Chapter 87: The Same Swordsmanship

Ye Jiuyao gazed down at the assembled crowd with an indifferent expression. How could he not see through their intentions? After all, this was the world of cultivation, where self-interest always took precedence.

“The Saintess seeks a Dao partner, naturally one whose strength is adequate. As a member of the Heavenly Jade Sect, it is only right for me to alleviate her worries. Do you all find this inappropriate?”

“It seems the Sect Master never said that other members of the Heavenly Jade Sect couldn’t participate, did she?”

“Or perhaps someone’s hearing is failing them?”

Ye Jiuyao’s three questions in quick succession left the high elders of the various sects speechless, unable to respond.

Zhu Qing looked at Ye Jiuyao with great satisfaction, giving him a subtle nod—so slight that no one else noticed, for everyone was still caught up in the web of his words.

“But why are you the only one intervening, when others have not?”

“Because... I’m the only man in the entire sect…”

The moment Ye Jiuyao uttered these words, an uproar surged through the crowd.

Zhu Qing, too, suddenly recalled that indeed, there were no men in the Heavenly Jade Sect. Her face clouded over with uncertainty.

The woman who had brought Ye Jiuyao into the sect now looked utterly mortified, nearly coughing up blood from sheer frustration.

“Qing’er, shouldn’t you give us an explanation?!”

Immediately, a figure from a sixth-grade sect in the audience raised a pointed question.

“This youth was brought here by the previous Saintess, entrusted into my care. Now that he steps forward to fight, what is the issue?” Zhu Qing’s tone was unyielding, her voice ringing with righteous authority as she pointed at the crowd below.

“The previous Saintess?”

“The one who disappeared for years?”

“The one Qing’er dragged back—Mu Wan?”

A ripple of doubtful voices spread through the audience. Clearly, many were well acquainted with Mu Wan, even among the high elders of ninth-grade sects.

“That’s right. He is her son. Does anyone have further objections?”

At this moment, Zhu Qing could only gamble everything. The reputation of the Heavenly Jade Sect could not be tarnished—whether it was true or not, no one could verify it.

“What?!”

“He’s really Mu Wan’s son?!”

“Impossible! How could Mu Wan’s son be in the Heavenly Jade Sect…”

Panic and disbelief swept over the assembly. After all, the name Mu Wan was not one to be taken lightly. Even if she was no longer the Saintess, nor the daughter of that individual, her identity still commanded fear; to speak recklessly was a path to certain death.

Ye Jiuyao himself was a little bewildered—when had he become someone else’s son? Judging by their reactions, this newly recognized mother of his seemed to have quite the extraordinary background.

So, Ye Jiuyao accepted it with grace. From now on, should he need to act with authority, he had only to reveal this name, and no one would dare question him. It would reduce trouble and add an aura of mystery.

“In that case, we have no objections. Let the challenge proceed.”

The dignitaries of the various sects voiced their assent. After all, this was an internal matter; to interfere further might only invite calamity. Mu Wan’s identity was too formidable—none of their sects could withstand such terror. They could only acquiesce.

“In that case, let the battle continue,” said Sword Cry, stepping forward with overwhelming momentum. His sword intent arched like a rainbow piercing the sun, erupting with force that soared to the heavens.

“Sword, come!”

Ye Jiuyao watched Sword Cry’s formidable sword aura with undisguised delight. With a low, thunderous roar, a long sword materialized from the void, its blade formed from pure vital energy, cold and translucent as ice, exuding a chilling mist—an immortal sword in appearance.

“You’re a sword cultivator as well?”

“It’s just a hobby.”

Sword Cry’s eyes flashed with caution, but Ye Jiuyao answered calmly, his right hand resting on the blade as his aura gathered in an instant.

“Sword Draw!”

Sword Cry shouted again, drawing all eyes to the stage. Duan Ya, the earlier challenger, watched with grave attention—being a sword cultivator himself, he knew well the terror of this technique and had been astonished by the previous display.

“What is he doing?”

“Is he…?”

The crowd leaned forward, hands gripping their seats, watching Ye Jiuyao’s every move.

Only Sword Cloud Master understood—perhaps this was the difference between the two. Ye Jiuyao’s sword remained still, yet his aura, though tightly coiled, did not leak; he was as immovable as a boulder.

But when he moved, it was as if mountains collapsed, the heavens darkened, and the sun, moon, and stars shifted in their courses.

“Sword Draw!”

Suddenly, Ye Jiuyao echoed Sword Cry’s shout.

Faces changed throughout the audience, disbelief written plain. Both displayed the same sword technique, but Sword Cry’s momentum was overwhelming, bearing down on Ye Jiuyao like a raging torrent.

Yet Ye Jiuyao’s sword draw, though lacking in sheer might, was solid and unshakable, like an ancient tortoise moving steadily forward.

Boom!

The two surging forces collided, their impact like the grinding wheels of the underworld, erupting in a deafening blast.

Drip… drip… drip…

Blood fell from the sky, veiling the scene in dust and obscuring the outcome. Anxious uncertainty gripped the crowd—who was wounded? The beauty playing the zither was especially restless.

But there was one exception.

Sword Cloud Master, with a long sigh, realized that if he did not intervene, given his disciple’s thirst for knowledge, this duel would end with serious injury—most likely to his foolish disciple.

“You’ve lost,” came Ye Jiuyao’s emotionless voice, as if this outcome had always been certain.

“No, I haven’t lost! Give me another chance—I will defeat you!”

No sword cultivator could bear to lose to another, especially by their own technique. From time immemorial, the pride of sword cultivators was absolute—their swords, their second lives. To admit inferiority was impossible.

Thus, Sword Cry’s aura surged once more.

“Sword Cry, stand down!” Sword Cloud Master drifted down, instantly appearing at Sword Cry’s side with a stern rebuke.

“Master…”

“Step back, for my sake. I advise you to yield.”

Lin Yibai also approached Sword Cry, his gaze fixed on Ye Jiuyao with grave suspicion—this man seemed oddly familiar, yet he could not recall why.

“Thank you for showing mercy.”

“Teach him well, and visit often.”

“Yes.”

Sword Cloud Master’s joy flickered across his face for a moment, noticed only by Sword Cry and Lin Yibai.

Reluctantly, Sword Cry returned to his seat with his master.

“Are there any other challengers among the proud talents?” Zhu Qing’s clear voice snapped everyone back to reality. The young cultivators exchanged wary glances, while the elders watched with astonishment.

This youth is a prodigy!

Sword Cry’s sword draw was already masterful, but Ye Jiuyao’s technique was transcendent—he had wounded Sword Cry with a single strike. His swordsmanship was terrifying indeed.

Previously, he had proven invincible among his peers. Now, he could challenge across realms, perhaps even kill his enemies by surprise.

“I will go.”

Just as thoughts raced through the crowd, a figure garbed in fiery red stepped forward. There was no arrogance in his eyes, only a profound world-weariness.

This one… is dangerous.

That was Ye Jiuyao’s first instinct.