Volume One: The Emperor’s Decree Chapter Sixty-Six: The Ironman Pill Cannot Save

The chilling sword aura from the Ice Sword roused Feng Changzai, who was secluded in a secret chamber for cultivation. Upon returning to the sect, he had locked himself away, swallowed a mysterious pill, and had been training ever since.

As Feng Nanjue drew his weapon and stepped onto the field, he was immediately engulfed by a bone-piercing cold, an overwhelming killing intent enveloping him. At the high seat, Dao Xuzi’s brow also furrowed; this murderous will emanated from the surrounding mountains, falling indiscriminately upon everyone present and instantly displeasing some of the honored guests.

“Sect Master, do you have some uninvited guest here?”

“Please, everyone, remain calm. This is one of our disciples. Here he comes,” Dao Xuzi replied with a smile, turning his gaze skyward to see a disheveled man flying toward them, wielding a massive blood-red cleaver.

Without a word, Feng Changzai launched an attack, slashing at the two men on the field. Feng Nanjue sneered, meeting the blow head-on with his own blade.

Liu Xiaoyi, sensing the power of the attack was irresistible, hastily dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the crimson arc of the strike.

“Second Senior Brother! Since you’re coming at me, let’s settle this fair and square! Brother Liu, step aside for now!” Without further ado, Feng Nanjue met blade with blade, sparks flying as steel clashed.

Feng Changzai, his blood and qi surging, had gained a tremendous boost in power—no one could tell his current level. With a single strike, he shattered Feng Nanjue’s treasured sword, sending both man and broken blade crashing into the field.

The hard bluestone shattered like tofu. Feng Nanjue spat blood from the blow, and Yu Hengzi could no longer remain seated. Slamming his hand on the table, he shouted, “Wretch! Show some respect!”

Feng Changzai shot a provocative look upward. “Yu Hengzi! Dare you come down and face me?”

“Fine! Fine! Fine!” Yu Hengzi repeated, leaping onto the field and raising his hand to strike.

With his cultivation at the peak of the Earthly Soul Realm’s tenth stage, Yu Hengzi should have been able to restrain Feng Changzai. But with a casual flick of his blade, Feng Changzai deflected the attack.

Yu Hengzi was not the only one shocked—several mountain lords and elders turned pale. When had Feng Changzai attained such strength? The surging blood and qi around him didn’t resemble any orthodox cultivation method. Some elders immediately wanted to join the fray.

Dao Xuzi, however, stopped them with a calm command. “Be seated, and remain patient.” His deep gaze, meanwhile, fixed on Liu Xiaoyi, who seemed to be deep in thought, unfazed by Feng Changzai’s strange behavior.

After ten exchanges, Yu Hengzi was panting heavily, having used every technique he knew—all of which Feng Changzai had fended off.

“There’s something strange about your cultivation! How did you suddenly reach the tenth stage of the heavens?” Yu Hengzi grew more alarmed with each blow, certain that if he continued, he would surely lose.

If a mountain lord were defeated by a disciple, it would be a great humiliation. While this might be beneficial for the sect, as Yu Hengzi cast a desperate glance toward the high platform, Dao Xuzi prepared to intervene.

At that moment, Liu Xiaoyi stepped forward, forming a unique hand seal and leaping to Yu Hengzi’s side. “Mountain Lord, please step back and rest. Allow me to take your place.”

Yu Hengzi was all too eager for help, but as soon as he saw it was his newly-revealed junior uncle, he hesitated, wanting to return to the fight. It was one thing for him to be beaten, but his junior uncle was only at the sixth stage—if he were killed by accident, it would incur the wrath of the Grand Elder, a matter not to be taken lightly.

But in the brief moment between advancing and retreating, it was too late. Feng Changzai, seeing Liu Xiaoyi finally step up, his eyes blazing red, roared, “You’ve humiliated me again and again—today I’ll repay it all at once!”

His blood and qi surged even more fiercely, and his blade swept with wild ferocity, as if to slice the very air around Liu Xiaoyi—a demonic onslaught that, nonetheless, failed to move Liu Xiaoyi a single step.

Eighteen black and white go pieces suppressed his aura, and with the full force of the “Lin” incantation, a celestial crane formed of wild winds circled him, holding back the raging onslaught.

Feng Changzai was momentarily stunned. The gap in cultivation between them was vast, yet his blade was trapped as if mired in mud, unable to advance or retreat. Now it was a contest of pure internal force, devoid of any technique.

Whichever side exhausted their qi first would be utterly defeated. Confident in the power of his pill, Feng Changzai pressed harder, but Liu Xiaoyi seemed to know his weakness. The eighteen go pieces rotated in celestial order, creating two distinct cycles within and without, resembling a millstone slowly grinding down Feng Changzai’s blood and qi.

Meng Qiaoqiao, wringing her hands in worry, watched the duel below, her nerves stretched taut. The force of their contest whipped their clothes and hair about. Liu Xiaoyi’s hands bulged with veins as he clenched his seals, reciting the Water Virtue Heart Mantra through gritted teeth.

With each recitation, the surrounding aura grew more stable. If he could endure long enough, victory would be his.

