Chapter 35: Settling the Debt of Gratitude

Just as Lin Pingzhi faced that incoming finger, a young woman darted in front of him, and a flash of sword light descended from the heavens.

The sword light was not aimed at Ren Yi; it intercepted the blow before the girl. With a crisp "clang," the blade deflected, spiraling through the void. After neutralizing the flick of energy, a figure stood firmly before the girl. The girl was Yue Lingshan, and the one who had struck was Linghu Chong.

Ren Yi was not surprised that Linghu Chong could deflect his finger strike.

"No one can stop me from killing whom I choose."

With a faint smile, Ren Yi moved. His robes fluttered, and in the blink of an eye, he was upon them.

Linghu Chong suddenly tilted his body, his sword striking out with lightning speed. The elegance of the move left the onlookers breathless, almost prompting them to cheer. Yet, with a mere flick of his finger, Ren Yi neutralized the exquisite strike, forcing the blade back upon itself.

Linghu Chong knew he could not retreat; to step back would mean Yue Lingshan and Lin Pingzhi would surely die by Ren Yi's hand. He tightened his grip and unleashed a flurry of nine strikes. The swordplay was not only swift but ever-changing, each strike more relentless than the last—a display that seemed impossible to defend against.

Yet, Ren Yi remained constant, meeting the encroaching blades with nothing but that same finger. Whether flicking, tapping, or grazing, he moved with a casual grace, forcing all nine strikes back. Every time Linghu Chong’s blade touched the tip of Ren Yi’s finger, a massive force surged through it, halting his momentum and throwing the sword back.

After nine strikes and nine flicks, the sword was nearly impossible to hold. By the ninth, it was knocked clean from his hand.

"Hah! Good technique! My fine son-in-law, let us face him together."

Ren Woxing kicked the flying sword back toward Linghu Chong. As the two joined forces, Ning Zhongze and Xiang Wentian drew their respective weapons and entered the fray. Ren Woxing sought to kill Ren Yi, sensing a threat far greater than Dongfang Bubai—how could such a man be allowed to live? While Xiang Wentian and Ren Woxing fought to kill, Linghu Chong and Ning Zhongze fought only to protect Yue Lingshan.

The figures blurred across the field. Linghu Chong’s sword was offense as defense, unpredictable and swift. Ning Zhongze’s swordplay was agile and light, the Maiden Sword technique prevailing through finesse. Ren Woxing acted alone, his palm strikes as heavy and direct as his personality, while Xiang Wentian’s blade work was heavy and profound, reaching a realm of simplicity that masked true depth.

Four against one—a battle rare in this world. The crowd watched, mesmerized and dizzy with the spectacle.

Ren Yi moved with ethereal grace, his posture elegant. With a twist or a shift, he evaded every move the four threw at him, his own hands weaving through a tapestry of martial arts. With effortless ease, he dismantled their attacks one by one.

His finger strikes, palm blows, fist techniques, and grappling arts flowed like running water, shifting seamlessly without a trace of hesitation. The onlookers wondered, "How many martial arts does he know?"

While the others fought, he seemed to be merely showcasing his mastery. Every technique Ren Yi employed was flawless, as if he knew their intentions before they even acted. Even in their combined assault, there was no rhythm; for every strike they made, Ren Yi countered, always targeting the very points they were forced to defend.

Amidst the shock of the others, Linghu Chong was more concerned with the blade still in its scabbard. If that sword were drawn, how could they possibly survive?

"Enough. It is time for you to die."

Who would have thought he could speak while besieged by four masters? At these words, Daoist Chongxu’s expression shifted, and he leaped forward, sword raised to prevent further slaughter. As he moved, Abbot Fangzheng followed. Both knew he intended to kill, and they would not stand by.

The dazed Lin Pingzhi stood up, his eyes filled with immense hatred as he looked at Ren Yi. Zuo Lengchan stared with a dark, sinister gaze—he agreed with Ren Woxing. This man had to die.

At that moment, everyone thought Ren Yi would fall, Zuo Lengchan included. This was the perfect opportunity. With the masters of Shaolin and Wudang committed, Zuo Lengchan prepared to shout for the righteous factions to swarm in and crush the man into dust.

As he opened his mouth, he froze at a terrifying sight: Ren Yi’s hand was resting on his hilt. He was going to draw his sword. He had never drawn it until now! Yue Buqun had remained idle precisely because he had not seen the blade drawn.

As his hand gripped the hilt, the six attacked simultaneously. Fangzheng and Chongxu were in front, Ren Woxing and Xiang Wentian behind, while Ning Zhongze and Linghu Chong flanked him.

*Clang!*

The sword was drawn. Once iron, it was now stained a deep, crimson red. The blade flashed, a streak of blood-red light sweeping across the sky. With a single wave, all things lost their color.

Everyone saw him draw and swing, but no one could describe the strike. Compared to this, all other swordplay seemed like dust against the heavens, like common clay against exquisite jade—not only did it pale, but it lost all value. How many years had it been since such a strike had appeared in the martial world? Who had ever seen such terrifying, beautiful light?

No one could imagine how terrifying a second strike might be. But there was no second strike. This was the 1,001st move of the "Cloud-Folding, Rain-Turning" sword art—the final move. He called it: "One."

When "One" emerged, the world changed.

The light flashed once. Ren Yi swung only once.

When the light faded, Abbot Fangzheng was wounded, Daoist Chongxu was wounded, Linghu Chong was wounded, Ning Zhongze was wounded, and both Ren Woxing and Xiang Wentian were wounded.

In a split second, when everyone thought he would fall, he had wounded them all. Six great masters, wounded and forced to retreat in unison.

The crowd stared in horror, trembling. No one dared to move; voices fell silent, even breath was held. As if they had lost their souls, they could do nothing but stare at Ren Yi in a daze.

Ren Yi walked toward Lin Pingzhi. Yue Lingshan tried to block him, but was knocked unconscious by a sudden strike from Yue Buqun. Ren Yi approached, and Lin Pingzhi looked at him with eyes full of regret and fear, trying to speak but failing.

"Regretful? It is too late."

With a faint smile, he thrust his sword and withdrew it. A thin line of blood bloomed on Lin Pingzhi’s throat, and he collapsed.

Ren Yi looked at Fangzheng and Chongxu. "I will kill no more today. The debt of Wudang and the favor of Shaolin end here. From the moment I step out of Shaolin, I will show no mercy."

Abbot Fangzheng and Daoist Chongxu remained silent.

Ren Yi sheathed his sword, turned, and walked away. No one dared to stop him, nor could anyone utter the foolish words of trying to keep him. As he walked away, the shadow of death seemed to recede, and a sense of survival washed over the crowd.