Why do I have so many masters?

Chapter 131 The Fate of a Wooden Sword (2/2)

Hearing Wang Anfeng's reason for wanting to go out, Wu Changqing couldn't help but laugh and cry, yet he felt that this was indeed something that would trouble Wang Anfeng. Next to him, Hong Luoyu rolled his eyes, his face full of disdain as he said:

"Kid, you must have lost your mind."

"With the speed you just showed, one or two silver pieces?"

"Pah, even if it were a hundred silver pieces' worth of a jade hairpin, it'd be smashed to pieces. Look for some damn..."

Wang Anfeng opened his mouth, a defeated look appearing on his face. He then turned back to the man who, despite having no hands or feet, could nevertheless soar into the air. He had neither seen nor heard of such Qinggong techniques before, and curiosity got the better of him as he wondered:

"Er... I haven't asked yet, this senior is..."

Hong Luoyu gave a sly smile, lifted his chin with a touch of arrogance, and said:

"Heh heh, I am, I am the unrivaled... back in the day, I roamed the Jianghu, unmatched by anyone under the..."

Before he could finish speaking, a slender hand suddenly clamped onto Hong Luoyu's forehead. The fingertips were cold and forceful, making him swallow the words he hadn't yet said, his smiling face freezing as Mr. Ying, expressionless and without a hint of fluctuation in his voice, said:

"A thief."

Hong Luoyu's eyes widened as he protested indignantly:

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"Mr. Ying, you're talking nonsense; I've been everywhere in my time, even into the Emperor's palace six or seven times, and you dare call me a..."

Wang Anfeng was taken aback by what he heard and said:

"That impressive?!"

The Scholar looked at him and said:

"He's a thief."

"Don't believe me? Ask him."

Enraged, Hong Luoyu couldn't hold back his nature and was about to explode with curses when suddenly he felt a chill on his neck and the Scholar's indifferent voice echoed directly in his mind.

"Would you like to fly another round?"

The world's number one thief smoothly agreed and nodded decisively, saying:

"I am!"

The chants of the Buddhist Scriptures from Ci Yuan's mouth ceased, and opening his eyes, he looked at the Scholar, who was now seemingly refreshed and carefree. With a helpless expression, he said:

"Why must you deliberately tease him?"

Shaking his head with a sigh, he then turned to Wang Anfeng and pointed to the man, saying:

"Anfeng, your Master is going to introduce you."

"This is Hong Luoyu from the Divine Thieves Sect. His Qinggong is unmatched in the world, a rarity from ancient times to now, with few peers. He will soon teach you the Light Body Shifting Technique, and you must treat him with the respect due to a master."

"From now on, you may call him your Third Master..."

Wang Anfeng was momentarily stunned, turning to look at Hong Luoyu, who cleared his throat and lifted his chin slightly, trying to assume the dignified air of a master. Unfortunately, given his lack of limbs and being held by Mr. Ying by the head, he looked anything but solemn and mighty, rather more comical.

Realizing his awkward situation, he used the surrounding Vigorous Qi to break free, but his black hair had already been tousled into a mess. Anger flared in his heart as he glared at Mr. Ying, grinding his teeth in fury.

Wu Changqing interrupted, saying:

"Alright, now that the introductions are done, I might as well take Anfeng back to the infirmary to properly treat his injuries..."

In his voice, there was much concern; Wang Anfeng's injuries were severe, especially the claw wound on his waist, which was particularly thorny.

Xia Changqing's entire suite of martial arts came in line from Danfeng Valley; naturally, it wasn't as forthright and honorable as the Dragon Claw Hand. This set of claw techniques was inspired by the eagles of the Great Desert, with plenty of sinister and venomous force. If not handled properly, it would undoubtedly leave a permanent disability, preventing the use of one's strength.

Otherwise, once the force exerted tugs at the injury, causing it to flare up, the pain would be unbearable for an ordinary person.

It was because Wang Anfeng was unwell just now that he could only hastily stop the bleeding. Now that he seemed to have regained some vigor, Wu Changqing did not wish to wait a moment longer.

Yuan Ci nodded, chanted a Buddhist invocation, and said,

"Then I'll have to trouble Elder Wu."

Wu Changqing smiled and said, "Anfeng is also my disciple. It's only natural for me to do so."

Just as he was about to leave, the scholar in the green robe suddenly raised his right hand, and the wooden sword on Wang Anfeng's back sung out with a ring, slipped from its sheath, and, after circling in the air, fell into his hand. With a flick of his wrist, he chopped down and said casually,

"Leave the wooden sword behind."

Wang Anfeng paused in surprise.

