Chapter 122: Don't Ask, Just Fight

After the intimacy, Xie Xiaofeng looked at the beautiful body before him with a complex expression. "Why?"

Beside him, nestled in his arms, was naturally Murong Qiudi.

"Why do you think?" Murong Qiudi sighed. When she learned that Xie Xiaofeng had appeared at Han Family Tower, she had felt a jumble of joy, anger, and countless other emotions. Ultimately, on the eve of his decisive battle with Zheng Jian, she had sought him out.

Xie Xiaofeng remained silent for a moment before saying, "You really didn't have to do this."

Murong Qiudi sneered, "Don't you think it's a bit late to say that now?"

Xie Xiaofeng was left speechless. Indeed, the deed was done; saying such things now was truly meaningless.

Murong Qiudi suddenly laughed. Under the moonlight, her smile was as beautiful as a blooming rose. As she laughed, she began to dress and then stood up. "I came this time because I still love you, but I hate you just as much. Even now, I don't know whether I hope you live or die. Never mind, dawn is approaching. I am leaving."

Xie Xiaofeng watched in silence as she gradually drifted away.

Just as her figure was about to vanish, her voice drifted back from afar. "Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you—you have a son."

Xie Xiaofeng was struck with a profound shock. He shouted, "Where is he? What is his name?"

Murong Qiudi’s voice grew fainter. "Xie Xiaodi. If you can survive, and if you believe you are worthy of facing him, tell him you are his father, and go find him yourself."

Xie Xiaofeng had no certainty regarding this battle. From their encounter at Han Family Tower, he had felt the pressure Zheng Jian exerted upon him; this was no ordinary duel. Zheng Jian’s sword reminded him of the legendary "Demon of the Sword," Yan Shisan. Though their styles differed, they were equally formidable—so strong that Xie Xiaofeng could not guarantee victory.

Yet, Xie Xiaofeng had his pride, and Murong Qiudi knew it well. He would not lose, unless he died! There was no such thing as a defeated Xie Xiaofeng, only one who died in battle.

...

The sky gradually brightened. Standing at the peak of the barren mountain, Xie Xiaofeng quietly watched the morning sun slowly crawl over the horizon, bringing a touch of warmth and light to all things on earth.

His mood had settled; this was Murong Qiudi's doing. He had been tense, and when he was tense, he needed a woman. Murong Qiudi understood him, and so she had come.

...

At the foot of the mountain, Zheng Jian walked slowly upward, holding the Tear-Stain Sword. He, too, lacked absolute confidence in today’s battle, for his opponent was Xie Xiaofeng—a natural-born emperor among swordsmen, the protagonist of this world, the future Sword God.

With every step, Zheng Jian walked slowly but with immense resolve. With every step, his emotions grew calmer, and his aura surged in strength. Within his body, the profound Xiantian internal energy circulated according to the "Immortal Seal Method," its speed gradually accelerating. He was gathering his momentum.

Below the Xiantian realm, one relied on techniques and internal power. Above it, spirit, aura, and the state of one's heart became the keys to victory for top-tier masters. It was mystical and metaphysical, yet undeniably real.

On the summit, Xie Xiaofeng remained perfectly still, his gaze fixed on the vast, open expanse of heaven and earth. He seemed to have merged with the world around him. Faint currents of air swirled around him, as if countless invisible sword breaths were paying him homage. He was the Emperor of the Sword.

At the mountain's base, Zheng Jian was in motion. By the time he reached the halfway point, his aura had become increasingly robust. He was taking this seriously. Even if he and Xie Xiaofeng walked different paths, Xie Xiaofeng was a swordsman worthy of his acknowledgment. This was a pure battle, and Zheng Jian did not want to lose—nothing more, nothing less.

The thick fog in the valley began to dissipate. As Zheng Jian neared the top, he felt an indescribable pressure; the summit seemed to have transformed into a sealed space.

Zheng Jian’s own aura erupted into the sky. With his next step, he saw the white-clad figure standing tall. Xie Xiaofeng finally turned to face him, his expression cold and detached. At this moment, there was no trace of "Ah Ji" left; he had returned to being the peerless Emperor of the Sword, Xie Xiaofeng.

When Zheng Jian stopped at a distance of five zhang, his sword intent reached its peak. Xie Xiaofeng’s aura was pure and cold; standing there, he commanded instinctive reverence. He was aloft, like a true monarch, possessing nothing but his sword, his intense presence surging forward.

Zheng Jian, conversely, was ethereal and natural, embodying two opposing poles. Standing there, he was difficult to perceive, as if he had blended into the world itself. If one did not look with their eyes, one might think he was not there at all.

Before they even exchanged a blow, their gazes met, and the air between them began to clash. Invisible yet tangible sword breaths intersected and neutralized one another.

A draw!

Xie Xiaofeng finally confirmed that Zheng Jian truly possessed the strength to kill him. He had never imagined there would be a third pole in the world besides himself and Yan Shisan.

"The 'Returning Heaven Swordsman' is indeed worthy of the name. I once thought my fated rival was only Yan Shisan, but now there is another," Xie Xiaofeng sighed deeply.

Zheng Jian pondered for a moment and said calmly, "Xie Xiaofeng is indeed worthy of his reputation. Seeing you as you are now, I am certain that you are truly the Emperor of the Sword. I have looked forward to this battle for a long time."

At this moment, the two were like volcanoes on the verge of eruption, though who would strike first remained unclear.

The sun rose, and as the sunlight fully illuminated the peak, Zheng Jian, facing the east, could not help but squint slightly.

"Bad!"

"An opportunity!"

The thought struck both of them simultaneously, and then, Xie Xiaofeng drew his sword. The ancestral blade of the Xie family was no legendary divine weapon, but because the one wielding it was Xie Xiaofeng, it erupted with a terrifying brilliance. He slashed out like lightning, his figure nearly vanishing as he became one with his sword.

Zheng Jian had lost the initiative, but his Tear-Stain Sword flashed from its sheath, and he too entered a state of self-forgetfulness. With a light slash, endless sword light rose to meet Xie Xiaofeng.

Between heaven and earth, their figures instantly crossed paths. Sword lights collided, and sword breaths raged, but their spirits transcended it all. When masters fight, the primary focus is on spirit and intent. At this moment, while their swords clashed, it was the battle of their spirits and hearts that mattered most.

The surrounding vegetation was shredded to pieces by the sword energy, but neither Xie Xiaofeng nor Zheng Jian seemed to notice. At this moment, they saw and felt only each other. All else fell away, leaving only the eternal truth of the other’s sword.