Su Muyu’s next ten sword moves were no longer the swordsmanship of Wujian City, but rather the lethal techniques of the Su Clan from Anhe. Gone was the grand spectacle of the sword dao—each strike now aimed to kill.

Yet under the bright sun and clear skies, such assassination techniques seemed oddly out of place. How could someone as composed as Su Muyu make such an error?

As Su Muyu’s sword thrust toward Liu Yunqi’s chest, the crowd gasped. Liu Yunqi fell backward, letting the blade sweep past his forehead. His Canglong Ya [Dragon Fang Sword] caught Su Muyu’s left sleeve, tearing away a strip of flesh as he pulled back. The sharp pain brought Su Muyu back to his senses. He shook his head vigorously and looked at Liu Yunqi again, noticing the faint smile still on his opponent’s face—but his pupils now glowed with an eerie purple light.

“You used tricks,” Su Muyu said in a low voice.

“Though you tried hard to suppress it, one glance was enough to tell—you reek of bloodshed. You’re no swordsman; you’ve spent these years as a killer!” Liu Yunqi said ominously.

Su Muyu struggled to control his killing intent, shifting from offense to defense as he took a step back. He hadn’t expected Liu Yunqi, the former City Lord of Wushuang City and once leader of the righteous martial arts sects, to practice such devious techniques. The Mu Clan of Anhe had similar arts that could disturb one’s spirit and exploit weaknesses. Legend spoke of techniques that could drive people to suicide with just a glance. But such arts were considered evil paths. Liu Yunqi was truly despicable to employ such underhanded methods, knowing the spectators were too far away to see clearly.

“The sword reaches where wind and clouds meet, watching as clouds rise,” an elder atop Wushuang City stroked his beard and mused, “After all these years, the Former City Lord’s swordplay remains as elegant as ever.”

Below the city walls, Liu Yunqi launched three consecutive strikes, flowing like water and clouds, his sword qi surging forward. Su Muyu was forced to retreat repeatedly, barely able to defend himself. The watching scholars, including Xiu Ru, breathed sighs of relief. Earlier, Su Muyu had forced Sword Elder to concede before even drawing his sword, leading them to believe he stood a good chance against the Former City Lord. But unexpectedly, the Former City Lord had completely suppressed Su Muyu as soon as he made his move.

Up on the city wall, Song Yanhui frowned slightly. Having crossed swords with Su Muyu before, he knew that given the power shown in that earlier exchange, Su Muyu shouldn’t be struggling this much. Had Liu Yunqi’s time in the Sword Pavilion truly elevated his swordsmanship to another level?

Su Muyu felt increasingly anxious. Throughout his journey east, he had kept his sword sheathed, choosing not to draw even against masters like the Sword Elder, all to cultivate a specific sword energy. When he arrived at Wushuang City and called out “Challenging Wushuang,” his sword energy had reached its peak. This allowed him to harm opponents with just a finger, a fist, or even mere words, without drawing his sword. But Liu Yunqi’s technique had caused his killing intent to overwhelm his sword energy, dissipating the power he had cultivated throughout his journey, leaving him without his earlier prowess.

Liu Yunqi, worthy of his reputation as a grandmaster who had dominated the martial world for decades, had seen through Su Muyu’s plan with just one glance and ruined it just as quickly.

“Treacherous methods,” Su Muyu cursed under his breath.

“The Dao was what your father sought. I, Liu Yunqi, have never sought the Dao in my life,” Liu Yunqi smiled. “I seek only victory. And only the victor has the right to discuss the Dao.”

“Dao.” Su Muyu murmured, remembering how often his father had spoken this word.

Years ago, in Zhuo Yuluo’s sword pavilion, two massive characters hung on the wall, written by the renowned calligrapher Yu Shiqing. One character read “Sword,” and the other “Dao.”

Together, they formed “Sword Dao.”

“Father, what is the Sword Dao?” young Su Muyu had asked.

“The sword refers to swordsmanship and sword techniques. How strong can one sword become? From being able to face ten opponents to a hundred, and ultimately to a thousand or even ten thousand. We, swordsmen, train daily with our swords, hoping to reach the pinnacle of strength, to stand against all under heaven,” Zhuo Yuluo looked up at the two characters. “I believe my sword has reached its ultimate strength. To advance further, one must comprehend the Dao.”

“What is the Dao?” young Su Muyu hadn’t even understood the first part.

Zhuo Yuluo didn’t mind; he knew his child couldn’t understand and was just talking to himself: “The Kunlun Sword Immortal once spoke of three realms in his swordsmanship. In the first realm, mountains are mountains, and waters are waters. In the second realm, mountains are not mountains, and waters are not waters. In the third realm, mountains are again mountains, and waters are again waters. I’ve pondered this long but cannot grasp its meaning. To me, the Dao is simply a reason to draw one’s sword.”

After that, Zhuo Yuluo began visiting sword masters throughout the martial world, continuously winning battles, and Wujian City’s reputation grew. Yet he never comprehended what he called the Dao.

Until the day Wujian City fell, when Zhuo Yuluo, surrounded by over a dozen supreme swordsmen, backed against a small river. He placed his child in a water barrel to float downstream. As the swordsmen rushed to stop him, Zhuo Yuluo unleashed the strongest strike of his life, single-handedly slaying all those supreme swordsmen. Then he collapsed by the river, blood-soaked, watching his child drift away with a smile.

Some truths of the Dao, it seemed, could only be understood at the moment of death.

Perhaps the strongest strike of one’s life only comes once.

“I said before, the people of Wushuang City have no right to speak my father’s name, especially you!” Su Muyu suddenly roared, drawing his sword. The sword energy that Liu Yunqi had suppressed erupted once again.

What flowing water and rising clouds? Shattered!

What grandmaster’s presence? Broken!

What peerless under heaven? All could be broken!

Liu Yunqi lost his stance, retreating step by step as his protective sword energy was torn apart by Su Muyu. After ten steps back, his sword-holding sleeve was in tatters. After another ten steps, a crack appeared on the Canglong Ya. Ten more steps and Su Muyu’s sword once again reached for Liu Yunqi’s chest.

Liu Yunqi remained calm, laughing inwardly: Good, exactly so! The more ferociously you strike now, the faster you’ll lose! He spotted a tiny opening in Su Muyu’s stance and instantly struck, sending the Heyu Sword [Crane Feather Sword] flying.

“You’ve lost!” Liu Yunqi shouted.

“You wanted me to use killing techniques!” Su Muyu bent slightly. “Then I’ll show you the ultimate killing technique!”

As Su Muyu lowered his body, his paper umbrella blocked Liu Yunqi’s downward strike.

And then that paper umbrella burst open like a blooming flower.