Chapter 34
Chapter 34
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 34
Chapter Title: Tang Clan Branch Meet (3)
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Exactly three days after departure, they finally arrived in Sichuan Province.
If he had used lightness skill, it would have taken only a day, but the Tang Clan branch meet's schedule wasn't set in stone anyway.
There was no need to rush, and with the sunlight pleasantly warm, Cheongun saw no reason to hurry.
Upon arriving in Sichuan, Cheongun casually unpacked his things at a nearby inn.
The streets were packed with people, but since he had plenty of money taken from street thugs on the way, securing a room was no trouble at all.
Cheongun unpacked in his room and opened the window.
There were a lot of people.
Not just a lot—filthy a lot.
Sichuan Province was the great city where the Tang Clan resided.
It was worthy of being called the center of the murim world, regardless of righteous or unorthodox factions.
The streets had been crowded even on the way in, but looking down from above like this, it was dizzyingly chaotic.
Especially since the Tang Clan branch meet was practically a festival of the murim, drawing every eye in the jianghu.
Renowned martial artists from all corners of the Central Plains, their family members and sect mates cheering them on, and even ordinary folk with fantasies about the murim world.
Naturally, crowds attracted merchants, and merchants created jobs.
That was why the Tang Clan raked in money like no other sect.
"...Still, isn't this a bit much?"
But with so many people, pushing through the throng didn't look easy.
There were figures who seemed like officials stationed at key points along the streets like posts, but they were just standing there doing nothing—likely placed for crowd control.
"Guess there's no helping it."
Cheongun opened the window.
He climbed onto the windowsill and, without hesitation, threw himself outside.
Whoooosh—
His falling body left only a blurry afterimage in the air, and the moment his toe touched the inn's signboard hanging under the eaves, he twisted his body.
Creeeak, the signboard swayed.
Riding the momentum, Cheongun shot upward.
He flipped once in midair and landed on the tiled roof.
From there, he deployed lightness skill, gliding effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop.
Just then, he spotted other martial artists using lightness skill around him.
One odd thing: they were all going at it way too seriously.
What was this?
Was registration first-come, first-served?
He watched for a bit.
With a light focus, he could even hear the voices of the two men far ahead, leading the pack.
Sound was just vibrations riding the air.
With his senses heightened, Cheongun's hearing bordered on superhuman, so a mere tilt of his ear picked up their conversation crystal clear through the breeze.
"Moyong, my brother! Who would've thought we'd meet here! Your lightness skill has improved leaps and bounds since last time!"
"How can you say that? When have I ever been slower than you, Brother Peng?"
"Haha! What are you talking about? Don't you remember the last time we met?"
"I have no idea what you're on about. You're not talking about that time you were drunk and stumbled through your lightness skill, are you?"
They were bickering about who was slower or faster while flying along with lightness skill.
Cheongun found it amusing.
To his eyes, both were at peak initial stage, and watching these low-level guys burn with rivalry was unexpectedly entertaining.
"Looks like you're about the same as back then?"
"Catch up to me first, then talk smack. Pathetic."
The ancient Central Plains were a brutal arena of survival.
Life was a constant, fierce struggle, leaving little room for the leisure to seek recognition or respect.
Thus, when martial artists gained power, the first thing they did was show it off.
It was tied straight to basic human desires.
People lavished praise on masters for the same reason—so they could receive the same treatment when they reached that level someday.
That was why masters needed to carry themselves with dignity.
The reason Cheongun was always so bold.
Paat!
Cheongun circulated his inner energy.
His already swift speed accelerated even further.
The lightness skill Cheongun practiced was Flying Shadow Flash Step.
A technique that expelled inner energy from the soles of the feet for spring-like propulsion—top-tier in the jianghu for instantaneous acceleration.
The drawback was heavy energy consumption, but with his dantian stuffed full of natural qi, Cheongun had no such issue.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Each time his foot hit a roof and bounced off, azure thunder qi crackled from his soles like spiderwebs.
Bluish currents flashed through the air with every move, drawing all eyes.
Cheongun reveled in the attention.
A true master carried himself with flair!
So he amped up the flashiness even more.
"..."
"..."
The two men competing in lightness skill fell silent at the sight.
They'd just been innocently racing each other.
And among the countless martial artists bounding across rooftops, they had been the fastest.
No way they'd welcome Cheongun suddenly stealing the show.
Nay, it was shocking.
What kind of lightness skill was that— so fast and flashy!
Every thunderous flash made it seem like he was teleporting across space, akin to the legendary immortal arts.
Whatever. Cheongun bounded across the gaps like a frog hopping lily pads.
