Chapter 114
Chapter 114: Swordsmanship Fame
Outside the mountain, the noise only grew louder. Most people thought Wang Jie was completely insane.
Wu Mian looked like he wanted to bury his face in his hands. If he’d known Wang Jie would say something like that, he might not have warned him at all.
Xia Zhen Zhen and Xia Xiao Nian watched as if they were seeing Wang Jie for the first time.
Even Luo Yan, standing among the crowd, couldn’t reconcile this cold, confident swordsman with the man who’d made him hunt secret admirers.
Yet for all the scoffing, some people grew tense.
In a situation like this, anyone who dared say such words either had absolute confidence—or was about to become the biggest joke in the sect.
Xia Mu studied him for a long moment. “Master Wang… that confident?”
Wang Jie only smiled and gestured for him to draw his sword.
It wasn’t arrogance. Not entirely.
If Xia Mu watched him, Wang Jie could watch Xia Mu too.
And Wang Jie’s experiences had carved a simple truth into him: if he wasn’t crushed by cultivation realm, then in a place like this… he didn’t expect surprises.
Yes. A place like this.
Compared to Shu Mu Ye, compared to Wen Xing Ru and the rest, the people here were behind.
Xia Mu placed his hand on his hilt. The sword tip touched the ground.
He walked forward slowly.
The blade scratched the stone path, leaving shallow lines. Sparks burst with every step—and the closer Xia Mu drew to Wang Jie, the fiercer the sparks became.
Everyone inside and outside Little Sword Mountain stared.
Only a handful of people weren’t watching Xia Mu.
They were watching the sparks.
Wang Jie’s eyes narrowed.
The changes were in the sparks.
It wasn’t merely the blade striking stone to produce fire. Every step, every instant of contact, carried a subtle shift—variations embedded so deeply they revealed themselves as patterns of light.
Xia Mu stopped three meters away and lifted his sword in a rising diagonal slash.
It was simple.
And it was terrifying.
Cold intent wrapped around Wang Jie like a net. No matter how Wang Jie moved, there was a next move waiting. Xia Mu had already calculated Wang Jie’s every possible step.
This was Drifting—multi-layered, endlessly changing, and brutally precise.
The cold surging from it was far beyond Li Mo’s.
Wang Jie didn’t retreat.
He flicked his sword partway from the sheath with his thumb, reversed his grip, and swung backhand.
Clang.
Then his arm became a blur—strike after strike, each one meeting Xia Mu’s blade, sparks exploding outward like shattered stars.
The swords collided.
But neither man stepped.
They held their ground, two figures pinned in place, their blades fighting where their bodies did not.
The crisp metallic clinks echoed across Little Sword Mountain, reaching even the farthest watchers.
Xia Zhen Zhen stared, breath caught.
He blocked it.
Master Wang blocked Xia Mu’s Drifting.
Li Mo and the others tried to follow the exchange, to see each strike, to count each shift.
They couldn’t.
The changes were too fast. Their minds couldn’t keep up.
“Thirty-two.”
A calm voice cut through the noise.
Master Que Yi had arrived at some point, Tao Er trailing behind him.
Li Mo and the nearby disciples immediately bowed.
Master Que Yi kept his gaze fixed on the duel. “Xia Mu has already used thirty-two changes. Master Wang has blocked every strike. If Xia Mu can’t transform further, he will lose.”
The nearby disciples stiffened.
In their minds, Xia Mu’s Drifting was thirty-two changes.
Wang Jie—still Ten Seals—was holding it off?
Suddenly, Xia Mu knocked aside one strike and released his grip.
His sword spun behind him and whipped back around, slashing forward from an impossible angle.
“A new variation,” Li Mo breathed, eyes bright.
Wang Jie’s expression didn’t change.
He raised his blade and chopped down.
Xia Mu’s sword was knocked aside—but the hilt snapped toward Wang Jie like a hammer.
Wang Jie didn’t dodge. He cut once more, then hooked a finger, pulling his blade backward in the same instant to catch the hilt strike cleanly.
Clang.
Both men lunged for their swords and seized the hilts at the same time.
They slashed horizontally.
Crack.
Steel shattered.
Both swords broke at once.
For a heartbeat, the mountain fell silent.
Wang Jie and Xia Mu stood face-to-face, broken blades in hand.
Both of them smiled.
Xia Mu flicked his broken sword into the mountain wall, where it embedded itself like a marker. “Your swordsmanship is worthy of admiration. I observed it—but I can’t merge it into my own.”
He met Wang Jie’s eyes. “Because you were always defending. I couldn’t find a way to steal it.”
