Chapter 53

Chapter 53: Two Enemies, Sword Arts on Display

Zhao Chun drew the Crimson Edge Dagger and met the saber wielder head-on.

One against two was a disadvantage. She needed to end it quickly—cripple or kill one, then deal with the other.

“Damn it—why a sword cultivator?” the saber wielder spat, retreating fast.

Sword cultivators were outliers among cultivators, devoted to slaughter. In the same realm, their killing power was unmatched. At the Qi Refining Stage, the gap wasn’t as clear yet—but after Foundation Establishment, a sword cultivator who condensed a Sword Qi Realm could fight ten alone without exaggeration.

The saber wielder kept backing away, eyes poisoned with malice. If you were Foundation Establishment, I’d fear you. But we’re both Qi Refining. Who do you think you are, daring to face two of us?

Zhao Chun didn’t give him space. She pressed forward and slashed again.

The other sixth-layer cultivator was a spell cultivator. He didn’t seem close with the saber wielder, but he understood the situation perfectly: if Zhao Chun took one of them out first, he would be fish on a cutting board.

He formed seals with both hands. Green light surged and condensed into a thick vine that whipped toward Zhao Chun.

Zhao Chun only glanced at it.

She slashed backhand, and a streak of sword light fell.

The vine split cleanly in two, the severed ends charred black.

The spell cultivator’s expression twisted. Fire suppressed wood, and her sword radiance was bright and clean—she truly carried the air of a genuine sword disciple.

That strike had been meant for his head. He twisted aside, but the blow still tore through him. He crashed to the ground, battered and unable to rise.

The surrounding cultivators fled at once, terrified of being caught in the fight. The saber wielder went pale. The spell cultivator’s strength was close to his—and yet in only a few breaths, Zhao Chun had beaten him down.

Two moves to cripple a peer.

Ordinary sixth-layer Qi Refining cultivators weren’t supposed to be this terrifying.

The saber wielder staggered, one hand clamped over a deep gash, blood spilling between his fingers. When he saw Zhao Chun walk toward him with the dagger in her hand, panic broke through his face.

“It was me—I got greedy!” he cried. “That’s why I attacked Fellow Daoist. I know I was wrong! I’ll hand over everything I got from the ruins, all of it! Please, Fellow Daoist, spare my life—spare my life!”

His voice sounded desperate, his face contorted with pleading.

But his eyes weren’t afraid.

They were hateful.

Zhao Chun looked down at him coldly. Did he take her for some naive child? If she softened and let him live, he’d turn on her the moment he had the chance—and she’d lose her life for it.

When he saw her pause, he thought his begging had worked. A smug light flickered. So she really is some soft-hearted sect girl, he thought. Once she steps closer to take my bag, I’ll finish her—

Zhao Chun moved.

One step—and then she lunged.

Before he could crush the talisman clutched in his fist, the Crimson Edge Dagger cut through his throat and took his head clean off.

Blood spouted high.

The blade came away without a smear, its edge still bright and cold.

Zhao Chun turned her gaze to the spell cultivator. He flinched, stumbling back several steps. Terror filled his face.

“I offended you today,” he said shakily. “These are compensation. I’m leaving.”

He abandoned his bag and fled.

Zhao Chun could have caught him easily, but she wasn’t someone who killed for sport. The man’s fear looked real; he likely wouldn’t dare target her again. And she hadn’t come here to shed unnecessary blood—she’d come for Moistwood Fruit.

Around the waterfall, the cultivators who had stayed to harvest scattered the moment they saw her kill. Those who remained stood rigid, voices thin with fear.

“S-Senior, we…”

Zhao Chun crouched and searched the saber wielder’s bag. In his clenched hand, she found an unused Fireball Talisman. Her eyes narrowed. How many had he killed with that?

She picked up the abandoned bag from the spell cultivator as well, weighed it, and felt satisfied. Then she looked at the timid faces and said evenly, “Pick what you want.”

Fruits under fifty years did little for her. She had no need to compete with them for scraps.

Zhao Chun leapt higher and continued harvesting. The others didn’t dare move until she was truly finished—until she’d taken everything worth taking and left. Only then did they crawl back out, legs shaking, and scramble for what remained below.

“Who was that?” a rogue cultivator at the third layer of Qi Refining whispered, still stunned. “She fought two at once and even killed one. Is her cultivation really that high?”

A fifth-layer Qi Refining cultivator, judging by his attire a sect member, answered with a knowing air. “Their aura didn’t reach late stage. All three should be at the sixth layer of Qi Refining.”

The crowd sucked in breath after breath. Someone blurted, “That young, and already sixth layer?”

The sect member snorted and lifted his chin, enjoying the attention. “In major sects, twelve- or thirteen-year-olds reaching late Qi Refining aren’t rare. Some even step into Foundation Establishment at fifteen. The most famous are in the Southern Domain—Zhi Yue Sect, the regional leader. The Sect Master’s personal disciple Song Yi Kun, and Rong Qing Mountain’s genius disciple Xue Yun—both have Heavenly spirit roots. They reached Foundation Establishment at ten. Now, at seventeen or eighteen, they’re already about to seek the Essence Condensation Stage!”

A wave of awe passed through the listeners, so sharp it flattened everything else. Even Zhao Chun’s brutal efficiency moments earlier seemed less impressive in the shadow of that kind of legend.

A different sect cultivator listened with quiet contempt. What did those monsters have to do with you? Borrowing their names to puff yourself up—pathetic.

Still, that cultivator’s mind remained clearer than most. Song Yi Kun and Xue Yun were once-in-a-century monsters. Someone like Zhao Chun—strong enough to face two peers and come out on top—might not sit at the absolute peak, but she was already far beyond ordinary.

Zhao Chun knew none of it.

She found a secluded place and counted her harvest. Added together, she had well over eight hundred fruits. The spell cultivator had looked low-key, but his bag held three more hundred-year fruits—fully jade-green.

That brought her total to nine hundred Moistwood Fruits in all, and eight hundred thirty of them were fifty years or older. Enough for a long time.

The saber wielder’s possessions were meager—just over a hundred Cui Stones, two or three bottles of pills, and two Fireball Talismans. Zhao Chun pocketed them all. Scraps were still worth taking.

There wasn’t much else in the outer herb garden that helped her. She needed to enter the inner layer.

She stored the fruits in her Storage Bag and headed back toward the exit, intending to meet Meng Han first before going deeper.

On the way back through the water-gathering spirit fields, she ran into familiar faces.

A handsome youth stood at the front, posture straight as a pine. Fan Shu Ping of the Fen Yu Sect.

On the ship, he’d had seven or eight companions. Now only three remained. Besides the spoiled Junior Sister Zhao Zhan Qian, there was only a round-faced disciple hovering behind them.

They were arguing with others again, but this time the other side didn’t stop at words. Faces dark, they drove spirit tools forward and attacked the weakest of the three—the round-faced disciple.

Fan Shu Ping swept his sleeve out to block and formed seals to strike back.

At the fifth layer of Qi Refining, handling opponents at the third or fourth layer should have been easy. But there were ten of them. Even he looked strained.

Zhao Chun watched with a cold eye and kept walking. She had no interest in interfering.

Behind her, explosions cracked in rapid succession. She glanced back once and saw Junior Sister Zhao Zhan Qian fling a shower of talismans into the air, blasting the attackers into retreat.

Winning with money, as always.

Zhao Chun reached the stone gate. Meng Han sat in meditation just outside, calm as ever. When he saw her, he opened his eyes and smiled.

“Good harvest?”

Zhao Chun nodded. When he rose, she followed him toward the inner layer.