Chapter 80: A Buddha Flicking a Flower Petal

Changan, Jiang Manor—also known as the Martial Arts King Manor.

The sunlight was dimming as a fine shower of rain bathed the area.

The lanterns along the long corridor were lit by the servant girls. As the autumn rain carried on, the lantern flame flickered in the haze.

Within the courtyard, Princess Pei Shi and Jiang Linglong's conversation came to an end. Jiang Linglong held the oil paper umbrella and escorted her red-cloaked mother out of the courtyard.

Swoosh!

An ear-splitting sound accompanied the arrival of a flight sword—a white streak tore through the rain-filled sky.

Zhao Wuji's vital energy roared. He raised a hand and caught the flight sword.

Jiang Linglong and the princess halted their footsteps. Silence filled the courtyard.

Zhao Wuji retrieved the letter on the flight sword. His eyes narrowed after reading the contents.

He rushed to Jiang Linglong's side and handed over the missive. "My lady, please have a look."

Jiang Linglong's brows were furrowed. Her eyelashes trembled as she scanned through the letter.

The temperature in the courtyard plummeted as if a vacuum had formed. The unbearable cold turned the falling rain into ice.

Jiang Linglong's beautiful features were frozen.

Princess Pei Shi's neck twitched when she felt the sudden change in her daughter's aura.

"Ling'er, did something happen to Little Fang? You're so agitated."

As the words left her mouth, Jiang Linglong's starry eyes met Princess Pei Shi's. The princess kept her mouth shut thereafter.

Jiang Linglong turned her gaze to Zhao Wuji. "Old Zhao, prepare the carriage. We're leaving the city. We're going to the hunting grounds of Qiulin Demon Portal."

Leaving the city?

A flash of recognition crossed Zhao Wuji's eyes. He cupped his fist and said, "Understood."

After that exchange, Princess Pei Shi timidly raised her fair hand.

Jiang Linglong nearly laughed at her mother's gesture. 'Are you even my mother?'

"Go on."

The princess smiled happily and said, "Ling'er ah, it's dangerous to leave the city. Old Zhao might not be a good choice. Why not… call your father?

"No, your father won't even leave his room. There's no way he'll rescue Little Fang. How about your uncle? I'm sure he'll lend you a hand."

Princess Pei Shi received the umbrella and gave her advice.

"I like Little Fang's poem, he's an impressive boy. Go ahead."

Although Princess Pei Shi lacked character, Jiang Linglong appreciated her concern. She gave her mother a faint nod and a smile warmed the autumn day.

"Sure," Jiang Linglong replied.

"If your uncle refuses, tell me. I'll pull off his ear!"

Princess Pei Shi rolled up her sleeve, acting like she was ready for some ear-pulling.

She was unable to reign in her husband and daughter, but not that little rascal of a brother!

Jiang Linglong chuckled. Then, she ordered the servant girl to escort her mother back before leaving the manor with Old Zhao.

…

Fang Lang studied the horizon—there was a black mass coming toward him like a meteor. The object roared.

A concealed weapon?

Approaching.

The thing was approaching.

Fang Lang saw that it was a malevolent wolf with a demonic presence.

The rain had soaked into the wolf's fur.

The wolf bared its teeth in the air. It howled and roared as it neared its destination.

Fang Lang's eyebrows were knitted together as he raised his sword.

The Obsidian Sword was utterly black—it appeared like a black line slicing through the scene. Blade energy rose from his feet.

When the wolf landed, it was cleaved in half by Fang Lang's blade.

A loud cry. Blood splattered everywhere. The separated wolf body fell to both sides of Fang Lang, the gore stains reached a distance away.

Wen Ting sat on a tree branch as he sipped his wolfberry tea. A shocked expression was on his face.

He closed his gourd canteen with a stopper and let it fall to his waist.

He stood upon the branch as the rain soaked his plain clothes.

Wen Ting studied the cleaved demonic wolf that fell from the sky.

Fortunately, the wolf's demonic energy was fairly manageable.

A flying wolf?

What was happening?

Something was off.

Fang Lang had defeated dozens of students on his lonesome without exhausting his spiritual energy. On the contrary, the longer he fought, the stronger he got. He even managed to attain fifth-grade sword mastery during the fight.

His performance challenged Wen Ting's views on cultivation.

It was a question without an answer, so Wen Ting could only chalk it up to Fang Lang's uncommon purple core.

Perhaps this was a case of an outstanding core mutation!

Huh?

Wen Ting frowned. Subconsciously, his sleeved hand moved to his sword hilt.

He stared out into the rainy landscape.

An extravagant carriage hovered in the air. Rain fell on the cedar wood carriage, creating a misty haze.

The rain curved around the shape of the horse carriage and blurred the view.

The carriage was unmoving, 1,000 meters away.

The weather made the silk blinds flutter and an aristocratic silhouette was revealed. Wen Ting's sword hand tightened around the hilt.

Suddenly, the carriage wheels began to spin. It moved through the rain and wind.

1,000 meters, 600 meters, 200 meters…

The details of the carriage were clarified.

Rainwater washed away the thick scent of blood and the two halves of the wolf laid on the ground—the corpse was turning cold.

Fang Lang leaned on the Obsidian Sword. The Blooming Lotus Sword was back in the sword box. He slowly turned around and faced the incoming horse carriage. The vehicle came to a halt 30 meters away.

In Fang Lang's eyes, the horse carriage was clear as day—his eyes could make out the markings on the cedarwood.

A short distance stood between the carriage and the green-robed teen.

Like two faraway points on an ink wash drawing, they were worlds apart.

The world was silent but for the downpour.

Fang Lang focused on the carriage and clenched his fist around his sword. He frowned and stared, the stench of blood dissipating.

The rain parted for the horse carriage.

