lovenovelstory Chapter 550 Qin Musheng, Number 1 in the World
Chapter 550 Qin Musheng, Number 1 in the World
The moon-white robes fluttered in the still air on the windless arena, the hem rustling softly, and long hair flew from her shoulders, drifting slowly in the air.
On that jade-white longsword, a layer of shimmering white light emerged from the depths of the blade, like moonlight being drawn into the sword and then slowly seeping out again.
The light grew stronger and brighter, enveloping the entire arena in a cool, almost sacred white light.
He slowly raised his sword, the tip pointing to the sky, and then slashed downwards with a sudden motion!
A sword aura that also stretched across the sky surged from his sword blade, rising against the heavens and colliding with the sword aura that had not yet completely dissipated!
The two sword energies collided in mid-air, without producing a deafening roar, only a very faint hum, like the thinnest string of a zither being plucked.
The buzzing sound was extremely faint, yet it reverberated throughout the entire training ground.
In the sky, the clouds were torn apart again, this time more thoroughly than before, like a piece of silk being split in two, surging, curling, and flying to both sides, revealing a crack several meters wide.
Sunlight poured down from the crack, forming a golden pillar that fell straight onto the arena, enveloping the two figures in an almost divine light.
Those who had been confused and discussing around the arena fell silent.
No one asked "what exactly are they fighting?" anymore, because the answer was already obvious.
The two figures on the stage were like two knives testing each other.
The entire training ground was merely a collection of sparks from their sword tests.
Below the arena, Yan Shisan had not moved since the moment that sword energy swept across the sky.
His gaze fell on the arena, looking at the two figures, at the sky that had been cleaved open, and at the beam of golden sunlight.
He spoke in a low voice, as if to himself: "So that's how it is. No wonder... no wonder I couldn't catch that sword."
On the other side of the arena, Bai Yujing sheathed his sword.
His moon-white robe hung quietly in the sunlight. His expression remained calm, but something was subtly changing in his eyes.
Their sword strike just now was more than just a martial arts contest.
It was almost a dialogue between terrestrial immortals, stretching across the sky, splitting the heavens, and sunlight poured down from the crack, illuminating the entire arena like a divine kingdom.
But after that sword strike, Bai Yujing did not retreat, nor did Qin Mu withdraw his sword.
Bai Yujing raised his sword again.
He lifted it very slowly, as if he were holding a bowl full of water, and every slight movement would cause water to splash.
His gaze fell on Qin Mu, on the ordinary iron sword, on the sword that had lost its sword energy and returned to silence. He already had the answer in his heart, but his hand had not yet been lowered.
Qin Mu looked at him but did not sheathe his sword.
The two were separated by more than ten zhang, by the silence of the entire training ground, and by ten thousand pairs of eyes that were open but unable to utter a sound.
Bai Yujing's eyelashes twitched slightly, like a withered leaf breaking its stem in the wind, falling down and landing in the dust.
Then he put down his sword.
He slowly sheathed the jade-white longsword, the blade sliding into the scabbard.
He did not draw his sword again.
He spoke.
"I lost."
Three words, neither too heavy nor too light, as if stating something unrelated to oneself.
There was a moment of silence in the audience, and then, like a dam that had been breached, water gushed out from the cracks.
The sounds of discussion, exclamations, and gasps mingled together, like a torrential downpour hitting parched land, stirring up clouds of dust.
"He admitted defeat? Bai Yujing admitted defeat?"
"But that sword strike just now...didn't he catch it? He caught it!"
"Catching the ball and winning are two different things. He caught it, but he couldn't counterattack, so he's already lost."
"Who exactly is this Zhao San? Bai Yujing has already admitted defeat... Doesn't that mean he's invincible?"
"What you're saying is ridiculous. The martial arts tournament has only just begun. But then again, in all my years of life, I've never seen anyone force Bai Yujing to admit defeat before.
"The name of the Qingfeng Sword Sect will spread throughout the entire Northern Territory tomorrow."
Xu Longxiang suddenly stood up from his chair.
His movements were so fast that he knocked over the back of the chair behind him, making a dull thud.
But he was completely unaware; his gaze was fixed on the arena, fixed on the gray-clothed figure, his pupils reflecting the back of the figure sheathing his sword.
Xu Longxiang took a deep breath and felt a surge of heat rising from his chest.
He absolutely must bring these two under his command!
Fan Li stood behind him, watching his back and seeing his barely suppressed excitement, and her heart sank a little further.
He didn't speak, but simply turned his gaze back to the ring.
He had already begun to wonder how Bai Yujing would choose, and how the man in gray would choose, and whether either of them could be persuaded.
Chen Ruoyao sat beside Xu Longxiang, her head slightly lowered.
A very faint, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips.
Of course she knew who that person was and what he was capable of. She even secretly sighed for Xu Longxiang in her heart.
If Xu Longxiang knew that the person he was desperately trying to win over on stage was the emperor he hated to the core.
The expression on his face must be quite interesting.
The crowd below the stage had not yet dispersed, like a pot of boiling water, with steam rising from every corner.
Some people were still arguing about whether the sword strike just now counted, some had already started inquiring about the background of the gray-clad man, and some were squatting in a corner repeatedly tracing the trajectory of the sword strike.
Several elderly men sat at the highest point of the stands, like weathered stone statues, remaining silent for a long time.
On the arena, Qin Mu still held that iron sword.
The sword tip pointed diagonally at the ground, and a faint glimmer of light remained on the blade from the final clash with Bai Yujing's sword. It was as thin as a taut silver thread and was slowly dissipating in the sunlight.
He neither sheathed his sword nor left; he simply stood there, his gaze sweeping over the throng of people below the stage.
