Why do I have so many masters?-Chapter 442 - 112: The Sword Gall Resonates with the Qin, Beholding the Red Plum Blossoms and Bai Xue (2/2)

From a young age, Wang Anfeng was tormented by Mr. Ying at Shaolin Temple, and over the years, his sensitivity to killing intent had reached the level where it could even wake him up in the middle of the night.

The murderous aura on the young man beside him was so intense, laden with anger and the feeling of being on the verge of exploding, that he found himself unable to utter any words of refusal.

After thinking it over, he placed the piece of iron sword he was carrying by the side of the carriage and said,

"Then I will stay here and guard the carriage."

Hong Feibai nodded slightly in appreciation, handed over his belongings to the youth, held the much longer sword in his left hand, and lifted his right hand, placing it back on the sword hilt.

The martial artist opposite them clearly had no intention of giving them a leisurely chance to talk; at his command, the men behind him had already drawn big bows of ink color from behind.

These weapons were obviously made by the Mo Family’s shop, where the people of the Mo Family thought straight and made their bows very hard; without exceptional physical strength, one simply couldn’t draw them.

Consequently, the arrows shot from these bows had a frightening power that could make one’s heart tremble.

Wang Anfeng reached into his bosom with his right hand and fetched a bright orange copper coin.

With a flick of his fingers, he already had many lodged between them.

He had calculated that, with his inner strength, the power of the copper coins was not weak, and compared to the prevalent hidden weapons in Jianghu like flying needles, flying daggers, and flying locust stones, they were a real bargain; after all, a single copper coin could never be exchanged for a hidden weapon.

At the least, a decent silver needle would cost fifteen or twenty wen.

It was too extravagant.

Hong Feibai had already stepped within ten paces of the opposition.

His right hand held the sword hilt, the sword edge still sheathed, unrevealed like the pent-up feelings in Hong Feibai’s heart, yet the sharp aura was growing stronger, epitomizing the cultivation theory of "soaring sky-high with one flight, stunning the world with one sound."

Wang Anfeng grew more solemn.

The leading bandit chief remained composed until Hong Feibai drew even closer, and then he swung down the knife in his hand heavily.

"Fire!"

The historical texts described a dense barrage of arrows with the term "flying locust."

The martial artists had incredible physical strength and, shooting one arrow after another repetitively, even just twenty-odd men could create the momentum of a rainstorm of arrows, the whistling of them flying densely over the head in succession, creating a chilling sensation in any beholder; Hong Feibai shouted instantly as his relaxed fingers on the sword hilt abruptly clenched together.

A white sword light cleaved forth diagonally.

It nearly bore the mark of the Seventh Rank.

A pure-white surge of Qi was compressed, slashing out along the sword edge, the first wave of arrows directly cleaved apart, arrowheads and shafts scattering about, colliding with the second wave of incoming arrows and consequently impacting the third layer of the arrow rain.

In the sound of dull thuds, the Qi surged, deviating its course, and from above, it almost appeared as though a heavy Qi barrier had formed in front of Hong Feibai.

A gleam shimmered across Wang Anfeng’s eyes; his wrist remained still, only his fingers trembling slightly.

Several copper coins shot out, striking a few of the falling arrows, knocking those hidden arrows to the ground.

Hong Feibai did not notice.

He only felt that his sword had shattered the downpour of arrows, venting the suffocation in his heart, and then his spirits rose even higher. He landed on the ground and charged forward fiercely; his sword softly moaned and instantly ripped open the throats of several martial artists blocking the way, blood spurting out, falling on the snow.

This stretch of mountain forest was rarely traversed, and a heavy snow had fallen the previous day, vast and boundless.

Thus, at this moment, it bore the appearance of crimson plum blossoms amidst the white snow.

The mourning sound of the sword was mournful; at this moment, Hong Feibai was like a madman, or rather, if he did not vent in this manner, he might genuinely go mad. The sword techniques he was using were indeed from the lineage of the Heavenly Sword Sect but had already abandoned the distant and boundless ethos to becoming engulfed in the spur of the moment under the instinctual drive of the killing intent, the speed ever increasing, the force ever mightier, swirling a striking silver light around him.

If the sword of that old man from the Heavenly Sword Sect was a clear sky for thousands of miles without a single cloud,

then at this moment, Hong Feibai’s sword was like the sky after three days and nights of oppressive summer heat, finally with dark clouds overhead; the sword light was the thunder tearing through the sky.

The copper coins in Wang Anfeng’s right hand were rapidly decreasing.

He just watched in the direction of Hong Feibai, and there were also some martial artists behind the carriage. Seeing that he appeared frail, they hardened their hearts, intending to capture him as a hostage to force that madman to stop, yet they often had only taken a few steps when they would feel pain either on the forehead or in the abdomen, and then they would lose consciousness and fall into the snow.

They passed out as if they were fattened pigs scalded with boiling water.

A piece of silver had been exchanged for a bunch of copper coins, and in a blink, more than half were gone.

Hong Feibai was now engaging the last bandit chief hand-to-hand. Although a few martial artists were still around, it seemed that they were scared witless by the insanely aggressive Hong Feibai; they threw down their weapons, sat down on the ground, and tried to retreat backwards using both hands and feet.

