Volume One: The King's Command Chapter Fifty-Four: Do You Know Who I Am

“It’s all a misunderstanding, Brother Liu, just some young hotheads who speak carelessly. Allow me to formally introduce the man who saved more than a dozen of our lives—Taoist Liu!” Wang Ye hurriedly pressed down the sword blade and shot a glare at his indiscreet junior brother.

That brother’s eyes were vacant, his throat cold and tight, still paralyzed with fear from the recent danger—the speed had been overwhelming. If Liu had wanted his life, his head would’ve hit the ground in an instant.

Liu Xiaoyi’s smile was quicker than his sword. He immediately said with a laugh, “Senior Brother Wang, shall we keep moving?” The chill in his laughter made those around him retreat, except for Meng Qiaoqiao, who walked at his side. “Hey, you’re clearly a decent person—why scare people like that?”

He sighed inwardly at the girl’s naivety. “Look at them, the disciples of Heavenly King Sect are used to being bullied—each one has that look of preying on the weak and fearing the strong. If I acted timid, I’d never be able to travel with them.”

Hearing this, Meng Qiaoqiao turned to observe. Among the fifty or so people, many were sneaking glances their way, wary of Liu Xiaoyi’s next move, while many more eyes lingered on her.

A young maiden in a pale green gauze dress, surrounded by men in the prime of life—there was an irresistible allure about her. Even the cold air was filled with a faint fragrance that made them steal a few more glances, but Liu’s presence at her side kept them at bay, torn between intrigue and fear.

Qian’nan River lay ten miles outside Seven Stars City, beside the Heavenly King Sect—a broad canal flowing past the sect’s rear mountain. Ferrymen plied its waters year-round, carrying passengers downstream to the sect.

Many disciples had already gathered at the bank, waiting to cross. The river was frozen, but the ice was thin—it wasn’t yet the deep freeze of December, making it the toughest time to traverse Qian’nan’s surface.

Those confident in their cultivation could try to cross with lightness skills—thirty meters wide, it was a mere instant for the adept. Otherwise, one had to wait for the ferry, which moved slowly as it broke the ice with iron-tipped prows fore and aft.

By the time Liu Xiaoyi and his group arrived, the sociable Wang Ye was already clasping his fists and greeting all around. “Ah! Junior Brother Li, you’re early! Isn’t that Senior Brother Feng? Haven’t seen you in ages—your skills have improved again! Truly impressive!”

Feng Changzai had arrived earlier with his men, who had already crossed. The ferry loaded with arms and horses moved even slower. From his pensive expression, it was clear he was waiting for something.

“Senior Brother Feng, you arrived early!” Wang Ye, trying to appear familiar, moved closer, only to be repelled by a force of true energy.

“We’re not close. Get lost!” Feng Changzai pointed at Liu Xiaoyi. “You! You’re the one I’m waiting for!”

This journey had been fraught with mishaps—they’d even had to borrow troops from an old Taoist to fight off ghostly generals, suffering heavy losses. Thinking back, Feng realized that the boy had been present at every mishap.

When the people of Sunken Boat City were buried alive, the boy had looked quite ordinary. By the time they reached the riverbank, he’d become a young Taoist—this shifting identity aroused Feng’s suspicions.

Liu Xiaoyi would have preferred to stay out of the spotlight, but with the accusing finger nearly poking his forehead, he could only step out and ask with feigned innocence, “What business do you have with this humble Taoist?”

“Cut the act! Every time something goes wrong, you’re around. What are you doing here at Heavenly King Sect?” Feng’s anger flared at Liu’s calm demeanor.

Nearby stood disciples like Feng Nanjue and Cui Ying, all smiling in anticipation of the coming spectacle—clearly, a fight was imminent, and in their eyes, the little Taoist would be beaten.

Feng Changzai, a master at the pinnacle of the Seventh Realm of Earth Soul, had never let an opponent escape his wrath—not even an elder of the sect.

“I’m here at Heavenly King Sect to find someone, not you,” Liu Xiaoyi replied, unafraid now that he had the protection of Taoist arts. Dealing with Feng would be no trouble.

Had this been a few days ago, he’d have stood no chance. But with ability comes confidence, and his words left Feng unable to save face. With a scowl, Feng drew his treasured blade, ready to strike.

Wang Ye hurried to intervene. “Senior Brother Feng, we’re all on the same side—let’s not resort to violence. There’s no need for swords.” He knew well how formidable Liu Xiaoyi was—inside the sect, he could easily become an elder.

There are three hurdles in the Earth Soul Realm, and the first is at the Eighth Heaven. Even with his talent, Feng had not broken through in three months, leaving him seething with frustration.

“Want a fight? Don’t come crying for your mother when you lose!” Liu Xiaoyi drew his iron sword and, with a single stroke, pierced through the crowd toward Feng.

“Good!” Feng welcomed the attack, swinging his serrated, razor-sharp Star-Shattering Moon-Slaying Blade to block the sword. With a burst of true energy, he sent Liu Xiaoyi flying. Sensing the force behind the blow, Liu realized the gap was too great—he was only Fifth Heaven; a direct clash would be unwise.