"Did you know that the wolf you just killed was my prey?"

A lazy drawl came from within the carriage.

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Fang Lang glanced at the dead wolf and cocked an eye. 'Accident scams were already a thing in this era?'

"It was not my intention but the wolf came at me suddenly. It was an act of defense," Fang Lang said.

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Light-hearted laughter echoed from the carriage.

"Sure. I'll forgive you and let you live. If you cut ties with the Jiang family, I'll make you a promise, from today onwards, you'll need not worry about food or shelter and all your cultivation needs will be met."

The tone was casual.

"Where's your gratitude?"

The voice carried through the rainy weather.

Gratitude…

The demanding words coupled with the austere presence…

Without a doubt, the person in the carriage was the third prince.

Fang Lang leaned on his sword and asked, "I've never had to worry about food or shelter. As for cultivation resources, ten-fold of what I have now would entail a hundred mid-grade spirit crystals… Do you have millions for me to spend?"

His question was met with silence.

Fang Lang smirked and said regretfully, "Well, I guess you don't. Then, your offer is garbage."

Just as he said that, a roar sounded from the carriage. "Insolence!"

The falling rain froze.

At the driver's spot, the red-hooded Nan Yehuo widened his eyes. The wind blew the hood down and revealed a unibrow. A frightening pressure emanated from the man, causing countless raindrops to explode into a fine mist.

The rain battered the earth.

A dragon awoke amidst the mountain ranges.

The terrifying pressure pressed down from the sky and raindrops were forced into the ground, not allowed to create a single ripple.

Fang Lang felt as if a mountain rested on his shoulders, utterly immobilizing him.

The Earth's core had reached out and held his legs firmly, rooting him to the spot.

The world was spinning!

Zoom!

In the jungle and rain, Wen Ting's eyes sharpened. The blade shot out from the sheath at his waist.

His feet touched the wet ground. Three steps, two steps, one step!

The muddy puddles splashed about.

Wen Ting landed by Fang Lang's side and stabbed his sword into the ground. A surging sword intent shot out from Wen Ting's body, pushing back the frightening pressure and creating a three-foot-wide safe zone.

Within the bubble, everything was clean.

The safe zone was free of rain, wind and most importantly, the terrifying pressure.

Wen Ting's thin and narrow sword jutted out like a resilient bamboo. He leaned on the sword.

The man stood in between Fang Lang and the earth-shattering pressure.

Nan Yehuo sat atop the carriage with an impassive expression.

'Wen Ting… The Scholarly Sword Master who took Changan by storm, yet now…

'He's just a sword master who peaked in the sword intent realm.'

Fang Lang stood behind Wen Ting with a solemn expression.

'When you're powerless, no one will come to your support. Is this the tragedy of an insignificant person?

'Is this the outcome of the powerless?'

At that moment, Fang Lang experienced a calm like never before. In contrast, his ambition to become stronger burned brighter than ever.

The Sword Intent Seed in his energy center felt his intent and ambition. His core began spinning at high speed and blade energy was being churned.

A strong wind blew through the lands.

The rain was scattered.

The silk blinds of the horse carriage were swept aside by a pale hand. An aristocratic face appeared from within.

Li Liancheng exited the carriage. There was a coldness to his eyes and his loose garment fluttered in the high winds.

He peered at Fang Lang and Wen Ting from the high ground.

When he saw Wen Ting, his lips curled into a mocking smirk.

"That year, you were chased out of Changan by my elder brother. You fear my brother but you don't fear me?"

A bright golden light appeared in Li Liancheng's eyes—it spread and engulfed the entire pupil. The ends of his hair slowly turned gold.

He exuded the brilliant power of royalty.

At that moment, even Donglu's God of Blades felt the discomfort brought upon by the third prince's display of power.

The bloodline of the Tang Dynasty royalty!

The blood of the Emperor who stood unrivaled at the peak of the Tang Dynasty.

The carriage was bathed in a golden light.

Li Liancheng had one hand on the side of the carriage as he observed Wen Ting. In a calm tone, he said, "Kneel."

The sound was like a thunderstrike.

Wen Ting's pupils constricted—he recalled the nightmarish scene from his past.

The three feet of protection was about to cave.

The thin sword was bent in a dramatic fashion and looked as if it would break at any moment.

The royal blood was demanding Wen Ting and Fang Lang to kneel—his daunting aura seeped into the safe zone.

At that moment, Li Liancheng's golden eyes looked away. He gazed beyond the struggling Wen Ting.

His eyes fell on Fang Lang, who had just entered the second class.

Under the royal pressure, the green-robed teen maintained a death glare. His spine was upright and he appeared unperturbed by Li Liancheng's overbearing presence.

The green robes fluttered.

The rain puddles at the teen's feet were spiraling into the shape of a lotus flower.

A light gasp sounded from the sword box tied on the teen's back.

Within that inhuman gasp, the evening sky lit up as if it was on fire.

Fang Lang felt the Sword Intent Seed in his energy center weaken significantly as the Blooming Lotus Sword unsheathed itself.

A brilliant white light emerged from the Blooming Lotus Sword.

The white light coalesced into a handsome but hazy silhouette…

The magnificence shocked everyone present.

The dashing figure approached and took hold of the Blooming Lotus Sword with ease.

The figure passed Fang Lang and Wen Ting.

Li Liancheng's golden eyes narrowed.

The red-robed Nan Yehuo spoke for the first time in this engagement.

"Xuanyuan Taihua!"

Nan Yehuo stood up from the carriage, unibrow in a scowl. A fiery sword was in his hand…

Before he could swing his sword, the dashing figure sent out her sword. The strength and grace of her movement were akin to a Buddha flicking a flower petal.

The sword flew low and struck high.

Swish!

Nan Yehuo's sword arm was sliced away.

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