Then he spoke.
"Anyone else want to take on the challenge? Bring them all on at once."
The group looked at each other, and no one spoke.
On the quiet training ground, the only sound was the wind blowing past the edge of the ring.
The silence lasted for a long time, so long that some people in the audience began to adjust their posture uncomfortably.
Then, a young man stepped out from the crowd.
He was dressed in a dark blue outfit, with a goose-feather knife hanging at his waist. His face was young and resolute, and his eyes shone with the fearlessness of a newborn calf.
He walked to the edge of the arena, paused for a moment as if to encourage himself, and then flipped himself onto the arena: "I am Zhang Heng, a disciple of the Northern Iron Saber Sect, and I would like to ask Brother Zhao for a few pointers."
His voice wasn't quiet, carrying a straightforwardness unique to young people, but when he finished speaking the last word, he could clearly feel that the gazes of those below the stage falling on him carried something indescribable.
No one spoke up, no one cheered for him, and no one even worried for him.
He gripped the goose-feather saber tightly, took a deep breath, and charged towards Qin Mu.
The goose-feather saber whistled through the air as it slashed down toward Qin Mu's shoulder.
The blade sliced through the air with a sharp screech, a strike delivered with all its might.
Qin Mu did not retreat.
He merely shifted his body slightly, and the goose-feather saber grazed the edge of his gray cloth robe, slashing down onto the ironwood arena and leaving a shallow groove.
Qin Mu raised his iron sword, and the tip of the sword lightly touched the back of Zhang Heng's blade.
Zhang Heng felt a jolt in his wrist, and the goose-feather saber flew out of his hand, twirled twice in the air, and landed with a clatter three steps away from his feet.
He looked down at the knife, then at his still numb hand, stood silently for a moment, then bent down, picked up the goose feather knife, clasped his hands in a fist salute to Qin Mu, and stepped off the stage.
Immediately afterwards, two more martial artists came up one after another.
One wielded double maces, the other a bronze staff. Both were taller and stronger than the other, and were well-known in the northern region. The whistling of their weapons was even more intense than before.
But their fate was no different from Zhang Heng's. Each of them lost their weapons within three moves, stood there in silence for a moment, and then clasped their hands in a fist and stepped back.
After that, no one dared to come up again.
"Who else?" Qin Mu asked again.
The audience was completely silent.
Those who had just wanted to try their luck were now frozen in place.
The gray-clad figure on the stage stood like an invisible wall in front of everyone.
Just as the wall was about to become a reality, a voice came from high up in the stands: "This old man is not very talented, but I would like to ask you for a few pointers."
The voice was old yet steady, like an old tree resonating in the wind.
All eyes turned to that direction. An elderly man in a gray Taoist robe was slowly standing up. He was not tall, his back was slightly hunched, and his face was thin, like an ancient pine tree that had been blown by the wind for too long.
Someone recognized him: "That's Elder Qin from the Profound Realm! What's he doing here?!"
"Elder Qin is one of the few reclusive cultivators in the Northern Territory who no longer concern himself with worldly affairs; no one has been able to persuade him to come back for help for a long time..."
"He's here to participate in the martial arts tournament? Doesn't he always stay away from these kinds of things?"
"He's not here to compete for a ranking; he's here to learn from others."
An elderly martial artist shook his head, his gaze falling on the gray-clad figure on the arena. "He's reached that level; he's no longer concerned with winning or losing."
When Qin Lao stepped onto the stage, his steps were slow, each step firm and solid.
He stopped three steps in front of Qin Mu, clasped his hands in a fist salute, and bowed slightly: "I am Qin Mingyuan. I have been cultivating for many years, but have been stuck at a bottleneck for a long time. Just now, I saw your swordsmanship and was moved. Therefore, I have taken the liberty of coming up on stage to ask you for some guidance. I am not here to compete for victory, but only to seek an opportunity."
Qin Mu looked at him.
Qin Mu smiled and said, "Okay."
He didn't use any sword techniques; he simply raised the iron sword, tip down, and casually dropped it lightly onto the ground.
After several rounds,
He bowed deeply, said no more, turned around, and walked off the stage.
His steps were a little faster and lighter than before, and his back seemed a little straighter than before.
The entire training ground remained quiet for a long time.
No one dared to step onto that ring again.
Qin Mu stood on the arena, his gaze sweeping across the entire training ground, over the bowed heads: "Since no one else is coming, then I am the number one in the world, aren't I?"
Everyone remained silent.
At the edge of the ring, Lin Xiaolu tilted her head back, her eyes shining like two stars washed clean, and whispered, "Brother Zhao... you're amazing."
Lin Qingshi stood beside her, his mouth open, as if he wanted to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat and turned into a "hmm".
On the high platform, Xu Longxiang slowly sat back down in his chair.
But his body still leaned slightly forward, his gaze fixed on the figure in gray cloth, and he didn't look away for a long time.
Fan Li, standing behind him, stared at the figure in silence.
The stone in Fan Li's heart felt even heavier.
That man in gray was too strong, far beyond what he could estimate.
Such a powerful figure cannot be simply described as someone who can be "won over".
You can't give this kind of person what they want, and what they want may not be something you can afford.
Thinking of this, he turned his gaze to the moon-white figure on the other side of the arena.
Baiyujing is still there.
Neither of these two mountains could be easily moved. But he couldn't voice these worries at the moment; he could only swallow them back down.
Under a crooked locust tree at the edge of the training ground, Bai Yujing was still standing there.
He looked at the gray-clad figure on the arena who was sheathing his sword, and after a moment, a smile slowly appeared on his lips.
He said softly, "Number one in the world. You are, of course you are."