Chapter Thirty-One: The Dregs of the Martial Path

Chen Pingan reached out, intending to help Song Jixin, whose face was completely devoid of color, to his feet.

But a second later, Song Jixin gritted his teeth, his expression cold, and waved his hand to brush off Chen Pingan’s gesture.

Looking as frail as someone just recovering from a long illness, he forced himself to stand, refusing Chen Pingan’s assistance.

"Hmph, no need." Song Jixin relied entirely on his own willpower to remain standing; it was evident how much he resembled his uncle, Song Changjing.

"This..."

Chen Pingan, with his somewhat guileless nature, looked toward Qi Jingchun with a troubled expression.

Seeing this, Qi Jingchun remained indifferent. He gave a slight, smiling shake of his head, signaling that there was no need to concern himself with such trifles.

"..."

Chen Pingan cupped his hands in a respectful salute, then strode toward Su Ling.

"Brother Su, that god of slaughter..."

Su Ling followed Chen Pingan’s gaze toward the square, massive crater in the distance, blasted open by the seal.

In the center of the crater, Song Changjing no longer possessed any trace of killing intent. He looked like a ferocious wolf-dog that had been beaten to a pulp, his clothes in tatters.

He was in such a pathetic state that he was left with only a few blood-stained rags clinging to him.

Song Changjing lay motionless at the bottom of the deep pit, completely unconscious.

Unlike when he was consumed by his own killing intent and trapped in the inner demons of slaughter, Song Changjing had been thoroughly defeated and rendered unable to move a single muscle.

The side of his face, struck by Su Ling’s fist, was already swollen with a massive, bruised lump—much like Song Jixin, who had provoked him three years ago.

One could only say that they were indeed royal kin; they were cut from the same cloth, and even their plights were remarkably similar, a sight that was both hard to look at and difficult not to chuckle at.

Of course, if Song Changjing were still able to stand, Su Ling wouldn't mind hammering him back down to give the other half of that stern, handsome face a matching bruise.

Just then, Qi Jingchun looked up, his deep gaze scanning the distance.

There lay the ruins of the houses destroyed by the powerful shockwaves generated when Su Ling had sent Song Changjing flying with a single blow.

The ground was a mess, littered with debris. It was clear that even less than a tenth of Su Ling’s strength had been enough to cause massive collateral damage.

And that was only the portion of Su Ling’s power that had been fully focused on Song Changjing’s face.

***

A moment later, Qi Jingchun sighed and shook his head, placing one hand behind his back and extending the other.

A brilliant, flowing light suddenly ignited at his fingertips, containing immense power—a truly formidable divine ability.

Qi Jingchun’s thin lips moved slightly, and a character resembling the supreme sacred mantra "Suppress" emerged from his mouth. It floated out, languidly swaying in the empty air like a carp in water, appearing both graceful and miraculous.

"Fleeting light, passing time." As the seasons turned and spring returned, these words accompanied Qi Jingchun’s gentle voice.

A subtle, nearly imperceptible fluctuation of the laws of space and time surged from his body, instantly manifesting like an unstoppable tide.

Originating from Qi Jingchun, it spread rapidly to the surroundings, covering the houses within a hundred-mile radius that had been destroyed by the shockwave.

In the next moment, in the blink of an eye, the ruined houses were restored to their original state, as if nothing had ever happened at all.

This display of heaven-defying power left even Su Ling, who was witnessing it, feeling a touch of surprise.

He affirmed to himself that Qi Jingchun was certainly not as weak as he had been in the original story.

This glimpse of the iceberg was enough to prove that Qi Jingchun was truly a great master of divine abilities.

After all, with a flick of his finger, he commanded the laws of time and space, much like the gods of the supreme heavenly court from ancient times, governing all laws of the world.

Although this power might be limited by this grotto-heaven—the Lishui Grotto-heaven being isolated from the vast outer world, allowing its laws of time and space to be easily swayed—it was still not to be underestimated. This scholar named Qi Jingchun was truly a Confucian saint with a clear conscience.

"Take your uncle and leave this place."

Qi Jingchun withdrew his arm and placed it behind his back. He did not look at Song Jixin, who was cupping his hands in a salute, but instead glanced toward Su Ling, as if he had something to say.

Qi Jingchun remained silent for a moment, but ultimately said nothing more, merely nodding at Chen Pingan.

He then turned, and in the next instant, his body dissolved into a sky full of flowing light, like bubbles, and vanished.

As Qi Jingchun’s light faded, only a few specks of light, resembling fine snow, drifted to the ground.

"Hmph."

Song Jixin cast a look of disdain toward Chen Pingan and, without sparing a glance for Su Ling, hurried toward the massive square crater where his uncle, Song Changjing, lay unconscious.

"My, my, causing such a scene—you’re going to be famous, kid."

Su Ling smiled, teasingly looking at Chen Pingan, who was staring in a daze at the spot where Qi Jingchun had disappeared.

Hearing this, Chen Pingan snapped back to reality, scratched his head with an awkward laugh, and after a moment of hesitation, asked curiously, "Brother Su, have you already..."

Seeing Chen Pingan’s hesitant demeanor, Su Ling knew the silly boy was overthinking things again. He wasn't annoyed, just smiled and replied, "Haha, don't let your mind wander to such things; it’s easy to cloud your heart and spirit."

Chen Pingan froze, but upon reflection, he realized it made sense, so he didn't pursue it further. Instead, he turned his gaze toward Su Ling with a look of pure admiration.

"Then... Brother Su, you are truly amazing."

As someone who hadn't read many books, Chen Pingan racked his brains, but he still couldn't come up with a eloquent compliment. It was truly difficult for him.

After all, the only time Chen Pingan ever got to learn to read was when he would sneak a listen while delivering letters to the Cliff Academy.

It was a slightly miserable situation, but Chen Pingan didn't see it that way. Instead, he was content and happy, like a stray dog that knew how to be satisfied, simple and without ulterior motives.

Hearing this, Su Ling chuckled and gestured for Chen Pingan to head home, preparing to continue imparting knowledge on martial arts—a private lesson for Chen Pingan.

Upon hearing this, Chen Pingan was overjoyed, as he deeply envied the invincible strength Su Ling possessed.

Although merely listening to martial arts theory wouldn't be enough to make him as powerful as Su Ling in the future, the easily satisfied Chen Pingan felt no discouragement; instead, he was extremely happy.

***

Fifteen minutes before dusk, the sky had yet to darken, and the small town remained somewhat lively.

This had much to do with Qi Jingchun’s earlier act of repairing the damaged houses; the tea shops and every hub of information were buzzing with discussion, full of excitement.

On the other side, after an entire afternoon of teaching, Su Ling finally realized that Chen Pingan’s talent for martial arts was, to put it mildly, difficult to describe.

He wasn't quite a lump of mud that couldn't be plastered onto a wall, but he was certainly at the level of the "hopeless A-Dou," which truly gave Su Ling a massive headache.