Chapter 100 — Blood Slaughter Unchecked

The instant Zuo Yan rose to his feet, Chang Shiheng opened his eyes and stood up.

"I am Chang Heng," Chang Heng said by way of simple introduction, looking for all the world as though he were exchanging pleasantries with an ordinary friend.

"I am Zuo Yan," Zuo Yan answered, a touch cautiously. For some reason, Chang Heng—who showed not the slightest edge—put him under pressure, the kind of pressure he had felt only from Wei Sheng and Shiheng. Seizing the opportunity, he studied the man closely. His blue-gray short jacket had been washed until it was nearly white, and it stood out jarringly among the resplendent silks of the Xuanyao Sect disciples. A round face, short hair standing straight up like iron wire.

"You surprise me," Chang Heng went on. "I heard that your shiheng Wei Sheng had comprehended sword intent. I did not expect that you had comprehended it as well."

An uproar broke out at once on every side.

Perhaps their eyes were not sharp enough to see through Zuo Yan's depths, but everyone knew what comprehending sword intent meant. The faces of Lin Yuan and the others relaxed considerably; to lose to a genius who had comprehended sword intent was, whatever else might be said, no disgrace. Even Wang Shiheng, sprawled where he had fallen, could only shake his head with a bitter smile—had he known earlier that Zuo Yan had comprehended sword intent, he would never have taken the field.

The way everyone looked at Zuo Yan changed instantly, filled with awe and respect—mingled, inevitably, with envy and jealousy and the like.

Zuo Yan shook his head. "I am far beneath Shiheng." Inwardly he was greatly startled: Chang Heng had seen through him at a single glance, so his strength was certainly no trifle.

"No need for such modesty." Chang Heng waved a hand carelessly. "I will go look for Wei Sheng myself in due course."

Hearing the man speak so casually of Wei Sheng Shiheng, Zuo Yan was thoroughly displeased, and snorted: "Let us finish this match first and talk afterward."

Chang Heng shook his head. "You are no match for me."

"How can you know without trying?" Zuo Yan said, unconvinced.

"My congealing of the meridians is at hand." That one light, airy sentence left Zuo Yan speechless. He had to admit the man was right: the gulf between their cultivations was too great. His own cultivation had advanced swiftly, yet he was only at the fourth level of Foundation Establishment, while the other's imminent congealing of the meridians meant the tenth level of Foundation Establishment.

True, he had once defeated a Foundation Establishment cultivator while still in the Qi Refining stage, but he knew perfectly well that half the credit for that lay with his opponent.

But Chang Heng—Zuo Yan could not resist glancing up at him—the man's bearing was so deep and composed, and that pervasive pressure so constant, that he was certain the other was very strong. Zuo Yan's combat experience was already considerable; he was no fool about what sort of man could be provoked and what sort could not.

"I concede! Which will you pick?" Zuo Yan said, quick as a flash, with a rogue's frankness. He had come for money, and now he had reaped a bumper harvest; even conceding this match, he had won four bouts and three magic treasures. With such rich spoils, he was well content.

A single look told him Chang Heng was not on his level at all; there was surely no chance of victory, so better to concede. To be injured at the man's hands would be an even worse loss. To stop while ahead was an eye every businessman must have, Zuo Yan consoled himself.

Chang Heng stared at Zuo Yan for a good while, then suddenly laughed. "You are a clever one, after all."

"Only knowing the times," Zuo Yan said with a cupped-hand salute, inwardly itching to leave at once. The longer he stayed, the more dangerous this plain-featured man seemed. "Chang Shiheng may take whichever he pleases; this junior will present it with both hands."

Chang Heng was unmoved. He cast his gaze into the distance and said indifferently, "If you can take one move of mine, then take your things and go. If you cannot, then leave everything behind."

Zuo Yan's heart lurched. The more lightly Chang Heng spoke, the more uneasy he felt. "Chang Shiheng, this junior..."

"Where I stand, my rules hold." Chang Heng did not withdraw his gaze.

Silence fell all around; even the air seemed suddenly to turn bleak and severe, and everyone could not help holding their breath. They knew the finest spectacle of the day was about to begin. As for the Xuanyao Sect disciples, every one of them was inexplicably thrilled—the overbearing air Chang Shiheng displayed had utterly conquered them. Even Tao Shuer could not tear those peach-blossom eyes of hers from Chang Shiheng for a single moment.

To this point Chang Heng had shown no strength whatsoever, made no move at all, and yet he was like the master of this ground—so matter-of-fact, so beyond question.

Zuo Yan drew a deep breath. He realized that this fight was likely unavoidable.

The demand was not unreasonable: as long as he blocked one move, Zuo Yan would have won a complete victory. If he refused the challenge, then today's victories would vanish in an instant. The other had ample reason to pen him in; Chang Heng was using exactly the tactic Zuo Yan had used before—placing himself first in a disadvantageous position, then forcing his opponent to agree to walk the road he set out.

What a vile feeling! Zuo Yan shook his head, trying to fling these stray thoughts from his mind.

Today's fight—everything was staked on this one move!

And yet... even a cultivator in the meridian-congealing stage would not dare guarantee that he could settle me in a single move. Since I cannot avoid it, then let it come!

Having thought it through from every angle, Zuo Yan regulated his breath, dropped into his stance, and said in a deep voice: "As Shiheng wishes!"

"Good. I like that." Chang Heng nodded in approval.

Then he undid his clothing, baring his upper body, and there in the very center of his collarbone hung a bronze ring.

What was this for?

The watching cultivators were all puzzled, and fell to whispering and muttering among themselves. The Xuanyao Sect disciples, by contrast, were quite the opposite: every face was alight with excitement as they craned their necks and opened their eyes wide, staring intently at Chang Shiheng, as though something thrilling were about to happen.

Zuo Yan was somewhat perplexed, but he kept a firm hold on his mind and did not dare slacken in the least.

Chang Heng closed his eyes and put his right hand to the bronze ring at his collarbone. Then he did something that startled everyone—he slowly pulled the bronze ring upward!

*Zzzt!*

Beneath the bronze ring ran a length of blood-red blade, which Chang Heng slowly drew out from the flesh of his chest.

There was not the slightest expression of pain on Chang Heng's face; on the contrary, a look of tenderness and intoxication came over him.

Zuo Yan was horrified by the eerie, bloody spectacle before him, every hair on his body standing on end. Nor was it only Zuo Yan—in truth, almost everyone around wore an expression of terror, and those with weaker nerves had already rushed aside and were vomiting desperately.

"Too... brutal..." Yan Sui shivered, trembling with excitement.

When the blood-red sword had been drawn whole from Chang Heng's body, that terror sank into the very marrow of every person there. It was a very, very strange sword: not long, only about a foot and a half, two fingers wide, blood-red throughout, with no guard and no hilt—the blood-red blade joined straight to that bronze ring, which was just small enough to slip over a finger.

Strangely, there was no wound anywhere on Chang Heng's body; the skin at his collarbone was smooth and unmarked.