Chapter 80: Pill Embrace Confronts Pill Embrace

The elderly man with the ceremonial axe, Huang Linfei, and Black Rat were all top experts in internal cultivation, masters of the viscera. They were also the mainstay the master of the Valley of Villains relied upon to ambush Tu Yong and the masters of the Tang and Wei Sects. Now, however, all three were being used against Zhou Qian—or rather, Ren Xie’s true intention was to capture Zhou Qian alive, to use him against his master, Zhou Xun. Yet, none of them had anticipated that Zhou Qian had already achieved the “embracing the elixir” stage. The four instantly fell into a bitter struggle.

Zhou Qian pressed his advantage mercilessly, his sword light cold and fierce as it enveloped Black Rat. Although Black Rat’s assassination techniques were first-rate, he rarely faced opponents head-on. For the moment, he was thrown into confusion, barely able to defend himself. The old man with the axe and Huang Linfei mustered their life’s knowledge just to slow Zhou Qian’s onslaught; but his swordsmanship had reached a formless realm—each move, though seemingly simple, struck precisely at their vital points, rendering their formidable skills useless.

Black Rat narrowed his eyes; seeing the tide turning against them, he was ready to risk everything. As a deathsworn under the Red Lotus Patriarch, he had long since cast aside any concern for his own life. If only he could capture Zhou Qian alive, Zhou Xun would be at their mercy, and he would earn the highest merit for his master’s grand undertaking. This thought flashed through his mind, a feverish gleam lighting up his usually deathly eyes.

He reversed his dagger grip, each strike reckless and desperate, attacking without a thought for defense. At last, he seized an opportunity, darting close to Zhou Qian’s chest, his dagger lunging like a viper from its den, heedless of the sword light flashing toward him.

His left arm was severed and sent flying, the agony twisting his face, but his heart surged with joy. As long as his dagger found its mark in Zhou Qian’s abdomen, it wouldn’t matter if the opponent was a master of the “embracing the elixir” stage or a celestial immortal—he would fall all the same!

The dagger tore through Zhou Qian’s outer robe, but at that critical instant, Zhou Qian’s left hand clamped like lightning onto Black Rat’s dagger-wielding wrist. There was a sickening crunch as bone shattered under the pressure. The Ghostmaster Sword, already turned, plunged straight into Black Rat’s chest, sinking to the hilt. Black Rat, however, had underestimated the true profundity of the “embracing the elixir” realm.

To be called “half-immortal,” one’s body and senses were exalted, but more crucial was an ineffable prescience, a subtle foreboding. The Doctrine of the Mean says: “When fortune or misfortune is about to come, the virtuous will know beforehand; when evil approaches, they will sense it first. Thus, utmost sincerity is like divinity.”

To know one’s heart and see one’s nature is awareness; the path of utmost sincerity enables foreknowledge!

This is the path of utmost sincerity—a preternatural sense of danger that comes only to sages and worthies whose minds are utterly free of distraction, whose intentions are grand and upright, so that such insight becomes possible. Even among martial experts, those who have refined their bodies and minds, single-minded in pursuit of the Way, may reach a similar state. Before Black Rat’s dagger ever found its mark, Zhou Qian had already sensed danger and was prepared. One misstep led to another, and that single mistake left Black Rat gravely wounded, gasping for life. By the time the other two tried to save him, it was far too late!

“Foolish!” the old man with the axe roared angrily. “If the ‘embracing the elixir’ stage were so easily attained, why would there be so few in the whole martial world?”

Zhou Qian drew his Ghostmaster Sword from Black Rat’s chest, his eyes blazing as he fixed them on the two who remained. The ever-shifting tides of battle were evident—he had originally planned to rescue by attacking the old man first, but Black Rat’s recklessness had brought about his own end. Now, facing two opponents instead of three, Zhou Qian felt even more confident.

The two exchanged a glance. The old man said in a low voice, “All out! Once the valley master arrives, this boy’s death is certain!”

Huang Linfei nodded. With a flicker of his legs, the three reengaged in fierce combat. Without Black Rat’s interference, Zhou Qian’s swordplay gradually unfolded, as ethereal as drifting clouds, as traceless as morning dew.

The pair found it harder and harder to hold their ground. The old man with the axe shouted, “I’ll hold him off! You escape first!”

Though a man of the underworld, Huang Linfei was loyal to a fault—how could he abandon his comrade? “Hold on just a bit longer—the valley master will be here any moment!”