Wang Jie examined his broken blade, almost regretful. “This sword wasn’t bad. What a waste.”
Then he shoved it into a different section of rock.
Around them, the Inner Sect disciples no longer mocked.
Whatever else they thought, they’d all seen it.
Wang Jie had met Xia Mu’s Drifting without panic, without retreat. His swordsmanship was real.
A female disciple blinked and asked, “How many moves was that?”
“Ninety-one,” someone answered quickly.
Her eyes widened. “So Senior Brother Mu still has nine moves left…?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” someone snapped. “It’s not like he’s guaranteed to lose on the hundredth move.”
The girl swallowed the rest of her words.
Xia Mu looked at Wang Jie’s broken sword. “That blade of yours isn’t good. Do you want to borrow a sword?”
Wang Jie didn’t hesitate. “If you can, I’d appreciate it.”
Xia Mu laughed, genuinely amused. “Not shy at all.”
“I’m short on swords,” Wang Jie said frankly. “If you’re willing to give them, I’ll take them.”
“Absolutely not. Other people still need to train.”
With a casual gesture, Xia Mu summoned two swords from a distant valley. They flew up like twin streaks and hovered before them—nearly identical.
Wang Jie caught one, tested the balance, and flicked it lightly.
A clear sword cry rang out.
It was a better weapon than the one Wu Mian had forged for him from Mad Clan materials. His old sword was decent—this one was a tier above.
Xia Mu gripped the other sword. “I won’t win by taking advantage of your weapon. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have used that first blade.”
He leveled his gaze. “Now show me how you plan to win in the next nine moves.”
Wang Jie lifted his sword. “Gladly.”
Xia Mu’s aura changed.
His sword flashed—and in that instant, it was as if Xia Mu became the blade itself, cutting through the air with ruthless sharpness.
Sword shadows filled the sky.
Compared to before, the variations multiplied.
Li Mo’s eyes lit up. “Sixty-four changes!”
Master Que Yi’s expression shifted into admiration. “To comprehend Drifting’s sixty-four changes at his age… worthy of a true disciple.”
Wang Jie wasn’t surprised. He’d known Xia Mu was holding back.
Good.
If he wanted swordsmanship fame, there was no better stage than this—against sixty-four changes.
Xia Mu’s shadows pressed from every angle. Each strike carried layers, traps, killing lines hidden inside killing lines.
Wang Jie moved through them.
Not fast in a chaotic way—precise. Like he was walking through a map only he could see.
No matter how Xia Mu shifted, no matter how many new variations he introduced, Wang Jie saw through them.
One Gaze, Three Thousand—he hadn’t fully reached it, but he was close.
What Wang Jie saw wasn’t what others saw.
He saw more than Xia Mu did—because drawing the sword didn’t mean you fully controlled the sword.
Ninety-two.
Ninety-three.
Ninety-seven.
Ninety-eight.
Only one move remained.
Xia Mu’s face tightened. He still hadn’t touched so much as Wang Jie’s collar.
He refused to believe the gap in swordsmanship was this wide.
Whatever Wang Jie was doing to evade him, Xia Mu didn’t care anymore.
The next sword was the culmination of years of refinement.
If even that failed… he would have no choice but to admit defeat.
The ninety-ninth move.
One Sword Drifting.
The void seemed to gather. Sword shadows surged inward, compressing toward a single center point.
This sword wasn’t meant to cut flesh.
It was meant to force.
To herd Wang Jie into the center, to leave him nowhere to dodge. Unless Wang Jie could retreat in an instant beyond the entire field, he would be crushed into the convergence.
The final killing strike of sixty-four changes.
Wang Jie’s gaze swept the swirling shadows.
They looked chaotic, yet formed a perfect circle in the void.
A good sword.
Then he raised his arm.
Gripped his blade.
Star-Gazing Sword Form.
His sword fell like starlight—clean, exact.
Each sword shadow he produced struck a corresponding variation in Xia Mu’s field, shattering it piece by piece. The sixty-four-change killing strike broke apart as if something had punched holes through the pattern.
Sword light scattered into glittering points that rained down like stars.
A gust of wind roared outward.
Xia Mu was forced back several steps, eyes wide.
His sword… had lost.
Star-Gazing Sword Form was on the level of Heaven-and-Earth Luo Xuan Finger—an art that rivaled true lost techniques from the Jia Yi Sect, an art said to stand above the eighteen ultimate techniques.
Wang Jie had trained it too long. Breaking Xia Mu’s Drifting was effortless.
He stepped forward.
The hundredth move was simple.
No trick. No flourish.
His blade stopped at Xia Mu’s throat.
