Chapter 43: To Settle Life and Death!
Fang Han’s sigh seemed utterly inexplicable to everyone else.
But in Zuo Zimu’s eyes, it carried a hint of provocation.
Yet he held it in.
This man is no simple figure.
Unless absolutely necessary, he didn’t want to make an enemy out of him.
Little did he know, in a sense, he and Fang Han had already formed enmity—perhaps even a deep-seated grudge!
Fang Han’s expression remained calm. With a crisp metallic qiāng sound, he unsheathed a long sword and said clearly, “You needn’t concern yourself with who I am. I’ve come today to settle an old score. Zuo Zimu of Wuliang Sword Sect, yes? Then please—let’s determine victory or defeat, and settle life and death!”
Hua!
As soon as those words left his lips—
The entire crowd erupted in uproar.
On the wooden beam above, Cheng Lingsu was momentarily stunned, then immediately furrowed her brows in fury. “This Wuliang Sword Sect—truly too much of a bully!”
If others knew what she was thinking, they’d likely be full of question marks—after all, who exactly was bullying whom at this moment?
But in Miss Cheng’s eyes, Brother Fang was certainly not someone who would cause trouble without reason.
And now that he had spoken so decisively, it clearly reflected the depth of his grudge. Wasn’t it precisely because Wuliang Sword Sect had gone too far that Brother Fang was so outraged and unable to let it go?
Beside her, the little girl let out a surprised “ah,” prompting Cheng Lingsu to glance over. The girl seemed to sense it and looked back. The two locked eyes for a moment—then the little girl suddenly gave a sweet smile and softly said, “Jiejie~” (Big sister~)
Seeing her so innocent and bright, with a smile like a blooming flower, Cheng Lingsu’s expression softened. She gave a slight nod, then turned her gaze back to the arena.
The little girl thoughtfully stared at Cheng Lingsu’s ornate hairpin for a few moments, then also looked back down.
At this moment, the crowd had finally regained their senses.
Even Xin Shuangqing, the West Branch Head of Wuliang Sword Sect who disliked Zuo Zimu, stood up immediately, her expression deeply shocked.
If it had only been harsh words earlier, that would have been one thing—this man did seem like a hostile visitor—but who could’ve imagined he’d go so far as to *“settle life and death”!?
Other martial artists also began murmuring among themselves, their voices low but animated.
“To resolve a grudge through a life-or-death duel? Has the Wuliang Sword Sect made enemies again?”
Zuo Zimu’s face was dark with discomfort. His disciple Gong Guangjie and others were shocked and furious, all drawing their swords and stepping forward.
Dozens of strong young men drew their swords in unison, creating a heavy, oppressive atmosphere.
The disciples began to curse aloud:
“Where’d this punk come from?! Doesn’t know the meaning of fear!”
“Daring to provoke the dignity of our Wuliang Sword Sect!? Hmph! Clearly seeking death!”
“Our Sect Master is no common man. You think you can just ‘ask for guidance’ like that?”
Zuo Zimu raised a hand to silence their shouting and cursing.
Then he stepped forward a few paces, fixed his gaze on Fang Han, raised his sword, and cupped his hands respectfully. “Your words, sir, truly leave me baffled. When has my Wuliang Sword Sect ever wronged you?”
Fang Han didn’t respond—he merely raised his sword slightly, a gesture that clearly meant: Enough talk.
Zuo Zimu’s anger surged. “Very well! Since you refuse wine offered in good will, then you’ll drink the punishment wine![¹] I must now witness what kind of skill you possess to be this arrogant!”
The Wuliang Sword Sect, known as a sword school, naturally held its sword techniques as its core foundation.
A flash of green light—and Zuo Zimu had already drawn his personal sword and lunged forward.
With the move “Golden Needle Crossing Tribulation”, he aimed directly at Fang Han’s vital point.
The move was straightforward—but its speed was astonishing.
An ordinary person wouldn’t even have time to react—let alone block it—before being gravely wounded and knocked down.
Zuo Zimu, after all, was the head of a great sect. He’d practiced swordsmanship his entire life—naturally, his moves were refined and formidable.
He feared Fang Han’s exceptional qinggong (lightness skill), so he opened with a sudden, lethal strike—aiming to end the duel in a single blow!