Feng, having tested his opponent, pressed the attack, seeking a swift victory. Suddenly, his advance was arrested as black and white chess pieces floated around him, their mutual attraction forming shackles. The Star-Shattering Blade rang out, shattering the bonds.

But Liu was not idle—he produced his chessboard and all manner of odd magical implements: flying ropes, talismanic strongmen.

To the onlookers, his display was more eclectic than the average jack-of-all-trades cultivator. Various magical treasures trapped Feng in place—the Seventh Heaven master could not break free, no matter what he tried.

“Fight me head-on if you have the guts! What do you call this?” Feng fumed.

“Save it. Nobody said duels have to follow rules. Watch my sword!” Liu slipped to the side, thrusting at Feng’s lower defenses, forcing him to retreat. As Feng wielded his blade, his true energy gathered around him, dense as a starry sky, making him impervious to sword qi.

True energy could shield him, but not against spells—he was battered by darting chess pieces, his clothes torn, breath coming short under the pressure of Liu’s sword qi.

A murmur went through the crowd—Wang Ye’s voice among them. “What’s happened to Senior Brother Feng? He went out and got weaker—can’t even handle a little Taoist. No chance at the sect tournament now.”

“Shut up!” Feng roared, gripping his blade, just as Liu closed in and struck his dantian with a palm.

Through the torn fabric, a scorched mark appeared on his abdomen, smoke curling up—Feng collapsed, eyes rolling back.

Defeated! His treasured blade clattered aside, and Liu picked it up. “Not a bad sword. Anyone want it?” He thought of keeping it, but abandoned the idea—he had no use for a saber.

No one dared accept. By now, Liu had thoroughly offended the Feng clan of Yanliang Prefecture—trouble was sure to follow, but as a lone wanderer, Liu Xiaoyi feared nothing.

As the black and white pieces were recalled, several people rushed to help Feng up and carry him off to treat his wounds. The look they gave Liu shifted from indifference to awe.

He was a Taoist, but his swordsmanship was formidable!

“Taoist, do you still have the strength for a match with me?” Another disciple of the sect stepped forward, drawing his blade.

Liu frowned. He’d already expended much energy suppressing an opponent two realms above him—why was Feng Nanjue stepping in now?

“Aren’t you and that one just at odds? Why fight on his behalf?” Liu asked.

“Just martial arts—no grudges or rivalries. Do you need a rest?” Feng Nanjue, itching to test his skills against a worthy adversary, couldn’t help but step forward.

What a character! He looked dignified and refined, but who would’ve thought he was a martial fanatic? Liu Xiaoyi muttered inwardly, but drew his sword once more. “You first.”

The message was clear—he’d attacked first against Feng Changzai, showing no regard for the man. Now, letting Feng Nanjue strike first would make the difference in their abilities plain. Feng Changzai, just barely conscious, coughed up another mouthful of blood and passed out completely.

That palm strike had been no light blow—using the Single Diamond Seal, the mark would linger for ten days at least.

“Be careful!” Feng Nanjue raised his steel blade, holding his breath as his clothes fluttered without wind, instantly merging with his weapon in perfect unity.

The next moment, his eyes snapped open, and a flash of blade energy sliced toward Liu Xiaoyi. The speed left no time for spells—Liu could only block with his sword.

The sword held for less than two breaths before snapping in two, but Liu dodged, ducking under the deadly arc just in time.

What sharpness! He carried three swords, and even though this one, bought from a blacksmith, wasn’t cheap, it was wrapped in true energy—yet was still cut clean in half. Feng Nanjue’s skill ran deep.

He gave Liu no chance to cast spells—another slash, so swift the very air parted before the blade. Liu rolled away, drawing his Frost Sword, which met the blade’s glow.

Intense cold erupted—the moment the sword was unsheathed, it seized the field, dropping the temperature so low that frost formed on their brows. Feng Nanjue found his true energy sluggish and had to retreat two steps.

That respite gave Liu his chance. He drew out the chessboard, and eighteen black and white pieces shot forth, aiming to trap his foe.

But Feng Nanjue’s blade skills were unstoppable—surrounded, he simply cleaved forward and broke the formation in an instant.

“What a swift blade!” With the Frost Sword, Liu wielded the Celestial Frost Sword Art, its power doubled—mist swirled, shrouding the duel from the onlookers, who could only hear the clash of steel, unable to see who gained the upper hand.

Liu had done this deliberately, not wishing to reveal his trump cards. To defeat Feng Nanjue, he’d have to go all out.

Before the steel blade, even the mist dared not draw near—Feng’s attacks came head-on, each swing whistling through the air.

Suddenly, a low incantation sounded in Liu’s ear—“Lin!” Feng didn’t understand, but his blade seemed unable to fall. Then, a flash—an arc of moonlight descended from the sky, sending him flying.

He burst from the mist, clothes shredded across his chest, a thin line of blood opening on his torso. Only Liu’s restraint had kept him from being slain outright.

The nameless sword art was truly hard to master. Dispersing the mist, Liu tasted blood in his mouth, steadying his qi with his power. After a long pause, he spoke out: “Who else? Today, I’ll accept all comers!”