Chapter Sixty-Seven: Clash (Part One)

Roy’s beautiful eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her delicate form trembling with a helpless allure. As she moved, creamy skin was revealed in abundance, and her laughter rippled out, seductive and enchanting. An ordinary person would have been instantly bewitched; even a cultivator with shallow skills might struggle to maintain their reason.

Though Liu Ping felt some effect, the righteous energy in his heart rendered him immune to such enchantments. He frowned slightly, growing ever more suspicious—Roy’s beauty, while dazzling, felt far too illusory, insubstantial, unreal. Yet he did not avert his gaze, and instead sneered coldly, “I want to kill you.”

His words radiated murderous intent, making Roy’s eyes widen in shock. This Liu Ping was unaffected by her allure? If he were a master of high cultivation, it would be expected, but this man had only just entered the ranks of the Immortals. How could he resist her so? It was truly unfathomable.

“Hmph, you refuse a toast only to drink a forfeit. Don’t think that just because you’re a scholar I won’t dare to kill you!” Roy’s seductive expression vanished, replaced by a face twisted with malice. Those beautiful, tearful eyes now brimmed with venomous hatred, sending chills down one’s spine.

Never underestimate the power of fate. In this world, gods and ghosts abound, evil spirits run rampant, and demons roam freely, yet the mortal Great Xia dynasty has endured for centuries. Why? The answer lies in the word: fate.

With fate, one can ascend to godhood with ease. Compared to the arduous cultivation of Daoist priests or Buddhist monks—who must painstakingly draw upon the world’s spiritual energies, transcend themselves, and persevere with will and talent alone—the path of the gods is far easier. Once conferred with a title and worshipped, fate gathers, and godhood follows effortlessly.

If Liu Ping’s mentor, Magistrate Lü Ru, were here, shrouded in the fate of an entire province, no evil spirit, however cunning, could harm him. Should the Emperor of Great Xia wield the nation’s power to anoint a god, he could even forge an existence of immortal stature!

Of course, this path is not without its flaws. First, fate must be continuously nourished to sustain itself. In the mortal world, dynasties change every three centuries, five or six at most. When time passes and fate is gone, a phoenix without feathers is inferior to a chicken—and such power is fleeting compared to the hard-earned, long-lasting cultivation of a true adept.

Second, though mortals blessed with great fate are immune to magic, their lifespan remains unchanged. Without self-cultivation or virtuous deeds, fate dissipates, and even the chance for divinity after death is lost—what a pitiful end.

You receive as much as you give. The path of the gods is swift, but it is not truly your own. Such is the law of the world.

Liu Ping, as a mere scholar, possessed only a sliver of the nation’s pure white fate; as the top scholar, a thread of crimson ran through it, far superior to his peers. Most malevolent entities attacking him would suffer some backlash, but it was still meager—his fate far too slight.

Yet even this tiny backlash was fatal to Roy, who was seeking to transcend her tribulation. Sensing the murderous intent radiating from Liu Ping, chills ran down her spine. Danger was in the air; she could no longer afford hesitation. Backlash could be managed, but death was final.

“Kill me? What a joke.” Liu Ping smiled faintly.

“Hey!” Roy’s body suddenly swelled, her aura exploding forth and filling the room with a crushing pressure that left Liu Ping breathless, his face flushed and oppressed.

Half-step Demon Commander!

Roy was actually a half-step Demon Commander! This was equivalent to a half-step Earth Immortal!

The mighty pressure engulfed the entire chamber. Liu Ping felt as though he were suffocating, weighed down and miserable.

“A joke? No, you are the joke,” Roy spat, her voice suddenly growing bizarre and guttural.

Liu Ping stared, dumbfounded. “You’re a man?!”

The voice was coarse, that of a burly brute—so utterly different from the earlier soft, feminine tones.

Roy sneered, “I am no human—why should I be bound by man or woman? You humans are such hypocrites. So selfish.”

Liu Ping was speechless. “That’s racial discrimination!”

Roy paused, clearly hearing this term for the first time, but found it oddly fitting. He smirked coldly, “And if it is? If you know what’s good for you, leave now and never interfere again. If you stay, I’ll send you to your death.”

Liu Ping scoffed, “How could I leave? I want to see just how you’ll send me to my death!”

At these words, Roy’s face twisted further, beauty giving way to horror. Suddenly, a crack appeared on her forehead, snaking down over her nose, chin, neck, between her breasts, belly, and lower body. With a sharp rip, the beautiful woman’s shell split in two, and from within burst a hideous specter, its face a sickly green, jagged teeth bared as it roared at Liu Ping.

The instant this specter appeared, the oppressive force intensified. Liu Ping felt as if he were submerged, every movement sluggish and slow.

“Die!” Roy lunged, claws raised high, ready to strike!

“You’re the one who’ll die!” Liu Ping snorted coldly, elation surging within him as he finally saw his chance. He poured spiritual power into the coin-sword in his hand, driving it to its utmost.

In an instant, the coin-sword blazed with dazzling crimson light, radiating an aura of awe-inspiring majesty. The sword’s glow thickened, transforming into roaring flames. The little sword, once just a foot long, now swelled into a flaming blade over fifteen feet, tongues of fire leaping from its edges in a display of might and dominance.

“What is that?!” Roy, moments before so full of murderous intent, now stared in disbelief.

Liu Ping swung the sword with practiced skill. He had long studied the way of the sword, and his righteous sword intent was a path in itself. With a single stroke, he shattered Roy’s oceanic pressure.

The weight on Liu Ping lifted instantly. Without hesitation, he pressed the attack.

“Impossible! How can his power be so great—he’s only just entered the ranks of immortals!” Roy raged inwardly, eyes fixed on the long sword in Liu Ping’s grip. It must be the weapon.

Suddenly, Roy realized something familiar about the sword’s aura, and his shock deepened. “An Earth Immortal! This is a replica of an Earth Immortal’s life-bound artifact! This coin-sword—could it be Daoist Xuan Shen’s? Has he discovered my return?!”

“I cannot fight this!” Roy whirled to flee. If that sword struck, even survival would mean crippling wounds.

“Running? Too late!” Liu Ping shouted, bringing the flaming sword down. Had Roy not attacked so recklessly, this opportunity would never have arisen; ultimately, he had only himself to blame.

“No!!!” Feeling the righteous sword intent—unstoppable and overwhelming—sweep toward him, Roy felt his very soul plummet into a bottomless abyss. Terror filled his eyes. “You can’t kill me! I’ve cultivated for five hundred years and never broken a taboo—just this once, only this once! Kill me and I’ll haunt you forever!”

Liu Ping ignored Roy’s pleas and threats, cutting down without hesitation. Fire surged, engulfing the fiend. With a thunderous explosion, the attack struck home.

Liu Ping retreated immediately.

No sooner had he left than the house collapsed in a heap.

The coin-sword in his hand fell silently to the ground, the coins clattering at his feet. Standing at a distance, Liu Ping gazed at the ruins and murmured, “You harmed my brother—how could I let you live? And you dare threaten me? If that’s not a joke, what is?”