Chapter 29 – Mocking the Scholars, Old Nie Wields the Blade

Lu Fan had anticipated that Chen Beixun would stir up trouble. However, he hadn't expected Chen's method to be so… laughably foolish. It left him feeling rather bored.Using the Drunken Dust Pavilion as bait, exploiting the libertine tendencies of scholars and literati to provoke indignation among the Confucian community—this was a scheme to publicly shame Lu Fan, aiming to disturb his state of mind and strike at his heart rather than his body.

Had it been the former Lu Fan—plagued by a leg affliction and burdened by an unstable mind—he might have truly fallen into Chen Beixun's trap, his spirit stifled and agitated.

Unfortunately for Chen, Lu Fan was no longer that man.

Seated in a wheelchair, Lu Fan slowly straightened his spine. A gentle breeze stirred, lifting a strand of hair from his brow. One ornate boat after another drifted upon the lake, with robed scholars standing aloof at the prow, hands clasped behind their backs, casting cold gazes toward the fishing vessel.

Their eloquence poured forth like a rushing river, their aura proud and unyielding.Owing to the influence of the Grand Preceptor, the literary culture of the Great Zhou Dynasty flourished—Confucianism held sway as the noble ideal.

Buzz…

Lu Fan narrowed his eyes. As the curses of the scholars intensified, the mist on the lake began to swirl, slowly coalescing into a vortex.

Nie Changqing rested his palm upon the butchering blade at his side, standing guard beside Lu Fan, his expression growing grim.

Lu Fan raised his brow slightly as he gazed at the whirling mist.

"Confucianism speaks of 'Qi.' It is different from spiritual energy. It is the embodiment of righteousness held firm within one's heart.""A true Confucian scholar may, with a single word, compel the retreat of ten thousand troops—though exaggerated, it speaks to the power of their righteous aura.""The divine may be formless, but Qi can take shape."

Nie Changqing observed the swirling mist born of the scholars' torrent of words, their rhetoric invoking invisible currents that took physical form. His voice turned hoarse.

"Qi can slay without form."

He raised the butchering blade.

"Among the famed techniques of the Hundred Schools of Thought, there are three most renowned: the Mohist Mechanisms, the Confucian Righteous Qi, and the Yin-Yang Dream-Killing Arts.""Righteous Qi is one of the chief reasons the Confucian school stands at the forefront."

"Of course, these scholars are far inferior to true great Confucians."

Lu Fan gave a slight nod.

The swirling mist above exerted a subtle pressure upon his skin, yet compared to the oppressive force of a cultivator's spiritual might, it was feeble.

"It's somewhat intriguing."

Lu Fan smiled faintly. He had underestimated this so-called low-martial world.

"What shall we do?" Nie Changqing asked, pressing down on his blade.

"Master, allow me to slay them and sever their so-called Righteous Qi," said Ning Zhao, her expression frosty. "To argue with them is to lose."

"No killing," Lu Fan replied calmly. "These scholars bear official titles… They are disciples of the Grand Preceptor."

"Besides, even with spiritual energy, you are but a First Resonance Master. You may not be able to cleave through the Righteous Qi of a hundred scholars."

As a disciple of the Daoist Sect, Nie Changqing clearly knew more than Ning Zhao.

"We cannot argue with them, and we are forbidden from killing them—how utterly shameless!" Ning Zhao said through gritted teeth. "Even martial masters must endure such humiliation?"

Lu Fan chuckled from his wheelchair. He lightly patted Ning Zhao's slender, boneless waist.

"I may be a man of patience, but that does not mean they may trample upon my head and strut about."

"Old Nie."

Lu Fan cast a sidelong glance at the dozens of flower boats drifting together, his smile tinged with playfulness.

"Kill."

One speaks reason with those on the same level. For those beneath—crush first, talk later.

Boom!

The instant Lu Fan uttered that word, "kill," Nie Changqing's eyes lit up with sudden brilliance, as though flames ignited within his pupils. A thread of spiritual energy stirred within his Qi Core, and his blood surged wildly.

Six explosive pulses reverberated in his ears. He did not argue with Lu Fan—for what needed to be said had already been said. Since Lu Fan had decided, he would simply carry it out.

