Gathering Origin realm—he had been lavished with potent spiritual tools, enough to make even Foundation Establishment cultivators covetous. With such treasures, Fan Xunmei was invincible among his peers.

Nangong Xiaomei held out as long as she could, but at last, the red circle faded to nothing. With a soft sound, it was pierced, and the five black plum nails shot toward her unimpeded.

Startled, she had no time to change her tactics. Just as the nails were about to strike, a flash of golden light appeared at her side. Two slender hands reached out and, in an instant, caught all five nails.

She turned to see a scholarly youth gripping the nails. They writhed violently, the black blossoms greedily absorbing golden light from the youth’s body. But as soon as the black blossoms touched the golden light, they recoiled as if scorched, spontaneously combusting. In the blink of an eye, five blazing fires ignited in the youth’s hands, and with a twist of his palms, he reduced them to ash, which drifted softly to the ground.

“Alas, this is power you cannot devour,” the youth remarked with some regret, gazing at the black ash. This, of course, was Liang Yan, who had been observing from the shadows.

Fan Xunmei, seeing his Black Plum Nails so easily destroyed, was infuriated. “Who are you? How dare you meddle in the affairs of Mount Tan Sect! Are you not aware of our founder, Xue Wuyan?”

Liang Yan glanced at him, unhurriedly produced a folding fan from behind, and, imitating Fan Xunmei’s earlier posture, gently waved his fan as he shook his head and recited:

“Phoenix, oh phoenix, you seek your mate,
Yet roam the night in sleepless state.
You play your flute and sing your song,
Unheeded, you force your will along.
The walls of old, five fathoms tall,
Cannot compare to Fan’s face at all.”

He snapped his fan shut, saluted Fan Xunmei with clasped fists, and played the part of an awestruck admirer.

A soft laugh escaped Nangong Xiaomei behind him. She cast Liang Yan a sidelong glance, thinking, “What a sly young rascal.”

“You court death!” Fan Xunmei roared, hastily summoning the Zephyr Pouch again. Razor-sharp blades of wind slashed toward Liang Yan.

Liang Yan’s expression grew serious. Circulating pale blue spiritual power in his hands, he pushed his “Dispersing Force Technique” to the limit. Countless wind blades brushed past him, their force dissolved and returned to the world.

Fan Xunmei’s face changed dramatically. “What devilry is this?”

Without a word, Liang Yan gathered golden light into his fist and struck at him.

Knowing better than to block it, Fan Xunmei retreated in haste. Biting his lip, he drew an ancient book from his storage pouch and flung it skyward, forming a series of hand seals.

The book floated in midair, radiating a silvery glow and exuding a mighty pressure that forced Liang Yan to halt, giving Fan Xunmei a chance to escape.

Fan Xunmei seized the moment, rapidly forming hand seals and directing them at the book, which slowly opened. A vast, ancient presence emanated from its pages.

Liang Yan’s breath caught. He calmed his mind with his universal cultivation technique and looked up at the floating book, too wary to make a rash move.

Suddenly, a rumble sounded as something emerged from the book—a gray, moss-covered, angular stone, resembling a strange rock.

Liang Yan instinctively stepped back, staring upward in confusion. The stone rose higher, growing at an increasing speed, until the peak of a small mountain had emerged from the book’s pages.

Liang Yan was shocked. He glanced at Fan Xunmei and saw his face had turned ashen, clearly strained to his limits.

By now, a mountaintop the height of a pavilion had emerged, but Fan Xunmei’s Qi Refining cultivation left him unable to sustain the spell further. The book closed and flew back to his hand, leaving only a portion of the mountain suspended in midair.

Even as only a mountaintop, it loomed three stories high, jagged with strange rocks, emanating a vast and oppressive might.

“Young man, I must admit, for someone at the fifth layer of Qi Refining, your strength is remarkable. But crossing me today seals your fate as a spirit bound to this Book Mountain,” Fan Xunmei said, pointing at Liang Yan.

Obeying his command, the mountain segment spun in the air and crashed down toward Liang Yan.

Gritting his teeth, Liang Yan drew the Nine-Dragon Staff from his pouch. Golden light flared as he thrust skyward, propping the descending mountain overhead.

Boom!

The weight was immense. Even with his cultivation, Liang Yan felt as if a heavy fist had struck his chest. Blood spurted from his mouth.

“My lord!” Nangong Xiaomei cried, wanting to help. But as she moved, a withered hand blocked her path. With a mere wave, he suppressed her spiritual power completely.

She turned and her heart chilled—her assailant was the hound-faced man, and Yue Xiaozhu and Li Xiaosong had already been captured and bound together.

Boom!

The mountain pressed down with renewed force, its oppressive aura pinning Liang Yan’s legs into the earth.

Beneath the mountain, Liang Yan’s blood surged, his bones threatened to shatter, and half his body was already buried in the soil. Yet, in that moment of extremity, clarity dawned in his mind. The first part of his universal cultivation chant echoed in his thoughts, and a look of exhilaration crept into his eyes.

Boom!

Finally, the mountain crashed down. Liang Yan vanished entirely, seemingly crushed to pieces beneath its weight.

“Hahaha! Like a mantis blocking a cart—how laughable!” The pallor on Fan Xunmei’s face was tinged with a feverish flush. “A nameless nobody dares interfere with Mount Tan Sect’s affairs? He deserved to be flattened into paste.”

He turned to Nangong Xiaomei, his look sinister. “Had you yielded, all this could have been avoided. But now, it seems you must suffer a bit before you recognize your place.”

Nangong Xiaomei gritted her teeth. “Fan, I advise you to stop before it’s too late. Should my master learn of this, there will be no Mount Tan Sect left in Zhao.”

Fan Xunmei burst into derisive laughter. “Such arrogance! Your Fragrant Aroma Sect is but a minor Foundation Establishment sect. With our grandmaster present, if your leader submits, all will be well; if not, your sect will be wiped clean, your secret weapons and talismans ours!”

He laughed so hard he coughed, about to mock her further, when a tremendous crash sounded behind him. He spun around in alarm.

The mountain that had crushed Liang Yan was now rumbling ominously. It began to shake violently, and cracks spiderwebbed across its surface, golden light blazing from within.

Boom!

The next instant, the mountain exploded into a rain of stones. With a piercing cry, a figure burst forth from the debris.

It was Liang Yan, his face and tattered robe streaked with dust and grime, yet his eyes shone with excitement.

“So that’s it! This is what it means—‘power follows intent, form is born of mind’!”

He recalled the old monk’s words: the eight aspects of the universal cultivation method are the myriad forms of all beings and the Buddha’s own, and only upon reaching the state of ‘form born of mind’ can one truly begin to master them. In that crisis, unable to assume any posture, he had a sudden revelation, and his mind gave birth to the aspect’s power. With a single punch, he shattered the mountain.

He had long approached the threshold of this enlightenment; only a spark was missing. Pushed to the brink, he broke through at last.

Elated, Liang Yan threw back his head and howled, turning to fix his gaze on Fan Xunmei. Startled, Fan Xunmei instinctively fled toward the hound-faced man.

“Uncle Hound, save me!”

But as he ran, a flash of blade-light split the air. The blade was blindingly swift—first a streak on the horizon, then suddenly at hand. It sang with the roar of dragons and tigers, leaving a white scar in the air.

There was a faint, wet sound, and Fan Xunmei’s head flew from his shoulders, traveling ten feet before rolling to a halt, lifeless.

Only then did the lingering white gleam in the sky fade, revealing the delicate features of a woman.

“It’s you!” Liang Yan exclaimed in astonishment.