Fang Han’s brows knit slightly. His sword moved like drifting wind, rising gently in response.
Tang!
He blocked the strike. Zuo Zimu was startled—then sneered, thinking, “He’s got some skill after all.” But his hands didn’t pause. He immediately changed techniques, unleashing the full flow of Wuliang Swordplay—like a flurry of fine needles, each move laced with danger.
Fang Han responded with his own Sui Feng Sword Technique—moving like the wind, shifting with unpredictable flow. His feet glided lightly, and before anyone realized, he had already begun using Lingbo Weibu (Wave-Rippling Step). With an air of effortless grace, he dodged the incoming sword shadows. At times, he passed by like a breeze—his sword glinting—forcing Zuo Zimu to hastily defend with startled blocks.
During Fang Han’s first life simulation, his martial arts were indeed lacking.
But that “lacking” stemmed mostly from insufficient internal strength.
As for external techniques—though few in number—he practiced them relentlessly, day and night.
Among them, the Sui Feng Sword Technique had reached perfection!
He had fully integrated it—achieving mastery through thorough refinement!
Any sword style, even the most basic, when cultivated to this level, would naturally evolve—producing subtle, personalized variations.
Besides, Fang Han wasn’t some greenhorn without combat experience.
In his first simulated life, he had wandered far and wide, encountering numerous dangers. Even without martial arts, he’d managed to survive—so now, with top-tier skills, he was even more formidable.
Previously, Fang Han’s internal energy had been lacking—weak, even—which made his true potential hard to see.
But now, using his Beiming True Qi to empower the Sui Feng Sword, its lethality had surged!
With Lingbo Weibu layered in—within a single fangzhang (about 3 meters)—his evasiveness was supreme, making him nearly untouchable.
Even under Zuo Zimu’s relentless flurry of sword strikes, Fang Han quickly adapted—moving with increasing ease and control.
Zuo Zimu’s face darkened. He unleashed wave after wave of swordplay, but each move was either parried or eluded with subtle grace. Fang Han’s footwork and lightness skill had reached an unfathomable level—completely unreadable.
At times, Fang Han’s sword would lash out like wind meeting wind—causing Zuo Zimu’s heart to tremble. The more they fought, the more fear crept into his heart:
“He’s so young—where did he learn such formidable martial arts!?”
As the two battled intensely in the arena, the surrounding crowd watched in sheer astonishment.
Zuo Zimu was renowned throughout Wuliang Mountain as a grandmaster of swordplay—a sect leader.
And yet he was locked in battle with a young man—fighting to a standstill.
They each wondered silently: Who is this man? and studied his style closely, trying to decipher its origin.
Xin Shuangqing, the West Branch Leader, gazed at the duel with a heart shaken. She admitted to herself that her own swordsmanship couldn’t match her senior brother Zuo Zimu’s—if she were the one dueling that man, she’d likely lose within a few rounds.
What’s more, it was a duel to the death—neither side holding back. The danger was palpable.
If she entered the fight now—no matter whom she faced—she feared she’d only suffer a humiliating defeat… or worse.
For a moment, shame welled in her chest. As West Branch Leader, if even I am so outmatched—how can I ever vie with the East Branch for Sword Lake Palace?
Duan Yu watched the intense duel. Though he didn’t know martial arts, he could see the danger clearly. Anxious thoughts stirred within him:
“Why do the people here always resort to violence? A slight misstep and they’re fighting to the death… I must never be like them…”
He added, “That young man looked like a refined scholar—so elegant—and yet here he is… Sigh, what a pity…”
He couldn’t say exactly what he pitied—only that it felt… wrong.
Unconsciously, he looked up at the two young ladies on the wooden beam. Both stared fixedly at the duel below. Duan Yu sighed again, silently.
Cheng Lingsu sat upright on the beam, her pale hands tightening slightly.
She certainly believed in Brother Fang’s abilities—but watching the fierce duel unfold still made her anxious. Her fair face paled slightly with tension.
She fixed her gaze coldly on Zuo Zimu.
Kindness was one thing—but everyone had their limits.
And now—Fang Han was
Cheng Lingsu’s bottom line.Beside her, the younger girl’s eyes sparkled with delight, occasionally letting out sweet little exclamations.