Feeling the four retainers' puzzled gazes upon her, Gan Baobao felt her face flush. She snuck a glance at her senior sister, only to see that even Qin Hongmian’s usually frost-like features were flushed pink under the moonlight.
Fortunately, in the darkness of the night, it was difficult to see clearly; surely, only her senior sister could discern the blush on her face. Feeling reassured, Gan Baobao suppressed her shyness and turned her attention to the scene before them.
In the center of the clearing, the masked man’s heavy sword moved with unpredictable speed—now fast, now slow, retracting and thrusting. The blade flickered under the moonlight, revealing the man to be a true master. Gan Baobao knew that if she and her senior sister were to face him, they would certainly be no match; they wouldn't be able to withstand it.
Murong Fu, however, stood dressed in white, his iron fan dancing in his hand. He remained rooted to the spot, deflecting every one of Daoist Zhangxu’s attacks. At first, he relied solely on speed to parry; before the sword could even strike, his iron fan was already blocking its path.
Soon, the exchange evolved. Before the Daoist’s sword moves could even fully form, the iron fan was already tapping against the blade.
Deng Baichuan and the others nodded approvingly, seeing that the Young Master, eyes glowing with focus, had gradually seen through the Daoist’s sword technique. Their hearts settled.
Daoist Zhangxu, conversely, grew more alarmed with every passing move. His Yin-Yang Sword had always served him well, yet every strike against this man was blocked. His sword moves were being intercepted the moment they gained momentum; what use was the sword then?
Gradually, the situation shifted again. It was no longer being blocked at the inception of the strike, but mid-swing, time and time again. Daoist Zhangxu thought to himself that this man was being arrogant to disregard him so thoroughly, yet he found himself helpless to do anything about it.
"Young Master, take the sword!" Seeing that Murong Fu had completely deciphered the Daoist’s technique, Feng Bo'e tossed his own sword into the fray.
"Brother Feng knows me well!" Murong Fu laughed aloud, leapt to the edge of the skirmish, and caught the blade.
With a smirk, Murong Fu looked at the Daoist, who was already dripping with sweat. He began to execute the very same Yin-Yang Sword technique that belonged to Daoist Zhangxu.
When he moved slowly, he was even slower than the Daoist; when he was fast, he was faster still. Only now did Daoist Zhangxu realize that it was not his Yin-Yang Sword that lacked power—it was the wielder himself.
When the sword moved slowly, the Daoist could only watch helplessly as the blade descended upon him, a grand, crushing force that offered no room for evasion. When the sword moved quickly, it was ghostly and unpredictable; one could hear the whistle of the blade, but see no shadow, the strikes appearing and disappearing in ways impossible to foresee.
To the onlookers, Daoist Zhangxu appeared to be standing foolishly in the center of the field as if he had given up, his sword waving wildly with no rhythm or technique. It was clear that although this was Murong Fu’s first time using the Daoist’s sword style, he had already far surpassed him.
Gan Baobao and Qin Hongmian were particularly struck. They felt that if they were both to face Murong Fu’s sword, they would be soundly defeated; this sword of his was truly something they could not withstand. Their beautiful eyes were filled with infinite awe—the Young Master Murong was truly a divine being, his prowess terrifying.
After dozens of agonizing moves, Daoist Zhangxu felt his hand go light; his sword had been flicked away, embedding itself deep into a rock several yards away.
At the same time, Murong Fu tossed the sword back. Feng Bo'e caught it, unable to stop himself from cheering in admiration. Murong Fu then tossed his iron fan out as well. Qin Hongmian and Gan Baobao both reached out to catch it, but Qin Hongmian’s martial arts were superior, and she managed to seize the fan.
Baobao was unhappy—she hadn't caught it.
With neither of them armed, Daoist Zhangxu was on the verge of tears, his suffering beyond words. *Someone save me! Save me!*
Murong Fu looked calm and composed, having gained much from the recent exchange. The "Moving Stars Across Dipper" was truly worthy of being the Murong Clan’s renowned ancestral technique; it not only allowed one to deflect an opponent’s Internal Energy but also helped one observe the flow and structure of the opponent’s own energy and moves.
Murong Fu felt that the Daoist’s Yin-Yang Sword was somewhat reminiscent of the Taiji Sword of later generations, deeply imbued with the principles of Yin and Yang, and simply marvelous. Having discarded his sword, he wanted to see if the Daoist had any further surprises in store.
Daoist Zhangxu caught his breath, calming his pulse. Seeing Murong Fu waiting for him to recover, he knew he was defeated. He took a stance; since there was a Yin-Yang Sword, there was naturally a Yin-Yang Fist. In fact, his proficiency in the Yin-Yang Fist was even greater than in his swordplay. Having practiced in a Daoist temple since he was young, he had spent every day honing the sect's internal cultivation exercises. Later, through a stroke of fate, he had acquired mysterious techniques and left the order, adapting those foundations into his swordplay.
After taking his stance, the Daoist did not initiate an attack, waiting for Murong Fu to strike first.
Murong Fu did not hesitate, immediately launching into the Grand Ancestor Long Fist, his movements wide and powerful as he surged forward.
Fists flew, whistling through the air, but Daoist Zhangxu remained calm and unhurried. He twisted his arms, utilizing a lateral force to deflect and fling Murong Fu aside. The Daoist groaned inwardly; against an ordinary opponent, that twist would have shattered their arms, but Murong Fu’s Internal Energy was so profound that he remained steady, not even losing his footing.
"Interesting! 'Water benefits all things but contends with none'!" Murong Fu’s eyes brightened. The Daoist’s fist techniques were different from his swordplay. The swordsmanship was deceptive and elusive, while the fist techniques focused on redirecting force—they shared an uncanny similarity to the "Moving Stars Across Dipper."