Zhen Invincible had roused a competitive fire in Jiang Chen. Yet until he held a measure of confidence, he was resolute in his refusal to return to the Ethereal Realm and court further humiliation.
Consider who Zhen Invincible was. He did not even rank within the first hundred of the Ethereal Realm's Roaming Meridian division. And to see how he kept "hounding" after winning but a single bout against Jiang Chen, one could only conclude that he rarely met with such easy fights.
This reasoning did not reduce Jiang Chen to despair. On the contrary, it set his fighting spirit ablaze.
What did it mean to lord it over cultivators of one's own realm within Maple City? Jiang Chen had felt, at close quarters, the great battle that raged beyond Huanzhen Temple. His horizons were not so narrow as all that.
Gong Han and Mo Ya had borrowed some power to slay their foes. Zhuo Lie forged ahead with a valor unmatched. Bai Yi lopped off a head with a single stroke of the blade. The entire State of Zhuang could only stand by and watch — partly overawed by the power backing these figures, but chiefly because they were simply too strong!
So strong were they that for the State of Zhuang to move against them would be all but declaring a war. And throughout the realm, how many houses dared lift their blades against Qin and Chu?
Setting aside whatever might come after building the small Zhou Heavenly cycle, he had nowhere near exhausted his resources within the Roaming Meridian realm alone. His Four-Spirit Body Refining Art had only reached the Azure Dragon chapter; the convergence of all four spirits was still a distant goal. His command of the Dao arts was shallow at best — as yet he had devised no art into an original employment, let alone transcended or created. Did the Violet Dawn Sword Art, to speak of but one, truly stand perfected?
Within the bounds his eyes could see in the Roaming Meridian realm, the room for growth was already immense.
Failure was not a thing to fear. What was to be feared was the failure to face failure squarely.
To deal with Zhen Invincible, he must first grow familiar with that endless stream of art combinations the man wove. The masters of the Academy were forever instructing that breadth lost to depth, variety lost to focus, and Jiang Chen took those words as golden counsel. Yet if a true prodigy existed, one full of talent and developed in all directions, his real battle power would be utterly terrifying.
And in Jiang Chen's recollection there was such a cultivator: Zhao Lang, the deputy general under Wei Feng.
Jiang An'an was still in the Hall of Bright Virtue, so Jiang Chen set out with Tang Dun to the city guard's garrison, to broaden his horizons at close range. For Tang Dun, the chance to observe Jiang Chen's combat at such proximity was more than welcome.
The garrison lay on the south outskirts — closer, when all was said, to Phoenix Creek Town than to Maple City itself. In recent days the Jiang family's holdings had been returned piece by piece, and Jiang Chen, having no mind to run them, had given them all to the town in Jiang An'an's name. Each year the apothecary's gross profits would go to schooling poor children of Phoenix Creek. Nor did he worry that some party might line his pockets along the way; since he had wrung those holdings back from the Lin family of Riverview City, he could hardly be cowed in a place like Phoenix Creek.
He had done it in Jiang An'an's name because, though Jiang Chen was no great believer in retribution and reward, if such things existed, he wished them to shelter An'an.
On the road he remarked, idly: "Back then I went to Tangshe Town with Senior Brother Zhang Yuan. Why didn't you think to ask his help? He's far stronger than I."
Tang Dun answered honestly: "Senior Brother Zhang is courteous enough, but he doesn't draw a man close, you know."
Then he shook his head hurriedly. "I'm not speaking ill of him — it's just... just a feeling."
He no longer went on with his "oo' ol' me" country talk, yet his honest, unassuming nature had not changed.
Jiang Chen took it in stride: "Senior Brother Zhang is deeply proud beneath the surface, at heart."
Even as they spoke, they had reached the edge of the garrison camp. A watchman had them announced, and before long Zhao Lang arrived.
"So what business brings Brother Jiang here, then?"
They had crossed paths in the battle at Little Grove Town, and with Du Hu now serving in the Nine River Black Armor, and Jiang Chen's own name beginning to spread, Zhao Lang was cordial enough. Not intimate, of course — they were strangers still.
