Chapter 82: The Profound Calamity Receives Its Mandate, All Paths Return to the True Way

Where the eye could reach—

There, in the deepest folds of the clouds, a broad, withered plantain leaf hung suspended, and atop that leaf, two figures stood.

One was a man in his forties, with a round, kindly face, heavy-set and portly, a pair of short mustaches decorating his upper lip. Atop his brow swirled a halo of pure spiritual light; it was clear at a glance that he was a cultivator of the immortal path. The great plantain leaf beneath his feet was his talismanic weapon.

Noticing Chen Heng’s gaze, the man’s eyes narrowed slightly. In the next instant, he shifted calmly behind his companion, shielding him from view.

And the other—

He had just spoken, naming himself as Yuan Yangsheng.

He was a youth of extraordinary bearing, handsome and bold. Clad in crimson robes of magic, his hair unbound and flowing over his shoulders, his brows dark and thick as ink, his eyes gleaming like clear stars—deep and fathomless. With his tall, upright frame and striking features, a cold, electric majesty danced in his gaze, an awe-inspiring presence that pressed upon others like the weight of a towering peak.

“The Path of Martial Might from Taurus Calamity Heaven—Gangsha Martial Arts?”

At Chen Heng’s words, a trace of arrogance faded from Yuan Yangsheng’s face.

He raised a brow, sizing up Chen Heng with several measured glances, then sighed heavily.

“You’re a perceptive priest, truly! Far better than the immortal cultivators I’ve met before—those were nothing but fools! They actually believed I practiced the mundane martial arts of Xu Capital Heaven? Their words were laced with scorn and arrogance—utterly insufferable! If not for my naturally gentle disposition, I’d have stripped them bare long ago, let alone allowed them to walk off with a third of their spoils.”

He gave Chen Heng a thumbs-up, grinning broadly.

“Since you’re so insightful, here’s my offer—when I win, you may keep sixty percent of your spoils. I’ll only take forty. Fair enough?”

“Are you saying all the immortal cultivators you’ve met are fools? Does that not include me as well?”

From the same plantain leaf, the middle-aged man who had hidden behind Yuan Yangsheng sounded displeased. “Watch your mouth, boy!”

“Old Hu, you’re not exactly brilliant yourself…”

Yuan Yangsheng rolled his eyes. “You only recognized that I train in Gangsha Martial Arts after our initial meeting. First, you guessed I practiced the Western Celestial Martial Arts. When I shook my head, you tried God-Demon Martial Arts, Tripartite Martial Arts, Shakya Martial Arts… four or five guesses and still missed that I walk the Gangsha path. If you were still an instructor, with that kind of insight—” Yuan Yangsheng shook his head. “You’d be lucky to beg a hot meal, much less a living.”

The portly man’s face darkened, flesh quivering as if he wished he could withdraw the plantain leaf and send Yuan Yangsheng plummeting to his death.

...

“The Gangsha Martial Arts of Taurus Calamity Heaven is a legitimate path of the Grand Tribulation, I have indeed heard of it,” Chen Heng said coolly, eyeing the pair.

“Yet I bear you no grudge, and this is our first meeting. Why must you insist on measuring skill with me?”

“To befriend with martial arts is a great joy of my life—why would you shrink from it?” Yuan Yangsheng replied. “To wield a mid-grade talismanic weapon at the Qi Refining stage—clearly, you are no ordinary man. Don’t you wish to experience for yourself the distinction between Gangsha Martial Arts and your orthodox immortal path?”

In this boundless world, myriad heavens and myriad ways, as countless as grains of sand—

Gangsha Martial Arts of Taurus Calamity Heaven is one such path.

Unlike immortal cultivation, this way requires first to nourish the blood, strengthen the breath, temper sinews, change the bones, refine the marrow, then draw in the Earthly Sha, condense the Celestial Gang, cultivate the will and forge the essence, temper with water and fire, finally opening the Divine Wheel’s great treasury and subduing the heavenly heart of creation.

Those who master such martial ways are revered as “Venerables,” their blood and energy boiling endlessly. A mere trace can boil stars and moons, steam seas and marshes! Their powers defy imagination—capable of shifting the cosmic grindstone, splitting earth and sky, forging the celestial wheel anew!

If compared to other grand paths: such Venerables of martial arts are akin to Dao Lords among the immortals, Bodhisattvas in the Buddhist sects, Great Sages among the demons, Perfected Ones among men, Divine Monarchs among the gods, and Heavenly Kings among the heterodox celestials.

This Yuan Yangsheng, though unable to defy gravity and soar unaided through the air, had yet to fully draw the Earthly Sha into himself. Still, his blood and energy surged, bones beneath his flesh blazing with radiant light. At every breath, the power of tigers and dragons seemed to rumble in his veins—standing motionless, he set the clouds quivering.

Like a mountain of adamant, he exuded an overwhelming and majestic force.

