Shen Mu's heart pounded wildly. He drew the Butcher's Knife from his back—this was the first time he had ever faced such a formation. Ling Hanchuan's bearing pressed down on him without a touch. Every move that old man had made since entering the village, every word and every gesture, radiated a boundless pressure. When he had crossed blades with Senior Brother Chu of the Five Disciples of the Lan River, he had been driven to the very limit and left with no choice but to strike; but the array before him now made his nerve falter. "I've pissed on the stone statue at the village gate—what is there left to fear? Sang E, the demon of the Palace of Averted Calamity—I've seen them both. I wasn't afraid then; can I be afraid now? However strong Ling Hanchuan is, he cannot be stronger than gods and demons!" Shen Mu steadied himself, and his panicked mood slowly settled. He looked around, brows knitting slightly. The village was not large; with everyone standing here, himself included, there were twenty-two people, like so many wooden stakes, and each stood in a different spot, figures staggered, filling the little village to the brim. The village head lay on a stretcher; the alchemist stood beside the stretcher; the butcher, with only his upper body, stood upright atop a wooden stake; Master Huo leaned sidelong against a stake; Granny Zhu held her basket; the mute craftsman stood in the doorway of the blacksmith's shop; the deaf old man held a brush that still dripped ink; and the lame old man leaned on his cane, standing on one leg. And the places where the men Ling Hanchuan had brought stood were each of them deliberate; every position was strange in its own way, making it very hard to move quickly through the village, let alone fight. In such a setting, the demands on qi-controlled flying swords were extremely high! To wield a flying sword here, one would have to be exceedingly careful lest one's blade touch another person or be thrown off by them; it demanded a sword art of incomparable fineness. Shen Mu practiced the butcher's Butcher's Knife Art, and the blade arts of the combat-technique school could never manage such a thing. "We fight here?" Shen Mu asked. Yan Qing nodded. "Here. We fight here!" Shen Mu slid the Butcher's Knife back into the sheath on his back and freed both hands. When Yan Qing saw Shen Mu return the Butcher's Knife to its sheath, a keen light flickered in his eyes; that Shen Mu would rather fight bare-handed was somewhat beyond his expectation. Before coming here, Ling Hanchuan had already taken them to examine the ruins in the hidden valley. From Senior Brother Chu's corpse, gnawed down to bare bone, Ling Hanchuan had deduced that what Shen Mu used was a blade art. Shen Mu had picked up a stick from the ground and used it as a blade, striking Senior Brother Chu and leaving tiny marks of impact on his bones; where the marks fell, fine cracks had opened in the bone. From this one could infer that Shen Mu's blade art was superb, and moreover that his footwork must be very fast; only with consummate leg techniques could he have kept moving and struck every corner of Senior Brother Chu's body. Ling Hanchuan's skills were extraordinary; he was one of the finest masters under heaven. Judging from the traces Shen Mu had left, what Shen Mu used must be a combat technique. The combat-technique school excelled at close quarters, but had little attainment or achievement in qi-controlled flying swords. From that moment, Ling Hanchuan had settled on a way to kill Shen Mu. After these men entered the village, each took a different position, laying out the Lan River Water Dragon Formation and deliberately leaving nine formation eyes; Ling Hanchuan stood at the dragon's head. And the rest, all but Yan Qing, were the finest masters of the Lan River Sect. To keep the Lan River Water Dragon Formation from unleashing the power of its combined strike, the villagers of Hidden Remnant Village had to block the formation eyes one after another: the village head and the alchemist blocked the dragon's eyes, the blind old man blocked the heart's eye, the lame old man, Granny Zhu, Master Huo, and the butcher stood at the joints of the water dragon's four limbs, the blacksmith anchored the dragon's body, and the deaf old man anchored the dragon's tail. That would produce the situation now seen in the village: everyone standing in a different place, figures staggered, making it very hard to move quickly here, very hard to wield a flying sword—unless one had extremely high attainment in qi-controlled flying swords. Clearly, Shen Mu was not such a man. But his disciple Yan Qing was exactly such a man. Though he was still a martial artist of the Spirit Fetus realm, his attainment in qi-controlled flying swords was extremely high; his primal-qi threads were refined to incomparable fineness, and his sword-control art had reached an astonishing level. He had once controlled a brush with primal qi and painted a portrait of a beauty from thirty zhang away, and in that painting every strand of hair was distinct, not one thread out of place. So long as Shen Mu answered with his blade, he would certainly lose. That Shen Mu sheathed his blade and fought bare-handed was somewhat beyond Yan Qing's expectation, but bare hands against a precious sword looked like a losing bargain no matter how one reckoned it. And what he had brought this time was no ordinary sword, but a primal spirit sword—a sword gestated and born in the divine treasury of a man of supernatural powers at the Six Harmonies realm. In sharpness, toughness, strength, and spirit, a primal spirit sword far surpassed any common blade. Shen Mu bowed slightly. "Senior Brother, please." Yan Qing returned the courtesy; from the sword sheath behind him came a ringing note. "Junior Brother, please." Shen Mu lifted his foot, and at that very moment the sword in the sheath behind Yan Qing rang out and left its scabbard. Primal-qi threads drove the blade, cold air pressing in, points of sword light stabbing toward Shen Mu! The primal-qi threads were so fine they could scarcely be seen by the naked eye; at the slightest quiver, the sword threw out blossom after blossom of sword light, stabbing at Shen Mu from every tricky angle, so fast it dazzled the eye! For a martial artist, to have cultivated qi-controlled flying swords to such a level was already a rare and admirable achievement! Shen Mu moved with his footwork, nimble beyond measure, weaving among the motionless figures, while Yan Qing's sword flew faster still, its sword art so fine it made the tongue click. To the others standing motionless, his sword posed no threat at all; but to Shen Mu, every stroke was a killing stroke! That sword light was impossible to guard against; even if Shen Mu unleashed the lame old man's Steal Heaven Leg Art, he could not escape it. There were simply too many obstacles here—every motionless person standing there limited his speed, making it impossible for him to bring his swiftness fully into play! Whoosh— Shen Mu contemplated fire, and his primal qi abruptly turned violent and savage. A faint dragon's cry came, and a fire dragon seemed to coil around his arm. The fire dragon was hazy and indistinct; now its head merged with his fist, now its claws merged with his fingers and palm, shifting without cease. The sword light stabbed in; Shen Mu met it with a punch. In the instant before his fist would have collided with the primal spirit sword, his five fingers suddenly spread, and the air in his palm exploded with a roar, shaking the oncoming tip so that it wavered wildly! Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang— Shen Mu's five fingers flicked out one after another, striking the tip, the blade, and the hilt in succession; each flick burst with a great clang, as though a massive iron hammer had struck the sword. When his fifth finger flicked out, the primal spirit sword was sent flying, and Yan Qing's primal-qi thread was snapped clean through