Chapter 48: A Marvel of Lightness Skill

Wading-in-a-Dream’s intuition was not wrong: among this group, Brother Chun was the strongest, yet he was the first to be taken out; Zhang He, though the weakest, was the most dangerous. Wading-in-a-Dream understood this as well—after all, who else could single-handedly infiltrate the Tang Fortress, steal the Blood Parrot Flower, and retreat unscathed? Could such a person really be considered weak?

Not spotting Zhang He, he instinctively looked upward. The moment he raised his head, he saw Zhang He descending from a tall tree, the cold gleam of the Frost Sword reflected in his eyes like a bright star. That star expanded rapidly—the sword was not only fast, but fierce, and most crucially, it struck from a direction he least expected.

Wading-in-a-Dream did not retreat; he knew that to do so would mean falling into utter passivity. In that desperate moment, he steeled himself, forcefully driving his "Marvelous Transformation" skill, determined to make up for his current lack of agility by sacrificing his inner strength.

The result was astonishing: Wading-in-a-Dream leapt in place, executing the rarely-seen lightness skill known as "Scallion Extraction from Arid Land," soaring five or six meters high toward a nearby tree.

In truth, it was not quite the legendary "Scallion Extraction," but rather an enhanced basic jump using the Tang Sect’s lightness technique—similar in form only, not in essence.

But what happened next was even more shocking. Zhang He, having missed with his initial sword strike from above, miraculously rebounded off the ground and shot upward after Wading-in-a-Dream, tracing his path through the air. No one present had anticipated this—not even Wading-in-a-Dream himself. This was no ordinary leap; when Zhang He landed, he pushed off and rebounded skyward, indicating some form of lightness skill. Yet it was not "Treading Snow Without a Trace," nor did it quite resemble Wudang’s "Cloud Ladder," which would be stretching the comparison.

This was none other than Zhang He's newly acquired movement art, "Rippling Wave Crossing."

"Rippling Wave Crossing": Riding the wind over myriad waters, stepping and rebounding as if treading on clouds. The key to this art is the step: as long as there is something to step on and one’s skill is high enough, even the water’s surface can be used to rebound, lifting the body like a swallow into the sky.

The Frost Sword soared upward like a rocket. Wading-in-a-Dream sighed helplessly and cursed under his breath, “Damn it…”

A piercing sound split the air—a critical strike: “-248!”

Blood rained down, mingling with a shower of shredded leaves, scattering through the forest. The crimson drops gleamed like strings of rubies, creating a scene both cruel and breathtaking, a deathly beauty that defied description.

The world is strange like that: the most brutal, hideous things sometimes appear breathtakingly beautiful, while the most enduring and genuine things often seem so ordinary as to be unremarkable.

As the blood rain settled, both Zhang He and Wading-in-a-Dream crashed to the ground. Zhang He landed like a half-dead stray dog, but Wading-in-a-Dream’s body hit the earth heavily and never moved again; that sword strike had taken his last 180 points of vitality, turning him instantly into a corpse.

In fact, that sword perfectly combined Zhang He’s "Assault Swordplay," "Flying Rock Sword," "Decay to Rejuvenation," "Righteous Qi Filling the Four Directions," "Rippling Wave Crossing," and his nascent strength attribute—an all-out attack with nothing held back. If it failed to kill, Zhang He himself would have died.

The attack dealt a staggering 383 points of damage—a flawless, fatal blow.

Zhang He never struck unless it was to kill; every move he made was worth making. Sheer strength provides only a temporary advantage; true invincibility lies in the perfect integration of martial skills. Wading-in-a-Dream did not understand this, and so he fell. To his dying breath, he could not believe that, as a fifth-rank Tang Sect elder, he had fallen to Zhang He’s sword.

Much later, after her attributes recovered somewhat, Hua Feihong returned, breathing heavily. Only then did she see clearly: Zhang He’s final sword strike had entered Wading-in-a-Dream’s throat at a slant from the scapula—a strike so swift, precise, and ruthless that only by looking at the wound could one appreciate its essence.

Hua Feihong cast a puzzled glance at Zhang He, her eyes full of confusion. She knew Wading-in-a-Dream possessed over a hundred points of defense, yet this first-rank wild player had slain a fifth-rank elder. Even with the previous rounds of attacks, this final blow was nothing short of legendary.

A little while later, Zhong Shuman and Ma Junmei recovered from their poisoning. Like Hua Feihong, the two women alternately studied the corpse and Zhang He, their eyes filled with disbelief.

Zhang He, however, was inwardly groaning; he now had a yellow name, and the system mercilessly notified him: “Friend, you’ve killed the Tang Sect’s Grand Elder of Alchemy. This time you’re in big trouble—your evil value has risen by 10 points, now totaling 29. Your chivalry is only 4 points. With this ratio, pray you never meet a constable; even Brother Chun couldn't save you now.”

“Shall we go?” Zhong Shuman knew that if they didn’t leave now, it would be too late—once Wading-in-a-Dream was dead, pursuers would arrive at any moment.

“Wait,” Zhang He said, raising a hand.

“What are you planning now?” Ma Junmei asked.