Such a martial boundary—if not marrow-refining, then at least bone-changing.

...

A glint flickered in Chen Heng’s eyes, a gravity settling on his face.

Gangsha Martial Arts—

This path, so different from the immortal way, had only been revealed to him by Wei Lingjiang. Otherwise, he would never have pierced Yuan Yangsheng’s concealment.

Taurus Calamity Heaven and Xu Capital Heaven were separated by countless cosmic voids—a world apart. Such foreign ways were rarely mentioned in the scriptures he had read; at most, their names were listed. For deeper understanding, one had to delve into the most ancient histories.

Out of curiosity, Chen Heng had once questioned Wei Lingjiang and gained some knowledge.

The Gangsha Martial Arts of Taurus Calamity Heaven was unlike other martial branches that could reach the ultimate realm. Not only did it differ from the Celestial Martial Arts of the heterodox, but also from God-Demon Martial Arts, Innate Martial Arts, Tripartite Martial Arts, Shakya Martial Arts—they were fundamentally distinct.

...

The crux of Gangsha Martial Arts lay in the words “Gang” and “Sha.”

First, one must absorb Earthly Sha, then condense Celestial Gang—only after fusing the Sha with the body’s blood and energy, forging it into Sha Qi, can the practitioner break free of gravity’s pull, using Sha Qi as guidance to perform martial powers and divine techniques!

The earlier stages—nourishing blood, strengthening energy, tempering sinews, refining marrow, and so forth—were for forging an indestructible body and boundless strength. But whether one could assimilate the Earthly Sha was the true watershed.

“This man’s body is heavy—he must still rely on the talismanic leaf to travel the sky. His blood has yet to transform into Sha Qi—he’s not to be feared…”

Chen Heng narrowed his eyes, quietly summoning his Thunderfire Pearl into his sleeve, then glanced at the Blood Lotus Sect cultivator, pondering.

This Yuan Yangsheng had an immortal companion, whose cultivation appeared to be at the eighth level of Qi Refining. If battle erupted, he might face both together, while still having to beware the Blood Lotus Sect man’s opportunism.

Thus, it could become a three-on-one.

In this tense, stifling atmosphere, Chen Heng and Yuan Yangsheng’s auras locked, each prepared to strike the instant the other revealed a flaw.

At that moment—

The one-armed disciple of White Crane Grotto hesitated, then, gritting his teeth, urged his crane closer to Chen Heng.

“To face the three of them alone would be difficult. Though I’ve lost an arm, I can at least help distract them…”

All eyes turned to the White Crane disciple as he wiped sweat from his brow and whispered, “I am Zhou Tong of White Crane Grotto. Fellow Daoist, if things turn dire, let’s escape together—it’s no shame!”

To leave this cave required focused intent to commune with the artifact spirit—a process of several breaths, sometimes half a cup of tea. Zhou Tong had been chased like a stray dog, with no leisure for such efforts. He’d wanted to flee, but pride and habit made him hesitate, so now he hesitantly stood by Chen Heng.

“Senior brother, you’d best leave quickly—I can buy you some time,” Chen Heng replied with a light laugh.

Meanwhile, the Blood Lotus cultivator, watching this, gave a chilly laugh, approached Yuan Yangsheng, and saluted, but was brusquely cut off.

“Filthy lowlife—how dare you speak to me? I loathe the likes of you most. If not for my elder brother’s aid, I’d have been blood-sacrificed by your demonic kind long ago!” Yuan Yangsheng glanced back. “Old Hu, this bastard’s yours—don’t let him escape!”

“What’s it to me?”

“I’ll return two tenths of your essence!”

“Truly?”

“When have I ever lied?”

“Deal!”

The middle-aged man grinned broadly, spat out a cloud to support Yuan Yangsheng, and with a gesture, the withered plantain leaf expanded into a vast yellow cloud, sweeping down upon the Blood Lotus cultivator.

The man’s expression changed; he barely had time to draw a black iron disk from his sleeve and hurl it forth. Instantly, dozens of evil smoke tendrils burst forth, wailing with the cries of suffering ghosts.

...

“You truly mean to duel me alone?”

Seeing this, a hint of surprise crossed Chen Heng’s face.

“Senior brother of White Crane Grotto, you should withdraw—I can manage alone,” he said to Zhou Tong.

By then, the cloud bearing Yuan Yangsheng descended to within twenty or thirty yards of the ground. Yuan Yangsheng leapt down, slamming into the earth with a thunderous crash, raising a cloud of dust.

In an instant, a figure burst from the dust—five fingers splayed, each stride covering several yards, blood and energy radiating outward as if manipulating the Celestial Gang.

But before Yuan Yangsheng could close, a flying sword shot forth like a frigid dart, piercing through his aura and streaking toward his brow.

With a soft hiss, Yuan Yangsheng’s spine twisted like a snake, contorting to evade the strike by a hair’s breadth.

