# Chapter 176: I Have a Sword That Has Traveled Ten Thousand Miles
Heavy-Art water shields, Heavy-Art stone walls...
Chongxuan Sheng's pudgy hands danced through seals, layering defensive Dao art after defensive art across his path.
"Whether I'm qualified or not—Chongxuan Zun isn't patriarch yet. What he says doesn't count. And what you say counts even less!"
At the threshold between life and death, he held nothing back.
His Dao arts were complex, but his deployment was masterful.
"Someone's fighting him for the patriarch seat, and even the man himself isn't half as excited as you, Brother Yiwu. What's the matter? Could it be that you two—"
Chongxuan Sheng's tongue never stopped, and his hands never slowed.
"Oh? Angry? Did I touch a nerve?"
"What are you afraid of people knowing?"
He retreated with remarkable agility, all the while mocking: "Besides, once we leave here, no one will remember a thing."
The fist struck. The Heavy-Art water shield shattered.
The fist fell. The Heavy-Art stone wall crumbled.
Every defensive art in his arsenal could not halt Wang Yiwu's advance.
"You won't leave this place alive!"
He was beyond rage.
A dragon's reverse scale—touch it, and you die.
He knew perfectly well this was Chongxuan Sheng's deliberate provocation.
But he no longer cared to endure.
In the outside world—in the army, on the battlefield, in the capital—he had encountered such tactics before. With his strength, he had no need to exercise restraint. Yet he had always held himself back.
Because sometimes, the power of worldly convention could stop even a fist.
Every single time, he had endured.
But now, he would endure no longer.
Within the Heavenly Treasury Secret Realm, beyond the reach of worldly rules, Wang Yiwu would hold himself back no longer.
He was this powerful. Why should he endure?
"You wanted to make me angry?"
"As you wish!"
His fist moved. A gale erupted.
Wang Yiwu fell upon them like a mountain collapsing, unstoppable.
The fist smashed through every defensive Dao art in an instant and struck Chongxuan Sheng square in the face.
The crisp, brutal sound of cracking bone was violent enough to make the air flinch.
Chongxuan Sheng's massive body was sent flying, nearly blasted off the stone platform entirely. Jiang Wang caught him with one hand and dragged him back.
"You've made me angry!" Wang Yiwu could have killed Chongxuan Sheng with that punch. But he didn't.
Instead, he hurled the fat man aside and strode after him once more. "But can you handle the fire of my wrath?!"
Jiang Wang set Chongxuan Sheng down, turned, and stood face to face with Wang Yiwu.
This was the man who had fought one against five, nearly destroying them all.
This was the man Jiang Mengxiong himself had called the strongest Heaven-Opening Realm cultivator in the world.
And Jiang Wang stood before him, shielding Chongxuan Sheng.
Because he had said one sentence. "Rest easy."
From the Cloud Kingdom to the State of Qi—mountains and rivers stretched between.
He had weathered wind and dew, chasing stars and racing the moon.
Not once had he allowed himself to rest.
Because the moment he stopped, the horror of Fenglin Town replayed in his mind, again and again.
That was the place that had birthed him, raised him—where he had wept and laughed.
All the others were dead. The living had to carry something.
This burden he could not leave to Jiang An'an. As her brother, he could only carry it himself.
Along the way, his Dao arts had sharpened day by day. But he had never drawn his sword.
Even he did not know how strong this strike would be when it finally left its sheath.
I have a sword. It has traveled ten thousand miles.
From distant Zhuang State, from Fenglin Town, it had journeyed all the way to the borders of Qi.
Every frost and rain, every dawn and dusk along the way—all of it was contained within.
Are you ready... to face my sword?
The blade had not yet been drawn, but Wang Yiwu's gaze had already turned grave.
He had not intended to kill Chongxuan Sheng with a single blow. But now he had no choice—to hold back was no longer an option.
The wind howled.
Wang Yiwu's feet continued forward. Jiang Wang stood motionless, hand on his sword.
A white-haired youth and a hawk-eyed soldier.
An undrawn sword. A fist already launched.
This was five against one now.
Those still capable of fighting would certainly not stand idle and watch them finish first.
Li Longchuan's two arrows had failed. Blood welled in his throat, but his feet were planted and his hands steady.