Zhang He’s gaze lingered on Wading-in-a-Dream’s corpse. Even the ghost-mode Wading-in-a-Dream felt uneasy under that stare. According to the system’s basic rules, the death of a fifth-rank white-named player meant dropping at least four levels, a 15% chance to lose equipment, and a 5% chance to lose some martial skills.

As Wading-in-a-Dream’s soul drifted away, his worst fears were realized: he left behind a pile of silver, a field of potions, several cases of hidden weapons, and a ring.

The ring glimmered with a cold blue light—it was actually a rare-grade item, a blue-tier artifact outranking white, exceptional, valuable, and uncommon gear.

Ma Junmei lunged for it like a tigress, but her “Tiger Descends the Mountain” was no match for Zhang He’s “Hungry Dog Snatches the Scrap.” Worthy of an Oscar-winning actor, Zhang He snatched the ring as deftly as a pickpocket on a bus, slipped it into his pouch, and stood up looking around nonchalantly, as though he had merely picked up a dropped tissue.

“Shall we go?” Zhang He suggested. But Zhong Shuman was cold as a thousand-year iceberg, ignoring him completely.

Ma Junmei glared at him viciously. Zhang He looked bewildered. “What?”

Ma Junmei’s hand was almost on his face. “Hand it over!”

Zhang He feigned innocence. “Hand over what?”

“The money,” Ma Junmei said coldly. “I fought, I bled, I was beaten and poisoned—and now you want to pocket the loot without sharing? How do you expect to survive in the martial world with that attitude?”

Zhang He tensed. “How much do you want?”

Ma Junmei replied grandly, “Fifty taels of gold—that’s fair, isn’t it? Heh!”

Zhang He nearly spat blood. “And to think you’re a disciple of Mount Shu! You’d be better off as a bandit.”

Ma Junmei said, “Fine, I’ll be magnanimous—forty taels is fair.”

Zhang He took out the ring and examined its stats:

“Lanhua Ring (Rare Grade). Requirements: Level 80. Base Attributes: Strength +85. Additional: Vitality +50, Constitution +60, Inner Power +35!”

Good heavens, an eighty-level rare-grade ring! Just look at those insane stat boosts—this one ring was worth several times more than any of Zhang He’s other equipment.

Confronted with such a high-end item, Zhang He’s business instincts kicked in. “No can do—twenty taels is the limit. That’s gold we’re talking about.”

Ma Junmei considered and relented. “Deal.”

“Can we go now?” Zhang He asked again, but Zhong Shuman’s strange look made him uneasy.

He sighed. “I knew it. You three would never let me off so easily.”

Zhong Shuman had already opened the trade window, waiting for Zhang He to put up the gold.

“My money’s all in the bank. Once we reach a major city, I’ll pay you,” Zhang He said sincerely, though for the first time he felt a pang of resentment toward beautiful women.

But Zhong Shuman’s expression was grim. “Ten taels to dismiss me? Do you think I’m from the Beggar’s Sect? If you can’t be fair, how will you stand tall in the martial world?”

Zhang He was at a loss. “You’re supposed to be righteous, but this sounds like extortion. Twenty taels!”

“Deal!” Zhong Shuman’s face brightened.

“Now can we leave?” Zhang He urged, knowing their pursuers would soon catch up, though these women seemed more anxious than the emperor’s eunuchs. Suddenly, Hua Feihong spoke coldly, “I have only one thing to say: I didn’t bring much money with me from Mount Shu.”

Zhang He nearly coughed up blood. My god, must you be so direct? “Twenty taels. When we reach a city with a bank, I’ll cash it out. How’s that?”

“Very well.” Hua Feihong, saying no more, strode off into the forest.

With a long face, Zhang He trudged after the three women, a nameless resentment rising in his heart. He’d hoped the Lanhua Ring would improve his fortunes, but before he could even use it, these three money-hungry women had already drained him of sixty taels of gold.

Ma Junmei, never one to stop at a single advantage, grinned slyly. “Let me see the ring’s stats?”

“No,” Zhang He replied flatly.

Ma Junmei was taken aback. “Why not?”

Zhang He responded coldly, “First, pay a ten-tael deposit. Then you need at least a bachelor’s degree, outstanding appearance and temperament, female, at least 170 centimeters tall, passionate and dedicated to the profession. Each viewing costs two taels, limited to three seconds per viewing. Relevant work experience preferred…”

Ma Junmei nearly fainted on the spot.

Zhong Shuman stared at Zhang He. “How do you plan to handle this equipment?”

With a face as stern as steel, Zhang He replied, “Sell it for cash.”

Zhong Shuman pursed her lips. “So, what’s your plan? How much will you sell it for?”

“Not less than one hundred fifty taels,” Zhang He answered without hesitation.

Zhong Shuman gasped. “You’re so greedy! What rare ring is worth one hundred fifty taels?”

Zhang He sneered, “I just handed out three shares of twenty taels each—sixty taels invested. One hundred fifty minus sixty leaves ninety. Sixty over ninety is just thirty percent profit. Air conditioners and appliances only make ten percent. Civil engineering projects make fifteen to twenty, apparel thirty, processed meat fifty, real estate a hundred, drugs two hundred, and arms two to three hundred percent profit. My thirty percent is only as much as the clothing business. Now, tell me, where will you find a more honest businessman than me?”

Zhong Shuman: “…”

Ma Junmei: “…”

Hua Feihong: “…”