“The Yanmo Palm technique has eight levels, each a step higher than the last. Reach the eighth level, and you can see heaven and earth,” Mu Ciling’s demon-subduing blade locked Su Jinhui’s sword firmly to the ground. “But reach the ninth level, and you become heaven and earth itself.”
Su Changhe clicked his tongue impatiently: “Why does this fellow talk so much?”
“You’re one to talk,” Su Muyu snorted.
“I’m about to enter the ninth level.” Mu Ciling spoke softly, and in that instant, his demon-subduing blade turned fiery red, as if burning with intense flames. He raised the blade and struck upward, cleaving Su Jinhui’s snake sword in two. The remaining half of the blade flew toward the hall.
“I won the bet!” Su Changhe swung his dagger to meet the broken blade, deflecting it into the wall.
Su Muyu leaped forward, her hand spinning the sword handle sharply. Her paper umbrella bloomed like a flower, releasing seventeen blades that covered the entire courtyard.
Mu Ciling looked up, his expression shifting from surprise to wild joy: “The Eighteen Sword Formation!”
Su Jinhui seized the moment to catch his breath and retreat.
“Form the Rotating Wheel Formation!” Su Muqiu shouted.
The Su family disciples in the hall rushed into the courtyard, surrounding Su Jinhui. Since most of their swords had been taken by Mu Ciling earlier, they had to draw the defensive short blades hidden in their boots to form the sword formation.
Su Jinhui looked at his broken sword and sighed softly.
This break hadn’t just severed his sword—it had cut off his path to drawing the Sleeping Dragon Sword!
But Mu Ciling’s attention was entirely elsewhere. He laughed madly while wielding his demon-subduing blade against Su Muyu’s Eighteen Sword Formation: “I knew you were strong, but not this strong! The Eighteen Sword Formation is excellent! I’ve always said one of my life’s greatest regrets was not being born a hundred years earlier to face Su Eighteen, the Su family’s greatest master. Who would have thought that after being sealed in that coffin for a few years, the Su family would produce someone capable of reviving the Eighteen Sword Formation!”
“Su Changhe was right—you do talk too much.” Su Muyu’s left hand turned slightly, the eighteen blades firmly trapping Mu Ciling, who had reached the ninth level of the Yanmo Palm.
Su Changhe cursed under his breath: “Let my guard down for one moment, and the kid rushed out!”
“Hahaha! After years trapped in that black coffin, I have endless words to speak and endless battles to fight!” Mu Ciling laughed loudly. “But is the Eighteen Sword Formation merely hiding behind puppet strings to control flying blades? If it’s truly a sword formation, where is your sword?”
“Let me show you!” Su Muyu’s left hand swept forward violently, forcing Mu Ciling back a step with multiple converging blades. Then she leaped forward, appearing before Mu Ciling, her right hand wielding a thin sword that met his demon-subduing blade. Her sword was extremely thin and flexible, wrapping around the blade of his weapon as she struck.
“Oh? The Fine Rain Sword?” Mu Ciling’s eyebrows rose.
Su Muyu pulled her sword back, throwing Mu Ciling’s blade away, then thrust it toward his chest. Mu Ciling laughed coldly, blocking the long sword with a palm strike. Su Muyu froze, immediately feeling her sword energy being absorbed bit by bit by Mu Ciling’s bare hands.
So this was the terrifying power of the Yanmo Palm!
Su Changhe spun his dagger lightly and darted forward, shouting: “I am Su Changhe of the Su family! Though wounded, I’ll fight to the death to protect our Clan Leader!”
The usually calm and quiet Su Muyu couldn’t help but curse: “Bullshit!”
“Here to save you, and this is the thanks I get?” Su Changhe leaped before Mu Ciling, his dagger striking directly at Mu Ciling’s abdomen.
Mu Ciling first withdrew his palm, then swept it forward again, returning Su Muyu’s sword energy at him exactly as he’d absorbed it, forcing Su Muyu to stumble back over a dozen steps. Su Changhe seized the opportunity to dance wildly with his daggers, each strike aimed at Mu Ciling’s vital points. Mu Ciling’s palms couldn’t catch the small daggers, forcing him to repeatedly dodge.
The onlookers watched in amazement, all reaching the same conclusion—Su Changhe’s injury was fake.
Because no wounded person could wield two daggers with such mastery. Su Changhe’s footwork was swift, and his Inch-Edge Sword technique was executed with devastating precision and even beauty. Even Su Muyu watched in admiration: “Your Inch-Edge Sword technique is even stronger than before.”
“Strong or weak depends on the opponent. Right now, being even slightly weaker means death,” Su Changhe said helplessly.
“Good!” Mu Ciling raised his hand toward his distant demon-subduing blade, which immediately flew up and shot toward Su Changhe’s back. Su Changhe didn’t persist in the fight; he turned sideways, his dagger clashing with the flying blade as he retreated three steps. But just as he steadied himself, Mu Ciling’s palm strike came at him.
Su Changhe responded with his palm strike.
Their palms met, sending Su Changhe back ten steps while Mu Ciling caught his blade with his left hand, his right maintaining its position. His expression showed surprise: “You…”
Su Changhe couldn’t stop his retreat and finally sat down heavily on the steps: “My wound has reopened! I can’t fight anymore!”
Seeing this, Su Muyu immediately reactivated the Eighteen Sword Formation, this time holding nothing back. She attacked Mu Ciling like a madwoman—if Mu Ciling’s earlier attack had been a sword rain, Su Muyu’s was a tempest, relentless and seemingly endless!
Mu Ciling gripped his blade with both hands, spinning it rapidly. The red energy surrounding him gradually changed, turning purple.
“Damn it, this never ends!” Su Changhe stood up again.
The Mu family disciple who had been watching from the courtyard wall cried out in alarm: “Mu Ciling! Don’t be reckless! Take the Sleeping Dragon Sword and plan carefully—”
His words were cut short as his head was severed by a single stroke.
A middle-aged man stood beside him, kicking the corpse down.
“Uncle Qidao.” Su Muyu froze.
Su Changhe gave an odd smile: “The Xie family has finally arrived.”
Xie Qidao looked down at the scene below, sneering: “The once-mighty Su family, the strongest of the three families, now beaten to a pulp by a single Mu Ciling.”
Mu Ciling planted his demon-subduing blade in the ground, his energy gradually shifting from purple back to red. He glanced at Xie Qidao, then at the Sleeping Dragon Sword inside the hall.
“Don’t you dare!” Su Muyu reached out to stop him, but was too late. The Sleeping Dragon Sword trembled and broke free from the ground, flying directly into Mu Ciling’s hand.
“I have the Sleeping Dragon Sword now. Does that make me worthy of being Grand Elder?” Mu Ciling asked quietly.