His legs leapt and darted, whirling and pounding in a flurry of kicks and strikes, until he entered a state of emptiness, his mind detached. In midair, he unleashed one hundred and twenty-seven kicks in quick succession, the sound of whip-cracks ringing like thunder, forcing Zhou Qian back again and again. Pride surged in Huang Linfei; he could not help but laugh joyously. But then he saw Zhou Qian looking at him with a strange expression. Glancing back, he realized the old man with the axe had vanished without a trace.

“The old turtle!” Huang Linfei cursed, his momentum faltering—and then Zhou Qian’s ferocity dominated. Sword light spun like a wheel and wove like a net; within a single move lay countless variations. This was a technique Zhou Qian had devised by chance after reaching the “embracing the elixir” stage—the Sword-Grinding Wheel. Rooted in the Four Broken Sword Forms, inspired by the unnamed saber manual’s final move, “Axe-Grinding Wheel,” it lacked the latter’s wild, stormlike fury, but was as subtle as a gentle spring rain—killing in silence.

To Huang Linfei, the flicker of light was gone in an instant; then searing pain radiated from his shoulder. He twisted and tried to break free, but Zhou Qian’s Cloudhand pulled and guided his force into the water, sending up a spray with a crash. Rolling aside, Zhou Qian discarded the Ghostmaster Sword, seized Huang Linfei by the shoulders. As Huang Linfei retreated, his fists struck out in a wild flurry, but Zhou Qian’s Cloud-Dispelling style deflected the blows seamlessly. Fist met palm in a whirling blur as both men abandoned their signature skills to grapple in close quarters.

In the end, Zhou Qian proved superior. His Six Forms of Cloudhand, now fully integrated—not the childish Clouds of years past, but the true Cloud Palm—combined six forces in one, breaking through with explosive strikes. Huang Linfei’s chest was left unguarded and he awaited death, but Zhou Qian turned his palm into a claw, grabbed him by the collar, and with a twist flung him aside so hard that stars danced before his eyes and bile rose in his throat. Yet his life was spared.

“Why don’t you kill me?” Huang Linfei asked, face ashen.

“I admire those with loyalty,” Zhou Qian replied with a grin, offering no further explanation. He kicked Huang Linfei into the marsh, where he vanished in an instant.

“So it is!” Zhou Qian mused. “Fall into the water, and you’re out of this Kan Gate. Interesting!”

He glanced again at the spot where Huang Linfei had disappeared, muttering to himself, “It’d be a shame for someone even more foolish than me to die so easily.”

Countless streams of blood and bodies gradually sank into the marsh. But the water seemed to undergo a strange transformation—the waves grew more violent, and shadows flitted beneath the surface.

Suddenly, Zhou Qian was startled. It struck him—within the Li Gate, the souls of wild beasts and monsters were everywhere, yet here in the Kan Gate marsh, there were none. Wasn’t that strange? Clearly, these water creatures had all submerged, but the chaos of the battle had drawn them to the surface, turning this fairyland into a land of peril.

A flash of impending danger sharpened his senses. Three or four strands of black mist, thick as ropes, shot toward Zhou Qian. He retreated rapidly, but the black mist seemed sentient, attacking his every landing point.

His expression changed. The enemy intended to force him out of the Kan Gate! Though he saw their plan clearly, he had no way to counter it.

The giant lotus leaves could not withstand the pounding of the black mist; soon they splintered to pieces. Zhou Qian tried to block with his sword, but there was no purchase in the air—he plunged into the water.

A powerful suction gripped him. Zhou Qian knew at once this was trouble. His body already half submerged, he stamped a foot into the water, drew in his vital energy, and stabilized himself. Another step, energy surging, pores opening and closing, he found new strength and rose another foot. With each explosive step, he climbed higher—using his mastery of the body since embracing the elixir, he finally managed to stand upon the water, which was only ankle-deep beneath him.

“Well done! Well done! Remarkable among our generation! To control your strength so perfectly, even just entering the embracing the elixir stage—truly a prodigy, truly Zhou Xun’s worthy disciple!”

Ten fathoms away stood a strange-looking middle-aged man—bald, browless, beardless, with phoenix eyes and an aquiline nose—standing on the water, his feet barely touching its surface, four streams of black mist swirling behind him.

“You have embraced the elixir, and so have I. You are a youth of the martial world; I am an old villain. Allow me to teach you a few moves, will you?”

“Who are you?” Zhou Qian frowned, but search his mind as he might, he could not recall this man’s identity.

“Valley of Villains, Ren Xie!” Before the words had faded, the four black mists surged skyward like giant pythons lunging for prey—