Truthfully, Nie Changqing himself felt stifled.That a pack of scholars could suppress martial masters—men who had tempered themselves through blood and sweat—merely with their words?By what right?

A hundred scholars, so what?Righteous Qi, so what?

Today, Nie Changqing would cleave a path through them and find his release!

The old man on the fishing boat had already hidden himself within the cabin, leaving the bamboo pole resting at the stern.

Nie Changqing leapt forth, seized the pole, and hurled it like a spear. The next instant, he stomped down with force. The boat dipped, then shot upward. He launched forward.

Pa!

The bamboo pole struck the water horizontally, and floated slender and light upon the lake.

Nie Changqing landed, the tips of his feet touching the narrow pole—barely three fingers wide. Yet he glided forward across the surface.

His robes fluttered violently.He held the butchering blade in one hand.Gliding across the lake atop the bamboo pole.

"A mere brute dares such insolence?""Lu Fan, you would instruct your subordinate to draw his blade against us?""We hold imperial titles, gifted with Righteous Qi by the Grand Preceptor!"

From the flower boats, three Confucians stood at the bows. Seeing Nie Changqing's approach, blade in hand, they glared furiously and shouted in rebuke.

A wind whipped up, flattening their robes to their bodies, outlining their forms. The mist spun into a vortex, Righteous Qi coalescing.

Nie Changqing pressed onward, but the further he slid, the greater the resistance.

The scholars' words came forth like pearls strung on silk, eloquent and forceful. Between heaven and earth, a subtle yet immense pressure seemed to manifest, chilling Nie Changqing's boiling blood.

From the fishing boat, Lu Fan watched with interest.

This was, so far, the most fantastical scene he had witnessed in this world.The Righteous Qi of scholars—there was something to it after all.

In truth, the Qi lacked lethal force. Its strength lay in mental and spiritual suppression.

Lu Fan's gaze flickered.

What would happen if Righteous Qi and spiritual energy were combined?Qi could intimidate. Spiritual energy could kill.If merged… could one truly suppress an army of millions? Could a single shout reduce evil to dust?

The more he considered it, the more intrigued he became.If it could subdue a million troops in one breath—now that would be fantasy.What he saw now—this shallow suppression—was no more than parlor trickery.

Nie Changqing's expression turned grim.The wind howled, whipping the lake into waves.He stood upon the pole, facing the dozens of flower boats and their hundred scholars.The pressure, the oppression, caused even his steady blade hand to tremble.

The pole halted—he could go no further. He could not board the boats.He could not slay the scholars.

Then suddenly—

Lu Fan's voice rang out, calm and distant, yet piercing through wind and mist into Nie Changqing's ears.

"If your lightness skill is insufficient, then strike from afar. Use spiritual energy to wield your blade across the void. Can you?""Worry not about spiritual depletion."

Lu Fan's tone was light. Nie Changqing had once spoken to him of the Blade-Wielding Art.

This was the moment to test it.

Nie Changqing's body trembled slightly.

Then, within his eyes, a brilliant gleam ignited.The immortal had passed him the Blade-Wielding Art. He had asked the young master about it, but without spiritual energy, he had been unable to comprehend it.

Now… he could try.

Raising his head, he met the gaze of the scholars aboard the flower boats.

And then he laughed—bold and unrestrained.After the laugh, he closed his eyes.

A profound calm enveloped his mind.A thread of spiritual energy drew forth from his Qi Core, coursing through his limbs and bones.

What surfaced in his mind was the Daoist-modified version of the Blade-Wielding Art—a legacy bestowed by an immortal.He began to circulate the spiritual energy along the prescribed path.

His heart stilled.

The babble of the scholars ceased.The wind died.The water fell silent.Even the wings of startled gulls made no sound.

Only one thing remained in his perception—his blade.

Simple and unadorned, a butcher's knife.

Yet in this moment, it felt as though it had fused with him.

Man and blade as one.

A pale blue glow of spiritual energy flowed swiftly, tracing the path.

Balanced atop the bamboo pole, Nie Changqing's eyes snapped open.His hair rose, wild and untamed…