Chapter 17: Different Paths

Zhao Qinghe's face had gone deathly pale. His spirit sword was now clutched bare-handed in the young man's palm, and no matter how desperately he channeled his spiritual energy, he couldn't move it even a fraction.

Only now did he truly realize just how unfathomably powerful this seemingly young figure before him actually was.

This person… was absolutely not an ordinary Foundation Establishment Cultivator!

"Senior Brother!"

"Demon! Release my Senior Brother's sword!"

The surrounding disciples of the Liuyun Sword Sect were both shocked and furious at the sight.

They had always held their Senior Brother in the highest regard, and seeing him subdued, how could they hold back? With several enraged shouts, seven or eight streaks of sword light blazed to life simultaneously, weaving together like a silver net that closed in on Si Chen from all directions!

In an instant, sword energy crisscrossed the air, and killing intent ran cold.

Si Chen's brow furrowed slightly.

He had no intention of getting entangled with these irrelevant people — he only wanted to deal with Zhang Quan, the root of this trouble.

But since they had taken the initiative to attack, and every move was aimed squarely at vital points, then by Third Uncle's teachings, this fell squarely into the category of "trying to kill you."

In that case, he would deal with them all at once.

Just as he was about to act, the corner of his eye caught a fleeting figure.

Zhang Quan, seizing the moment while Si Chen was surrounded by the Liuyun Sword Sect disciples, let a flash of gleeful malice cross his eyes. He was quietly retreating, a faint crimson light gathering at his fingertips — he was about to use that blood-burning escape technique again!

Si Chen's mind moved like lightning.

If he let this man escape again, there was no telling how many more people like Zhao Qinghe would come along to "uphold justice," and the trouble would be endless and never-ending.

He absolutely could not let him escape again.

His mind made up, Si Chen didn't hesitate.

The hand gripping the blade suddenly flung sideways, sending a surging, irresistible force along the length of the sword.

Zhao Qinghe felt an overwhelming force crash into him, and his entire body was swept off the ground, flying uncontrollably toward his junior brothers and sisters who were charging at him with their swords drawn.

"Senior Brother, watch out!"

"Pull back your swords!"

The disciples saw their Senior Brother hurtling toward them like a sandbag and were scared out of their wits. They hastily withdrew their attacks, sword light scattering into chaos as they scrambled frantically to catch Zhao Qinghe.

The scene instantly descended into pandemonium.

In that split second of chaos, Si Chen didn't even glance back. He casually hurled the spirit sword he had just seized from Zhao Qinghe straight at Zhang Quan, who was on the verge of fleeing!

Whoosh!

The spirit sword transformed into a streak of silver lightning, releasing a sharp shriek as it tore through the air, flying several times faster than when Zhao Qinghe had wielded it, and struck with pinpoint precision at the fleeing Zhang Quan!

The look of delight had not yet faded from Zhang Quan's face when he felt a chill pierce his chest, and a tremendous impact sent him flying backward.

Thwack!

The blade passed clean through his body, pinning him firmly to the trunk of a massive ancient tree!

"Ugh…"

Zhang Quan let out a short, agonized grunt, looking down at the sword hilt protruding from his chest and still trembling, his eyes filled with desperate, disbelieving despair.

He opened his mouth, as if he still wanted to say something — perhaps to beg for mercy, perhaps to curse.

But Si Chen gave him no such chance.

Almost simultaneously with the throw, Si Chen's figure had already arrived like a phantom before the pinned Zhang Quan. Without any superfluous words or expression, he raised his hand, clenched his fist, and threw a single, simple punch.

At the tip of his fist, a faint flash of thunder flickered and vanished.

Bang!

Zhang Quan's skull exploded in an instant. Something warm splattered in all directions, leaving only a headless corpse pinned to the tree by the long sword, swaying faintly.

The world was at peace.

It had all happened too fast — from Si Chen flinging Zhao Qinghe aside, to hurling the sword, to delivering the killing blow, it had taken no more than a single breath.

By the time the Liuyun Sword Sect disciples had scrambled to catch their Senior Brother and steadied themselves, they looked up to find this grisly, horrifying scene before them.

The air seemed to freeze.

The pretty Junior Sister screamed on the spot, covering her eyes and refusing to look again.

The other disciples had gone pale as well, their stomachs churning violently.

In their daily sparring and discussions of the Dao, when had they ever witnessed such a brutal and direct method of killing?

Killing was supposed to end cleanly — yet this young man's methods were three parts more ruthless than even the Demon cultivators of legend!

The crowd seethed with outrage, but beneath it lay a hollow, cowardly fear. They shouted and clamored, yet their feet unconsciously stepped back, and not one dared to truly advance.

"Demon! You… how dare you…" The square-faced disciple was both shocked and furious, pointing at Si Chen, his voice trembling with fear.