"Brother Zhao, here is the matter." Jiang Chen explained: "My cultivation has reached a bottleneck, and I have been thinking how I would cope should I meet an opponent proficient in every kind of Dao art. I have turned it over and over without much headway, so I thought — why not simply try it with real armor and blades? Among those I know, only Brother Zhao commands such an abundance of Dao arts."
"So he wants himself a sparring partner!" Soldiers of the army speak plainly, and Zhao Lang held nothing back, leading the way toward the camp's drill ground. "And I happen to be curious about Brother Jiang's swordsmanship."
The camp had a taste for battle. Word that their deputy Zhao would cross blades with an Academy disciple sent the whole garrison into a ferment. By the time they reached the drill ground, the soldiers had packed it in ring upon ring.
Tang Dun was nervous, and whispered to Jiang Chen: "If he loses, they won't mob us, will they?"
Jiang Chen turned up his eyes. Tang Dun had altogether too much faith in him.
As deputy general of the city guard, Zhao Lang stood at least in the eighth-rank Cycle realm, perhaps already in the seventh-rank Heaven-Piercing realm. And being a soldier who had weathered a hundred battles, he was no match for certain Academy disciples who did nothing but shut themselves up in bitter training.
Stepping onto the drill ground, Jiang Chen gave a dry laugh: "Brother Zhao, you only need to guide me a little — surely you don't need that many people watching?"
Zhao Lang roared with laughter. "No matter. Just the thing to let these louts learn from an accomplished Academy disciple, lest they grow too big for their boots!"
This Zhao Lang, with his thick brows and wide eyes, was a slick one after all. Jiang Chen wondered how the man had come to be so pleasant — only to realize he was being made a target. Once, it would spur the fighting blood of his men; twice, it served as a live lesson on the spot.
"Yes! Let us learn!"
"Show these brothers what an Academy disciple's might looks like!"
The soldiers beyond the field shouted and jested, and the livelier ones cried: "Down with Zhao Lang! Lay him flat!"
The Dao Academy, the Ministry of War, the Justice Enforcement Bureau — these were the three places where cultivators gathered thickest, and each nursed some grievance against the other.
Of them, the Dao Academy focused on rearing cultivators: hardest to be admitted, richest in resources. A disciple of the Academy might pass easily into the Ministry of War or the Justice Enforcement Bureau, but a cultivator from those two places found it a hard climb back into the Academy. These coarse troops, seeing Jiang Chen walk into the camp, could not wish for anything better than to watch him make a fool of himself.
To such a pass, Jiang Chen knew there was no escaping. At worst he would be mocked a little, and that was no real loss. Far better than squandering Merit on empty show in the Ethereal Realm.
"Then at your pleasure, Brother Zhao!"
The blade left its sheath, and Jiang Chen's whole bearing had changed.
Before he drew, he cut a mild, handsome, easygoing figure — to the watching soldiers, a lamb awaiting the butcher. The instant his sword came free, he was a tiger bared to feed!
A sword is three feet; its sword-light seven fingers!
One finger of sword-light was the limit of a mortal martial artist; past one finger, one entered the extraordinary. At seven fingers, the sword-light had become a sweeping, unbroken ribbon of cloth.
Those who knew what they saw marked the danger at once.
Zhao Lang flung two water cones from his hand; with a shift of his feet, vine serpents rose up before him. The sword-light cut slantwise, cleaving the water cones apart. But Jiang Chen's body was already ahead of his blade; he dragged the sword back and severed the vine serpents, then spun clear of a Flame Pellet. He had been about to surge forward when he halted the sword's momentum and sprang from the ground.
A stone wall rose where he had stood.
The art Zhao Lang had stamped into his Cycle realm for instant release was the Stone Wall Art. No high art by any measure, yet he wielded it with consummate skill, ring-building the stone wall around Jiang Chen and turning a purely defensive art into both a trap and a wound.
Jiang Chen fled fast, plunging down through the air with the roar of the fall. Another stone wall slanted before him, barring his way.
He pressed the blade forward, shattering the wall with brute force — but Zhao Lang had slipped clear to one side, and a wall thrust out again, interposing itself between him and Jiang Chen.
Jiang Chen simply scattered the art he had been mid-drawing, body turning with the sword, the sword-light slicing the wall through; a kick sent it toppling with a boom. But Zhao Lang was gone.
Behind one wall stood another wall.