He pulled his headband down, covering his eyes completely.
The eyes need not see—the heart sees first.
The arrow need not fly—the intent arrives first.
Heart in the present. Intent before the arrow.
This was the arrow of intent.
The thought formed, and the arrow was already before Wang Yiwu.
This arrow roared and spun like a black-cored storm.
Its launch seemed unremarkable. Its landing would split earth and crumble mountains.
*CLANG!!!*
Wang Yiwu's fist struck the arrow's tip, producing a piercing ring.
And in that same instant, Jiang Wang drew his sword.
The sword that had traveled ten thousand miles—the light was beyond description.
It contained every realization and every devotion Jiang Wang had ever cultivated in the way of the blade. This was a strike born from the deepest reaches of his soul.
Words could not capture it. A painting could not render a fraction.
If you had seen the sun and moon crossing the sky, if you had seen the stars filling the heavens—
Then you had seen this sword.
A sword that cut through sun, moon, and stars alike.
It met Wang Yiwu's No-Self Killing Fist.
Sound—as though there was no sound at all.
Light and shadow—as though all had frozen.
Jiang Wang's blade tip was pressed against Wang Yiwu's fist.
Then.
A single drop of blood fell from Wang Yiwu's fist—an fist that had seemed indestructible.
That drop of blood shattered the stillness.
A violent wind erupted without warning. Beyond the stone platform, the sea of clouds churned and boiled.
Wang Yiwu stumbled back two steps. His right arm hung limp.
This was the first time since the battle began that he had been truly wounded.
The first time he had been truly forced to retreat.
And in Jiang Wang's hand, the entire sword shattered.
Not even fragments remained—reduced to metallic dust that drifted away like smoke.
What a pity, Jiang Wang thought.
If he had possessed a fine sword, that strike might have truly crippled Wang Yiwu's arm.
He fell backward violently, crashing directly into Chongxuan Sheng, who had just barely managed to stand.
"It isn't over yet!"
Xu Xiangqian, who had been waiting for his moment, bit down on his left fingertip and bellowed: "Die!"
Blocked repeatedly—even Wang Yiwu was forced to drop any vestige of contempt.
He whipped his head around, left arm rising, fist raised like a hammer, ready to meet attack with attack.
At that exact moment, a line of blood appeared and swiftly circled beneath his feet.
Blinding radiance erupted. Wang Yiwu felt his rage, his fighting spirit, his killing intent—all of it ignited, drawn out as though made physical, tangling together with Xu Xiangqian's blood.
A cocoon of crimson light flashed and vanished in the space between breaths. Characters seemed to drift across its surface, trapping Wang Yiwu within.
Blood as thread. Cocoon of self-binding!
"Go!" Xu Xiangqian shouted, leading the charge toward the Tower Reaching Heaven.
His elaborate display had only been a ruse to draw Wang Yiwu in.
What he sought was not to slay the enemy, but to trap him.
As long as they escaped the Heavenly Treasury Secret Realm, they had won.
At that moment, Zhang Yong—who had been lying on the ground for what felt like an eternity—flipped to his feet.
He hadn't lost the ability to move after all. He had most likely been waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His eyes remained shut, yet it didn't hamper his escape in the slightest. He followed close on Xu Xiangqian's heels, fleeing into the Tower Reaching Heaven.
Chongxuan Sheng hoisted Jiang Wang onto his back without a second's hesitation and ran faster than Zhang Yong, vanishing into the tower in a blur.
Li Longchuan, momentarily stunned by the collapse of his intent arrow, realized too late what had happened. By the time he snapped out of it, the others had already escaped. He didn't try to be a hero. He followed them all into the Tower Reaching Heaven.
Inside the crimson cocoon.
Wang Yiwu struck in fury, but his condition was no longer at its peak. And the shimmering barrier, though unable to wound, was inexplicably resilient.
Because this cocoon was woven from his own rage, his own fighting spirit, his own killing intent. He had, in effect, imprisoned himself.
*Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!*
Four thunderous punches. The improvised cage finally shattered.
But outside the Tower Reaching Heaven, only Wang Yiwu remained.
And Chongxuan Sheng's escape was an unmistakable declaration: his mission had failed.