Ever since consuming the pill, Feng Changzai’s mind had been unstable, drifting in and out of lucidity. Now, under intense pressure, his mind unraveled again—suddenly he released his grip and staggered back, blood spraying from his lips.

“I’ll kill you! Manifestation!” Feng Changzai roared, throwing his arms wide. His shirt tore apart under the surge of blood and qi, and his exposed skin gleamed with a metallic sheen.

At this, Bai Yiting cried out, “It’s the Iron Man Pill! How did he get his hands on it? Dao Xuzi, this is a disaster!”

Before he finished, burly bald men wielding staff-length cudgels surged from all directions of the central plaza, forming a formation whose overwhelming presence enveloped the entire square.

Others might not understand, but the cultivators present felt it keenly—these bald men were using Daoist techniques, weaving a formation that sealed off heaven and earth.

Such a display could only be executed by renowned great sects. Dao Xuzi cursed loudly, “Which bald-headed scoundrel has come calling? You think this Bronze Man Array will scare children?”

He clenched his fist hard, then released it, sending up a plume of white smoke that blocked the oncoming wave of energy.

“Dao Xuzi, have you grown forgetful with age? These aren’t the monks from Westwater—these men are of the Nine Streams!” Bai Yiting drew a wooden sword and donned the Hundred Families Robe, bracing himself for battle.

The inner factions of the Daoist community are myriad, each sect preserving its own branch of Daoist arts, with the most distinguished being the Eight Immortals and the Nine Streams.

The eight transcendent immortals have guarded Daoism for a thousand years, spreading their teachings far and wide. The nine sects, born from the Nine Character Mantra, are known as the Daoist Nine Streams.

Each stream developed a unique technique based on one character. The bald men present belonged to one of these streams.

Dao Xuzi finally realized. He’d had suspicions since first witnessing Feng Changzai’s transformation, but hadn’t considered this possibility. After all, the Nine Streams hadn’t been seen for nearly a millennium, regarded by most as mere legend.

“The Moving Mountain Stream adapted the ‘Lin’ incantation into four body-refining realms of gold, silver, bronze, and iron. Your disciple consumed an Iron Man Pill, which is why he’s become deranged,” Bai Yiting cried from above. “Daoists, this isn’t a matter for the martial world—let the martial fools see something new today!”

Since the dawn of martial and Daoist cultivation, rivalry between the two paths had been constant. Especially among seniors like Bai Yiting, who never missed a chance to stir up trouble; countless magical treasures now targeted the formation.

“Old friend Bai, after all these years, your tongue is still sharp. I envy you!” boomed a voice as a crack split the plaza, and a statue-like figure emerged from the ground—a fat monk of at least four hundred pounds, his layered jowls making it impossible to tell if he was smiling or weeping.

Above the four realms of gold, silver, bronze, and iron, there is a perfection realm, embodied by this fat monk, whose body glowed with a jade-like radiance.

“Current head of the Moving Mountain Stream, Monk Shiyuan!” Bai Yiting produced two strings of prayer beads, one in each hand—his opponent’s unique realm rendered him immovable, impervious to weapons and blades.

Over the centuries, few have mastered the “Lin” incantation to the point of manifesting a jade-like body. Monk Shiyuan was a paragon among them—his body, even if beset by all present, would be nearly impossible to breach.

Dao Xuzi, too, felt disheartened, powerless against this turtle shell of an opponent.

“Shiyuan, what brings you here? You’re not planning to destroy my Heavenly King Dao, are you?” Dao Xuzi asked warily.

Monk Shiyuan put his hands together and replied loudly, “No, do not worry, fellow Daoist. I am here today to deal with a wayward disciple.”

He pointed into the crowd, a beam of light pinning one man, whose body glimmered with golden light as he struggled in vain, then was dragged forward by the beam.

“This man betrayed the Moving Mountain Stream, passing the Iron Man Pill to others. For the consequences, I accept responsibility—it was our failing.” As he spoke, Monk Shiyuan blew softly, and the golden man was instantly petrified, becoming a lifeless statue.

This matter was directly related to Feng Changzai. The Iron Man Pill was meant to be used only in conjunction with the Moving Mountain Stream’s techniques; otherwise, side effects like those seen in Feng Changzai would occur. The laws of the Nine Streams forbade sharing their arts—violation was punishable by death.

Feng Changzai’s gravest mistake was being deceived by this man into taking the Iron Man Pill. The man intended to refine Feng Changzai’s body into a puppet, but hadn’t expected Monk Shiyuan to intervene so quickly.

Dao Xuzi was deeply shaken, his old face flushed with embarrassment. “To think such a traitor was among my disciples, right under my nose—I am truly ashamed.”

“It is of no consequence. Poor guidance of a disciple has harmed others, yet meeting the young master here is a blessing.” Monk Shiyuan’s gaze fell on Liu Xiaoyi, who was fully exerting the “Lin” incantation.

Unable to maintain the Iron Man form without mastering the full Moving Mountain Stream technique, and under external pressure, Feng Changzai finally shed his metallic hue, collapsing to the ground, his aura utterly spent.