The Road-Blocking Dragons and Tigers

Du Haifan’s mind drifted away into the void, dissolving into scattered points of starlight under the sun. Everyone watched in unison, puzzled—why would the Sword Saint vanish just as he was about to claim the title of Blade Saint with a single stroke? Within the imperial palace, Wang Qianchong, perched atop the roof, sighed quietly in regret. He knew that once the duel ended with a single strike, even if it could not help him cross the chasm, it would undoubtedly be of great benefit. Yet, he had never expected that the venerable elder, who had spent a lifetime in seclusion, would choose this moment to stir the heavens and earth. If such a figure were to emerge and disrupt the turbulent winds of fate, what chaotic scenes might unfold?

Outside the academy, people waited long but saw no sign of the Sword Saint’s return. One by one, they left in disappointment. The disciples of the academy were equally perplexed, save for Mo Yu, once a member of the Mohist school, whose cultivation surpassed many of his peers. He sensed something unusual and, gathering the disciples behind him, explained, “It must have been the action of the Dustless Dean. This match was unfair—Dean Song’s injuries have not healed, and his blade intent is at a low ebb. The Sword Saint took advantage of this weakness, but the old dean could not stand by and watch. The Sword Saint likely feared the dean’s sudden intervention and thus hurriedly withdrew.”

Song Linjie glanced around and murmured with awe, “What kind of cultivation does the old dean possess? We didn’t even see him, yet he scared off a grandmaster.”

Mo Yu shook his head. “I’m not sure. Perhaps he is akin to a Celestial Being.”

Song Qingtian, regaining his composure and walking slowly forward, seemed wounded as he spoke softly, “In terms of realm, he and the one from Guigu are the closest to the Celestial Being realm in this era. However, those who can match them are few. Du Haifan had just exerted his full pressure, stripping away all defenses, which allowed the old dean to strike from a vulnerable angle.”

Zhang Ling’s curiosity grew. “What technique did the old dean use? Was it a spiritual journey across a thousand miles? Or a dreamlike assassination?”

Song Qingtian looked toward a direction and said, “To travel spiritually across a thousand miles requires the comprehension of the Celestial Being’s realm. I haven’t seen him move in decades; I don’t know if he still possesses this skill. What the old dean employed just now was a unique method of natural Dao—manipulating all things. If you want to understand fully, you’d best ask Ke’er, who knows best.”

Zhang Ling turned to look and saw her reveal a playful expression. Though far from a beauty that could topple kingdoms, she was lively and spirited, especially those flawless eyes that he never tired of gazing into, each glimpse immersing him further.

Song Qingtian cleared his throat. Zhang Ling turned back, following his gaze, and saw Li Dami kneeling on the ground, sorrowful as if struck by a heavy blow. Song Qingtian tossed Zhang Ling a silver ingot, speaking solemnly, “Zhang Ling, Song Linjie, take him down the mountain to buy some seeds. Everyone else should attend to their own tasks.”

Having spent some time at the academy, Zhang Ling gradually understood that the academy’s gathering of disciples was not because each was a prodigy destined for greatness, but because each knew the weight of their actions and persisted in their own path. Even if they bloomed late, they could still rise to the peak. As Song Qingtian once told him, one must have purpose, know their cause, and act accordingly.

Years earlier, a disciple who had descended the mountain sought to realize his ambitions by joining the military. Upon returning to the academy, he tried to poison the minds of the disciples with toxic counsel, luring more to surrender to the court. But to the academy disciples, their path was the martial way; to abandon it lightly for the military was tantamount to self-destruction. The man was promptly cast out and forbidden from returning, with strict rules barring those who left from persuading others to abandon the academy.

So when Zhang Ling heard Song Qingtian instruct him to buy seeds for Li Dami, it was no joke. For Li Dami, every plant on Mount Kongyao was his martial path.

The two answered promptly, helped Li Dami to his feet, and began their descent. Wu Zhi, distracted for a moment, quickly recalled the unresolved matter he had pursued and activated his lightness skill, soaring like a bird in pursuit. Zhang Ling glanced back, made a playful face, and tossed Li Dami onto Song Linjie’s back. With the path smooth and flat, they slipped away swiftly. Now a second-rank cultivator, Song Linjie moved like the wind even without lightness skill.

Song Qingtian’s complexion was pale, regretting his earlier casual demeanor but smiled gently, “These three boys—where do they find so much trouble?”

The four raced down the mountain in haste. At the city gate, Zhang Ling and the others were stopped for inspection. Wu Zhi caught up, but they found excuses to brush him off. As academy disciples, the city guards hesitated to press further and soon allowed them passage. Unnoticed, Zhang Ling signaled Song Linjie, and the three slipped away once more.

That day, Jin Yu City was thrown into chaos. Because Wu Zhi pursued relentlessly, Song Linjie grabbed anything at hand to throw as obstruction. Li Dami, bewildered, suffered a series of slapstick mishaps—eggs thrown, vegetables tossed onto his head. After running through much of the city, Li Dami’s expression remained heavy, showing how deeply the Sword Saint’s strike had affected him.

Though Wu Zhi’s lightness skill was excellent, he couldn’t match Song Linjie’s inner strength. Carrying a man on his back, Song Linjie showed no signs of fatigue. Wu Zhi panted, shouting, “You three, stop! If you don’t explain everything clearly, don’t think you’ll return to the academy today.”

Zhang Ling was frustrated by the relentless pursuit but replied while running, “Hey, I told you—wait a few days. With your status as the son of the Ming Hall’s leader, you’ll find out everything naturally.”

Wu Zhi retorted angrily, “I’ve told you before, don’t mention that heartless, ungrateful guy. I have nothing to do with him!”

Zhang Ling sighed and suggested to Song Linjie, “Why not just tell him? It’s not a big deal. If you want to show off, find a noble family expert and have a fight—that’ll settle it.”

At that moment, everyone who saw the three hurried along avoided them as if fearing trouble. Suddenly, two figures crossed their legs and stood firmly in the road. Song Linjie’s voice turned grave: “Looking for trouble?”

“Probably some hot-blooded youths wanting to play the righteous hero. But no matter who they are, blocking the road means they won’t be spared.”

After running so long, Zhang Ling’s excitement to fight surged. At nine feet from the two blockers, he leapt suddenly, shouting, “Get out of my way!”

From that distance, Zhang Ling finally saw clearly: it was not two rash youths. One was a young man in fine brocade, hands clasped behind his back, posture upright and majestic—not a spoiled noble but someone of genuine bearing. The other was a graceful swordsman, equally striking and composed, exuding the aura of a capable leader. Only the swordsman stepped forward, sweeping his sword in a wide arc.

Zhang Ling’s body froze midair, flipped back, and landed heavily, his expression turning serious.

Song Linjie and Wu Zhi halted simultaneously, the latter thinking: The show is about to begin!