Soon overtaking the pair.
He glanced back at them.
"Slow."
"...?"
One word.
With that, azure currents exploded around him, and his figure vanished.
"...What the hell was that guy?"
"...No idea."
Cheongun arrived at the preliminary venue.
The location was the Tang Clan dojo.
At the registration desk, a scrawny man directed him to the outer courtyard for preliminaries, so he headed that way.
He glanced around.
Every martial artist was sharply dressed.
Silk robes cinched tight with sashes, or simple uniforms with hems securely tied.
Weapons varied wildly too.
He reached the outer courtyard.
Sitting quietly and waiting a while, two men entered.
The low-level duo from the rooftop race earlier.
Spotting Cheongun, they exclaimed in surprise.
"Whoa, fancy meeting you here. You participating in the matches too, little brother?"
"Yeah."
Cheongun nodded casually.
The one called Brother Peng, with his massive saber, seemed from the Northern Hebei Peng Clan.
"Haha! What a coincidence."
True to Peng Clan form, he was quite affable.
Then, the weasel-faced one next to him offered a handshake.
"Name's Moyong Jin."
"Cheongun."
"This here's Peng Cheonwi, an acquaintance joining the matches with me this time."
"Ah, got it."
Cheongun nodded vaguely.
He claimed to be twenty-five, but he looked way too old for that—easily over thirty.
Noticing Cheongun's surprise, Moyong Jin asked,
"If it's not rude, mind if I ask something?"
"It is."
"..."
Just then, Tang Clan martial artists who screamed "official" flooded in from the entrance.
"Cheongun, Peng Cheonwi, Moyong Jin. You three, follow us."
Following them led to a vast training ground.
In the center loomed an enormous obsidian slab.
A black stone plate the size of a house wall.
Cheongun tilted his head.
The Tang Clan branch meet changed its test format every time.
So even Cheongun didn't know what trial awaited now.
Then, the guiding martial artist bellowed,
"Before the matches, qualification check! We'll verify if you can handle qi! One chance only. Leave a mark at least one chi deep in the stone slab to pass!"
So, basically, scratch the slab at least a chi deep and you're good?
A straightforward, simple preliminary indeed.
Though tricky for others.
Peak experts could wield sword qi, but first-raters could at best infuse their blades to coat them firmly.
"Perfect preliminary difficulty."
"Sure is."
Of course, for sword qi users like Peng Cheonwi and Moyong Jin, it was a breeze.
"Peng Cheonwi! You're up!"
He strode forward boldly.
A gait matching his burly build.
"Huu."
Peng Cheonwi slowly gathered his power.
His broad saber blade hummed faintly.
A precursor to saber qi.
And then—
Kwaang—!
"Pass!"
An eight-chi-deep saber scar marred the slab.
"Hahaha! Piece of cake!"
Wielding saber qi meant peak realm attainment.
In other words, master status!
Peng Cheonwi returned smugly.
"Moyong Jin!"
Moyong Jin stood before the slab.
He raised his sword in stance, then went through flashy preparatory motions like he was dancing...
Kuwoong—!
"Pass!"
Right next to Peng Cheonwi's mark, a nearly identical sword scar appeared.
Moyong Jin clicked his tongue in mild disappointment and strode back.
And then.
"Cheongun!"
Cheongun strode forward.
He gripped the fishing rod slung over his shoulder.
"???"
Peng Cheonwi and Moyong Jin's eyes bulged.
Why the fishing rod over perfectly good swords?
And that prep stance was weird.
Not a proper sword stance, nor a form's ready pose.
He just scratched his ear a few times with his fingers, blew on it—phoo— and gripped the rod.
Then, Cheongun swung the rod horizontally.
The fishing line rippled, tracing an arc.
Aimed at the slab's midsection, swung sideways.
For an instant, the line tautened like a bowstring.
A sharp blue gleam.
Sword qi.
But something was off.
Sword qi was qi projected from the blade.
Yet qi dissipated the farther it extended, usually tapering thinner toward the tip—like a cone.
But Cheongun's line-borne sword qi stretched straight indefinitely.
Uniform thickness, without a hint of disruption.
The swung line met the slab's side.
It sliced through like cutting tofu, no resistance.
The line passed clean through, carving a long straight line.
A perfect diagonal.
And then.
Craaaack!
The slab shifted and split.
Acrid stone dust billowed as the upper section slid sideways.
Kuuuung!
Finally, the top half crashed to the ground.
"..."
An eerie silence descended.
Everyone stared blankly at the slab's smooth, severed face.
Then, Cheongun spoke.
"Pass."
"..."