He unleashed a martial technique—his hands shone with golden light, as if carved from purest metal, resounding with the cries of a thousand soldiers in the void.

Boom!

The air exploded, thundering like a storm.

Yuan Yangsheng spread his hands, grasping for the sword as if a dragon’s claws, intending to seize it mid-flight. Yet as they met, the sword’s brilliance surged, shattering his grip and leaving countless tiny cuts upon his palms. Had he not withdrawn in time, he might have lost fingers.

“Hm?”

His surest move had failed; he murmured, blood and energy surging to heal his palms instantly.

This was not as it had been when he slew the Gu-eagle.

...

Facing this martial brute, Chen Heng had no intention of testing sword forms—he pressed his full strength, driving the Azure Lyric Sword to its utmost.

“Even my brother’s ‘Martial Dispersing Hand’ is broken by a single strike? Daoist, you are extraordinary!” Yuan Yangsheng was first stunned, then delighted.

“Everyone says the orthodox immortal path is the noblest of all ways, but those I’ve met were trash. You’re different—excellent! Worth my time!”

Chen Heng wasted no words, merely gestured, and the flying sword split the clouds, cutting toward Yuan Yangsheng with chilling intent.

“Well struck!”

Yuan Yangsheng laughed wildly, stamping forward like a furious dragon, bones crackling. With a mighty swing, he punched head-on toward the sword.

The air rippled for several yards around.

The Azure Lyric Sword sliced through half his arm, but advanced no further, wedged between his bones with a shuddering vibration.

“Die!”

Yuan Yangsheng’s left hand produced a beast-faced ring-bladed saber, which he swung down hard upon the trapped sword. The clash of metal rang out, but his pupils narrowed—instead of harming the sword, his own blade was notched.

“Even if martial artists can regrow limbs, how much blood and energy can you spare for healing?”

With a gesture, Chen Heng sent the sword retreating, its vibration reducing Yuan Yangsheng’s wounded arm to a bloody mist, then lunged once more, its cold light aiming for the youth’s vital points.

“Don’t worry, my energy is enough to defeat you!” Yuan Yangsheng replied, regrowing his arm with practiced martial skill, then spinning his saber before his chest in a masterful form.

Blades flashed in all directions; the sword’s strikes were parried, no gap left.

Neither held back—after several intense exchanges, Chen Heng remained composed, but Yuan Yangsheng began to frown.

He shouted, flung his battered saber to force back the sword, then hurriedly cycled his energy to heal his wounds.

“No, I must use my true strength. My weapons are broken, my clothes in tatters—I’m a mess! Yet the Daoist remains immaculate—how vexing!”

His thoughts raced. As the sword darted in again, he resolved himself. From his chest, a fierce red light burst forth, pinning the flying sword in midair.

But before Yuan Yangsheng could act again, Chen Heng flicked the Thunderfire Pearl from his sleeve.

A thunderous crash like mountains collapsing resounded.

Struck by the pearl, Yuan Yangsheng’s martial technique faltered; he was hurled through a mound, ribs shattering, blood spraying as he vomited in midair.

“Not good…”

Twisting desperately, he smashed the Thunderfire Pearl aside, sending it spinning away, but before he could recover, the freed sword shrieked through the sky, piercing his chest and leaving a gaping hole.

“Ugh…”

Yuan Yangsheng’s face paled, his energy in turmoil, blood gushing as he nearly collapsed.

Seeing this, the middle-aged man, battling the Blood Lotus cultivator, faltered in shock.

“That sword—already the pinnacle of mid-grade talismans! And he’s but a Qi Refiner—how can he control two mid-grade treasures? Is his embryonic breath inexhaustible!?”

As Yuan Yangsheng spat blood, Chen Heng formed another seal—the sword shot down, a blazing arc, aiming to behead him then and there.

“Truly, the orthodox immortal path is supreme among all ways—I underestimated you, Daoist, nearly paid with my life.”

Yuan Yangsheng murmured, rising slowly.

He ignored both his wounds and the descending sword. Instead, he closed his eyes, intoned a chant, and drew his hand before his face.

“Not good! You’re in trouble now!” Suddenly, in the storage pouch, the old master of talismans who had been enjoying the spectacle leapt up and cried out in alarm, “He’s opened the Martial Eye! The Martial Eye!”

Buzz!

The sword halted mere inches from Yuan Yangsheng’s head, unable to advance, suspended by an overwhelming, invisible force, as if sealed in amber.

Beneath its point, Yuan Yangsheng opened his eyes, fixing Chen Heng with solemnity.

His pupils were now pure white, spotless, like a martial sage who had watched the ages, gazing down from the clouds upon the world below.

Chen Heng’s heart sank; he steeled himself for what was to come.

After a few moments, Yuan Yangsheng’s expression suddenly stiffened. His eyes darted with suspicion, and he involuntarily stepped back.

“No… your blood and energy—”