This time, it seemed specifically aimed at Hong Feibai.

The last bandit chief had inner strength of Seventh Rank, enduring and strong. He should have been able to handle Hong Feibai, but the latter’s swordsmanship had changed its style, making the battle very frustrating for him. For now, he could only defend strenuously, trying hard to fend off the relentless torrent of sword shadows slashing towards him while retreating backwards.

Wang Anfeng watched Hong Feibai’s swordsmanship.

Around him and the carriage, burly men had already fallen in a circle, none of whom could step within ten feet.

In exchange for losing his loved ones, Hong Feibai had taken an important step in his martial arts.

In Jianghu, amidst gains and losses, there was no clear victory or defeat.

With a sigh in his heart, Wang Anfeng again pinched a copper coin from his bosom.

He held it between his fingers.

Hong Feibai let out a deep roar from his throat, his sword like a straight line, stabbing directly at the throat of the opponent across from him. The latter, having sustained inner strength, raised his hand to block the sword with his knife. The sword qi shook him, still causing his complexion to pale. After making this strike, Hong Feibai’s inner strength had also nearly dried up, and he had to regather his qi.

Suddenly, a gleam of light flashed in the eyes of a man who was originally shrinking back.

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He shouted lowly, raising both hands, and pressed towards Hong Feibai’s lower abdomen Dantian with a Yin-Yang entangled motion.

Wang Anfeng raised his hand, ready to throw the copper coin, but he sensed another aura and hesitated slightly in his movement.

A sharp whistling sound arose.

A trace of Heavenly Fire with the semblance of a fleeting shadow shot out from the mountain, later in action but first to arrive, aiming at the throat of the man who had just lashed out with his palm. If he did not want to be skewered by this arrow, he had to either change his move or retract his hand.

He clearly did not value Hong Feibai’s life as highly as his own.

With a tip of his toes on the ground, he turned his body, stirring up the snow beneath him, narrowly dodging the arrow.

A wound was torn on his neck by the vigor carried by the arrow, small yet acutely painful. Startled, he instinctively subdued a portion of the palm power that was originally changing direction toward Hong Feibai’s chest, pressing it down lightly but not heavily.

Feeling another’s presence approaching the hillside, and on guard, he didn’t plan to pursue relentlessly. His palm contained only a semblance of vigor, intended only to borrow the force to retreat momentarily, increasing the distance between him and Hong Feibai.

However, the moment his right palm pressed on the young man’s waist, he felt beneath his hand something hard and cool to the touch, like jade. His heart skipped a beat, suspecting trickery, and he forcefully withdrew his power and retreated.

Wang Anfeng’s eyes widened slightly.

He felt a chill down his spine, the wooden sword in his qin case behind him stirred as if it wanted to leap out of its scabbard. It trembled and vibrated, constantly colliding with the qin case, which was divided into two levels; the upper level’s ancient qin was affected by the trembling force. The qin strings vibrated, emitting a clear sound.

The sword led to the music of the qin.

The sound of the qin continued unendingly—

A silvery white light surged inside Hong Feibai’s bosom, like a sword, and violently thrust forward.

The bright sword light then reflected in Wang Anfeng’s dark pupils.

Heavy snow had fallen yesterday; there were few travelers in the mountain valley, which had amassed a lot of white snow mixed with flowing blood, swept up in an instant like a long dragon, surging forward tremendously, with the youth behind it producing increasingly resounding qin music, neither noisy nor subdued—only stern and piercingly cold.

In ancient times, there were travelers in Jianghu who played the qin and killed with the sword.

The man who was originally planning to ambush Hong Feibai and the knife-wielding man facing him in combat groaned. In an instant, numerous cuts were torn into him and he died on the spot.

The sword qi seemed still unsatisfied, continuing to sweep forward; amidst the rumbling noise, the snow accumulated on the mountain rocks on either side was activated, cascading down like an avalanche.

One sword, a thousand layers of snow.

From behind Wang Anfeng, on the hillside, a person holding a longbow descended, stopping in his tracks with wide eyes.

His face filled with astonishment.

The sword qi extended relentlessly like a dragon emerging from water, tearing forward; the surging waves wrapped around the mist and snow, a thick white engulfing everything in front of them like a storm, like sudden snow, like clouds from miles away crashing down to earth, this pure whiteness surged forward.

Sweeping unmatched.

Wang Anfeng lowered his hand holding the copper coin.

The winds and snow abruptly stopped.

Looking forward, the paths hidden over numerous small mountains spanning dozens of miles were instantly cleared of all the snow, as if swept by a vast sky. The vigor swept up on the mountain rocks on either side slashed and tore out hundreds of huge, fierce marks.

Hong Feibai half-knelt on the ground, breathing rapidly. In his bosom, the piercing sword intent slowly faded away and subdued once again, as if he were merely an ordinary forlorn swordsman.

Harboring such a rare treasure, he displayed a sword light that even Wang Anfeng found astonishing and dazzling at that moment.

The young man’s face, however, was as pale as a ghost, his eyes gleaming with shifting light.

"No… this can’t be possible…"

PS: Today’s second update presented…