After the scholar had requested the wooden sword from him last time, he had discovered that what was once a solid but otherwise unremarkable longsword had suddenly become exceptionally sharp. Just like today, it did not yield in the slightest even when clashing with Xia Changqing's blade.

That long blade was evidently remarkable. By comparison, he naturally knew that Mr. Ying had applied an extraordinary technique to this seemingly common wooden sword. He bowed in thanks and said,

"Thank you, sir..."

The scholar nodded slightly, his manner nonchalant.

Wu Changqing stroked his beard and chuckled softly. Then, using his profound inner strength, he lifted Wang Anfeng along with the bamboo chair into the air and stepped forward, heading towards Shaolin Temple's dispensary. In the blink of an eye, they had disappeared from sight.

The scholar watched them go, then retracted his gaze. Holding the longsword in his hand, he flicked the sword edge with his finger. Hearing an increasingly melodious sword hum near his ear, he nodded slightly, loosened his grip, and let the wooden sword fall. The mountain rock on this peak was formidable, yet it split where the sword edge touched, revealing its sharpness.

Hong Luoyu smacked his tongue, marveling inwardly. From this scene alone, it was evident that this wooden sword was no longer the ordinary plot weapon it once was.

Such a weapon would even be considered troublesome to use for butchering pig meat.

Seemingly reminded of something, Hong Luoyu rolled his eyes and a look of disdain appeared on his face.

Mr. Ying looked at the wooden sword, pondered with a frown, then flicked his long sleeve with his right hand. From the void, three objects emerged: a broken and battered blade, a dark jade pendant, and a thin, cicada-winged mask—all of which possessed remarkable qualities and belonged to Xia Changqing, who had died at the hands of Wang Anfeng.

The scholar paid no attention to the jade pendant and the mask; with a wave of his hand, he summoned the broken blade, holding it in his palm. It was cool to the touch. As he held it, the blade seemed extremely resentful, trembling ceaselessly with a chilly sound, as if ghosts and wolves were howling, chilling to the bone.

Hong Luoyu burst into laughter and said,

"Did you see that, did you see that?"

"Hahaha, Mr. Ying, even this broken blade doesn't think much of you."

Mr. Ying glanced at him and suddenly sneered, tapping his finger on the damaged blade. The tremors stopped abruptly, followed by a crackling sound, like the ice of early spring melting away, as hairline fractures quickly spread across the blade and eventually reached the edge.

With a snap, this valuable blade, which Xia Changqing couldn't bear to abandon even when he planned to retire from Jianghu, shattered into countless pieces of scrap iron in the scholar's hands, clanging to the ground.

The final piece of blade stuck in the mountain rock, vibrating with a hum. The scholar casually tossed aside the handle, then turned sideways for a glance at the suddenly stiffened Hong Luoyu, chuckling lightly, eliciting a chill in the latter who forced a flattering smile onto his face.

At that moment, from the broken pieces of the blade, a misty and luminescent light emerged, flickering unstably, conjuring various extraordinary images from the void—quite exquisite. It instinctively tried to scatter in all directions. The scholar didn't look back; with a slight movement of his right hand, he forcibly gathered it into one place, then casually plucked up Wang Anfeng's wooden sword and tossed it into the luminescent light.

In the Great Qin empire, if a master craftsman wanted to forge a weapon containing even a trace of Divine Weapon Spirit Rhythm, it would require painstaking effort and all of his family's wealth to smelt the materials into the weapon, and he would have to be wary of preventing the spirit rhythm from escaping. He might even resort to the taboo method of the blood furnace to lock in the spirit rhythm, lest it get away.

The method of weapon forging seen in Jianghu is not normally as brutal as what had just been witnessed.

Mr. Ying's brow quirked as he sensed the spirit rhythm's struggle; evidently, it disdained the material of the wooden sword and was unwilling to merge with it. He then scoffed, raised his right hand to make a gripping motion in the air, and then suddenly clenched tightly. Heaven and Earth seemed to contract, and the spirit rhythm, having not even the slightest power to resist, was violently pressed into the wooden sword, without any chance to escape. Such a brutal and unreasonable method made Hong Luoyu's scalp tingle.

After a brief struggle, the wooden sword suddenly let out a long, ringing cry. Upon its plain blade, lines of Taoist inscriptions and Buddhist maxims, previously unseen, began to light up from both sides in sequence, adding an air of transcendent otherworldliness to the wooden sword, which then slowly faded from view.

Mr. Ying raised his hand to grasp the wooden sword.

The sound of the sword edge resonating suddenly arose, persisting for a long time.

PS: Second update