"Junior Brother! Silence!" Zhao Qinghe barked sharply, grabbing hold of that impulsive junior brother.

His own complexion was no better — his chest heaved with rapid breaths — but the righteous indignation in his eyes had long since been replaced by deep wariness and lingering dread.

He could see it clearly: he had the highest cultivation among those present, and yet he had still been no match. If this person wanted to kill, these junior brothers and sisters would likely fare very poorly.

To provoke him further now — how was that any different from seeking death?

Moreover, Zhang Quan's behavior in his final moments had truly not resembled that of someone from the righteous path…

Doubt swirled in his heart, and he had already quietly crushed a communication jade talisman to summon the sect's Elders.

The situation was beyond his control now — he had to notify the sect's powerful cultivators to come and handle it.

Si Chen, having dealt with Zhang Quan, felt the surroundings finally grow quiet.

He turned around and walked toward Zhao Qinghe and the others.

There were still faint specks of blood on him from the earlier splatter. The Liuyun Sword Sect disciples tensed as if facing a great enemy, involuntarily retreating several steps.

However, Si Chen stopped a few paces away.

He looked at the group, who had ceased their attacks since Zhang Quan's death, and fell into quiet thought.

Out of respect for life, he felt he should make one final confirmation.

So, under the wary and uncertain gazes of Zhao Qinghe and the others, Si Chen observed proper etiquette — he clasped his hands together and gave a slight bow.

Then he raised his eyes and asked sincerely:

"Everyone — do you still wish to be my enemy?"

His tone was perfectly calm, without a trace of killing intent. Yet paired with the thunderous manner in which he had just killed, these words fell upon Zhao Qinghe and the others' ears more chillingly than any outright threat.

This was not a question at all — it was clearly an ultimatum.

Choose to be his enemy, and the headless corpse beneath that tree was the example to follow!

Zhao Qinghe's throat felt dry. He drew a deep breath, forcibly suppressed the shock and fear in his heart, returned the clasped-hand salute, and spoke in a voice carrying a barely perceptible hoarseness:

"Fellow Daoist… your abilities are extraordinary. It was our rashness earlier — we misjudged you and misunderstood your intentions. This matter… this matter was purely a misunderstanding. We have no intention of being your enemy."

He spoke those words almost through gritted teeth. The pride of being the Senior Brother of the Liuyun Sword Sect made it deeply humiliating, but to protect his junior brothers and sisters, he had to bow his head.

Si Chen gave a nod. Since the other party had said "no intention of being enemies," then the matter was settled.

"Very well," he said.

His gaze fell on the spirit sword still pinned in the tree, stained with blood — he remembered it belonged to someone else.

So he walked over, gripped the hilt, and pulled it free from the corpse with a gentle tug, not sparing the headless body so much as a glance.

Then, a faint arc of electricity sparked at his fingertips, and he lightly ran it along the blade.

Crackle.

The blood and grime on the sword were instantly scoured away by the current, leaving it as good as new — even sharper and brighter than before.

He took the sword, walked back to Zhao Qinghe, and held it out to him.

"Your sword," Si Chen said.

Zhao Qinghe looked at the spotless, gleaming spirit sword extended toward him, then looked at Si Chen's eyes — eyes that now held not a shred of killing intent — and his emotions became impossibly complex.

He silently accepted the sword.

"My… thanks, Fellow Daoist," he said, his voice strained.

Si Chen said nothing more. The trouble was resolved, the item returned — there was nothing left here for him.

He turned and rose on the wind.

"Fellow Daoist, please wait!" Zhao Qinghe saw him about to leave and felt a sudden urgency, unable to stop himself from calling out.

The Elder had not yet arrived. If this person left now, finding him again in the vast world would be near impossible.

Si Chen paused and looked back, a faint question in his eyes.

Zhao Qinghe's mind raced — he had to find a reason to keep him here.

"Fellow Daoist, you are so young, yet your cultivation is so… extraordinary. I wonder where you were trained, and what your name might be? Perhaps you have some connection with our Liuyun Sword Sect. If you don't mind, you are welcome to come back to our sect as a guest, so we may fulfill our duties as hosts and properly resolve today's misunderstanding."

His words were elegantly phrased — probing for background while extending an invitation, sounding perfectly reasonable.

Si Chen looked at him, those clear eyes seemingly able to see straight through a person's heart.

He sensed no "sincerity" from the other party — only a hidden urgency and calculation.

He thought of Zhang Quan's earlier performance, then looked at Zhao Qinghe, who was working hard to maintain his composure.

Humans, it seemed, always enjoyed saying things they didn't truly mean.

He lost all interest in continuing the conversation, and replied with only a cool, indifferent sentence:

"No need. I dislike trouble — and even more, I dislike… people who bring trouble."

Before the words had even fully faded, his figure had already transformed into a streak of azure light, tearing through the sky and vanishing into the horizon in an instant.