Cold seeped into Xia Mu’s skin.
Xia Mu stared at the edge for a long moment, then looked into Wang Jie’s eyes.
“Excellent swordsmanship,” he said softly.
Wang Jie lowered his blade. “Yours is excellent too.”
Xia Mu tipped his head back to stare at the sky. “What is that sword move called?”
“Star-Gazing.”
“Star-Gazing…” Xia Mu repeated, and smiled. “So that’s what it is.
“I didn’t lose unfairly.”
He didn’t look crushed. If anything, he looked energized.
“Master Wang,” Xia Mu said, voice sincere, “thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a sword move like that.”
He gestured to the sword in Wang Jie’s hand. “That blade is yours.”
Wang Jie nodded with genuine gratitude. “Thank you. It suits me.”
Xia Mu’s gaze flicked toward the crowd, toward a particular figure at the edge. “Xia Bei Yi came to see me. He wanted me to cause you trouble. Master Wang should be careful.”
Wang Jie followed his glance. He’d seen Xia Bei Yi before the duel.
So the man still couldn’t let go of Qing Shan Cheng.
Inside and outside Little Sword Mountain, the crowd’s expressions turned complicated.
Xia Mu had lost.
And Wang Jie had won exactly on the hundredth move.
No one laughed now.
Some came forward to congratulate him. Xia Zhen Zhen hurried up as well, relief and excitement plain on her face.
Others scoffed quietly from the back.
So what if his swordsmanship was high?
A Ten Seals cultivator would never truly stand on the main stage.
Xia Bei Yi turned and left, jaw tight. He hadn’t expected Wang Jie’s swordsmanship to be this terrifying.
But as long as Wang Jie remained in the Frost Splendor Sect, there would be time.
When Domain Lord Han became the Lord of Mist Peak… then debts would be paid.
As for Wang Jie, the “swordsmanship fame” material was finally complete.
It wasn’t just a requirement for the Heaven-Reversal Path—it was real reputation, spreading outward like ripples.
People came to offer congratulations.
Still, because of Master Xu and Domain Lord Han, plenty kept their distance, afraid to get close.
Master Que Yi approached and faced Wang Jie directly, admiration clear on his features. “I didn’t expect your swordsmanship to be this high, Master Wang. No wonder you love the sword.”
Wang Jie lowered his gaze modestly. “It’s only because I can star-refine tools. That gave me new understanding of strength and control, and it carried over into the sword. If we’re talking about talent, I’m not as gifted as Xia Mu.”
Master Que Yi shook his head with a faint smile. “No need for false modesty. But there’s something I’m curious about.”
“Senior, please ask.”
“When do you plan to enter the Star-Breaking Realm?”
Wang Jie didn’t answer immediately.
Master Que Yi already understood. That final Star-Gazing Sword Form could annihilate stars. It was far beyond what Ten Seals should be able to produce.
If Master Que Yi could see it, others could too.
The question struck like a warning bell.
Wang Jie needed to break through soon—because if he delayed too long, someone might start paying attention to the color of his imprint.
Normally, no one would check. Experts could sense Star-Breaking Realm, Full-Star Realm, even Roaming-Star Realm power from a distance. Ten Seals was too low to bother with—checking it would feel like peeping.
But if something was abnormal enough, someone might look.
If his deep black imprint was exposed, the entire Eighth Star Chain—perhaps even the Third Nebula—would erupt.
That wasn’t a good thing.
“I want to break through as soon as possible,” Wang Jie said carefully, “but I’m afraid that after breaking through, I won’t be able to star-refine anymore.
“After all… I’m a lockforce cultivator.”
Master Que Yi looked startled. Then he frowned in thought and nodded. “That’s true. Balancing lockforce and starforce is not simple.”
Not long after, Master Que Yi left.
Wang Jie watched him go, uncertain whether the man had been warning him.
Either way, Wang Jie decided he needed to disappear from public view for a while.
Fame came with benefits. It also came with risks—especially now, when he was being targeted and enemies were lurking.
Master Luan was focused on refining pills, and Wang Jie couldn’t think of a better place to hide than Deepweight Star.
It was time to return there.
He would push his lockforce control closer to One Gaze, Three Thousand, strengthen his force, and try to truly step into Chen Art.
He already possessed one: Myriad-Stars Finger.
Finger techniques and methods—technique and law—when fused, became Chen Art.
If he reached One Gaze, Three Thousand, then combined it with Myriad-Stars Finger, the moment he executed it, Chen Art would naturally be complete.
And while he cultivated on Deepweight Star, he could also avoid Master Xu and the rest for a time.